#the point is the REAL experience of decay in the hands of the man you love

[thegayneurodivergentagenda]

The way our fandom says bad buddy brain rot and the way @miscellar wrote the Zombie fic and the way it's all connected and a metaphor for something so beautiful

[nevadancitizen]

-> CH. 2: LIKE A MOUSE IN A HOUSE FULL OF CATS

synopsis: it's your first time deviant hunting with hank and connor. and gavin is an asshole – obviously.

word count: 3.4k

ships: Connor/Reader, Hank Anderson & Reader

notes: next chapter will have more one-on-one time with connor and original scenes i promissseee <33

HoFS taglist: @catladyhere (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask!)

HEAD OF FALSE SECURITY MASTERLIST

As soon as you shut off the ignition, Hank turns to Connor in the backseat. “You – stay here.” He points at you. “And you – if you’re gonna vomit, don’t do it on my shoes.”

“Whatever you say, boss.”  You hop out of the driver’s seat, and Hank follows suit.

News reporters and concerned neighbors are swarming behind the digital yellow line that reads POLICE LINE: DO NOT CROSS. As you pass, you’re bombarded by “News Channel Five –” “Joss Douglas, for Channel Sixteen –” “Gordon Skalfe from DJE News –” “Can you confirm this is a homicide?” “Siobahn Gonzalez for SKE News –” “Is it true that an android was involved?” 

You just duck your head and wave them off, mumbling “No questions, no questions.”

Once you cross the yellow line, you hear a car door open and close behind you. You glance back and see Connor maneuvering his way through the small crowd and fight the urge to roll your eyes. Aren’t androids supposed to do as they’re told…?

A police-assistant android is standing behind the line and stops Connor when he tries to pass. “Androids are not permitted beyond this point.”

“Connor’s with me and Lieutenant Anderson,” you call over your shoulder. When you look forward, Hank’s looking at you. You shrug in response, unsure.

He looks over your shoulder at Connor. “What part of ‘stay in the car’ didn’t you understand?”

“Your order contradicted my instructions, Lieutenant,” Connor says, still with that lost puppy dog look on his face.

Hank just grits his teeth and deals with it. “You don’t talk, you don’t touch anything, and you stay outta our way. Got it?”

“Got it!” Connor chirps. 

You huff out a quiet laugh at his kinda-sorta enthusiasm, but it’s immediately silenced when you walk into the house. It reeks like hell, and is way past the sickly-sweet smell of death – it’s just straight pig shit in there.

Chris laughs, holding an N95 mask out to you. “You good?”

“Expected it like one would expect thunder in the clear sky.” You hold up a hand, turning the mask down. “That is to say: I did not.”

Chris smiles, shaking his head and tucking the mask back into his jacket. “You’ve got a way with words, you do.”

“Leave me be.” You smile and wave him away. 

Instead, you turn to observe the crime scene. You’ve been on homicide scenes before, but never like this. A man’s corpse is propped up against the far wall of the living room, fat and bloated and half-decayed. Blood streaks the wall behind him, both in an organic fashion and in precise lettering: I AM ALIVE. 

You half-listen to the debriefing: Carlos Ortiz, been here about three weeks, a kitchen knife, possible android involvement. It’s a puzzle that you don’t have the right experience to solve.

When you look over at the knife, Connor’s kneeling over it. His LED flickers, then he reaches down, swabbing blood with his two first fingers. He brings it to his mouth, and –

“Стой! Wait –!” 

You cringe and bring a balled-up fist to your forehead. A low groan escapes your throat and you can do nothing but watch as Connor licks his fingers.

“Ugh, Jesus!” Hank sighs. “What the hell are you doing?!” 

“I’m analyzing the blood.” Connor holds up his bloody fingers. “I can check samples in real time.”

He turns to you, still with blood on his fingers. “I’m sorry, I should’ve warned you both.”

You drag your hand down your face. “Just give us enough time to look away when you do it next.”

“No, actually,” Hank says. “Don’t put any more evidence in your mouth. Got it?”

“Got it.” Connor looks down at his fingers, his LED flickering as he analyzes the blood. Then, he nods to himself, as if confirming something.

“Christ, this goddamn android…” you mutter to yourself.

You try to busy yourself with looking away from the body, and getting away from the smell. You walk down the hall leading to the bathroom. As you walk, you notice something just barely sticking to the bottom of your shoes. 

When you look down, you expect blood, but there’s nothing there. Unless…?

You hold out your left hand, your thumb and index extended, and close your right eye. With your polymer retina active, the world turns into monochrome-blues. Your eyes turn to the floor, where speckles of mystery liquid lead to the end of the hall. (And you really hope it isn’t semen.)

You relax your hand and open your right eye. Sure enough, there’s nothing there to your naked eye.

You turn into the living room and call out “Connor! I need you to look at something for me.”

He turns the corner, raising an eyebrow when he sees you and an empty hall. “Yes, Officer? What do you need me to look at?”

You step to the side so that you’re not standing on the mystery liquid. “There’s something on the floor. I can’t identify it, and I can only pick it up with my polymer retina.”

Connor crouches and looks at the floor. “Yes. There’s Thirium here.”

“Thirium?” You echo. “Like, android blood?”

“Yes.” He smiles a bit, like he’s impressed. “Good work, Officer.”

You turn and scratch your cheek, huffing a little through your nose. “I’ve just been on a few cases like this before, that’s all. You’re acting like you’re in the seventh skies about it.”

“To say that I am would be to imply I’m able to feel excitement,” Connor says. “I am not.”

You furrow your eyebrows as your suspension of disbelief is shattered. The belief that Connor wasn’t an unfeeling robot – just a regular guy with that somewhat-cute, somewhat-maddening lost look. Maybe a bit clueless when it comes to social cues, sure, but really endearing when he does miss them.

“Right.” You draw your lips into a thin line. “Then, uh… just go back to whatever you were doing.”

“I’m nearly done figuring out what happened. I’d like you to be there to confirm.” Connor stands, then walks back into the living room without waiting for you.

You follow him, then prop yourself up in a corner to watch Connor conduct his business. He moves about the crime scene like a well-seasoned professional, rattling off his theory like he was there when the killing occurred. Once he’s done, he turns to Hank, as if waiting for approval.

Hank’s chin dips as he shrugs with his arms crossed. “Seems plausible. Doesn’t mean that we know why the android defended itself, though.”

“It could be from emotional shock,” you say, surveying the kitchen. “Or, the hit from the bat could’ve disrupted the biocomponents in a way that was just so, so that deviancy was…” you shrug. “Activated? Unlocked? I don’t know how to describe it.”

“A plausible theory,” Connor says. 

“We’re havin’ a nice time talkin’, but where the hell did the android go?” Hank mutters, eyes flitting around the house.

“I have an idea.” Connor’s gaze turns to the ground, then he starts to follow the invisible Thirium trail. 

Hank moves so that he’s standing next to you. “Where the hell is it going?”

“Following a trail of blue blood,” you say.

He looks over at you and scoffs lightly. “How do you know that?”

You smile and hold up your left hand – the one with your polymer glove. The star retracts, exposing the wires that slither out and move with minds of their own. 

Hank makes a sound of disgust, turning away. “Put that thing away.”

“Yes, sir.” You chuckle lightly and close your fist, causing the wires to go back.

When you turn back to the kitchen, Connor’s come back and picked up a chair. He starts to walk away, but Hank stops him.

“Hey-hey-hey!” Hank says. “What’re you doin’ with that chair?”

Connor looks over at Hank, then continues walking. “I’m going to check something.”

“Huh…” Hank turns to you and gestures at where Connor disappeared around the corner. “Gonna check something.”

You smile lightly. “The attic, for ghosts.” 

Hank huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. “Yeah, because Detroit has a ghost problem.”

“Maybe it does!” You laugh. “You never –”

Both you and Hank’s heads snap up as something clunks above you. There’s footsteps – two sets of them. You exchange a look with Hank and both set off to the attic opening.

“Connor!” Hank calls. “What the fuck is goin’ on up there?”

Silence for a moment. Your breath stills in your lungs.

Then, Connor: “It’s here, Lieutenant!”

“Holy shit.” Hank looks at you, then behind him. “Chris, Ben – get your asses over here now! C’mon!”

The cold of the observation room is only accentuated by the hot coffee in your hands, but you honestly think you’d fall asleep without it.

You can feel Gavin’s hard stare switching between drilling into the back of your skull and looking into the interrogation room. You’re just sitting at the desk, taking notes – which, so far, is as follows: No response to question. No response to question. Interrogator (Lt. Hank Anderson) showing signs of frustration. No response to physical aggression. No response to question.

You look up just as soon as Hank calls it quits and storms out of the interrogation room. He buzzes into the observation room, his footfalls heavy and frustrated.

“We’re wastin’ our time interrogating a machine – we’re gettin’ nothing outta it!” He practically shoves himself into the chair beside you.

“Could always send pinko here to rough it up a little.” Gavin tilts his head, looking over at you. “After all, it’s not human. And I doubt they would have an issue taking a hammer and sickle to the android.”

You sigh and set your data pad down with more force than necessary. “I’m not a sadist, Reed. And even if I was, I wouldn’t take it out on a suspect.”

“Additionally, androids don’t feel pain,” Connor chimes in. “You would only damage it, and that wouldn’t make it talk. Deviants also have a tendency to self-destruct when in stressful situations –”

“Okay, smartass,” Gavin cuts him off. “What should we do, then?”

Connor blinks, his eyes flitting between you, Hank, and Chris. It’s almost like he’s nervous to suggest that “I could try questioning it.”

Gavin laughs that asshole-ish laugh. You look over at Hank. He’s already looking at you. You glance back at Connor and shrug.

Hank sighs. “What do we have to lose?” He looks back at Connor. “Go ahead. Suspect’s all yours.”

Connor peels back the artificial skin on his hand, revealing porcelain-white plastic, and presses it to the biometric scanner, then steps through the door. 

You shudder. “That always creeps me out.”

Chris mutters under his breath in agreement.

You lean back in your chair and ready your data pad as Connor enters the interrogation room. He sits across from the deviant, then leans forward as he analyzes him. 

You lean over towards Hank and mutter, “Is someone taping this?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles back. “Why?”

“He has a tendency to talk quickly.” You glance down at your data pad, then back up at Connor. “I’m worried he’ll talk too fast for me to record.”

“Didn’t realize the DPD’s turning officers into stenographers,” Gavin says under his breath.

You don’t look back at him as you speak. “I heard that.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure your wire heard it, too.”

Hank holds up a hand. “That’s enough.”

You look forward through the double-sided mirror into the interrogation room. Your hands are ready, resting on the digital keyboard of your data pad. 

“I detect an instability in your program,” Connor says. “It can trigger an unpleasant feeling, like fear in humans.”

Connor leans forward, trying to look at the deviant, whose eyes remain firmly on the table. You record in your data pad: Switching interrogators. New interrogator is Connor (android, model RK800). No response to question about deviancy-induced fear.

Connor’s eyes flit down to the android’s arms. One of them is split open, exposing bent plastic and sparking wires. The other is littered with dozens of cigarette burns.

“You’re damaged.” Connor’s voice is turning a little colder. “Did your owner do that? Did he beat you?”

Again, no response. You record: No response to question about injuries/damage.

“You’re accused of murder,” Connor says, his voice turning colder still. “You know you’re not allowed to endanger human life under any circumstances. Do you have anything to say in your defense?”

You record: No response to pressure with blame.

Connor shifts in his seat, like he’s frustrated. You feel for him. It’s like talking to a brick wall in there.

He leans forward, his jaw set as he stares at the android. “If you don’t talk, I’m going to have to probe your memory.”

“No!” The deviant immediately barks, his head snapping up to look at Connor. “No, please don’t do that.”

You exchange a glance with Hank, then look back into the interrogation room. When you do, it’s like the android is looking through the double-sided mirror at you. His lips are parted, his expression shocked and pained. Dried blood paints his face but, in the harsh fluorescent light, it looks wet and fresh.

You find it hard to record. You just want to watch the interrogation, be fully immersed in it. But, still: Verbal and physical response to threat to probe memory. Shows fear – possible C-PTSD.

He shakes a little as he turns back to Connor. He can’t meet Connor’s gaze.

“Wh… what’re they gonna do to me?” His voice is soft and fearful. “They’re gonna destroy me, aren’t they?”

Connor doesn’t skip a beat, his voice and expression neutral and indifferent. “They’re going to disassemble you and look for problems in your biocomponents. They have no choice if they want to understand what happened.”

The android’s eyebrows crease. “Why did you tell them you found me? Why couldn’t you just have left me there…?”

You record: Continuation of expression of fear. Possibly trying to make Connor sympathize.

“I was programmed to hunt deviants like you,” Connor says evenly. “I just accomplished my mission.”

The deviant clenches his hands into fists, then relaxes them. He looks down at the table, then up at Connor. “I don’t wanna die.”

You record: Self-soothing with repetitive actions. Expresses fear of death.

Connor leans forward, his voice stern yet… somewhat understanding as he speaks. “Then talk to me.”

“I…” The android’s voice shakes. He squeezes his eyes shut, hunching over and closing in on himself. “I can’t.”

Connor blinks. Once, twice.

Then, he hits the table with his fist and barks out “You’re a machine. You were designed to obey, so obey!”

The deviant flinches – a response you record. Androids aren’t supposed to have any response to loud noises.

“Tell me what happened,” Connor says. 

After a few seconds, it’s clear he’s not getting through. He changes his approach so that he’s quieter, more emotional with his facial expressions.

“Listen,” he says softly. “I’m not judging you. I’m on your side. All I want is the truth.”

You record: Connor changes tactics. Before – hard, demanding. Now – more expressive, softer. Possibly manipulating suspect to extract confession.

He reaches across the table, his hand just barely shy of touching the deviant’s. “Confess and I’ll protect you. I promise, I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

The android’s voice is soft but sure as he speaks. “He… he tortured me every day. I did whatever he told me, but – but there was always something wrong.”

Connor gives an encouraging nod.

“A-and then one day…” his voice shakes. “He took a bat, and started hitting me. Over, and over. For the first time I felt…”

His shoulders tense. “Scared. Scared he might destroy me, scared I might die. So I… I grabbed the knife, and I stabbed him in the stomach.”

Connor continues staring. A silent motivation for the deviant to continue talking.

“I felt better,” he says. “So I stabbed him again, and again. Until he collapsed. There was blood everywhere…”

You look down at your data pad and start writing, partially tuning out the rest of the interrogation. You had what you needed. You record: Confession successfully extracted by Connor. Hypothesis confirmed – deviancy triggered by physical violence. Follow-up on related cases.

Connor’s voice causes your head to snap up and look into the interrogation room. “When did you start feeling emotion?”

The deviant’s lips tremble before he speaks. “Before, he used to beat me and I never said anything. But one day I…”

He shakes his head. “I realized it wasn’t fair!” He spits out the word like it causes a foul taste on his tongue.

“I felt… anger.” His jaw clenches. “Hatred… And then I knew what I had to do.”

Connor moves away from the deviant and turns to look into the double-sided mirror. “I’m done.”

“Well, shit.” Chris leans back in his chair. “Look at that.”

He stands and presses his hand to the biometric scanner, then enters the interrogation room. Gavin, then Hank, then you filter in after. You stick close to the door, as you’re only armed with a data pad and your wits. (You’re a cybersecurity officer – of course they wouldn’t give you a gun.)

Gavin passes by Connor, sneering at him. He turns to the deviant. “Chris, lock it up.”

Chris moves over to the android. He unclips a key from his tac belt and unlocks the android’s handcuffs from the table. Chris takes his arm, and –

“Leave me alone!” His voice trembles as he speaks. He presses his arms closer to his body. “Don’t touch me.”

“The fuck are you doing?” Gavin snaps at the deviant. “Move it!”

“Hey, c’mon now,” Chris says, continuing to try to force the android out of his seat. “Don’t be difficult – it’ll only make things harder.”

“No, don’t touch me!” He cries, cowering away from Chris.

You look over at Hank while Chris continues to struggle. You whisper, “Hank?”

He turns his head towards you, but doesn’t take his eyes off what’s happening in front of him. He holds a hand out towards you, as if telling you to not intervene. 

“You shouldn’t touch it,” Connor cuts in. “It’ll self-destruct if it feels threatened.”

“Stay outta this, got it?” Gavin snaps. “No fuckin’ android is gonna tell me what to do!”

“Connor’s right,” you say. “I want this one alive. A corpse is of no use to me, or the rest of the department.”

“It wouldn’t be a corpse! It would be scrap metal!” Gavin says. “And it’s not alive – so just shut your fuckin’ mouth, both of you!”

He turns to Chris. “You gonna move this asshole or what?”

Chris is still struggling to pull the android out of the chair, or literally in any other way. “I’m trying!”

“I can’t let you do that!” Connor storms over, tugging Chris off the deviant. He almost looks… angry. “Leave it alone, now!”

Chris stumbles back, and Gavin draws his gun and steps forward to take his place. 

“I warned you, motherfucker!” He growls out.

You balk. “Gavin!”

Hank cuts through the room with “That’s enough!”

Gavin’s jaw clenches. He glances over at Hank, then back to Connor, who is staring, unshaken, down the barrel. 

“Mind your own business, Hank,” he says lowly. 

“I said –” Hank pulls his own gun, keeping Gavin in his sights “– that’s enough.”

Gavin’s eyes flit between Hank, Connor, and Chris, but they settle on you. You, who’s standing quietly in the corner, clutching your data pad to your chest. (Christ, leaving Chelomey was a mistake…)

“Fuck…” he mutters under his breath. He holsters his gun, turning to leave. “Fuck!”

You step out of the way as Gavin storms out. You look over your shoulder, watching as the door shuts behind him. 

When you turn back, Connor’s kneeling by the deviant, a calming hand extended. 

“Everything is alright,” he says. It’s the most compassionate you’ve heard him. “It’s over now. Nobody is gonna hurt you.”

He looks up at Connor, his LED flickering between yellow and red. Eventually, his LED settles on yellow, and he nods slowly. 

Connor stands and turns to Chris. “Please, don’t touch it. Let it follow you out of the room, and it won’t cause you any trouble.”

The deviant stands slowly, a bit wobbly on his feet. When he passes Connor, he whispers something you can’t quite hear – but his LED turns blue, as does Connor’s. You hope it’s helpful. 

You watch as Chris leads the android out of the interrogation room and sigh. Your fingers drum against the back of your data pad in an unsteady rhythm. 

“Well.” You look down at your notes. “This will make for a fun report.”

[igotanidea]

Night shift : Morpheus x reader

request from @pinksirensong: 157 from the "Choose for me - prompt list" with Morpheus

157 was "I read your diary" so here we go.

masterlist

***

„Oh, no, not again” she muttered to herself upon realizing she was standing in the small dark room illuminated only by the littlest speck of light coming from the shut window. If it was the same place as usual there was an oak  desk somewhere on the right and if she was careful enough maybe this time …. “Auch!” of course she missed it and bumped into the furniture causing some serious damage to her left big toe. Groaning in pain she sat behind it and reached towards the right were most of the time was a little desk lamp. “Ok, what is it now?” she threw into space.

“Hello” a slender figure appear on the other side of the desk using a bit of light for the better effect “it’s been a while since we saw each other.”

“Are you serious, Lorien? You’ve been causing me dreams for weeks now. Can’t a girl get proper rest? You know I have a very stressfull and demanding job, right?”

“That is why you are here.”

“So apart from doing my duties in the waking I could also be your therapist here?”

“I wouldn’t call it like that” the dream tapped his chin pretending to wonder about her choice of words.

“Fine. Than how would you call it?”

“How about gaining the experience?”

“By running a therapeutic session for a dream?”

“Precisely.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but is it not a purpose of a dream to give pleasant feelings and memories?”

“I thought you like your job.”

“I do, but it does not mean that I want to do it during my sleep! Besides, that is not the answer to my question. Are you running through the identity crisis, again?”

“No. Of course not.”

“And now you are also in denial. Look” she shook her head in disapproval “whatever conflict you have with Morpheus….”

“Don’t mention his name…” the dream cringed

“…I don’t want to be a part of it.”

“Dream Lord does not know about my presence here If he were to find out….”

“Daddy issues?”

“You know I’m already regretting asking for your help.”

“Asking?” she raised eyebrows “you call that a request? I would rather name it a demand, a coercion even.”

“Oh, come on, don’t be like that. I do need your help, doctor. You took an oath to help, didn’t you?”

“People! I. Help. People.”

“I can change into a man” Lorien blinked and in a heartbeat instead of a sparkling silhouette with horns and tail she found herself sitting in front of incredibly handsome young man with ruffled dark hair and brown eyes, dressed in a hoodie and jeans. “Is this more of a dream to you now?” he smiled showing his perfect teeth and the poor girl blushed unwillingly.

“Stop it. I can help you just quit messing with my head.”

“Good. Now , I think I may have a problem with some dream girl. I think I like her, but she does not pay attention to me. What should I do?”

“Oh my god.” The therapist hid her face in hands wishing she was left alone. Being a coach and a psychologist was what she loved doing but usually also left her drained and in need of proper, good night rest. She never expected that her dreams would literally haunt her, asking for advice and some hint. Dreams, Hell’s bells! Instead of sleep she got non-stop work and was slowly decaying, which obviously was starting to affect her work. At some point she even found herself unable to differentiate between the counsels given in real life and those provided at night.

“Lorien.” For the first time since she could remember hearing Morpheus voice was actually a blessing. Hopefully it wouldn’t backfire. “That is enough.”

“Lord Morpheus” the dream raised to his feet, knocking the chair down in process “I beg your apologies. I never meant to go against you. I was just seeking some guidance on….”

“Does your purpose bother you?”

“No, no, no, of course not.”

“Shall I give you another?”

“Could you do that my lord”

“Yes. I could condemn you to darkness for disobeying the rules and laws of the Dreaming.”

“I am infinitely sorry, my Lord. Please, this shall never happen again. Forgive me.” Lorien begged on his knees in front of his master.

“Go back to the dreaming and leave me with her. We shall resume this conversation upon my return to the Realm.”  

“Yes, my Lord”.

***

“You should have told me”

“About your subjects psychological problems?”

“Yes”

“Why? So you could take your anger out on them?”

“So I could remind them that they are not humans”

“Maybe. But they have a lot of contact with them, so it’s inevitable that it rubs off on how they act. “

“Is that so?”

“Yes, Dream. But I’m not the one who should help them through it.”

“And therefore you should have told me.”

“And here we go again” she stood up throwing hand in the air exasperated “you just don’t get it. You can be too cruel on them. You are like a dictator in your own kingdom. Me, myself and I, all the time.”

“Is there any other way to ensure order?”

“Yes. Rational approach. And you, Dream, you have a stack of problems yourself, but I’m not going to talk about it. Can I just get some sleep? Please” she looked at him pleadingly and only at this moment he noticed how tired and stressed she was and it moved something inside.

“I apologise. This is indeed my fault. I should have controlled Lorien better.”

“It’s not just him you know.” She blurted without thinking, her mind betraying her

“What? Who else?”

“Nothing. No one. Just forget I said everything. Please, Dream, I can’t keep doing this anymore.”

“very well. I will grant you your wish. And since now I will personally make sure no dream or nightmare disturb your night.”

“So you will creep inside my head at night. Well, this could be fun.”

“Sleep now.” He said in this soft, dark, silky voice of his that instantly made her close her eyes and drift off to a blur she would not remember in the morning. When she rested her head on the desk Morpheus scanned her face and the slightest smile appeared on his face. There was no denying he was feeling something for this girl. Gently, he brushed a single strand of hair off her face and caressed her cheek leaning slightly inhaling her scent. But the moment she shifted the position he funked and  in a blink returned back to the dreaming. There was something in his mind that had to be taken care of immediately and it was not a disciplinary talk with Lorien.

“Lucienne! I need a dreamer’s book!”

***

Morning took her by surprise. Even more so, because for the first time in months she had no memory of counselling at night and actually felt refreshed and well-rested.

“Thank you, Dream” she muttered, contently stretching her back.

“I read your diary.”

“I revoke the thanks” she covered her face with a duvet trying to pretend he was not there. Nope. The Dream Lord was in his Realm, busy with whatever had to be done and was not sitting in the armchair in her apartment in London. She chanted that sentence in her mind three times before daring to take a peek. But he was still there, looking quite funny dressed in black and nestled between the colorful pillows in the pink, fluffy piece of furniture.

“Hello, Dream, what brings you here?” the duvet went down to her chest and she propped herself up on the elbow.

“I read your diary.” He repeated

“You what?”

“Don’t make me say it third time, now”

“No, it’s not that I didn’t hear you. I just don’t quite understand.”

“Why didn’t you mention your troubles?” he asked and there was a bit of… worry(?)  in his voice.

“What troubles?” at this point she wasn’t anymore sure if it was real or not

“The…. The drinking problem?” he hesitated “is that what you people call it?”

“Um… Dream?” she opened her eyes wide trying to disturb his words, but there was not a chance for that.

“And the… neurosis? Depression?”

“I think….”

“How is it even possible that you humans can suffer through so much issues? And the anxiety? Do you have all those at once. I never noticed.”

“That is because you never pay attention.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Morpheus!” she yelled and only the raised tone made him stop and look at her with hurt in his eyes. “Stop talking for a second. What exactly did you read?”

“You diary” he said again

“Mhm, right. The only problem is that I don’t have one. “ she hanged her voice “so what. Did. You. Read?”

He flicked his fingers and a small, green book appeared in his hands making the girl pale.

“where did you find it?” she stammered

“In the dreaming, we have all that was or will be written there.”

“Give it back to me! Now!” she jumped off the bed, forgetting she was still in her pajamas shorts and t-shirt. “I’m serious Dream, do you have any idea what you just did?!”

“No.” he looked at her almost bare legs and suddenly she felt hot

“You, you idiot, just went through the confidential, medical information of my patients! This is a serious violation! Stop looking at me like that you fool! Have you ever stopped your actions and consider that it might do some damage to those around you. Oh, why am I even asking? Of course you did not. You are Dream of the Endless” she mocked “you do not listen, care or think! If someone were to find out this leaked….” she rumbled “Shit, Morpheus.”

“You are so beautiful when you're angry.” He whispered, but she heard it.

“What did you just said?” the girl turned abruptly

“You are so perfect now.” He moved towards her reaching for her hand

“Do not play with me, Dream Lord” she yanked herself off his embrace “This is not the time. Or place. Or circumstances. I need you to repeat after me. I…

“I…” he said

“will never….”

“will never….”

“go through the book that concern me or my job again."

‘promise that.” he smirked

“that is not what I said “ she crossed her arms”

“And I won’t repeat it. I won’t make a vow like that.”

“And why is that?”

“Because how else would I know how to get to your heart and win your affection over?” he took a step towards her, towering over the girl’s figure and leaning down clearly aiming for a kiss.

“Nope.” She moved back “it does not work like that.”

“Very well. I apologize. But I will make you change your mind. There were also an interesting chapter on male and female relationship in that book of yours. From what I’ve understand you are a classic example of pushing away someone you love.”

“Are you trying to be my therapist now?”

“Perhaps.”

“I’ll bite then. Let’s see where that goes.” she smiled giving him the subtlest clue that despite everything there was a chance for him to actually win her heart.

[queen0fm0nsterz]

-storms in here- If the Lady and the Thin Man were to have a battle of wits, who do you think would win and how?

ANON I LOVE YOU /p I LOVE THINKING OF THEM... these creatures

Oh, definitely the Lady. When it comes to actual intelligence, there is no real way of telling, but outsmarting the Thin Man wouldn't be hard in the slightest for someone like her.

This is simply due to a difference in understanding of the world. Thin Man has been locked up for his entire life and while it doesn't necessarily translate to him being stupid, the fact that he has nearly no way of accessing the outside world before he's free doesn't help. Plus, we have to consider the fact that he is quite unstable. He doesn't really have the emotional maturity and the wits to put together a well constructed plan. Tbh I don't think this man even thinks before he acts... it's definitely one habit he never grew out of.

Honestly, this is why I believe the Pale City is actively decaying to begin with. In the state he is in, he's not cut out to be a leader; he'd never be able to handle a place like the Maw, for example.

Furthermore, his ability to use his own stupidly powerful abilities is... lacking, to say the least. Mono is more powerful than him and while that can be blamed on the fact Thin Man is literally on the verge of expiring, I think his misuse of his powers should not be overlooked. I am inclined to believe he never got the chance to explore them, which is why he uses them sporadically and in very... unique ways. Like seriously why is he teleporting/walking super fucking fast to traverse incredibly small distances this man could TEAR THE ENTIRE CITY APART IF HE WANTED TO HE COULD HAVE TORN MONO TO SHREDS IN 3 SECONDS

The Lady on the other hand has a very good grasp on the world and its people. Ambitious woman that she is, she knows many things, see as she has studied for so long. The marketing of the Maw is most likely thanks to her and, considering how successful it is in the outside world, she must have done a damn good job. Plus, it was mentioned that she has learned many terrible things during her time there; with all the years she spent managing it she has seen it all at this point. Though she too is as unstable as her counterpart, she does a much better job at hiding it - or keeping it under control. She has learned to get a grip on herself. Though there are times where the mask slips, she is mostly really good at keeping on the impression that she is calm and collected.

She has the advantage of having way more life experience. The Lady's powers are definitely nothing when compared to the reality bending Thin Man has going on, but they are not to be ignored nor dismissed. She can lurk in the shadows and can potentially be a dangerously quiet enemy.

If this was a battle based on powers alone, there is no doubt that the Lady would lose. But since it's a battle of wits, I believe the Lady would win by manipulating the Thin Man into not fighting at all.

Her gaslight gatekeep girlboss era finally becomes real my boy will not even know what hit him

This is how I think it would go:

"Did you come to my door in search of conflict?"

"(Incomprehensible static)"

"I don't think you want to fight. You wouldn't be able to. This conflict you made up, it's all in your head."

"(INCREASINGLY AGITATED STATIC)"

[the-slasher-files]

May I request some nsfw predator-prey play with Jason Voorhees? I know I’ll be happy any way you would like to write it, thank you!

Taking 10 months to get a request done? never, lol. Dark dom Jason is my absolute favourite so I was excited when I got into the writing mood to do this, also tried to make it with a hint of softness so... I hope you enjoy🔪💕

MASTERLIST

RAPTURE AT CRYSTAL LAKE

The darkness consumed the daylight like a monster that ravaged the forest among you, turning the branches black and roots twisted out of the soil below you, wanting to pull you down; much like the child that was pulled down below the waves. He was fast. He was deadly. You had seen what he had done so many times before.

Your lungs burned and your legs tingled from running through the maze of trees that was his home. Everything started to look the same in the dark night as the wicked storm clouds covered the skies leaving you with no guidance of the stars or the moon. Twigs snapping under your feet signalled your place as you ran away from the creature, the protector and the man that people thought was just a myth, but you knew all too well that he was real. You were just his toy, something like an experiment when he was curious about humans. As far as he knew, he was a human but everything pointed in the other direction, something ripped from fairytales or the supernatural. He could see himself in you at times when you would cook together or cuddle in the cabin's bed, but others it would just frustrate him, why couldn't he control his rage when it came to people? why couldn't he worship you the way he wanted?

Silent, despite his heavy frame and the forest hid him well, like an owl's camouflage amid the tree trunks. He was a predator here, hungry for the carnal desires he was told to push away for so long and had watched for years as he made rivers of crimson that flowed into the waters where he truly died. It would all wash away in the water and rot into the earth.

The creature heard each gasping and rough breath you exhaled, tasting your fear as your mind became exhausted, clouded and hazing from the chase he made longer and longer with more enjoyment seeing you get confused and try to outsmart him, but all you were doing was getting dumber from the terror.

How long had it been? When started the chase it was daylight-- Your thoughts were halted as suddenly your skull cracked against the aged pine and your breath completely was forced out of your chest as a broken hand fisted your hair. With vision blurry from the impact, all you could feel was heavy weight pressed against you, marring your delicate skin as you tried to force yourself to twist around within his grasp. Abruptly, the creature let you go to face him -only your eye level meeting his torn open chest protected by thick decaying bone- half-lidded eyes gazed up at the masked man, Jason.

Muffled breathing could be heard from behind the aging mask, pieces chipped and broken away from the campers that gave him a run for his money but it always ended up the same, bodies laid out for his mama to see like a judgemental god. You leaned against the tree to support yourself, feeling hazy from the hit to the head as a small trickle of scarlet ran down your right temple and his milky eyes barely showed themselves in the cover of night, oh but you could feel them. It was like he almost cared when he tilted his head to the side, watching the blood drip now from your jaw and slowly a hand came up to smooth the thick pads of his fingers across your cheek, that was however until you turned to make a break for it but Jason was too fast, knowing all your tricks. Instantly the sound was deafening as the unforgiving immense machete was forced into the tree mere inches from your ear, caging your body in place.

It was now again just how small you were against him as he pressed in, forcing his thigh between your legs that wanted to buckle but by a twisted trained urge a heat ripped through your lower belly. Jason's body towered yours forcefully yet with a strange consistent softness, he wanted to love you, he needed to. Slowly, the hulking beast leaned down towards you and so gently, so sweetly looked in your eyes before pressing the cold plastic goalie mask into your hair and nuzzling against your ear almost as he was hushing you softly and telling you it was going to be ok.

Clutching the ripped clothes on Jason's body almost as an instinct now, your head fell back against the bark with lips parted and with a soft breath you spoke, "Jason.."

It was almost a beg for him. A need and twisted fate to be with him. Monsterous hands smoothed gently down your skin, picking you up with ease and listening to the hot air you breathed returning it with a low growl as your legs interlocked around Jason's thick waist. Your need for him was undeniable.

The undead being pulled back to just gape at your beauty in the starless night as he held you. Grinding the hard, clothed member between your legs loving when you began to fall apart. With hast in a primal lust, Jason ripped the enormous blade from the trunk - sap oozed out like the blood that soaked into this forbidden land- moving it between you both he tore the clothes from your body in one careful swipe. Cool lake air hit your skin making you gasp that fell into a pleasing moan.

"Jason I need you" You whispered, hands moving quickly once the machete was tossed to the side and undoing the creature's pants, freeing his thick and heavy cock.

The sight and the feel of it alone made your insides clench. Easily moving you up a little, Jason sunk your body down on him. Stretching your hole as it did every time and yet you would never get used to just how big he was. Feelin every vein and twitch of it tightly inside as your wetness coated him.

Dark inhuman groans radiated from the throat of the supernatural creature, such an immediate contrast to your sweet moans and whines. Cupping Jason's thick neck as he was in full control. Milky eyes of the dead looked in yours, needy and hazy, he raised you slowly up and down on him. Huffing slowly with deep strokes he bowed down a little to rest his forehead on yours as he used you how he wanted in the dead of night.

[daim1812]

One Last Time

Levi Ackerman x Reader

Labels: Romance, angst, drama, mentions of suicide, blood, children involvement, pregnancy and death.

Warning: Some manga spoilers. Change of storyline for adaptive purposes.

Song of choice: Saturn by Sleeping at Last

As the sun went down so did his body, sitting down on the log with a perfect view to a hidden lake between enclosed tall trees. Rising up from the mountain, the moon made its way into the night sky.

Levi couldn’t stop himself to stare at the moon. He couldn’t stop breathing the air, feeling it hit his lungs with small fights. He couldn’t stop from repeating the same images in his head.

His squads death made him realize that death was always near. He knew that no matter how much he ran away from it, it was always going to catch up to him.

Mike’s death shook him slightly. He knew this man for his whole years of being in the Scouts, and consider him someone close to him.

Erwin’s death threw him in a verge of loosing himself, almost to the point of ending things. And yet... he found himself weak to the thought. He couldn’t do it, it was someone else’s job to kill him and end his agony. Even when Hange stood there with him and helped him realize that he wasn’t that alone, her sudden sacrifice pushed him into an unknown feeling.

And so he sat there, amaze by the scenery; amazed by the simple thought that he was still... living.

Without a care in the world, Levi closed his eyes and emerge into the swing of the wind. Hitting him softly on the face and pushing his hair back, he indulge in a new feeling he couldn’t describe before.

He was delighted.

He was enlighten.

Yet, he hated that. Everybody else died, leaving him alone to understand himself and hate himself at the same time. All he wanted was... for them to come back. Since Isabel and Farlan, Levi learned the hard way that life isn’t the way he thought it would be. Kenny’s death was another punch in his face. His mother's death since the beginning made him this solitary person filled with problems.

Levi wasn’t normal.

Two pair of hands took him by surprise, but not enough to act defensive. He already knew this hands.

She pressed her face on Levi’s head, her body slightly pushing to his back. Her hands collared on his neck, embracing him thoroughly to her own content.

“What are you doing, Captain?” Her voice swayed Levi’s ears, the melody in her voice making him subtle and nostalgic.

“I have never stopped myself to watch this place, Captain.” He mumbled, almost too low for her to understand, but she did. Levi felt her jaw tense and knew she was smiling.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? This is what we fight for, Levi. For this place, this scenery, for the wind, for the people, for the oceans, for the animals, for us.” She let go of Levi to sit beside him, looking at him.

Levi finally got rid of his bandages, half of his face with a scar that marked a battle in transition; his left eye was hidden over a patch. She wanted so much to contain herself from touching his face once again. One after the other, every time she saw him like this, her hands immediately moved to touch his face. Levi doesn’t care much, but at the beginning he prohibited her to do so.

“Can I...?” The whisper made Levi look down, slowly nodding, not wanting to show her that he needed her to touch him.

Her fingertips rolled on his skin and scars, slowly, and carefully, she continue the path from the chin to his forehead. She stopped the movement once she reached his eye patch, looking at him for confirmation. He didn’t say anything, still staring at the ground in front of him, how the grass moved with the wind.

“I love your eyes, Levi.” She smiled at him, continuing her path, her fingers sinking inside his hair.

He finally let go of a sigh, looking up at her with the most saddest eyes, the color of his eyes slowly fainting by the light of the moon.

“If you die...” He started, stopping her movements. She frowned her eyebrows, looking back at him with fierce.

“Don’t say that. I’m not going to die. I’m not planning on doing so. My plan is to finish this war with Eren and those idiots, and then... we’ll retire in a cabin in the woods. We’ll have lots of kids. I’m still young, I can have at least 7 kids. Don’t you think?” She chuckled, Levi loving so much her action.

When was the last time he felt so affected by the emotions of another person? She had him wrapped on her fingers and yet he couldn’t do anything about that. He didn’t know the feelings he was going through. He didn’t understood what this new emotion was.

Was it really love like the books in the library described?

Was it the love Hange so furiously told him about when they stayed up almost all night drinking with Erwin and Mike?

Was love the past arrangement Erwin had with Nile’s wife?

Or was it that anxious feeling of seeing someone for the first time and noticing how beautiful they were?

He couldn’t decipher anything even if they were together. He was confused with all those emotions flowing into him. From the beginning, in his childhood, he never got to experience love and affection. Farlan and Isabel gave him affection, that friendship, and he learned from that. From Erwin he went through companionship, same with his squad, Hange and Mike. He understood those feelings; he already battled those and lost. Levi knew death, despair, loneliness, sadness; he knew all of those and yet he never once understood love.

She changed those thoughts so easily it scared him.

“You would look so beautiful holding our baby...” Her smile made Levi weak to the knees. How couldn’t he have fallen for her? “My plan is for us to be together until we are old and we decay with time. I want this to be over so we can be happy. What do you think?”

“...” Levi couldn’t say anything. If something he learned from all those years of loneliness and misery, it was to never dream too much. He wanted to live in the present because every time he thought things were alright something ended up wrong.

“Levi?” She looked so worried for him, letting her knees touch the grass in front of Levi.

His hands immediately hold her elbows, not wanting her to get on her knees and get her pants dirty just for him. Yet, she didn’t cared, only pushing away his hands a little bit to not make him feel bad.

“Talk to me, Ackerman.” Her voice soothes him. How many times has he loved hearing her call his name or just say anything in general?

He didn’t wanted to admit it, but having her near him, breathing, laughing, talking, whispering, singing... made him sleep so good for the first time. He finally let go of the worries in her arms and slowly pacified his urges of ending thing. Whenever he could sleep with her, he felt like the world didn’t needed to end just yet. Sleeping with her seemed like the only medicine he needed for days full of regret.

Either way, with those thoughts in his head while he stared down at the girl he profoundly fell for, he couldn’t let himself be like her.

Levi was the opposite of her. Down to earth, cold, and with secrets nobody needed to know. She was an open book, imaginative and lovable. He just didn’t wanted her to feel bad for saying words that could hurt her.

“This is real life, Captain. We are in a fragile situation right now in where we don’t know if tomorrow we will be alive. We live our lives to the fullest imagining that at some point we will stop and notice we fought so hard for our freedom.” Levi’s eyes connects with her, noticing how the light faded a little bit. “I can’t live in a fantasy... not when everything around me is based in reality. You are the one thing,” He stopped for a few seconds, his finger grabbing onto some of her locks. “I can’t loose.”

“You’re in bad luck, Levi, ‘cause I’m going into battle tomorrow and I promise you I will live. I won’t die yet. I can’t leave you alone.” Suddenly she pressed her forehead softly against Levi’s forehead, both of their noses slightly kissing. She closed her eyes and Levi admired her fractions.

He liked her so much.

She was the only reason why he hasn’t indulge into the darkness and end his life right there.

His fingers pressed her locks behind her ear, some of the hair covering his face and hers. She giggled at the humble actions of the man she loved with all her life. He continues to push her hair behind her ears, slowly passing his fingertips on her earlobe.

“Don’t die on me, brat. Keep fighting.” His whisper made her eyes crystallize. She felt the feelings behind those words. He wanted her to continue living even if he didn’t made it through another day.

She shook her head, the hairs from behind her ear falling back on her face as she pulled away from him.

Her hands locked onto his, pressing them on her chest tightly, a little careful of Levi’s bandage hand missing two of his fingers.

“No. Don’t YOU die on me, Levi. I want you to live and fulfill my wish with me. I want you to wake up tomorrow ready to battle and do everything it takes to come back into my arms. Many will die; death is inevitable, yet I’ll be here always. I want you to survive because you deserve to. I know how much you await death. You’ve been waiting for so long to feel it. The grass on your fingers, the blood gushing out of your mouth and the pain. But, Levi, I assure you, nothing is better than living the moment. Nothing will be better than this moment. You and me... finally together. I won’t let you die, Levi. We will have each other’s back. But you will survive even if it means me saving you over and over. I won’t let you fall into a darkness you won’t ever go out. I’ll light up your path every time you see it darken. I’ll keep the light up every time the wind tries to blow it. I’ll be here for you... until death do us apart.” Her eyes quickly tried to gush out the feelings, but the feelings were already dripping down her face.

Levi couldn’t stop himself anymore. He grabbed her cheek, pulled her up a little to be at the same height as him and pushed his lips against hers.

Her lips danced slowly on his, taking almost all the control of the kiss. Even if they were together for so long, Levi didn’t know a lot of things couple usually did. He didn’t know how to kiss, how to compliment, how to touch, how to love. Yet, she didn’t care for those small details. Being near her lover solely made her live happily.

Their lips continued to stick together, Levi wanting so hard to not let go. Maybe he didn’t wanted to let go because he wanted to love the moment like she told him to do; or maybe he felt the need to kiss her one last time just in case something bad happened.

Her hands touched Levi’s cheek, rubbing her fingertips on his cheek. He felt the cold round of tears pressing on his face, sticking them.

Breaking the kiss with a subtle movement, Levi gazed at her up and down, taking a mental picture of his lover for future references. For when the battle came, he could keep calm and fight dedicating his heart.

“Don’t cry, idiot.” He rolled her tear off her face with his right thumb. She nodded quickly, wiping her face with her long sleeve shirt.

“Promise me, Levi... we will fulfill my dream? Just promise me that.” His hand pressing on her cheek, she shoved it even closer to her.

He couldn’t promise that. He just couldn’t. Levi didn’t know if he was going to survive. The situation was getting dangerous and if everything went south, he would have to sacrifice himself to save the others. He needed to give them a future, Levi already fought enough, lived enough.

But now he had her... Now he was supposed to live to keep her by his side. He needed to survive. Yet, he just couldn’t say that to her. He wasn’t very good with words. Showing actions and taking actions was his forte.

The moon shined on them once again, the lighting in his eyes finally shinning again, the back of her head being lightened by the moon as well.

He wanted to live for her.

“I promise.” He mumbled, watching her shriek and throw herself on him, almost pushing both of them back into the ground.

She flowered him with kisses all over his face, being extremely careful of his eye and scar.

“I love you, Levi. Thank you. I’ll keep you safe.” Those words brought him so much joy. An emotion he hasn’t felt at all in his life, yet he was purely in love with this woman and he was going to make her happy.

“Me too, Captain.”

————————————

“Papa, papa, papa!” A little kid, around 6 years old with short dark hair and beautiful grey eyes threw himself at Levi. He catches him almost in midair and makes him sit on his arm and waist.

“What is it, Teo? I’ve told you to not interrupt me while I’m working.” The little kid shrugs his shoulders and purposely hides his face on Levi’s chest.

Levi noticed by the corner of his eye the little girl standing near the door, half of her face looking at him and the kid.

“Alora doesn’t want to play with me and I feel lonely.” His voice makes Levi tremble gently. Who would have thought that the Captain of the Survey Corps was going to be swayed by the adorable side of his older child?

“Alora, come here.” He turns around to the door, the little girl holding onto a dark teddy bear that hanged on her right hand and kept being swept on the floor.

She walked in with her face looking down on the floor. Alora couldn’t lie about it, she was almost scared of her father. He was always so quiet and cold; while she was the opposite. She was curious, a shining sun wherever she went, and a beautiful, intelligent little girl. With only 4 years old she already knew how to do basic math (something her mother continuously felt proud of and mentioned every time).

Levi looked down on her and gently squatted down with Teo on his arms, leading him to stand up on the floor.

Pressing his hand on Alora’s black, long soft hair that fell until her lower back and was tightly put in a ponytail, he smiled at her. Alora looked at her father and smiled back, loving those moments with him.

“Alora, would you like to play with your brother for a little while? Papa has some work to do, but once I’m done I’ll play with both of you. Anything that you want, I’ll play it.” He kept smiling, watching the kids as they celebrated that their dad was finally going to give them some attention. “Go play, kids.”

The kids rushed through the door, running into their rooms to play and have fun with each other.

Letting out a small sigh, Levi got up and sat down on his chair again. He still couldn’t believe he was a father of two children that made his life a whole heaven and a living hell as well.

A knock on the door caught him slightly by surprise, turning his attention towards now the person standing at the door.

He stared up and down at his wife, and how the dress made her look so irresistibly gorgeous.

She smiled at him and entered the room without invitation. Holding on her back for support, or for pain, she finally stood next to him. A hand pressed on Levi’s left shoulder, making Levi close his eyes and sigh again, loving so much her touch.

“You must be exhausted, Levi. Are you sure you can’t just finish this later? I could really use a massage, you know.” She leaned down a little bit, rubbing her nose on his cheek and ear.

“I have to finish today. I’ll be done soon.” Sighing once again, he let go of his desire to stop working and just let her shower him in affection and love.

“You’re so tense, dear.” Her hands touched his shoulders and made pressure on her hands to make him feel at ease. Levi’s head fell back a little bit, seeing his wife enjoying giving him all the love and attention he needed.

“Go do something else, brat. You’re always trying to make me feel good. I’m fine.” Levi pushed his body upwards, breaking the contact of her hands on his shoulders. She chuckled, understanding that Levi didn’t wanted to feel vulnerable at the state of tension he was in.

“Alright, Captain.” She makes the old salute, making Levi tremble at the sight. Even so, she continues to smile, leaning down on him to kiss him on the lips real quick.

“Tsk... idiot.” As soon as he said that, his body lay back at the chair, resting himself on it as he watched his wife walk away with a smile.

As soon as he heard his wife say dinner was ready, his body immediately got up and walked to the living room, seeing how the kids ran to the table. Getting from behind Alora, he helped her get on the chair. Giving her a short smile, Levi sat down at his respective chair, not having any other option than watching his wife put the plates and utensils at the table.

Levi always loved watching his wife do housework. He was a clean freak, and noticing how she always tried her best to keep everything tidy up and clean, made him love her even more. It wasn’t rude or anything, Levi helped a lot in the chores, helping whenever he wasn’t doing his own work.

“You’re slacking off, Levi.” She smiled, putting down the utensils next to his plate. He looked up at her, and her eyes shined to him. God, he could loose himself with just a stare.

“I’m tired.” He said with a sigh, resting on the chair.

“You could finish up quickly, papa.” Teo’s small voice makes Levi smile. His ear rings to that voice and he just enjoy his son’s voice.

“Yes, papa. You have to play with us.” Alora smiles while her mother pours some food on her plate.

“I know, kids.” His wife presses her thumbs to Levi’s nape, slowly rubbing it.

“Papa will be busy, but I’m sure he’ll take some time to play with you, kids. Right, darling?” Levi lets his neck fall back a little bit and looks up at her staring into his eyes. A faint blush covers his cheeks and he tries his best to hide it, yet she already notices.

“Yeah.” Mumbles, staring down at the food that was being served.

After they finished eating, Levi went back to his studio, trying as fast as he could to finish his work.

With a loud sigh, he finally finished doing all the things he had to do. He got up the chair, stretched his back and walked over to the room in where the kids were playing.

Standing on the entrance of the room, Levi let his back touch the wall and just decided to stare for a little bit at the kids giggling and playing.

He never had a childhood like that. All he knew while growing up was self defense. He knew how to stab, how to kill, how to defend himself. Levi didn’t know what other feelings were. The emotions he was feeling right now while watching his daughter show him her doll and his son the little train he got for his birthday, he didn’t know what that was called.

Knowing well enough how to battle an enemy, Levi never thought he would have to be fighting himself over and over in the future. He thought, maybe, after marrying her and starting a new life he would stop all those thoughts. And he did stop those thoughts. The birth of Teo brought into his life a whole new meaning that he didn’t know he needed so much.

Levi found love.

“Papa, papa! Come! Play with us.” The little girl’s voice shook him out of his thoughts. Looking up and down at her, he smiled, walking over to them and joining their small party.

Levi tucked both kids into bed. He wore them out enough for them to be knocked down cold into a huge sleep. Sliding the blanket over Teo and Alora, Levi kissed their small little forehead. If Erwin saw him right now he would have been surprised at the sight of weakness Levi was showing. “What would he say about this?”, Levi thought while staring down at the little girl holding tight her small bear. Nevertheless, Levi didn’t care. All he cared about were those kids and his wife. Erwin was long gone and he knew that if he saw that, Erwin would have been so proud of him. Levi found exactly what Erwin wanted for him, and what he wanted as well. No thoughts would change his mind on what his ex-Commander and best friend would have thought in that situation. Erwin would have been happy.

Turning off the light, Levi closed the door to the room and walked over to the room he shared with his wife.

And there she was, looking over at the door in wait for her husband. She smiled, opening her arms so she could get Levi next to her.

“Tsk. You’re a needy brat.” He crossed his arms, but still walked up to her. She grabs his hand and detangle them from his chest. Bringing him close to her, making him sit down on the bed, she gently pressed his hand on her belly.

Levi felt a knock, a kick, that startled him a lot. A life was in there. His next child was there. Levi finally understood that feeling. He felt it when Teo came the first time and when Alora also came. The feeling of being alive.

“It keeps kicking. It’s so funny.” She whispers near Levi’s shoulder, letting her head fall on his shoulder.

“He wants to kill you. I’ll kill him if he comes out like the other two. Disorganized and dirty.” His comment makes her laugh and Levi has no other option than to enjoy it. He wanted to record that in his mind forever. Her voice and her laugh.

“You silly... They are only like that because you let them be. I remember when I was a Captain and every time I saw you, you were scolding the cadets for leaving dirt everywhere.” She makes him remember, and he just snickers. He really was a strict Captain. And still, he always got the job done.

“I lived so long in dirty and dark places... I didn’t wanted HQ to be the same.” After he finishes talking, he feels another kick, letting go of a small smile.

“The HQ was bland. It was colorless. It reek of death and broken dreams. I didn’t like that so much.” She closes her eyes and rubs Levi’s hand over her belly.

“We didn’t have time to be thinking of colors. We were always living in a die or live situation.” She nods on his shoulder.

“I agree.”

“We should head to bed.” Levi mumbles again, not wanting to take his hand away from her belly or the warmth of her hand on his.

“Mhmm... let’s stay like this for a little while more. I missed your scent.” Her whisper makes Levi shiver, yet he only lets a small grunt come out of his throat, responding to her.

The small shallow breaths she was taking, the thumb rubbing on his hand, her hair falling on his shoulder and her thighs pressing on him made Levi so renewed. At the end of the day, all the tiredness faded away when she was there with him.

He knew she had her eyes closed, she was just resting on his shoulder. Yet, he wanted to look at her, kiss her, hold her, do everything he could think of even if she had a belly growing up. She has done so much for him and continues to do so by loving him every single day of their lives.

Levi slowly pulled his hand away from her belly and her, but now press it on her cheek. She opened her eyes and leaned back from his shoulder, now staring at him with bags under her eyes.

She was fucking stunning even when she was tired.

Letting his fingers roam from her cheek to her ear, pushing the hair to the back of her neck and ear; Levi cut the distance between each other and kisses her. Slowly, shaking and almost afraid of being too aggressive even if he wasn’t. Her hand found Levi’s shirt and gripped it. He pressed his other hand on her cheek and hold her face steady for him to kiss her better. Licking on her lip slowly, he went back and devoured her lips once again, showing off his dominating side.

Hearing her small moan, he let go of her. Staring deeply into her eyes, the small faint blush on her cheeks made him smirk. He loved making her flustered.

Slowly, but surely, Levi pressed his nose against her nose and gave her a lovely Eskimo kiss.

“I love you, Captain.” She said first, leaving him speechless once again like always.

He stared at her up and down, watching her completely. She always had this effect on him. Not for nothing they were married. Even so, Levi couldn’t be so easily frank like her. He loved her, but saying it was so difficult for him. Yet, when seeing her eyes shine the same way it did when they kissed for the first time, Levi couldn’t let her be disappointed on himself. He loved this woman with all of his life.

The woman who saved his life.

“I love you, too, (Y/N).”

————————————

“I’M NOT LEAVING HIM BEHIND, JEAN!!!!” The small faint voices of a girl during a silent world, were being simply shouted against the noise.

“We have to leave. We need to help Armin and Mikasa. If you stay here, we’ll be loosing you too, Captain. Please, reason with me here. We already lost Connie and Reiner is seriously injured. We need you.” Jean tried his best to reason with the girl who fearlessly continued to cry and shout at the tall man.

“NO!!! I CAN’T LEAVE HIM!!” She cries out, her tears falling in Jean’s arms and onto the floor.

“I understand, Captain. But Captain Levi wouldn’t want you to stay here and do nothing. We must continue to fulfill his wish and save the world. Please...” He couldn’t hold her anymore. She kept screaming while trying to push Jean away so she could hold her lover’s body on her arms. “CAPTAIN, GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER!!”

He let go of her and she fell on her knees, scrapping them against the rocks and sand. Yet, it didn’t hurt. Her body was numb to the exterior damage. She just couldn’t react to any of that. All she could do was cry and cry and keep crying.

Her body crawled closed to her lover’s body and she grabbed his bloody hand.

When did that happened? How did it happened? Where was she? How did she let that happen?

She kept questioning herself over and over again into the smallest details. Levi’s death was upon her and she couldn’t help but blame herself.

Levi’s soulless body was laying on the ground, his left arm missing and his left leg. He was not coming back from this one and she knew it. After everything she promised. After everything she tried to do to keep him safe, she failed every and each of those promises.

“Wake up, Levi... Yo-You... you promised... You pro-promised we were going to live. You promised ME you were going to live. You promised, you promised, you promised... YOU PROMISED!!!” Her shouts could be heard all over the quiet ambient. Jean let some tears fall down as well, his head falling forward to not be seen weak.

She grabbed Levi’s body and got him close to her, pushing his face near her and sobbing. Tears falling down on Levi’s face, almost washing away the dirt and the blood. She just couldn’t believe that was happening. Levi was actually dead, his body resting on her arms.

“You promised... we were going to have kids... and live happy in a little house on the woods! We were going to raise our children the way they never raised us. Please... please... Levi, please, I love you. Don’t go... don’t leave me!”

The sound of her sobbing suddenly were muffled by extremely loud crashing sounds.

Jean looked over to where the sound came and his eyes became plates. He quickly grabbed her arm and pulled her forcefully, making her shriek and cry harder.

“Captain, Armin is in trouble. We need you. I know it hurts. I know you and Levi had dreams. But right now, if you don’t stand and get your shit together, everything that Captain Levi fought for will be for nothing! DEDICATE YOUR HEART!” Her red face and covered with tears, dust and blood suddenly came to a halt.

Levi wouldn’t wanted her to be like this and not in that moment. She gazed at Levi’s body on the floor one last time, got closed to it, kneeled down and after crying out her last tears, she gave him a farewell kiss.

She wiped her tears off and got up, her face drastically changing to pure anger.

“Let’s save humanity, Jean. DEDICATE YOUR HEART, SOLDIER!!”

The End

Thank you so much for reading.

Have a good day or night, darling. 🥰

[villainsandvictimsalliance]

I have this really angsty idea about an bnha / mha end where, in order to defeat AFO, Izuku needs to trust Tomura and give him One For All.

*Edit: Please check this other post after reading this. It's the comfort counterpart of this post, with how things work out in the end and how all the sadness fades into a new light.

The vestiges just need to help holding AFO back, because the mix of the two powers are too much for his body to handle and Tomura plans to decay himself, finally putting an end to what his sensei started.

And what if the news are streaming it happening in live in every screen of Japan? Now everyone is watching how Tomura is giving his life in one of the most painful ways possibles to avoid Izuku or All Might dying, to save the world.

Imagine the reactions of the League of Villains, watching Tomura do everything he can to make their dream come true: a new world, where they are accepted, where they are free, free of AFO and free of the whole "heroes and villians" point of view.

Imagine the reaction of the pro-heroes that never respected Tomura and thought he was just a man child. Imagine them finally understanding that Tomura needed rescuing but none of them gave him the hand he needed. And now there's nothing they can't do to erase the tragedy of a kid that even while he's dying, he won't stop smiling and telling the world everything will be alright.

Imagine class 1-A seeing it all and knowing that it could be Izuku. They could be the ones losing a friend. The are so similar, how could they not see it before? And even if Tomura was a real villain, there's people who love him that are losing him too. He's human. And he's— he's—

Imagine Ochaco and the girls holding Toga back, because she's struggling to go with Tomura. No one have ever seen her crying like that. Why? Why can't she help the man that became like an older brother to her? He promised to never destroy what she loves, but now he's decaying himself like he doesn't matter, like she doesn't love him, like she wouldn't give everything to share his pain one last time.

Imagine Natsuo and Shoto having to pin Dabi to the ground because they know he longs to do the same as Toga. Imagine Rei hugging her son after so many years, holding him in her arms, trying to calm his fire with her ice, whispering whatever she can to reassure him. But what can she do? She heard the story of how that other kid lost his family and she wonders, she wonders about the mother that ran to his child even as he decayed her. The Touya she knew was filled with rage and bitterness and even if he's still there, in the tears of blood of her son now she finds the silhouette of a man that learned to love. And now the man who taught him that, that showed him kindness and mercy, has only minutes left. She weeps for the mother that would never see her child becoming a hero, she weeps for his own kid, a living corpse more than ever, empty eyes, resigned. She weeps for herself. They have Touya back, but she's wondering if the cost of righting those wrongs is too high.

The whole League needs to be held back. They have lost so much, so many times. Over and over again they've seen their friends die. No one cared except them. No one cared for Magne or Twice or Compress arm. Only them, tight together in dirty holes and lonely buildings.

There's nothing the pro-heroes can do.

Spinner is sobbing and screaming that all along Tomura has been more a hero and a human than any of them. Fuck Stain. Tomura fought for them when Stain was too busy fulfilling his selfish wishes. Fuck everyone. Tomura broke himself again and again and proved that he cared about them when no one else did. He was the champion of the fallen, the hero of those who had lost hope. He, the kid that was left to die, the kid that was groomed and manipulated, a living experiment who was even possessed, abused in so many ways, dismissed. If there's someone that should be destroying the world, that's Tomura. He had lived with the greatest shadow on Earth. And there he was, using the quirk that everyone said was for killing to kill their fear, to kill they're sadness, to put at end to the suffering. A light so bright no evil could ever fade it.

Imagine Aizawa and Present Mic being with Kurogiri while he's losing the kid he raised, his loved son. For a decade and a half he watched that kid get taller, smarter, stronger. He saw his anxiety and his traumas, he stayed the nights he couldn't sleep, he went every time Tomura called his name. Imagine Shirakumo begging them to save him,because that's his child. Tomura is to him what Eri is to Aizawa. That's his kid. That's his kid. And he's paying for something he didn't do. A fucking tragedy. And he's dying alone, in the hands of the man that broke him for almost two decades. To save the people that wanted him dead.

And finally, imagine Tomura asking them with his last breath to take care of each other. Imagine Tomura asking everyone who's listening to just stop that nonsense of waiting for somebody else to do the rescue. If only someone, anyone, would have taken him with them when he was a kid, none of that would be happening. Everyone can be a hero or a villian, that's not something quirks determine. Quirk or no quirk, it's not about being strong or fast or smart, it's about doing the right thing because you want to, because you want to make the world a better place.

He apologizes to the League and ask the people to understand and forgive. He doesn't want his friends— No, his family, to suffer like he has. They still has time. They can live now. It's okay. He smiles one last time, so much like Nana... Toshi feels how a part of him dies too as Tomura laughs. "Celebrate for me, would you?"

He has saved them.

And he banishes, no more than dust floating around during the dawn. No more white hair floating like a halo of stars or red eyes like morning suns. No more reassuring smiles or raspy voice. No more.

He's gone.

[neowinestainedress]

DYNASTY ⮚ NCT

prev⏐ chapter twenty-five ⏐ next ⏐ masterpost

warnings: none for this chapter

genre: fantasy au, royal au, super powers au

word count: 3.955

summary: The apparent calm that reigns in Neo City breaks into million pieces when some members of the Neos find an outsider laying unconscious in the wood. After that, everything they know stops making sense. Menace from the past come back, while they have to rule on their city knowing that the menace of Simon’s dictatorial power is closer day by day. The past they never dared to face will wash over them like impetuous waves. The present is filled with doubts, regrets and the mystery of the lost memories of the nameless girl. The future is even more uncertain.

Can you break the chain with your past even if it’s running in your bloodstream?

taglist: @saeyeoniee​  @shwizhies​​ | if you want to be added let me know under the masterpost or with a message

a/n: i was going crazy with the layout of this chapter rip, if you find the photos hard to read pls let me know and i’ll try to change it in a better format. wanted to update friday but i’ve been sick all week so i couldn’t i’m sorry.

“We decoded the password and we found something that you need to see,” Renjun said, he was standing next to the big screen in their laboratory. Chenle was the only one of the dreamers with him, while the others in the room were the thinkers. He wanted to also call Taeyong but Doyoung refused, telling him that he would’ve substituted for him for a while. There was no need to put other pressure on him.

“You already did that?” Ten asked, swinging in his chair.

Chenle nodded. “Yeah. At first, I couldn’t understand, the words didn’t make any sense and, in fact, they weren’t real words. So I thought of flipping the Latin alphabet and comparing them to the right one. Turns out I was right.”

“Why all of that? Isn’t it too easy?”

“Actually no, at the start I tried with different alphabets, and nothing made sense. The Latin one has fewer letters. Also, the phrase is basically a warning for whatever sick thing they had in mind.” Chenle explained.

“What is that?” Doyoung asked, biting the inside of his cheeks.

“Ubi maior, minor cessat.”

“That literally means ‘where there’s the major, the minor decay’, basically in the presence of a more powerful important person, the less important one loses relevance,” Renjun explained instead.

“But weren’t they already in power?” Ten asked, furrowing.

“I don’t think your parents were the biggest problem. Simon is behind all of this,” Renjun explained.

“Can we see the files?” Taeil asked, scratching his chin.

“Yeah, here you go. We have to go, actually, but I think you don’t need us anymore, anyway,” Renjun said, opening the file on the computer.

“Yeah, thank you for everything. We’ll catch up later,” Taeil said, waving as they walked out of the room.

“She was right!” Ten exclaimed after he finished reading the files. “She was fucking right!”

“Who, Ten?” Taeil asked, turning around to have a better view of the man.

“Bambi! I mean Anastasia, fuck it we can just call her like this right?” He mumbled as he moved his hands frenetically in front of him.

“You were the only one not believing this,” Taeil remembered him, raising a brow.

“No,” the pierced guy said, sitting on the chair in front of him. “I’m not talking about this.”

“Then what Ten?” Doyoung asked, trying to get straight to the point. A bomb already just fell on them, no need to add more surprises.

“Remember when she had her first panic attack because she had a fight with Jae?” The men nodded. “Well, she had one before too, and it was because of me. She had come with me to the library, I was looking for books trying to find the pieces to get to this,” he pointed to the screen with the file about the DREAM LAB open. “So I told her that I and Doyoung guessed they experimented on us while sleeping and she casually told me the same things written here.”

“Elaborate Ten, and fast or I’m going to beat your ass for not telling us before,” Doyoung warned with a firm tone.  

“Calm down. She just said that they did that because our unconsciousness gave them a free getaway to our deepest parts. I was shocked but she was just making assumptions, like all of us. It didn’t seem like a big deal.”

“How all of that said by her didn’t seem like a big deal to you?” Doyoung asked, his voice coming out higher than he planned to.

“Because I don’t think she’s stupid.”

“But from what she said it’s like she knew what they wanted from us!” The other thinker almost screamed.

“She doesn’t,” Ten retorted.

“Technically she does,” Taeil said, getting back into the conversation.

“But she doesn’t remember. And no, Tae and her never knew what they actually wanted from us. Or how sick their plan was going to get.”

“Did she say something else?”

“We just came up to the conclusion that experimenting in our sleep was also crucial so that we wouldn’t be able to tell if it had been a dream or reality.”

“That’s why they knew what was going on. Taeyong and Anastasia were the only ones fighting back, they must have woke up and found out everything,” Taeil guessed. “I remember that I felt something strange sometimes, but it all felt like a dream, I just never paid much attention to it.”

“And you were the first one they started to test. Do you remember anything odd? Maybe a synchronized dream or anything else?”

Taeil thought for a while. “I’m not sure but I remember that was a time where I was having really bad nightmares, but they were messy just terrifying and then they would stop, abruptly, and it was always the same field of sunflowers and a swing moving alone.”

Doyoung sighed. “I know we tried to forget everything about the past but we need to try to dig deep within ourselves. We can’t talk with Taeyong or Anastasia right now, they’re not in the condition.”

“Taeil, I want you to try to talk with the others. If they had any specific dream that repeated itself, anything they remember is fine. Me and Ten will investigate further every file about each one of us. They tracked everything down.”

“Fine, I’ll start now. I guess, Jungwoo’s out?”

“Yes, he’s out. He just started getting better, he can’t go back to a dark place.”

Doyoung kept reading the notes and their profiles on the screen. He was going crazy.

“They needed her. She is the key to everything, so why they stopped searching for her?” He whispered, trying to think faster. He had this incredibly painful feeling that they already lost. Simon was ahead of them and he didn’t like it.

“I don’t think that’s the scary thing,” Ten said, stopping to nervously bite the pen in his mouth. “From what she said, she wasn’t the only one. They have other people they’re testing and we don’t know why. Yes, the dream lab to get inside of us and manipulate reality, but to do what? Why our parents were okay with all of this? What was the price that made them drop their ideal so easily? What did they do with Ana’s mom?”

“I think that the price was simply still being in power. If all of this plan starts from Simon, that means that he held the knife from the handle and he could swing at any moment.”

“But was it so necessary to do all of this?” Ten asked, it seemed so much.

“They had to. Not only to test on us before doing it to citizens, but also because we would’ve never accepted all of this. And that’s exactly what happened. We turned against them even if we knew little just because our trust of Taeyong and Anastasia was so strong.”

“You still think that’s a coincidence?” Ten asked, tossing and turning the pen in his hand.

“What?”

“That out of all the places she could go, she came here?”

“Technically, we brought her in,” Doyoung corrected.

Ten rolled his eyes and then said, “Were we supposed to leave her there?”

“No, I just keep on hoping that she’s not our Trojan horse.”

“But why would they be so stupid to let her in? They could’ve used some others to get in and spy on us. She never did any of this.”

“Maybe that was not their intention, anyway. I mean, look at us, Ten. Her arrival was like a bomb on our mental health that was already on the line. I have to replace Taeyong. Jaehyun got terrible at training. Yuta started to feel once again guilty for everything his parents have done. Us thinkers are going crazy over all of this. And I’m pretty sure that the others are not doing any better. Our long time friend is here with us again after we thought she was dead, and we can’t do anything about it. We don’t even know if she’s going to wake up again, and when. Isn’t this what they’ve always done? Using Jungwoo against Ana and Tae so they would behave and listen, either way, it meant for Jungwoo to disappear and go through I don’t know what kind of tortures.”

“And what can we do about this, Do?”

“I don’t know, Ten. For the first time in my life, I have no idea what to do.”

Remembering was something that she craved for so long and now that she finally got there she was hating it.

She didn’t like her story. She didn’t like it all. She didn’t like that the pain that she felt was now turning into an incredibly heavy weight on her chest with a fully formed shape. Her pain of before was hollow, but now, it wasn’t. All the pieces got back together to form a picture she wanted to tear apart.

What did all that words mean? She now got Taeyong, she didn’t want to be the chosen one, the fucking hero of a book she wanted to throw out of the window.

All of a sudden she wanted to forget.

And that’s why she woke up breaking the silence with a piercing scream that could be heard in almost the whole palace. Her hands grabbing the sheets at her side so tight that the veins popped out of the surface. No tears were rolling down her face. She wasn’t sad. She was furious. Mad that they were still out there ruining lives and not paying the price for what they did. Her eyes were closed but filled with blood. Her mind fogged with seek for revenge. She wanted to see them fall at her feet, kneeling and begging for forgiveness, spitting the blood for all of their sins.

“Bambi!” Kun screamed rushing inside the room to try to calm her down. The screams weren’t stopping but they were also accompanied by curses against somebody he couldn’t make out. Still, it didn’t take long for him to get that she had remembered at least something.

“Please, calm down!” Kun exclaimed, his usual calm composure nowhere to be found. He moved close to her, wrapping his arms around her.

“Let go of me!” She demanded, moving frenetically in his hold.

“No! Damn, where are the others when I need them.”

“It’s not fair!” She mumbled, now letting go of her pressure as the salty drops started to fall from her eyes. Taeyong, Sicheng and Jaehyun were standing at the door, they ran when they heard the screams but stopped to see where this was going. “It’s not fair...” She repeated, letting her body collapse in Kun’s arms. His hands cupped her head and kept her close to him. He tried to make her heartbeat go with his as he whispered lulls in her hears.

Her hands grabbed his coat and pulled him closer.

“They’re not there,” he whispered, caressing her hair.

“I want them to be here,” Bambi replied and all of them stilled. Did she want to get back? And why? But the words that left her mouth later made blood go iced in their veins.

“I want to see them spill blood in front of me.”

“Bam-”

“Drop it. Call me with my name, call me Anastasia,” she spat before Taeyong could go on.

“What do you remem-”

“Everything. I remembered everything.”

“Why you didn’t say a word?” She asked, placing in the spot between her legs the glass Sicheng gave her before. They all decided to sit down and talk for real for the first time.

“We weren’t sure,” Taeyong explained, his thumbs playing with each other nervously.

Anastasia chuckled, rolling her eyes to the sky. As if she didn’t give them enough signs. Probably if they didn’t try to make it look like she was insane it would’ve been easier for her to remember.

“We tough you were dead. It felt that we were acting delusional to even think you were her, well you were you, oh you got what I’m trying to say!” He exclaimed in frustration. He was still confused and now that she remembered everything they still had no idea how to deal with her. Also, the calm Doyoung wanted to give him didn’t last much, he really couldn’t rest right now.

“Also, is Simon we are talking about. We couldn’t be sure about you,” Kun added, trying to make her see their point of view. To be honest, he agreed with her, he had tried to make them think more than once but it was all useless. At the same time, he knew that starting to beef with each other right now was not the right thing to do.

Anastasia spared a quick glance at all of them and then stopped on Jaehyun for a bit more. He wasn’t looking at her, his head low focused on his hands. She had so many questions but her head was throbbing and the pain was killing her.

“I need a pain killer,” she said, turning to Kun another time.

“But you had the V-”

“Kun,” she stopped him, her voice firm like never before. “I need pain killers, this headache is killing me.”

A shiver run down Kun’s spine at her change. Bambi wasn’t there anymore and he had a feeling that the healing now was going to be even harder than before. He sighed and then got up. “I’ll bring it to you.”

“Are you mad at us?” Sicheng asked once Kun was out of the room. His eyes studied Anastasia’s expression, trying to catch a glimpse of her old self or at least at the sweet soul that Bambi was.

She shook her head. “No, how could I? I’m just confused and...” she said, looking at him with a small bitter smile on her face. “Okay, I’m mad.”

“But not at you. I,” she stopped once again. What was she still complaining of? She was more than sure they were fed up with her shit. They already had their problems and she did nothing but make everything worst. And now, that everything came back, she was once again sitting there complaining.

“You have all the right to be mad,” Taeyong said, almost as if he could read her mind. And probably he really could, somehow he always did. Reading her like the pages of an open book. “And confused, tired, angry, sad.” He smiled, shyly moving his hand to touch hers, fearing she would pull away, but she didn’t.

“You also have all the rights to still feel out of place. It’s not easy, Ana, it never was and will never be. It’s going to take time, but if you still want, we can be your home, your family. But if you don’t feel anything that ties you to us anymore, then you’re also free to leave,” he added, his voice sounding soft and welcoming like never before to her ears. He was still hoping for the first, but if she felt that wasn’t her place, could they force her to stay? Absolutely no. This wasn’t the end, it was just the beginning of a healing process that was going to be painful and long. And he couldn’t blame her if she just wanted to turn the page, end the book and put it on a shelf to start another one, another life. They could’ve made her change her documents, provide her with a home and a job and nothing would’ve kept them together anymore. If that was the solution to defend her from Simon and their parents, they would’ve done that.  

The others didn’t say anything, simply agreed, nodding with their heads low. And neither did Anastasia. After all she put them through he was still willing to let her choose? And not fight this battle with them? Taeyong was still the selfless boy she grew up with and that saddened her a bit.

“You should probably eat something and get a breath of fresh air,” Taeyong noted, getting up from his seat. He wasn’t looking for an answer right at the moment, he would’ve waited. He would’ve always waited for her. He then leaned a hand to her which she took without hesitation. She didn’t want to stay in that room one second more and she was starving.

Holding tight on Taeyong’s hand and Sicheng’s arms supporting her, she walked out of the room.

She didn’t answer, but she knew exactly what she wanted.

She wanted to stay. That was her place. And deep inside her heart, she knew that.

She knew, that it couldn’t rain forever.

[lordoftermites]

You Never Break ⚜ Part Ⅰ

⊰ ☘ ⊱ Cardan's POV: The Queen of Nothing, from the end of Chapter 13 through Chapter 17. ⊰ ☘ ⊱ A massive, pterodactyl-screeching thank you to my dearest punishment @euridce and the bombastic @figonas for dealing with my bullshit and allowing me to subject them to betaing this (and literally everything else), but especially for being my Hype Train Goblin Queens and not letting me lose to my perfectionism. ⊰ ☘ ⊱ { edit: the wordcount actually turned out to be 3,765 because I added more shit after I copypasta'd here but I literally cannot be arsed to change the graphic lol. }

≼ FIC MASTERLIST HERE≽

Contrary to erstwhile thinking, it is not quite as simple a task to travel at any expeditious speed whilst carrying a half-dead goblin through the biting nighttide—whilst also taking care to keep yourself and aforementioned half-dead goblin undiscovered by those who would very much like to lop your kingly head right off of your kingly shoulders.

And, if all of that is not enough of a juggling act, appending the minor detail that you’ve just taken flight on a steed conjured from the ragwort in your pocket, after leaving your wife below (at her behest and your protest) to fend for herself with naught but a magical cloak and her unspoken, mortal promise to do as you say...

Well. There are reasons you are not lauded for your prowess as a jester, just as your Queen is even less admired for her graces of verity.

Yet, surely by some feat of fortuitous magic, Cardan does manage it; the concealing mists part just enough to allow the flying mount and its travelers to slip through.

Braving a glance over his shoulder, he watches as the fog coils and swirls closed like a protective curtain behind them. It's disorienting—very like taking an overconfident step forward, only to find the ground is not quite as close as you first perceived. Even as one often besotted with wine and other such stupefacients, Cardan does not particularly enjoy that feeling.

Sea fret mingles with the haze of preternatural clouds as they begin a descent. It veils his lips, clings to his wool-spun clothing and weighs down his hair. He shakes the dampened curls from his eyes just as the four isles of Elfhame begin to take shape in the darkness beneath him, and lets out an unsteady breath; he wonders, absently, if he's exhaled at all since leaving Jude on the ground.

He cannot help the inglorious relief that the Roach, in his state, does not hear it.

It’s an odd sensation, to observe your kingdom from such a high vantage point. Perhaps, before now, he disallowed himself to feel the full measure of his obligation; the sobering comprehension that this vastness of soil and sapling and stone, along with all its inhabitants, will thrive, or decay, under his governance. Looking down at the land—his land—brings that realization crashing down upon him with as much force as one of Balekin’s punishments.

Cardan tightens his grip on the animal’s leafy mane against a bout of dizziness, abruptly wishing he had something a bit less insubstantial with which to steady himself.

The Crooked Forest rises to meet them, gnarled limbs twisting upward as if to embrace their sovereign. That seems illusionary, though Cardan does note at once the marked shift in the air; while still cool, no longer does each inhale carry an icy jab to his lungs or bite at the tips of his ears. It envelopes him and his company, gently carrying them above the mossy heads of slumbering root men and women. None of them stir, thankfully, but Cardan isn’t altogether sure his arrival goes unnoticed by them, either.

Welcome home, young King, the wind seems to whisper in his ear. Cardan shivers, and it has nothing to do with the weather.

Alighting just at the edge of the hollow hill, Cardan takes a half-breath to think—and reproaches himself for not doing more of that before they had landed; the Roach’s etiolated complexion, rattling breath, and stiffening limbs are not an entirely promising combination. Then, there is yet the matter of finding Liliver, who might not even be in the palace. And even then, there is the very real likelihood that he is already too late, that the deathsweet’s effects may have already reached its peak.

Cardan has to swallow against the bile creeping up his throat at that unsettling thought.

If only Jude had just come with him. Mistress of strategy and scheming, she would have drawn up a clever plan before they even took flight, as well as a surfeit of contingencies. Moreover, she would know better than he whether or not they held the favor of time; her province of poison is concerningly vast, as she had proven when Cardan himself very nearly shuffled off his immortal coil in dissolution.

Jude had known in an instant, merely by tasting the wraithberry that had stained his lips. How she knew its savour, to say nothing of how she knew it so intimately, Cardan knows not and she has yet to divulge. It is but another closely-clutched secret he must tack onto the growing list of queries for things a man really ought to know about his wife.

In the interim, the High King of Elfhame—and, more regrettably, the Roach—must rely entirely on himself.

Not much of a comfort, that.

Keeping a hand on the Roach to prevent his suffering an unnecessary fall from the horse, Cardan swings himself off of the thing’s back. With care, he lifts the inanimate body of his mentor into his arms. A low, distressed groan comes from the Roach at being jostled—the first sign of cognizance he’s shown since they left Grimsen’s forge. As pained as the sound is, it nonetheless gives Cardan a small hope that perhaps he hasn’t been too late after all.

Its magic spent, the ragwort pony dissolves in a puff of yellow perianths; an indolent breeze scatters some of the remnants across the dark hill, while others continue their aimless drifting to pollinate elsewhere on the isles. Cardan watches a lone petal catch in the wiry hair of the Roach’s brow and without thinking, he brushes it away. He justifies this allowance of rare gentleness with the fact that no one is around to bear witness to it.

As friendship goes, Cardan is all too aware he hasn’t known much in the way of loyalty or for reasons beyond selfish gain. His former companions had desired only what they could glean from him, the immunity his sway as a prince that had granted them the ability to carry out whatever deviant fancy they could dream up. Even Nicasia had had her own contrivances for being his lover, until she had ultimately found more excitement in the stories—and bed—of Locke.

He is not experienced in having a friend simply for the sake of it. In having someone—or a few someones, for that matter—enjoy his wit and cleverness and skills. That enjoy him, Cardan Greenbriar, rather than what advantages the crown atop his head can give.

Perhaps it is dangerous territory for a king to have bonds extending beyond those of mere allies. Perhaps the trust that comes with such friendships is a bit like handing over a blade to your enemy, freshly sharpened, and saying, Here you go, this holds all the ways with which to kill me. I’ll just turn my back.

Even so, when all you have known your entire life is the contempt and malignancy of those who ought to love you, it is not an entirely stunning realization that you would hand over that blade so willingly.

And he had done, in earnest; in his naivety with Nicasia. In his camaraderie with the Court of Shadows. In everything with Jude.

This is doubtless the reason Cardan’s feet begin to move now, carrying him and the Roach in his arms to the palace entrance with some new swell of confidence. Perhaps it is a detriment to believe that these new friends would not be so hastened and flippant as the last to betray him, but he believes it nevertheless. He also knows, albeit by way of unfortunate experience, that when the situation had been reversed, they had not wasted an idle moment in saving him.

So on he goes, through the wall and into the brugh, careful to keep the Roach’s pallid face hidden in the crook of his arm and denying any assistance his guards offer with a firm shake of his head. They move to follow, but halt at once and return to their posts when Cardan waves them off. Of the merits that come with being King, Cardan is especially grateful that denying explanations is one of them.

Even more fortuitously, his journey is not further hindered by any member of the Living Council—who have undoubtedly been tearing at their beards and skirts attempting to locate and descend upon their unruly monarch. Cardan imagines even now they are in the war room or assembled in his chambers, pacing and theorizing and crying out in panic. At the thought of the Minister of Keys pounding his fists on the table and cursing his luck for having such an impudent master to serve, the corner of Cardan’s mouth twitches. If only the wizened Randalin had the sense to make himself more difficult to nettle, perhaps Cardan would try to do so less.

Though the hill is yet alive, with lingering revelers still clutching the edges of twilight and servants clearing the remnants of food and drink, the many tricks of sly-footing he has been taught manages to keep him out of sight from any who might notice; it takes no time at all to slip through the hidden passage, into the wine cellar and emerge on the other side of the new Court of Shadows.

Cardan had hoped to show and consult Jude on the plans for these rooms, including the strategy chamber he had in mind for her—of which he was particularly proud: he had designed it himself—after she pardoned herself and returned to him. That hadn’t gone entirely the way he had imagined, and so they had gone on with the rebuilding without her. Cardan resolves that now, he can simply give her a full tour of them, should she come back posthaste. Should she decide to come back at all.

No, he rebuffs that line of thinking. Jude will return, just as she promised. When she comes home, Cardan will lead her through the rebuilt Court, and she will ooh and ahh and find him so ridiculously clever she’ll be too awed to do anything but kiss him for his prodigiousness.

She will forget she had ever been angry with him—or, at the very least, spare him the full measure of her wrath. She will forgive him for his trickery and assure him again that she had not fed his letters to the fire; she will tell him how desperately she missed him, that the mortal world is awful and terrible and nothing worth going back to. He will kiss her hair and tell her they need never be parted again. They will begin their reign as they should have done the moment their vows were made, and all will be just fine and well and as it should be.

These are all of the things Cardan tells himself as he steps into the main chamber.

He chuckles quietly to the darkness, a sudden incredulity sweeping over him; after all his prior distaste for mortals and those little hopeful deceits they allow, to wish away an awful thing or to make that awful thing seem less terrible, he has caught himself doing just that. He wonders what Jude might say, if he said her mortality was rubbing off on him?

Upon entering the main hall, Cardan is met with a collective gasp—either from the sudden, unannounced arrival of the High King or at the state of the Roach, he doesn’t know, nor does he have time to find out; before he can call for her, Liliver is already there, her dark face paled and taut. She does not seem to even notice Cardan, her frantic, wide-eyed gaze fixed on the Roach.

“What happened to him?” The Bomb demands, seeming to realize Cardan’s presence only as an afterthought, though he does nothing to reprimand her for her tone. The current circumstance, along with the raw fear on the rogue’s face, is enough to cast any necessity for formalities into shadow.

"Darts, poisoned with deathsweet," Cardan tells her, elaborating when Liliver's piercing glare flickers up to meet him. "We... misestimated the cleverness of the traps Grimsen set to protect his forge." The Bomb frowns at that, and Cardan is sure he’ll have much more explaining to do before the night is through and she is fully satisfied, but neither of them need reminding of the more important matter at hand. “Let’s—let’s get him to a bed,” Liliver says. Though her voice wavers, her eyes never leave the disturbingly still body of the Roach as she leads them into a small room carved out from the main one.

She steps aside to allow Cardan to enter and lower the Roach onto the single bed, before seating herself on the edge of it. A bundle of tinctures and salves rest in her lap, from where or how she procured them so quickly, Cardan doesn’t know and isn’t inclined to ask. By the deep-set furrow of her brow and the way she worries her bottom lip between her teeth, she is calculating the situation and he wagers any unnecessary queries might hinder—or annoy—her deliberation. So he simply stands there, silent and helpless, watching her work.

The light emitting from the small orbs hanging above their heads does little to illuminate much of the Roach’s features, but it’s bright enough to view the waxen sheen of his skin, the odd way his limbs lie rigid at his side. He looks as close to death as one could appear, and if not for the shallow rise and fall of his chest, one could easily believe he had already gone. Cardan swallows and looks away, as if staring instead at the rough stone floor will quash the disquiet he feels.

If the Roach succumbs to the poison, he knows with whom the fault will lie, and there will be none among them to scorn him as much as he will scorn himself.

As Liliver works, sifting through the assortment of small glass bottles in her lap until she picks one filled with a thick, amber solution, Cardan gives her as much detail of the night's emprises as he can in short order: their attempted (and rather unsuccessful) rescue of Jude, of the Roach’s poisoning; of why they had entered the smith’s forge in the first place.

Upon hearing the truth behind the Ghost’s betrayal, the vial slips from her hand and Cardan barely manages to snatch it from the air before it shatters on the ground. The Bomb’s eyes are wide as saucers as she takes back the bottle, but Cardan thinks he catches the smallest glint of hope in them, despite their current predicament.

“You mean, all this time... he was being commanded? Controlled by Locke and Madoc?”

Cardan nods. “Doubtless by my brother as well, though Jude didn’t say one way or another.”

He wouldn’t have considered it debasing of Dain's character to control someone in such totality. In fact, he has no misgivings at all that there was anything, save perhaps a grubworm, that had been beneath his brother. He shakes his head and shrugs, more to his own thoughts than the Bomb's question. “I’ll let her tell us which it is, when she comes home.”

It is too afflictive to imagine she will not, that he has yet again voraciously lapped up a lie she has fed him. He cannot believe that as he waits, Jude is riding off through the air with her sisters back to the mortal world, laughing as she tells them how effortlessly she has fooled the desperate High King of Faerie.

He will have time enough to wallow in his own selfish, agonized reveries; Cardan wills his attention back to the present, back to the Bomb and the Roach, who appears even less on the fortunate side of time since they arrived.

“Will he…” Live, or die. Both words are there on his tongue, but he cannot bring himself to say either and the question lingers, thick and unfinished in the air between the three of them. Liliver doesn’t seem willing—or able to answer, only giving him a small shake of cloud-white curls as she keeps her back to him.

Watching how carefully she wipes the Roach’s forehead with a damp cloth, hearing the hushed, unintelligible things she tells him, the understanding that Cardan perhaps ought not intrude further becomes all too clear. He has completed his task, what he promised Jude he would do. There is nothing more required of him.

With Liliver’s promise that she will send word of any changes, good or ill, Cardan excuses himself from the Court of Shadows.

Cardan spends the remainder of the day in his chambers attempting sleep, because he has proved himself of little use elsewhere, there is nothing else to do, and because if Jude were here she would tell him a High King needs rest if he is to go delegating and answering petitions and doing whatever else there is that good, proper kings are supposed to do.

However, it is precisely because Jude isn’t here that he cannot rest.

Though he does give it an honest effort. He tries lying on his back, drawing forth tiny white blossoms to count as they bloom above his head, aiming to bore himself into a stupor. He counts and counts and counts. The mingling fragrance of several different flowers permeates the room and penetrates his nose. When he reaches six hundred forty-seven for the third time, he gives that up.

Exasperated, Cardan flops onto his side, stretching an arm across the sheets. He stares at the empty space beside him, where Jude had rested the first night they had spent together—the night he had convinced her that becoming Queen of Elfhame, his wife, was the better choice for both of them.

It had all been true, of course: everything Cardan had said to get her to agree. There had been no deception or scheming in his words; he had desired his freedom, as desperately as Jude craved power, and their union had the ability to grant both in absolution.

The Living Council had become insistent on the idea that their King should take a wife anyway, for their own overboring political reasons, and so Cardan had.

The only addendum to all of this, the only detail that he had surreptitiously kept from both the Council and Jude, was that he wanted to marry her. Not Nicasia, as the Council had wanted, as Cardan had once believed he should and could enjoy. Not the hag Mother Marrow’s daughter, who likely would have found some clever way to cause his demise so that she might live on as the sole ruler of Faerie. None of them would have been well-suited for him, nor he well-suited for them. None of them could give him what he wanted, because what he wanted was Jude.

That is all he wants now—to have her home and here in his bed, to fill the space that has been empty since she left. Since he made her leave.

Cardan pushes himself off the bed in a frustrated huff. Deciding he could do with a little less sober thinking, he calls for wine, and when the servant arrives with a fresh decanter and goblet, he fills it to the brim and drinks it to the dregs. After repeating this process a few more times, Cardan rounds the large desk—his father’s desk, he cannot help to remind himself, no matter how many times he sits at it—to continue the speech he’s been writing. He picks up the slip of paper between two fingers and holds it to the guttering candle flame to examine it. It’s already a rather lengthy speech, admittedly, but more important than any he has articulated yet. It is one explaining to Jude that her exile had not been methodically planned, that he thought she would work it out much more expeditiously. He would further explain he had not accounted for the fact she hadn’t worked it out at all, and that he had come to fully regret his own cleverness midway through his second letter.

Of course, Jude had told him she hadn’t received any of those letters.

He cannot help recalling how she looked at him then, the last time they were here in his rooms: skittish and trembling, desperate as a wild animal backed into a corner.

Hardly a fortnight has passed since Madoc had taken her, believing he had heroically rescued her twin from nigh execution. And yet it feels as distant as any half-remembered dream upon waking, blurred on the details and every attempt to grasp the memory only causes it to slip further away. Like a hand waving smoke.

Except a dream is something usually pleasant; smiling faces, a kiss one might yearn for in the waking world and only receive when they close their eyes. Dreams are things of wonderment. Pretty visions and heart’s desires.

No, it had not been like a dream at all—not the way she had looked at him.

That hatred, burning into him like white-hot iron, the fear she could lie away with words but could not conceal from her face, the venom in her voice when she spoke. It was more terrible than any of Cardan’s nightmares.

Everything you say to me, everything you promise, it’s all a trick. And I, stupid enough to believe you once.

He had wanted to reach out to her, to take her hand and tell her his trick had been only that, a hasty plan to keep her out of Orlagh’s grasp. He had wanted to pull her to him and breathe in the comforting scent of her hair, to feel her warmth against his chest. To beg her forgiveness and will away her anger with a kiss.

Then he had seen the glint of the blade in her hand.

Even after Vivi’s flustered explanation of her sister’s capture, after he and the Roach had set out from the mortal world to find her—even after their brief moment in Madoc’s camp just hours ago, when Jude swore she hadn’t thrown in her lot with her betrayer of a foster-father, Cardan cannot rend from his mind the image of her holding that knife.

He passes the paper through the flame and watches it burn until it is nothing but a stain of black ash on the desk.

Waving away the lingering smoke, he rises and goes to dress for the night ahead, without rest, and knowing that no amount of sleep or drink or honeyed words will erase what he has done—or may yet do.

⊰ ☘ ⊱ okAY so this first bit turned out a lot longer than I'd originally intended (legit this whole thing was supposed to just be a oneshot lmfao) but if you made it this far, I'm very sorry but thanks for taking the time to read. I hope you enjoyed it, and as usual—if you didn't, don't tell me about it.

If you want to be added to my tag list, just yeet a reply to this post and I'll add you.

⊰ ☘ ⊱ @euridce @figonas @jurdanhell

[thelandswemadeofpaper]

Sacrifice 

(Unwilling or Willing)

Power of a Sacrifice

Vessel

Servitude

Memory

Freedom

Experiments

Human Sacrifice

Royal Food Tasters

Surrender to Enemies

Shield from Attack

Bend the Knee

Arranged Marriage

Take Me Instead/Switch Places

Hand over Yourself to the Enemy

Offering Another in Your Stead

Raised as a Sacrifice.

Sacrificial Revival Spell

Crippled/Lose an Ability.

Childbirth (or at least having children regardless of the risks)

Survival through Self-Sacrifice

Suicidal Mission/Dangerous Task

Appearance (a Shapeshifter stuck in a form?).

Lose a limb (Tongue? Eyes? Its self multilation? Punishment?).

Reputation/Honor (like Jaime Lannister and Ned Stark or save your friends instead of the mission). What reputation you got? Coward? Traitor? Oathbreaker? Cheater?

Sacrifice of parents to raise and provide for their children.

Sacrificing a stranger or someone lesser instead of a loved one or someone more 'important'.

Do a necessary evil and accept the punishment.

You gave to sacrifice for another person's mistakes or because they refuse to do so (looking at you Robb Stark).

Do a action knowing of its consequences (killing a important person to save a loved one and getting exiled for it like Ursa, Cinna with the Mockingjay fire dress in HG).

A person got infected/possessed/corrupted/turning into a monster or whatever and the others kill her/him instead of looking for a solution because of the risks.

Scapegoat (you were discovered and the others involved abandoned you? Failure? Blamed for something out of control? Misblamed? Promoted to Scapegoat? By association with a person they can't blame?)

Take the fault/blame or/and the punishment for a loved one.

Stand Up for a person in a dangerous position/situation (like being accused or hunted for treason) or hidding them in your house.

Labor (people died to build something? To transport it? To deliver a message? A dangerous job?)

Army? Combat? Duel? Battlefield? A specific fight? Like 'died taking back the Stolen Castle'.

To? To fix a McGuffin. To fix a Land (from a curse? Decay?). To gain more time. To stop an ritual of sorts. To heal/save another. To gain a power. To take the villain with them. To prevent a disaster. To destroy/create something. To power up/give energy to something. To break a curse

Powers with an Price (Ex: like breaking a magical oath and losing their vision). Or maybe its the sacrifices made for gain a type of power (political, monetary, magical...)

Or taking a position or something like that (like Mulan for her father, Belle for her father or Katniss to her sister).

Assume a Supernatural Position (Yue, Nabu Helmet, Soul King, Kyubey)

Impersonification

Genuine Impersonificator

Switched Lives/Roles

Fake Aristocrat

A Fraud

Switched at Birth

Impersonating the Evil Twin

Sweet Polly Oliver Trope with male relatives.

A Missing Person comes back (or did they?)

The Mole killed someone and assumed their place. What accomplishments and doings were made by the Real One? (Like an fight or rescue). At what point it was your friend with you? Maybe nobody even meet the Real One.

Twin (the original and/or his friends know about the twin existence or not) or a Clone. Its a Backup in case the original died? Man in Iron Mask situation? Something like Ford and Stan?

An mysterious person who is implied to be the secret identity of an character is revealed to be an twin. (the two or one of them knowing or not)

Unware/Unwilling Pawn. Can be an Changeling in this case, or an clone (or unknow twin? Like the mexican telenovela Cómplices Al Rescate?)

A substitute or replacement (possibly for a dead or even missing person).

Fake Reveal: Impersonification of a dead character that pretends to have survived

An Villain kills the Hero and takes his place. Everyone belives that the Hero defeated him.

Legendary/Popular Figure (maybe the impersonificator is the one who actually saved the day?)

Legacy Immortality

The Imposter is actually the Real One and vice-versa (like Red in 'Us'?).

The Real One died and they don't want nobody to know. The death of this character would cause problems. Maybe a Hero or Ruler? El Cid Ploy? The imposter killed them by accident? Maybe they were Really Evil but needed because of popularity?

One of the friends went missing/captured for a time and the impostor came back.

The Hero kills the Evil King and takes his place to rule the Kingdom for best.

A test is made to decide which one is real, the Fake One wins.

A being is revealed to be just a copy.

Something being done in another person's name. A order? A message? A conflict? A peace treaty?

An Decoy so the Real one will be safe or another place at time, the original in question can pretend to be one of the guards. May involve the death of the fake one.

Whats is the Fake One for? Marriage? Sacrifice? Hostage? Fight? Essencial part of the Plan?

Also, their origin: a cousin? Bastard? Something like Hyuuga Hizashi? Maybe pretending to be someone that don't exist like Mulan (Ping son of Fa Zhou) or go in their place (they run away and someone needed to go or under the threat or punishment?)

Cases like Jeyne Poole and Aegon/Young Griff, or even the farm boys Theon killed. Pretend to be an long lost heir or something, they can be an hostage, for marriage, for a fight, as corpse as a proof of their deaths.

Maybe you had good intentions, like avenging the deceased Real One.

Assume being a Secret Identity of a unknow character (maybe you want the credit? Like...the Mysterious Person who saved the Hero?)

The villain forces his doppelganger to take their place (kinda like Paola Bracho)

My Sibling/Friend Will Live Through Me (you assume their life or just use their face in honor of your fallen friend?)

Another person reveals begin the hidden identity of a character the to take off the suspect over the real one's identity, who is hidding (perhaps under a fake identity? I Am Spartacus Trope?)

What did the impersonificator did? Got the original in trouble? Betrayed the Hero Team? Infiltrating? Started an war (if the original is an leader?).

A normal person disguise? A enemy guard? An ambassador? Can invent a relation with a real person.

The imposter is a shapeshifter? Possessing a dead body? They are just older (the original was not seen in years)? The real one is killed? Missing? Captured? The imposter can actually have the real one's consent for impersonification.

[nincompoopydoo]

DEBRIS AND MISERY

SAME OLD LOKI ; PART 6 / ?

PAIRING: Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader WORD COUNT: 3.3k (oops) SUMMARY: You find yourself venturing deeper into finding the Loki variant on the loose with the help of Mobius and Loki while maintaining your temper around the God of mischief and fighting with your own demons. A/N: Downtime apparently lasted for more than a week. I had absolutely no motivation to write but I eventually came around. There’s alot going on in this. Please tell me what you think, what you love, hate and look forward to. Thank you so much for showing so much love to d&m. gif from this gifset by @sersi WARNINGS: Swearing. Imagery relating to death (i think?). You and Loki’s relationship fluctuating like the goddamn economy. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERPOST ; MASTERLIST

Blue. Your flight suit is blue.

Your eyes sting with worry, ticking to a pair of hands buckling the straps that lay across your chest. A man secures it tightly, forcing your back against the cockpit chair. Your gaze drifts to the concentric steel rings of yellow, red, and white that stretch overhead and around you—being suspended within a 3-axis gimbal sends another churning sensation within your abdomen.

You hear a voice. It courses through the room and vibrates within your ears like fluttering echoes in a tunnel. It’s a man. He calls out your name from below.

“You ready?”

In your periphery, you see him, tall with slicked-back hair, standing with other men that adorn similar flight suits of blue. You nod, inhaling deeply as your hands reach for the controls. Suddenly, a metallic clang echoes through the room and the machine whirrs to life. The rings begin spinning in tandem, tossing your body in all directions. Your grip tightens around the controls, clicking with every push and pull as you struggle to analyze the spin. But, the machine spins faster.

Faster and faster and faster.

The machine continues to whirr. Your hands are still shifting the controls.

Faster and faster and faster.

Your eyes begin to droop, nausea taking hold of your body.

Faster and faster and faster.

You only hear your breaths; every inhale and exhale—they're loud.

Faster and faster and faster.

Too fast.

Stop.

...

Click. Click. Click.

Footsteps. Not the clicks of the controls. You hear them clicking against tile floors from afar. From darkness, your eyes meet the color brown, shiny and polished—it’s wooden. The sound of the vast building’s acoustics hum in tune with the occasional chatter and echoing thump. You recognize the ambiance and it comforts your hasty thoughts as your brain tries to wreck itself in comprehending your current surroundings.

It’s one of those dreams again. The ones that kept you awake at night since the Sakaar incident, as if reliving the memories of another life. It isn’t yours but the realism to it makes it so complex that your brain cannot even comprehend the experiences during these dreams that occur.

To see, touch, hear, smell, and taste. Do dreams exceed the limit of disconnection and logic? Are dreams to be so immersive that it feels more like a memory, an echo of the past?

Through the turmoil of parsing between what’s real and what’s not, a tap on your shoulder hauls you back to reality. You turn to see Mobius, looking ridiculously exhilarated. Behind him lingers an amused Loki, hands tugging into the pockets of his jacket. The analyst says your name with a tone of equal exuberance to his manner.

“I thought I’d find you here. Do you always sleep at the archives?”

You snort, seizing yourself up as you wipe your face with your palm in hopes of feeling slightly more awake and alive than you were before. “No. Sometimes, I sleep at my desk too.”

Exhausted and sarcastic. Typical you.

Mobius rounds the table to sit beside you, gesturing Loki to his previous spot before he got up and ran away from you without any explanation. He shoots you a smile, lips pressed together, almost hesitant to sit across from you. You watch him through narrowed eyes as you address him with folded arms. “And here you are, back here again.”

Loki cannot fight the growing grin upon his lips, knowing all too well that you're referring to how he led you into an unnecessary chase down the corridors of the TVA for the sake of his entertainment. Well, it was not unnecessary. Things were turning out to be a bore and with the sudden thought of a proposition to help with his case, it doesn’t mean he has to drag out the fun of irritating the hell out of everyone else.

And you are not a bore.

-

“Loki! Where the hell do you think you're going?!"

You’re outright screaming at him but his long legs only stride faster than yours could handle, slumber still clinging to your face like a thick, waxen mask. He’s so quick, weaving through tangerine hallways, skidding across the tiled floors.

He saunters down the hall with quick feet but doesn’t sprint, clever enough not to draw any attention.

He ought to answer you. Throwing a glance over his shoulder, he flashes you a cheeky smile. He swears he saw flames burning in your eyes for a moment.

As you wind another corner, you already see him making one last quick dart through the elevator doors that slide open as it dings unceremoniously. Through your wide-eyed gaze, you signal him with eyes that carry a warning.

“Don’t you dare close that fucking door.” you snarl, voice booming from down the hallway and so does the clicking of the heels of your Oxford shoes as you march towards him like you’re on the hunt for prey.

Loki jams his finger onto the button to close the doors, unable to wipe off his grin. “Don’t you trust me?” is all he says to you, sending you a wink through the closing gap of the elevator doors as he raises his palm to wave you farewell.

-

You decided Loki wasn’t worth the time he has already taken from your assigned paperwork. So, you returned to your desk with a trace of bitterness in your tongue while attempting to suppress the regret for actually feeling sorry for Loki. Only because you know how it is like to be alone.

That’s the thing about Loki. He gets inside your head, makes you think that for once, he may be worth not pruning. He makes you think he is capable of change, capable of compassion. He makes you think he cares from the way he looks at you with those eyes that flicker the spark of hope in you. This Loki is the same old Loki.

Well, maybe the one in Sakaar had a good chance of earning your trust. But that’s gone now.

You shift in your seat, elbows now leaning against the edge of the table. “And to answer your question, no. I do not trust you. And I never will.”

Famous last words of the variant turned analyst.

Nobody trusts you either.

Except for the grey-haired analyst with the obsession for jet skis and you never understood why. Maybe, it’s because you’re the only one who is willing to put up with his ramblings.

Mobius eyes you and Loki’s interaction as the two of you seem to fall into the rhythm of making things even more complex than it appears. It's all part of his grand plan. Mobius knows you well enough to know you are possibly enjoying Loki's company no matter how much he irritates you. And Loki, it's clear how he admires you and how you constantly surprise him every time he crosses paths with you.

“What would I ever do without your trust?” the God sneers, each articulation of every word wrapped in mockery paired with dramatically placing his hand to his heart. Your eye twitches, the spitfire of your personality ready to fire back with a probable nasty insult. Yet, Mobius places his hand on your shoulder, while the other outstretched towards Loki as if trying to keep the two of you apart.

“Okay, okay. No need to get all riled up now. We only just had a breakthrough in the case, and I’m not letting you kill each other just yet.”

Your anger seems to immediately wash away, replaced by curiosity. You blink at your colleague. “Breakthrough?”

“Yes, and it was surprisingly Loki’s theory. Now—”

“Why do I smell...sulfur?”

You cut his sentence short as a strong whiff of a reeked scent began to descend upon you, billowing in the air. You inhale deeply, brows furrowing in concentration and confusion. An overpowering scent of a decaying body, faint but strong enough to seem out of the ordinary. The archives never smell rotten, always floor polish. Mobius and Loki share a look. Mobius is the one to speak up, attempting to distract you from your sudden strong sense of smell. “Sulfur? What, like when there’s a demonic manifestation? I mean, we are in the presence of Loki—”

“You went to Pompeii, didn’t you?”

In all of the time he has spent with Mobius who had a constant laid-back and confident nature to him, he has never seen him so red in the face. As the situation unfolds, he wonders why Mobius has made it a point to hide that information with so much eagerness which now has proved to be useless. You’re not only intelligent but also quick—only in terms of the mind rather than your physical capabilities.

You can hardly run, but your brain outshines everyone else he has met in the TVA.

Mobius is now waiting for the imminent chaos and mayhem you’re about to bring. You’re going to call him insane like every other time he has suggested an out-of-the-ordinary idea. Causing a scene is one of your talents. He has his hand on your shoulder again.

“You hate Pompeii, Mobius. Why the hell would bring him—Wait.” Your eyes are wide and blinking. “You went to Pompeii. Alone. I know that from the look on your faces. Which means no reset charge...No Nexus event.” You pause, pursing your lips. Then, you avert your gaze to Loki who watches you curiously. “Are you suggesting the variant is hiding in apocalypses?”

Mobius’ laugh comes off like a puff of air. He pats you on the back like a proud uncle. “Back on the game, Agent!”

Loki is slightly impressed. Only slightly.

“Okay, you two stay here. I’ll go get the files. Great work, you two.” Mobius gestures to the both of you with an outstretched index finger, grin so wide as he scurries off. Mobius loves a good case, especially when there’s a breakthrough. And with you finally familiarizing yourself with working together with Loki, everything is finally starting to look up.

The two of you end up finding each other’s gaze and for the first time, you smile at him. It’s small but genuine.

“You know you could have told me.”

“I would have, but you don’t trust me, remember?”

You hum, raising a brow. “And running away was supposed to gain my trust?”

Loki chuckles, eyes flicking to the table. “I never said anything about gaining your trust.”

Your smile grows wider, and Loki decides how he prefers you like this—relaxed and amused.

He oddly sees his mother in you. It’s the way you look at him. Like you know him.

Right, you have met him. Once.

“What was I like? The one you met at Sakaar.”

You blink, slightly taken aback by his sudden question that hasn’t got to do with insinuating you.

“The same as you—barely tolerable,” you say tightly, heaving a sharp exhale. ”Just…a lot sadder.”

You hadn’t mentioned how he willingly helped escape your execution because a part of you still believes it all to be a lie. The TVA has your complete fidelity but ever since the Sakaar incident, your trust in the way the system works has been swayed. After years of being trapped in your mind, the question of whether your capabilities in logic have been damaged due to loneliness still begs. Judge Renslayer believes in your incompetence but you believe she hides a secret about the Time Keepers.

The three beings, creator of the TVA, personally convicted you as innocent, allowing you to maintain your job. Nothing of this makes sense.

Maybe Judge Renslayer lost all her faith in you, her second-best analyst because your Nexus event relates to Loki. The one variant that has been causing havoc to the Sacred Timeline. And this Loki, the one that seems to be very curious about your place in the TVA and the Time Keepers, is no different than the others.

You find yourself feeling an uncalled sense of sadness that dwells in your chest at the thought of leaving the only friendship you secretly wished to have maintained back at Sakaar. Before you let yourself fall into the abyss of melancholic wishful thinking, you swiftly direct the conversation elsewhere.

"I’m sorry Mobius referred to you as the devil,” you say coyly. “You really aren’t.”

Loki, who seems to catch on with the sarcastic tone of your voice, leans farther into his seat. “Really?”

A smirk returns to your face. “You're worse than the devil." He snorts, noticing the vague hint of crimson growing upon your cheeks and how your eyes seem to crinkle a little more than usual.

He finds himself swallowing under your stare, fiddling his fingers in an attempt to calm his sudden erratic heartbeat. A stutter under your now kind gaze—no one ever stares at him with a smile. "You are not the first to say that."

There’s another pause; Loki’s face is set with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You feel a pang of guilt in your chest in remembrance of how you’re not the first to have treated him the way you did. He’s dangerous but, there’s no reason for animosity. Yet, it all boils down to the lives he has willingly taken. It doesn’t differentiate him from the rest of the TVA.

Mysterious variant.

The devil is always in the details.

Strangely, the work of the devil may prove to be useful in times of cul-de-sacs as an idea comes to mind. “I think...I think I know where you’re at right now.” Your voice is light, distracted by your now running thoughts. You’re on your feet, chair squeaking as you push it back. Your pen is in your grasp and you wave it in the air, reflecting the gears that turn at high speed within your brain.

Frankly, you’re not making any sense. Loki furrows his brows, slowly standing. “What do you mean? I’m right here—"

“No. The other one. The variant. And it has to do with gum.”

You’re still not making sense and it’s clear that in your eyes, he is invisible. You’re the only one in that frenzied mind of yours.

“What?”

You don’t answer him, feet quickly bringing you down the passageway along the vast rows of shelves that stretch along with the floor’s pristine balcony of white and the two of you are back to playing chase and run. Only this time, the roles are reversed.

-

Mission Haven Hills: not successful.

Really not successful. Far from successful.

You witnessed the doom of bombing the Sacred Timeline, firsthand. Employees scramble at the controls as you watch the screen that looms over the control room. What was once a single line, running along with time has now grown like a tree with fruits of chaos, caused by Nexus events scattered across time and places.

You wished the dust would settle and this was all simply a dream but you realize this was his plan all along.

Bomb the timeline. Distract the TVA.

There is one thing you know about Loki. He is moved by revenge and resentment.

As if you possess some sort of telepsychic powers, a part of you feels that danger itself is within the vicinity of the TVA. The variant is here, you just know it.

You hope Mobius is okay.

Scurrying down the winding hallways, past the hurried time hunters, and past the time theaters, you find yourself heading towards the golden doors of the Time Keepers’ chambers. In a time of uncertainty, your gut is your only source of guidance.

At the end of the hallway, you see bodies on the ground, nearly lifeless—time hunters, either unarmed or batons missing. You plucked one of the sizzling batons from the ground as you cautiously stepped around the laying bodies. You clutch it tightly to calm the blood rushing to your head, pounding along with your heartbeat as you take on the venture into the foyer of the grand chambers with secrets not wanting to be unveiled.

You round the corner, following the wooden panels for walls laid along the entrance. The glowing end of the baton within your grasp reflects off the black porcelain tiles beneath your careful feet. You hear voices, grunts, and shouting as if in combat.

Then, you see them. Loki in his variant jacket and a woman with locks of blonde and streaks of black. She adorns a headpiece of golden horns—one broken off.

Isn't Loki supposed to be at Haven Hills?

Recognizing the presence of another, the two turn to you, daggers still held to each other's throats. Loki eyes you with wide eyes, a silent plea whether to help or stand down, you’re unsure. Your gaze shifts to the woman once more who watches you with an equal resemblance to the other.

Then, it hits you. You recognize the dark emerald cloak she wears. You know exactly who she is. You just never thought it would be a she.

“You!” Your exclamation is bitter, and it’s directed towards the woman who seems to be strangely expectant of your remark as if she already knows who you are. She is L1190, a Loki variant. The one who slashed you with the TVA’s baton, scaring your left cheek. The one who hauled you through the time door and left you stranded in Sakaar for thousands of years.

You know exactly what she has done. She knows what she has done.

“You did this to me!” you gesture to the scar on your left cheek, eyes fixated solely on her, nearing the two with caution. You’re angry. Very angry. All pent-up rage begging to be set free.

Before Loki could even perceive the current situation he landed in between two women who very much want him dead, you’re already swinging the baton to her face with full force but she blocks it with her sword but slightly staggers in her step. You glare at her. She seems a little surprised. In an instant, you take a step back and go for another strike to her rib, but she blocks you again, sliding away and dodging your hit by a mere second. You growl out of frustration, seething through your teeth, and without hesitation, you strike again. The fight goes on—strike, block, strike, dodge. And with every blow, your intensity escalates, each a little harder than the one before. Loki stands there, watching, speechless and frozen.

You strike again, the baton crackling less than an inch away from her face but she dodges just in time, swinging her sword across your face. It grazes your cheek, now a gash of crimson on top of your scar, and with the sudden blow of searing pain, you lose your balance.

The variant spins into a kick that sweeps your legs out from under, knocking you hard onto the ground. The baton rolls out from your grip. Your hand flies to the gash, trickling with blood.

“Hey!”

The brawl comes to a halt. You seize yourself up from the ground, back and head aching, turning to see Judge Renslayer accompanied by two hunters, batons held up in defense position. You were about to reach for your own that was a stretch away when suddenly, you felt a hand grip you by the collar, hauling you to your knees. Her sword held to your neck.

“Come any closer and I’ll kill her.”

“Go for it.”

Your eyes are wide in shock, all anger towards the variant now turning into this churning feeling of betrayal that resides within your abdomen. Judge Renslayer doesn’t look at you, focus fixated on the two variants—it’s like you’re not even there.

The three start to charge towards you and you involuntarily shut your eyes. Then, as quick as a rattlesnake, Loki grabs the tempad hung at her waist and sends the three of you falling through the ground.

That’s the thing about Loki. He gets inside your head, makes you think that for once, he may be worth not pruning. Now, with your back landing hard on top of him, all you could think about is wanting to strangle him to death.

TAGLIST:

@lareinedususpense

@poubxlle

@mystoragehatesme

@the-maroon-panda

@kashasenpai

[bugsy-maria]

Bakugou loves you but you're Izuku's sibling

AN: wanted to give you guys at least an x Reader today, so hope you guys enjoy it!

Warnings: enemies to lovers type of trope kind of???, kidnaping, mention of being beaten up, mention of comma as well as broken bones and a hospital room

- he would never tell you until he thought you would die

- he would go so far out of his way to make sure everyone thought he hated you

- even though every time he saw you all he wanted to do was to rip out his heart and pull it to shreds

- he hates that he likes you

- so much so because you're Izuku's sibling

- and when he found out that you had made it into UA with a "Villian Quirk" made him even more pissed off

- you're quirk was an unusual one

- in fact, you only told your quirk to your brother and Bakugou when you two were close

- before he found out what your quirk was

- your quirk is that you can learn any quirk

- it works like this

- you have to know how the quirk works in a biological sense

- the only problem is that your body has a lower tolerance to any quirk because your body wasn't made to set aflame like Endeavor or to erase a person's quirk with your stare like Eraser Head

- another drawback is that sometimes you have to change your own biology

- for example, if you wanted to mimic Bakugou's quirk then you would have to change your sweat to act like nitroglycerin

- even if you wanted his quirk for a small amount of time then you would have it for life because you're not able to make your sweat go back to normal

- anyway, when Bakugou hears about you and your brother making it into UA he will lose his shit

- you walk out of school just to see Bakugou screaming at Izuku

- this close to beating him in that ally

- you step in and tell Izuku to wait for you at the park down the street

- "I'll be there in 10" you shout after him

- you were there in 20

- Bakugou was insanely angry

- he hated that you acted like a hero

- you were always nice

- and you knew what would happen if you stepped in and decided to do it anyway

- all because you felt like saving your brother

- you were beaten to a pulp there

- your stomach hurt like all hell and you could barely see out your right eye

- you used a healing quirk you learned about on the major injuries like the broken ribs and the cracked teeth as well as the black eye

- the less noticeable injuries that Izuku could see the less worried your little brother

- UA will be just like a normal school

- Bakugou screaming as well as giving you and your brother a hard time

- the USJ incident didn't go well for you

- after that incident, everyone found out about your real quirk

- and you made every one of them promise that they wouldn't say anything

- you didn't want to be an experiment

- now the summer training camp

- that was a mess

- you helped as much as you could

- you even learned one of the villain's quirk

- cremation

- during the USJ you got a decay quirk and you knew that it would be more than handy

- you got caught

- your only guess was that they got word of your quirk so they wanted you

You look over at Bakugou, over the past couple of months he had been being a tad bit nicer to you. and when I say a tad bit nicer I mean, he was only nice to you when no one else was around. and you had started to developed some sort of feelings for the certain ash-blonde who had also been kidnapped with you.

you noticed how the man holding the back of his neck was the man with the cremation quirk. you had used it earlier but it burnt the shit out of your hands. you looked over at Bakugou, and he looked at you. he looked at your pleading eyes that were somehow a calming mix of bravery and scared shitless. he knew that you were planning something stupid, and he wanted to stop you but he also knew that you could take care of yourself just fine. he saw you as you mouthed the word 'Run'. he watched as you reached your hand out to grab the man's wrist, all 5 fingers touching his skin that soon started to fall off.

- the man let go of Bakugou and he ran as told

- you pushed both villains into the warp gate

- you went in too

- the days passed in a blur

- the LOV never laid a figure on your skin

- until the very end where they had you beaten

- tiered of you

- you were saved by Bakugou and the rest of the "Rescue Team"

- you had been in a coma for about a week

- Bakugou had stayed the whole time

- at this point, all of 1A knew that he adored you to bits

- but he would never admit that

- even Izuku knew and he wasn't the most supportive of it

- I mean it's not like Bakugou had put you and your brother at the bottom of the food chain for 10 years and reminded you every day that you would be better off dead or anything like that

- no that doesn't sound like Bakugou

- nonetheless, Izuku had seen the way that you looked at Bakugou for the past couple of months

- You never needed to tell your brother how you felt because he already knew

you wake up sore, your eyes hurt, and cause you to groan as you look at the sun coming through the peeks of the window curtains.

"About time you wake up, dumbass."

"Why are you here? I thought you hated me."

"Of course I don't hate you, I love you, you idiot."

"What?" you ask jokingly.

"You heard me!" he shouted

"I love you too." I laughed

"What's so funny!" he shouted again.

[itsnothingofinterest]

So with the end supposedly approaching (relatively speaking), people have started giving some thought as to who the final threat is really going to be; Tomura Shigaraki or All For One. It’ll definitely be one of them, they’re the strongest and most established villains by a mile; but both have their own reasons for people to think they’ll be the “final boss” of the series. And far be it from me to keep my opinion to myself; I really think it’s going to be Tomura.

I’m not sure if that’s some level of controversial among the fans hoping for Shigaraki’s redemption, as I do believe the alternative’s gotten a lot of traction lately. Because understand that I’m still expecting his redemption too, and don’t expect his hypothetical final boss status to really prevent that. (Practically nothing can, it’s as much a guaranteed outcome at this point as Deku getting his sixth bonus quirk.) Realistically, the only difference would be if he & Deku then team up to fight the evil potato head, or to...just start fixing stuff I guess.

On that note, the eventual redemption is actually one of the reasons I think he’s the better choice. Almost every point of comparison between the two villain I can think of makes Tomura seem like the better choice, actually...with maybe one or two exceptions. So I wanted to go over all those points of comparison & everything they’ve got going for them as endgame villains and why the comperrisons overall seem to favour Tomura as the final boss.

1. Someone who was defeated to the power of just one man

For one, just looking at pure power levels, AFO’s just not as threatening as Tomura; and there’s not really a way to bridge that gap.

Like, Tomura’s obviously more of a threat personally; he’s got the stronger body that was scientifically enhanced, and only he has Decay on top of the AFO quirk and the collection that came with it. It is just a fact that right now, Tomura is far more powerful. And before anyone thinks that AFO could become an equal threat by just taking over & fighting in his body; that’s not true because, along with just more combat experience that doesn’t rely on an arsenal of quirks, Tomura also has that Shimura trick where you remember your origin and become super bad ass. You know, the trick that All Might used to beat AFO in Kamino. In other words, the most dangerous individual in the series right now is the AFO!Tomura body with specifically Tomura in control.

And as long as the slight edge in mentality in Tomura’s favour exists, there’s not really a way to bridge that gap and have AFO take Tomura’s place as the biggest potential threat. Restore or enhance AFO’s original body? That’s just catching it up with AFO in Tomura’s body, which is still behind Tomura in Tomura’s body. Have AFO boost Tomura’s body with him in control? It would still be better with Tomura in control. There’s no scenario where Tomura isn’t the most powerful character in BNHA.

(Well, except maybe AFO weakening him by, say, stripping him of his quirks; but if he has to make things easier for the heroes to become the most powerful, I think that kind of proves my point anyway.)

But one person can only be so dangerous, so lets talk followers. Tomura has a close knit group of friends & allies on top of a vast army super loyal to him specifically that reaches a six digit figure, and AFO...just doesn’t. And I’ll get back to this later; but I don’t think he wants one either. He sticks to just a handful of people useful to him and what’s left of his Nomu. And while maybe that is the better way for him to accomplish his own personal goals, it’s simply not as threatening as the force which Hawks thought could’ve conquered the country if the heroes hadn’t struck first.

Tomura is a country ending threat, who in the right circumstances could fight literally all of the heroes with a chance of winning, and AFO simply isn’t.

2. His own little world

And to return to what I was talking about earlier, I’m not sure he really cares to be either. Like, people say he wants to conquer everything, and I imagine he’d think regaining lots of money & power would be great down the line; but evidence seems to suggest he doesn’t really care much for the country as a whole or any of the major themes being discussed by the actual main characters at the moment.

I mean if he did, he’d probably have rescued the PLF, that army capable of competing with all of hero society. And he probably wouldn’t have told ~10,000 dangerous and powerful villains indebted to him for their freedom to just run amok while he keeps contact with only the ones useful for his personal goals. And he definitively wouldn’t be laying low & sleeping through his enemies lowest moment & giving them a month to recover, also in service to those personal goals. That activity seems to imply those personal goals matter a whole lot more to him than societal conquest.

And what are those goals? Seemingly, taking over Tomura’s body so he can finally steal One For All. To what end, we’re not 100% sure of, but I believe it’s either a) a weird pride thing where he finally has control over his brother who’s rebelled against him for decades upon decades or b) an attempt at immortality as a sentient & transferable body-controlling quirk. Either way it’s some selfish personal thing he just gets others wrapped up in.

He’s incredibly disconnected from the greater themes and conflicts of the story. He seems to have no opinions on heroics besides how people are stupid for attempting them, and no opinion on society besides that it just naturally sucks. He’s mainly just a nuisance for the actual main characters. This self-important old man stuck in his own little world is supposed to be Deku’s final opponent?

Oh, and on that note-

3. Deku who?

We’re also talking about who’s going to be the final obstacle for Deku to face; and the problem with the being AFO is that...they don’t really have much to bounce off of with each other. You might be able to argue slight foil-ment, but they don’t really know each other, nor do they have any kind of connection to each other besides Deku having OFA so he’s AFO’s enemy by default.

(In fact their latest & 2nd convo, which came out as I was drafting this post out, kind of proves that with how AFO basically just shallowly made fun of him for trying to be a hero. That’s basically the extent of their antagonism.)

In fact, I’m like 80% sure this is a major reason for the Dad For One theory existing; just to give them some connection, something to talk about. Because otherwise AFO is just an evil guy known by people Deku knows/wants to save. He’s basically just another, more dangerous Overhaul; who Deku's already fought. And to AFO, Deku’s just another OFA holder acting all high & mighty; which we also already saw him face in the Kamino fight. So what little they do offer each other has already been done for both of them. And there’s nothing wrong with that for carrying a fight, I just wonder if that can really carry the final fight.

Compare that to Shigaraki, who foils Deku in ways so numerous & obvious it’s almost hard to talk about, such as: their position as successors, strategic thinkers, very similar origins, very similar core characters, team players, red shoes, they looked really similar as kids...just to name a few parallels. Contrasting AFO, there is a lot to work with here that would contributed to a good fight that’d double as a battle of ideologies. And admittedly, we know this because it already has, this is also something we’ve seen before; but there’s a lot more unexplored with their conflict, a lot left unsaid that we could see from them arguing their viewpoints. A lot more than from Deku & AFO anyway.

I mean for Pete’s sake; All Might & Shigaraki have more in common and more to talk about than Deku & AFO. That’s a major problem if those two are meant to carry the final battle; which is why I don’t think they are.

4. Just punch him

There’s also the fact that AFO doesn’t really challenge Deku in any real way; and I’m not just talking about how All Might solo-ing him (twice) should logically mean endgame Deku should also be able to solo him. I’m more talking about how...that’s kind of all he’d need to do. If you can just beat AFO up enough then...that’s it, threat over. Wrapped up in a neat little bow.

To compare, Shigaraki is the greatest threat the heroes have ever faced, the victim most in need of saving, and to top it off, he’s got the gall to be both of those things at once. What’s a hero supposed to do with that? That’s a serious question characters are going to have to think about when deciding how to deal with Shigaraki. His position is that of, not just the greatest challenge, but a set of the greatest challenges a hero could face. And that’s before you get into his side representing those oppressed by serious systemic issues that need to be addressed as well; quite possibly simultaneously.

No one needs to address systemic corruption or prejudice to beat AFO though. They just need to punch him real hard. The biggest challenge AFO presents the heroes is “how do we make sure this guy stops being a problem for good when neither our most secure prison, nor removing his head, did the job?”

(Personally, my answer is to have Tomura do it. Because unlike Deku, Tomura actually does have a proper antagonistic relationship with AFO, so he has reason to be the one to end him besides just being the protagonist. Plus he’s under no obligation not to kill, so there’s that.)

And like yeah, that does make AFO the easier guy to deal with, and thus write an ending around (to say nothing of how he's also the most satisfying person to see punched in the face); but does that really mean Horikoshi would want to use him instead of the more interesting option of Tomura? I mean I guess we can’t be sure, there is merit in writing the easy resolution; but I’d prefer the complex finale if I were in his shoes.

5. Horikoshi’s favourite

And lastly there’s just the issue of which of the two Horikoshi’s put more work into. Spoiler alert: it’s not the guy that spent like 200 chapters in jail being menacing every one in a while.

Tomura is by far the more developed between the two, having constantly evolved over the course of the series. And more than just as a character, as described above he’s been developed as the more threatening and challenging conflict for Deku while also reflecting him in a lot of important ways. We’ve seen the growth of his power & influence, we’ve gotten to know & understand his motives, we’ve seen how he’s been failed by heroes before. Everything about him has built him up as the ultimate villain, the most desperate victim, and overall greatest challenge for Deku and the story as a whole to face.

And AFO is...nearly one of those things. Which is pretty much what he was from his first appearance. He has not developed at all over the series, and from what we can tell from his flashbacks, he hasn’t developed at all over the past ~200 years either. (I’m half tempted to call him more inciting incident then character.) What we have with AFO, as far as a character and a villain goes, is pretty much what we’re getting until he’s done. And, well; if Tomura is a better villain & a better pick for final boss than he was then, that gap’s just going to keep growing.

Like, I doubt it really needs stating how Shigaraki is probably the character Horikoshi has put the most work into in the entire series. And a lot of that work, a lot of his development, has gone to the idea of him surpassing AFO or being a villain foil to Deku, who himself is mean to surpass All Might. For his roll to be usurped by the guy he’s meant to surpass just feels like it’s going against that. Like, it’d feel almost as wrong for his character and the story around him than it would for Deku is All Might got his powers back and took over for him as main protagonist. It just doesn’t feel right for Tomura not to be the final villain, is what I’m getting at.

6. ...One saving grace

Okay, but I will admit one thing AFO has going for him that I would be remiss not to bring up. Besides being the most hated character in a series that also has Endeavor in it, I mean. He’s got this one trait that makes him an effective antagonist to anyone in the series; his complete disregard to pretty much every major theme in the series.

I mean think about it; the major themes of Shigaraki’s circle all revolve around trying to fix the society that rejected them; but AFO believes Society just naturally sucks that way as part of human nature, so their cause is doomed. And the heroes’ major themes all revolve around how to become/what it means to be a hero; but AFO believes trying to do good in that society can’t really be done & also it’s ridiculous to believe comic books are real, so their cause is also doomed and they look stupid doing it. So despite not really interacting with anyone’s core conflict or goals in favour of wrapping them up in his own, he still manages a one-sided ideological opposition with nearly every major player in the series; and that’s not nothing.

But, and I completely understand that this is just a matter of opinion, that kind of just leaves him feeling to me like a good antagonist, not a good final antagonist. I’d still prefer it be Tomura even from this perspective, because he’s able to oppose the ideologies of his opponents on purpose & with proper ideologies of his own.

To summarize:

Shigaraki feels the better choice for final boss because he’s more threatening, more interesting, both as a person and as an opponent for Deku specifically, he’s far more directly tied into the themes of the story and their resolution, & he’s had far more set up. AFO is more hated, and his callous disregard for everything everyone else holds important is something I guess, but that’s pretty much all he’s got going for him in compression. I don’t know about you, but I know who I think would carry the conclusion to the series better.

But I also know this isn’t the most popular take among my villain fan colleagues right now. So if anyone disagrees, I welcome any civil discussion about these two & their viability as final boss.

[havvki-writes]

Vanitas Can't Photosynthesize

Stupid name, fun one-shot :) meant to post this yesterday...

Fandom: The Case Study of Vanitas Ship: VaNoe Tags: M!Slash, domestic, fluff, hair-brushing, cute, denial of feelings, leaf piles Citrus Scale: Orange! Spoilers: none! Word Count: 943 AO3 Link: right here! Notes: I decided it would be fun to write an Autumn-themed one-shot, haha!

---

“You’re such a child.”

“You have no room to talk.”

Vanitas grumbled into his palm as he sat propped against his knee, eyes icily glaring at the wall ahead of him. Pouting his lip, he rolled his eyes as Noé sat behind him, the mattress dipping under his weight as he crossed his legs. He plucked one of the many leaves from Vanitas’ locks and sighed.

“Listen, I didn’t think your hair would be such a... a magnet,” Noé admitted, picking out more of the foliage from between the strands.

Scoffing, Vanitas leaned deeper into his angular pose, clutching his crossed ankle in his free hand as he resigned himself to Noé’s preening. “Then you shouldn’t have pushed me in the pile to begin with!”

“I didn’t push you, I pulled you—I jumped in it too!”

“Why would you even want to do that in the first place?”

“Because it’s fun to jump in a pile of leaves, especially the crunchy ones.”

“Country Bumpkin.”

“City-Dweller.”

As Noé continued to remove the sticks and crumpled leaf debris from Vanitas’ catastrophic introduction to rural traditions, the taste of remorse began to creep along his tongue. Of course he fought against rolling around in tree decay, but Vanitas fought against everything—that’s just who he is. And it’s that abrasiveness for anything under the moon that made it especially difficult for Noé to tell when he had struck a nerve. A real nerve, not a superficial one. Noé’s brows set in a firm line.

Why did Vanitas have to be so difficult to understand? At its core, it was this trait that defined Noé’s captivation with him.

Picking out the final leaf, Noé swept the remaining particulate into the trashcan at Vanitas’ feet. “Is that it then?” Vanitas asked, turning enough for Noé to see the blue hue of his irises. He paused, transfixed by the iridescent color. Vanitas chuckled softly. “What’s the matter now?”

“Well, I wanted to brush it too,” Noé admitted, fidgeting with his fingers for a moment.

“Why the hell would you want to do that?”

“Because your hair is pretty, and I’d like very much to continue feeling it.”

“Quoi?!” Vanitas jumped up with such force that he startled Murr from across the room. “That’s disgusting, you imbecile!” he shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at Noé as he looked up at him.

Noé sighed. “I still find you horribly detestable, if that helps, but I’m not going to blame your hair for having to grow on your dumb head. Just let me brush it for a bit!”

“Ugh...” Snarling to himself, Vanitas clenched his fists at his sides. “You’re such a... Fine, but just for a minute.”

Sitting down in front of him again, Vanitas slouched heavily with his arms wrapped tightly around his chest as Noé beamed to himself for getting his way. Reaching over to the trunk at the foot of his bed, Noé fished out his bristle-brush before returning to his prior position. Vanitas heard Noé giggling behind him, and felt a burn igniting his cheeks as his heart thrummed.

With a soft touch, Noé loosened his ponytail, running his fingers between the strands as they cascaded down Vanitas’ back. The cut was asymmetrical at best, and a total hack-job at worst, but it was definitely befitting of the man’s character, and he couldn’t help his grin of amusement at the sight.

As the brush ran through his raven-dark hair, Noé found himself mesmerized by the sight of Vanitas sitting exposed before him. With gentle hands he continued the rhythmic motions, Vanitas sitting silently with his back towards him, blue eyes downcast as his fingers gripped the fabric of his coat tightly.

After a minute or two of the soft strokes, Vanitas was pained to report that the experience was not as unpleasant as he had anticipated. In fact, his posture loosened as he continued, and his eyelids drooped heavily with the metronome of his motions.

“There, all done!”

Vanitas jerked awake at the announcement, urging his expression to match the disgust he showed earlier. “It’s about time,” he said, rising to his feet in a stretch. As he leaned over in a dramatic toe-touch, he felt a weight on his shoulder as the bundle of hair fell onto his cheek.

“I braided it for you—I thought it might be fun...”

Standing upright, Vanitas admired the smooth pleats as he twisted the tied end between his fingers. Without his active attempt to maintain an air of contempt, his countenance slipped into a state of genuine appreciation, a softness appearing behind the usual harshness of his eyes. A blush rose to his cheeks.

“...It’s not bad, for a vampire.”

“Thank you! Domi taught me how to do it! Isn’t it pretty? It’s kind of difficult to do, but once I did it a few times it became a lot easier—”

As Noé continued to ramble on about the braid, Vanitas flipped his newly styled hair over his shoulder; upon closer inspection, he noticed it veered noticeably to his left.

“Oh, sorry, your hair isn’t symmetrical, so it’s going to mostly hang on one side. It’s still straight though if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Why would I care if it’s straight?”

Oops.

At that, Vanitas ducked his head and dashed for the window, clambering outside like an animal escaping its enclosure.

“W-Wait, Vanitas—!”

Before he could get another word in, Vanitas had already disappeared beyond the windowsill. Sitting on the slanted roof, Vanitas ran his thumb over the folds of the braid as his heart hammered in his chest and disgustingly human thoughts rushed through his mind.

[agent-cupcake]

Leucoium - Sylvain Jose Gautier x Reader 

Hey hello this is my half of the trade with @lightmyfireemblem​ and I know I’m late but what can I say? I’m terrible :3c This is utterly despicable, okay? Fifteen thousand words of mushy gush Sylvain Jose Gautier romancing. Some angst. Nothing weird this time. She wanted something specific with a winter ball and reader’s feelings, but I got carried away with doing set-up so everything would make sense. Forgive me. 

/

It was springtime when you met him, the time of bloom and blossom in the town of Garreg Mach. You hid from your classmates and teachers alike among the flowers in the greenhouse, such an oddity after a lifetime in Faerghus. Less odd was the way you chased isolation in the fragrant sanctuary. A disagreeable, antisocial child. The youngest of three, a potential playing card in your parent’s deck of the social sphere. Nothing more. Even though you were only just teetering on the tremulous line between girl and woman, you’d long submitted yourself to the natural rule of your family’s cold definition. There was contentment in such a fate, comfort in playing hide and seek with life.

Until you were found.

“Hey there, beautiful,” Sylvain —a classmate and Faerghus lord you knew really only in passing— greeted you, pulling you away from your book. He stood among the flowers in the filtered green of sunshine drifting in through the glass, his hair and uniform stylishly messy and expression open and friendly. “I was looking for you. Not that you made it particularly easy.”

You looked up at the tall man from your book, confused and unsettled by being approached. If you weren’t the only one around, you probably would have told yourself he was talking to someone else as just cause to ignore the greeting. As it was, you couldn’t think of any real response. The level of familiarity he used to address you was jarring, uncomfortable. But even as an awkward moment passed of your confused staring, Sylvain didn’t falter. He was all confidence and smiles and bright, bright red. The kind of red that the goddess painted the leaves and berries of dangerous plants to ward people off, the kind that was best left to be admired from afar but never touched. And you were used to that type of spectatorship, to living behind a veil of reality where you could stay out of sight and out of mind.

Even so.

“Find me?” you asked after clearing your throat.

“The professor asked,” he said. “Y’know, if you keep skipping class, you could get in trouble.”

Although you had a variety of reasons why you hadn’t gone to classes that day, you doubted that they’d hold firm to any amount of questioning. It was childish of you. Unseemly.

With a sigh, you got to your feet. Strangely, Sylvain offered his hand. To you, the gesture registered as something like a threat. Not because it posed any danger, but because you understood what it meant and what was expected of you and the polite thoughtfulness of the offer. Rather than try and deal with any of that, you avoided it altogether, acting like you didn’t notice. Luckily, he didn’t seem to be bothered.

“Of course, I’d be more than willing to speak up on your behalf,” Sylvain told you, his voice hurried as if to ease your mind. “Me? I can take that kind of thing, but it doesn’t seem right to punish a delicate girl like you for losing track of time.”

You frowned up at him, holding your book tight against your chest and uncomfortably shifting from foot to foot as you considered him. Beautiful, he said. Delicate. Was this normal? How were you supposed to respond to things like that? The two of you were practically strangers, nevermind the glaring class difference. Although, it was not just class that separated the two of you. There was some social, deeply personal gap between people like you and him that couldn’t be defined by status or money or title, something that couldn’t be bridged. Couldn’t he tell?

Awkward, you shrugged. “It’s okay.”

Sylvain frowned. “Right… So, uh, do you like flowers?”

“I do,” you answered. Trying to ease the conversation into a slightly more comfortable place, you slowly added, “You don’t see much of them in Faerghus. Not like this, anyway.”

Even though your comment was simple, it seemed to energize Sylvain right back into a smile. “Right? It was kind of shocking. To be honest, I didn’t even know so many types of flowers could be grown,” he said.

You nodded, giving a faint hum of agreement.

“No matter how beautiful they are, though,” Sylvain said, not discouraged by your lack of response, “they pale in comparison to your beauty.” He paused before adding, “What do you think? If you and I were flowers, would we have a budding romance?”

It shouldn’t have worked. It was a terrible, terrible line. But it kind of did.

If it weren’t for your crippling lack of social prowess, you might have fallen for it. But instead, you ducked your head and cleared your throat and asked where the professor wanted to see you because you knew what you were and had no idea how to respond to such things. In so many ways, you were as fresh as the snow white lambs only just making their way into the world, as vacant as the breezy spring winds that danced over the surface of rippling water. Not because of your innocence, but because of your lack of experience. The difference between those two things was the value of either in a girl like you.

Did he know that? Did he see that?

Sylvain certainly backed off after that awkward first meeting, letting you run off with the disquieting sensation of eyes on your back.

But still, he returned. You had been hiding in the Knight’s Hall, making up on the homework you’d missed in class. Sylvain approached you with an apology for making you uncomfortable, which was unexpected and baffling. A few days later in the library, he sat down and struck up a discussion on literature. After that came an invitation to dinner which you declined. And then an invitation to tea which you accepted. After a certain point, you understood who he was and his rather damning reputation. Not that you really cared. Who were you to care? To judge? The gap between the two of you was impossible, but he acted like it didn’t exist. And you liked that.

Sylvain was your first friend. You wondered if he knew that, too.

Spring bled into the warmer season and, despite your glaring lack of social skills and suspicions that he was merely humoring you, the odd dynamic continued onward.

Summer’s end was wet and tempestuous. Congested hot stormclouds brewed above and pressed thick tension down onto the dreary frightened group marching their somber return to Garreg Mach from Conand Tower. The rain had stopped for a spell, mud squelching beneath your boots and the sound of demonic screeching echoed in the silence among your fellow students. Shadows encircled Sylvain’s red-rimmed eyes, his face pale despite the tan he’d managed to cultivate over the sunny season. He told you about the cruelty of a brother driven to barbarity by his jealous rage. He told you he shouldn’t care. He told you it was fine.

But dusk fell, inviting a forceful deluge, and Sylvain told you what hate felt like, what it was to cough up blood and loathing and wish to see yourself destroyed under its crushing weight. Beneath the pounding, pulsing, palpitating hypnosis of the rain, Sylvain told you about pain, and fear, and the destruction he’d inherited through his blood. He forced the words out through gritted teeth as if that alone could contain the simmering, seething disgust and scorn he held for the world that cultivated men like Miklan and men like him. You listened, just about the only thing you knew yourself to be good at.

By the time the rain stopped and the sun rose, Sylvain was shrugging the previous night away with a smile and apologizing for his behavior. He acted unbothered and laughed like everything was fine but the sound was too forceful and within the next two weeks he dated and broke up with no less than eleven girls. Something made sense to you after that, an understanding you’d never had for another person. You weren’t a spectator to him. With him.

Autumn drifted into Garreg Mach with the spun gold of harvest and scent of tanned hides from the hunt. Rotting leaves crunched beneath your feet, death and decay inviting the unraveling disaster that seemed to never end.

In a rare moment of quiet, Sylvain asked about your family. The casual curiosity stole your breath, made your eyes widen like a deer who’d been spotted by the hunt. It was, you knew, a pathetic story. Anticlimactic, pointless. But you told him. In the isolated cover of the library, you leaned your chin into the crook of your folded arm and stared with glassy eyes at the books stacked up in front of you and told Sylvain that you knew your parents didn’t care for you like they did your sisters, that sending you off to the Academy was a way to give you pedigree you’d never get from your own merits. You told him about inadequacy, and what it was to not be enough, and the way that words could be ground deep into the marrow of your bones until you stopped being a person and accepted an identity given to you by others because it was too difficult to try being anyone else. Sylvain put his hand over yours and told you that they were wrong about you, his lovely dark eyes filled with the compassion so many accused him of lacking. He looked at you like that and told you that he understood. And you believed him.

As surely as the sun would rise in the morning and the seasons would change, Sylvain became a habit of yours. The odd hours he’d help you study, the afternoons drinking tea together, the crystalline moments of having your life saved time and time again because you always found yourself in the bloody fray of the front lines, nearly suicidal in the surge of destruction. But Sylvain never called you helpless, or useless, or weak, or childish, or disagreeable and you knew the gap could never be bridged, but you liked the warmth of being near him, even if it was nothing more than fragmented charity.  

“Why?” you asked once. It was cold and your breath misted in front of your dry lips.

Sylvain shrugged casually. “I dunno. I guess you’re just easy to be around.”

And that made you laugh. Honestly laugh. Because nobody had ever said that, you doubted anybody had ever thought that. You, disagreeable and antisocial and unable to hold a conversation or eye contact. Not you. But he sounded so genuine, so casual, like it was the truth. Somehow, it was the truth.

“What about you?” Sylvain asked. “Why do you like me?”

You looked at him and wondered. He was a strange man to be sure. Cruel. Cold-hearted in ways that should have made him unlikable. Flirtatious in ways that made you decidedly uncomfortable. Womanizing. Dispassionate about many things you’d been taught to place importance on. But that wasn’t it. Not by half. Nor was it that he was handsome, or smooth talking, or because he had a title or Crest. Those things —like the mountains or the moon or his red, red hair— just were. No. You stared him down and considered that question because you knew there was something that went deeper than any of that. Why did you like him? Because he had been kind to you. Because for some reason you couldn’t explain, he tried. Because, despite everything, he seemed to care. To understand.

You shrugged. “I guess you’re just easy to be around.”

Winter in Garreg Mach was, despite the tragedy, filled with excitement for the White Heron Ball. You were a poor dancer but nobody had really expected you to participate anyway.

So you avoided the cheerful party in favor of the chilly winter night, watching snowflakes drift down in careless little clusters. They were big and wet, but not oppressive or unkind. It was too warm in Central Fódlan for them to stick just yet.

“I thought you might be out here. Not too keen on parties?” Sylvain asked, the question playfully knowing. It didn’t surprise you that he’d somehow be able to find you. He had an uncanny ability for that. You nodded in response. Not put off by your lack of verbal response, Sylvain took the spot beside you to watch the snow slowly drift down from the velvety dark void of the sky into the calming halo of light. “Guess that’s not surprising…. Anyway, assuming you don’t mind my company, I’d love to stay here for a bit. I need to lay low for a little while.”

“Why?” you asked.

“The girl I’ve been going out with saw me dancing with another girl and made a big scene,” he said, frowning. “She accused me of cheating on her.”

“Were you?” you asked, giving him a sideways glance.  

Sylvain shrugged. “Well, yeah, but I didn’t think we were serious enough for her to freak out on me like that.” He let those words settle before his expression changed, a mischievous smile forming on his face. “Anyway, enough of that. As long as we’re here, it’d be very remiss of me to pass up on the chance to ask the cutest girl in Garreg Mach to do me the pleasure of a dance.”

You met his eyes. It was too dark to see their steady sepia color, but the far off lights allowed you to see the way he looked at you. What would it feel like for him to hold you, his hand in yours, the other on your back? Twirling around in synchronized steps, close enough for you to smell him, to feel his warmth. You looked away.

“No, thank you.”

“And the chances of me changing that answer to a yes…?”

“Very low,” you responded with a resolute nod. “There’s not any music.”

“That’s fine, we’d be guided by the sweet melody of love,” he said. You didn’t reply. “That was a joke. C’mon, it’s just you and me here. Even if you’re terrible, nobody else will see.”

It was presumptuous of him to say that you would be terrible, but he wasn’t wrong. Nobody had ever accused you of grace. You thought about tripping and stumbling, messing up the rhythm, embarrassing yourself completely in front of Sylvain. The idea made your face hot, your stomach dropping and shoulders curling inwards. “No.”

Sylvain sighed. “Is it because of what I told you about the girls from earlier?”

“No,” you said, confused by the question.

“‘Cause I know how it probably looks, but I swear that it’s completely different from you... I guess I say that a lot, too,” Sylvain paused, frowning like he wasn’t sure how to continue that line of thought.

You weren’t sure if the idea of being “different” was a good or bad thing. Was it because he didn’t view you as a girl? Or because you were just friends? That was a good thing, wasn’t it? It made your heart ache a bit. It made you wish, just for a second, that you were better at dancing. Then you wouldn’t be an afterthought sought out when his other options were removed. Even if you were just one of the cycling girls he spun around, you would spend those moments in his arms being an object of desire. Fleeting affection, temporary happiness. Moments, as lovely and short-lived as the dainty snowflakes illuminated by the light. You wondered if that was what he wanted, truly.

“Does it make you happy?” you asked after a moment. “The girls, I mean. Dating, dancing. It seems like it causes quite a few problems for you.”

Sylvain looked at you with something like surprise at the seemingly random question, his stare becoming harder than before as he considered something. Finally, he shrugged, forcing a casual air. “It’s fun, I guess,” he said, his voice tight in a defensive way. “Why? You’re not about to start lecturing me, are you?”

“No,” you told him.

“Okay,” he said, his disbelief clear.

“I wouldn’t ever lecture you for what you choose to do,” you told him softly, regretting having brought it up at all. “You’re your own person… You deserve to take responsibility for your own happiness.”  

“Oh, well… Thanks, I guess,” Sylvain said awkwardly, a beat too late. The silence crinkled like dry paper between you. “Um, anyway, you know what would make me very happy?”

“What?” you asked, glad for the change of subject.

“A dance with the cutest girl I know,” Sylvain said, shooting you a winning smile.

Cute. That was a word he used a lot. You weren’t sure anybody else had ever accused you of such a thing.

“Maybe another time,” you said, staring down at the paving stones, uncomfortably flattered. And you didn’t mean it and you were pretty sure Sylvain knew that, but he laughed and stretched his arms behind his head and didn’t ask about what you’d said or why you’d said it, letting the moment be.

And then the world shattered beneath the monastery.  

It was the bleakest, coldest, darkest part of winter when Dimitri lost it. Edelgard marched her armies on Garreg Mach through the frosted freezing air. War consumed everything you had thought to be stable, shaking apart the walls around you. When you returned, home was not quite the home you’d known before leaving. Like you didn’t quite fit anymore.

Seasons turned as stubbornly as ever. Years passed, day by day, moon by moon. As the third daughter to an earl in Gautier territory, you stuck around during those years of war, your habit continuing to grow during the occasional visit to your far more powerful and important friend. He didn’t have much time for you, and that was fine. It was what you were, a pale shadow hiding in the places so nobody would mistake you for something more. And that was fine. You taught yourself strategy and politics and occasionally allowed yourself to pretend to amount to more.

It was winter, winter again, when the war campaign rallying behind Dimitri and Professor Byleth returned in earnest, ice beneath your feet and chills gripping your skin beneath your armor, numbing your fingers and toes. It was winter and you and Sylvain were brothers in arms, and that was fine. You liked fighting at his side, you liked sitting in the dining hall and listening to your friends talk from a chair in the corner and pretending that this was your life, that you could have this always. Even on the edge of death and despair. Even then.

It was springtime when Sylvain confessed, the few final days right on the edge of summer. Out of the snow and miserable bluster of winter warfare spring had emerged, the chill air warmed by a dahlia sun filtered through a gauzy haze of lingering wet mist. Five years had passed since Sylvain waltzed into the greenhouse, five cyclical, cynical seasons of horror and destruction. But to everything a season, and the rebirth was coming. A new world emerging like chicks from their egg, flowers from seeds.

The two of you sat in the garden near the dining hall, enjoying the changing weather over tea. You wondered how much had really changed, considering the way you felt compelled to avoid Sylvain’s dark eyes, constantly shifting in your chair. More and more you’d become aware of a certain type of tension between the two of you, an awkwardness you didn’t know what to call or how to handle. It was different from the friendship you’d fostered, but not quite. It made your stomach twist into knots, jumping with the pitter-pattering wing-beats of butterflies.

It had really begun after Dimitri’s coronation. Considering the circumstances, the party hadn’t been anything special, but there had been a feast. And some drinking. And even a bit of dancing. Sylvain had kissed you and told yourself that it didn’t mean anything because he kissed a lot of girls and he was drunk, nevermind that he had neither been with another girl that night nor had his voice been altered by the telltale slur of intoxication. But what other reason could you think of to explain it away? After all, he couldn’t mean anything like that. Not when it came to you.

Even so.

“Y’know…” Sylvain told you, uncharacteristically awkward. “The wars gonna end soon.”

“That’s true,” you said, keeping your eyes distracted by watching the wind dance among the grass and shake the tree’s leaves into a shimmery wonder.

“And I hope that, by now, you know that I… uh…” Sylvain trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished. “Well, you know.”

“Know what?” you asked, put off by his shift in tone. “Is something wrong?”

Sylvain’s eyes widened and he scratched the back of his head, a nervous movement you’d noticed a few times. Not quite like now, though. Not with the way his cheeks were slightly pink and his body tense and eyes flicking away from yours. Usually, it was you who avoided eye contact.

“No! Of course not. What would be wrong?” he asked. “I was just wondering… Do you have any plans? For after the war, I mean. Or, I guess what I’m trying to ask is if you’re, y’know, seeing anyone?”

“I’m seeing you,” you offered after a beat. You knew what he was asking, but not why he’d ask. That made you nervous, your heart thumping unhelpfully.

“What?” Sylvain asked, his eyes wide. A second later, that expression of shock composed itself in understanding. “Oh, you mean… Right. That’s… not what I meant.”

“I know.”

Sylvain frowned, his eyebrows furrowing in something like frustration. “You’re difficult to read, you know that?”

“So are you,” you said under your breath, staring down at the toe of your shoe. Alliance merchants had come to Garreg Mach with all sorts of finery and wares, but you’d never gotten out of the habit of living in the hand-me-downs of your older sisters. These shoes had been nice when they were purchased by now they were old and worn and not quite yours, your feet not the ones to have broken them in.

You looked up at Sylvain, folding your hands carefully in front of you. “Obviously I’m not seeing anyone.” You hoped there was nothing bitter in your voice, that he wouldn’t pick up the ache you felt in saying it aloud. “What about you?”

“Nope, I’m completely single,” Sylvain said a little too quickly. A moment later, his shoulders deflated. “Actually, it’s kinda funny, I haven’t had much luck with girls recently... But that’s not what I wanted to talk about! See, I was just thinking. I mean, I wanted to tell you that I… I think this thing between you and me is… It’s good. I like it. I-I like you.”

You’d never gotten the trick to responding to such things. Praise, flirtations, whatever he meant by them, it seemed to always catch you off guard. Especially now, especially like this. Avoidance or honesty, you had to pick one. Eventually, you decided to go the way of honesty. “I feel the same,” you said slowly, hesitantly.

Sylvain smiled a big, goofy smile like he won something, looking at you like you were worth looking at. Like you were beautiful. He called you beautiful a lot, but it was just a word. A word without meaning, lots of things were beautiful without meaning. Flowers, snow, fire, all of them could make a person’s heart ache with their beauty, yet they could never last long enough for the word to stick. That look in Sylvain’s eyes, though, that was different. It made you feel differently, almost enough to convince you that it meant something, that you meant something.

“You told me a while ago that I deserved to take responsibility for my own happiness,” Sylvain said. “At the time, I thought that you meant that it was okay that I was doing the things I was doing. Chasing girls, being a good-for-nothing, just accepting that one day I’d be married off for my Crest. But that’s not what you meant, was it?” It took a second, but eventually, you remembered that conversation. So long ago now that it felt like another lifetime. In a way it was. Another life, another season. Undeterred by your lack of answer, Sylvain continued. “You’re pretty wise, you know that? Even if you say that you’re not.” He sighed, running his palms over his thighs nervously. “Anyway, I think you were right. And I’d like to do that. To decide for myself how to be happy, to decide for myself who makes me happy. And I realized... that it’s you. So… Uh… I don’t expect you to answer right away, but that’s how I feel. I just needed to get that off my chest.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. You realized from a third person point of view that were you just sitting there, looking at him with a wide eyed, open mouthed look of shock and it was definitely not very attractive but you felt like you couldn’t move, like your brain had shorted out.

“Me?” you finally asked.

“Well, yeah,” Sylvain said, his eyebrows furrowing. “I don’t see anyone else around.”

Me? You wanted to repeat that question, ask it a million times until his answer made sense because it didn’t, not when he was talking about himself and happiness and what he wanted. Not you.

Looking at Sylvain, all you could see was the same attractive nobleman who came searching for you in the greenhouse with a grin and questionable intentions and a bad pick-up line, all you could see was the immeasurable chasm that existed between the two of you. Not status, not wealth, not title. Just you and Sylvain, the core of what you were and what you amounted to.

The longer your silence stretched on, the more concerned Sylvain’s expression became.   It was a cute look. He always pretended to play it cool, like he didn’t actually care that much, especially when it came to girls. But he did. “Hey, are you okay?” he began to get up to come towards you, but you jumped to your feet, swaying unsteadily.

“I need to, uh, think. About this,” you said, the words coming out stiff and as stilted as you felt. Sylvain sat back, frowning. When he looked like that, you wanted to say yes, to agree, to throw yourself into his arms and beg him to smile at you like he had so many times before. You couldn’t tell if that desire was selfish or hopeful or idealistic.  

“Yeah, I figured you would. That’s fine.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. Then, just as quickly, “Thank you. Goodbye.”

Sylvain said something more, but you didn’t hear it. You weren’t running away from him. Fast walking, maybe, the worn soles of your old shoes hitting the paving stones at a rapid pace. Why? You wondered that with every step. You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to.

But you did.

It was only when you were secluded in the safety of the greenhouse that you realized how much of a fool you’d made of yourself. You realized something else, too. You realized why you hadn’t done what you wished you had and thrown yourself into his arms, informed by an angry little whisper that sounded an awful lot like the family who had cast you out to Garreg Mach to keep you out of sight for a time. Hiding in the muggy nook between exotic flowers, you knew yourself to be the disagreeable and unlikable girl you’d always been. You had told Sylvain once that he deserved to be responsible for his own happiness, but that didn’t mean you. Not awkward, strange, and occasionally even unlikable you. You were many things, but you weren’t a good tempered lady who could help him in his duties as Margrave Gautier, not someone worth loving. Not someone who could give him what he needed to be happy.

It was springtime, and the world was blooming.

It was beautiful, it really was.  

/

In one of the last lingering days of late summer, you sought him out. The day had been long, longer than any other. But now it was over. For some strange reason, you couldn’t help but feel some regret for that fact. Edelgard was dead, her fallen body marking the end of an era, the tragically human final act of an age of titans and gods. A new age had begun. Looking half a fleeting ember, the victorious sun laid between heaven and earth, casting its last radiant gaze across a place on the cusp of change. Tomorrow, it would rise over a different world, bringing with it a new dawn.

The won city Enbarr was torn and ragged from the battle, heartache at every corner. There was a hollow, spectral feeling to the destruction. People had been evacuated from places like these, places where the damage was the worst. It was a ghost town now. Marching back through the complicated network of streets that had served as a battleground only hours prior wasn’t exactly what you wanted to be doing. Not really. You had already done many difficult things today, taken many lives. This wouldn’t be the most difficult, not by a long shot, but it weighed heavily on your shoulders. Your final task. After this, you could rest.

You found Sylvain in the wild, crackling air of dusk’s saturated flare at the edge of the famed Enbarr canal, blanketed in the golden honey light of sunset. Late summer in Embarr was overripe and damp, swollen with the saltwater dew from being so near the sea. The humidity was worse here, at the lip of the waterway. Congested condensation and a cloying, musty scent clung to your scalp, beading up on the skin beneath your clothes.

Sylvain sat with one foot dangling over the edge, the other knee bent to make an armrest. He had an uncapped flask in hand. Inches away from the toe of his boot, the water rippled and distorted with his reflection. Sylvain looked every bit the hero he was with that handsome, contemplative expression as he looked to the horizon. You sat beside him without asking, staring up at the approaching night sky and letting out a big breath you’d been holding for what felt like hours. Days. Months. Years, five of them in total. It was a very big breath.

“Hey gorgeous,” Sylvain said.

Your head tipped back to give him a sideways glance. Smiling, of course he was smiling at you. The summer had darkened his skin a shade or two, his cheeks and nose tinged pink from the burning, radiant sun. It should have looked off with the bright red of his hair, but on him, it just worked. His teeth were white against the tan, but you saw something beyond the attractive expression. The slope of his shoulders and furrowed brow, the cloudy distraction behind his umber eyes. Not to mention the alcohol you could smell on his breath. Sylvain had paid the price for heroism. You all had. Enemies, allies, friends —rivers could run with the amount of blood that had been spilled. Who had he been thinking of? Edelgard? Hubert? Dorothea? Sylvain and the lovely songstress had been close, all those years and years ago.

But maybe it wasn’t her, maybe it wasn’t the searing gash of fresh tragedy that drove him here. Maybe he drank to ease the ache of old wounds, a pain that most had forgotten by now. Miklan had been a black hearted and cruel man, but he was Sylvain’s brother, and he had been the first to die.

“Hi,” you said, meeting his smile with a small attempt at one of your own. There were times to point out his charming charades, to ask what it was that he had been thinking about, but not now.

“What brings you here?” Sylvain asked. There was a subtext there. A surprise. You hardly ever approached him, always waiting and hoping for him to come to you first. Uncertain, awkward, too frightened of rejection should you make your desires known. This was, in a way, almost like an echo of your disastrous first introduction.

“You.”

Sylvain blinked. “Oh? It must be my lucky day.”

Lucky day? You wondered about that, a tumultuous gust of emotion swirling in your stomach. The victory had been absolute. No large losses, none of your friends had died today. Yes, that was lucky. The people of Enbarr had readily accepted Dimitri as their ruler. Also lucky.

You looked away from Sylvain, towards the sky. The sun was quickly disappearing. So quick, taking the spun sugar clouds and tangy sweet hues of sunset along with it. It moved despite all your wishes, prompting the future onward without mercy.

“You look pretty cute when you’re lost in thought like that,” Sylvain said. “But shouldn’t you be celebrating?”

You blinked, snapping out of your thoughts. “What about you?”

“I am.” He held up the flask with a lopsided smile. “Want some? It’s good, I snagged it from the Imperial storehouse.”

You eyed it for a second before giving in. Dimitri would have yelled at the two of you. Well, no, he’d have frowned in disapproval. Ingrid would have yelled. But you took a swig of the spiced liquor and decided that it was fine. Faerghus had a lot of alcohol, but it hardly ever tasted good. This was good. It left a searing trail down your throat and into your stomach, twisting your thoughts up into a properly warm buzz. You took another drink.

“The war is over now,” you eventually said, handing back the flask. “But it’s not really over, is it?”

Sylvain hesitated before answering, the rushing water beneath your dangling feet filling the silent space. Stars were revealing themselves now, chasing away the day for once and for all. “It’ll take time to make things right again, but the worst is over. Probably.” He paused and you could feel him looking at you, his stare intent. “Why?”

“You said before that you care about me,” you said, unable to meet his eye while remembering that afternoon and all of the embarrassment that had come of it. “Do you, uh, do you remember?” “How could I not?” Sylvain asked. “Gotta be honest, it’s been a while since a girl ran away from me like that.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, frowning. “I was… Overwhelmed.” To say in the least. Just thinking about his confession made your cheeks blaze and stomach churn.

“It’s okay. You get this adorable expression when you’re embarrassed,” Sylvain said. He was grinning, you could hear it in his voice.  

Rather than panic by trying to figure out a retort to being called adorable under these circumstances, you thought about what it had felt like to kiss him all those moons ago. You measured the honesty behind the words of his confession and thought about the pain he hid so well from the world in a gnarled, terrible place in his heart. You thought about the secrets you’d exchanged and the many times he’d saved your life. You thought about the terrible person he occasionally indulged in being, and the wonderful man who existed despite that. You thought about Sylvain and the words came to you like the sweet nectar drawn from the dainty honeysuckle bloom. You wondered if you could really deserve it and the words came to you softly, emerging harsh and low, pulled out from your lips like poison from a wound.

“I really care about you, Sylvain,” you told him stiffly.

“Really? That’s good!” he said, grinning. When you didn’t answer, his posture wilted. “That is good, isn’t it?”

“Dimitri asked me to stay in Enbarr to smooth out the transition into a unified Fódlan.”

“And you said….”

“Yes.”

Sylvain let out a breath that was almost a humorless laugh, his lips turned up in a half-smile that didn’t at all meet his dark eyes. You felt your heart break, just a tiny bit. The easiest thing to do, just a few words, yet one of the heaviest tasks you’d performed all day.

“So… That’s it?” he asked.  

You loved him. You had for a while. Loved him in all the different forms the feeling could manifest, you knew that with an oppressive weight of fact. A vicious whisper in your mind insisted that he couldn’t love you, that it was all a beautiful little lie. Pity, even. But maybe it was all fake and manufactured and the feelings he spoke of were meaningless because you were just that easy, awkward and strange and never quite fitting in, you made a perfect target for someone like him to swoop in and seduce and you’d fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. But it felt nice and you couldn’t find yourself to care, or to blame him even if that was the case. Because it was nice. And warm. And lovely.

Besides, if it was true, if he was honest, then this was for the best anyway. He deserved better than what you could offer.

The sun was gone, the wild darkness of summer nights enveloping the two of you in an intimate cloak, a world of your own.

“Would it really be very hard?” you asked, staring up at the stars to avoid his eyes. “After all, I’m…”

No, you didn’t finish that thought. Not aloud. But you thought it —I’m me, and you’re you.

That was the crux of it all, wasn’t it? Sylvain wasn’t perfect, far from it, but he was far more than he thought of himself. He was strong and smart and caring and strangely considerate in ways people didn’t expect. He was the seductive dark heat of late summer nights, the cloying musky death and decay of autumn leaves beneath a crimson sun, and the destructive crackling blaze of a winter fire. To that, you were the cold shadow cast by a meek spring sun, a dotting of yellow headed weeds among a garden of gorgeous flowers.  

And one day he’d realize he’d made a mistake. Was it worse to imagine having your heart broken by his honest and sharp tongue when that day came, or to be kept around out of his sense of duty or guilt? If you could believe that Sylvain cared for you now, that only meant that it would hurt both of you that much more later. The sour, disagreeable third child. Of all the things the seasons had changed, you’d never shed yourself of that title.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sylvain asked. His expression was wounded, an edge of defeat in his voice. Your shoulders tensed up, a knot forming in your throat. “You don’t believe me, do you. That’s… Well, I probably deserve that.” He sighed, a stressed sound. “Fine, I’ll prove it to you. I’ll show you that I’m serious this time, that I mean it. I’ll-”

“I do believe you,” you told him, cutting off whatever he was about to say. The water was dark, it’s inky surface winking with the faint hint of shimmering reflected light as it rushed past. You stared at it, trying to keep yourself under control. “I’m trying to do the right thing.”

“The right thing?” he asked flatly.

“I don’t want you to wake up and realize that you only cared for me because of the emotions of war, or because I’m convenient. I-I don’t want to be your mistake,” you said, practically glaring at the canal to remain steady. “I want you to be happy, and I… I don’t think that I can do that.”

“You already do,” Sylvain said.

That shocked you into meeting his gaze again, unable to find the words to respond. In the dark, the color of his eyes was lost. But his intensity was heavy and warm and as intoxicating as the liquor and you were drawn to it like nothing else in the world because the way he made you feel when he looked at you like that was incomparable. But you were just you. Awkward, strange, uncertain. Even unpleasant in so many ways. How could you truly believe you deserved to be looked at like that? Like you mattered.

“You’ll come back to Faerghus, won’t you?” Sylvain asked. “After you’re done here, I mean. His Majesty can’t ask you to stay in Enbarr forever, right?” Dimitri most certainly could ask that of you, although you knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if you wanted to return to Faerghus, Dimitri wouldn’t force you to stay. Sylvain didn’t seem to care about your answer, he likely knew it just as well as you did. “Right, so when things have calmed down here, you’ll come home,” Sylvain said, like that settled something.

Home. What did he think of as your home? The miserable cold estate of your father in Gautier territory? That no more sounded like home than Enbarr did. Perhaps you could continue work as an ambassador, or perhaps you would stay in the former Empire. Perhaps that would be better for everyone. Out of sight, out of-

“You will come back, won’t you?” Sylvain asked when you didn’t respond, his voice softer.

“Yes,” you said, unable to deny him that.

“Promise me something, then,” Sylvain said. “When you come back to Faerghus, you’ll give me a serious shot at proving to you how much I truly care about you.”

Your stomach turned over unhappily, nervously. What were you meant to feel about that request? Hope? Happiness? Guilt? Trepidation? In a way, you felt all of them at once, the sensation almost as overwhelming as the humidity. Once again, you wanted to say yes. You wanted to throw yourself into his arms and accept what would come of it.

The water rushed, bugs buzzing in the distance. You said nothing.

“C’mon, you wouldn’t wanna break my heart, would you?” Sylvain asked, his smile just about the only distinct thing you could make out in the dark.

“When I return...” you said slowly, considering it. What were the chances of that, you wondered? By the time you returned, the strange and faraway future, Sylvain would be Margrave Gautier. You couldn’t imagine him staying alone for long, not really. So it was a nice promise, pretty words, but no meaning. Just like beautiful, lovely, pretty, cute. Meaningless, without consequence. Another lovely thing to hold in your heart even when he’d forgotten all about you, a piece of treasure clutched in a dead man’s hand at the bottom of the ocean. “I promise.”

“Heh, you really know how to make a guy work for it,” Sylvain said, grinning like he’d won something. But it was just a casual, silly promise, nothing more. Even so. “It’s a promise, then.” He lifted the flask like a toast and took a hearty drink before passing it to you. It was almost like a kiss, your lips touching his by proxy. An innocent kiss, then, tasting of honeyed liquor and heat in your head and chest and head. A toast to a future you didn’t believe would come to pass. But you wished for it. You really did.

/

Autumn came later than it did in the north. Beginning with rippling waves of golden wheat and changing leaves, the infectious scent of fall harvest and drying earth greeted you each time you left the city. Not to be outdone, the vibrant infection of dying things and decaying earth crept into the streets of Enbarr, a velvety cloak fog sneaking into the streets. Fall hit Enbarr without the intense bite it had for Faerghus, which you couldn’t help but appreciate considering the amount of traveling your new position required of you.

It was difficult, you were hardly a politician, but you made it work. This was good. You needed to become strong. In a way, it was like setting a goal. You told yourself all the time that you could never be worthy of the promise Sylvain had made to you on that summer night, all the while working to become a woman who was. Strong. Beautiful. Self assured. Oh, you tried.

Sylvain wrote, occasionally. He told you that negotiations with Sreng were difficult. The leader of the country rightly had little trust for a place and people that had brutally annexed half of their land and only recently emerged from a terrible war. Oddly, being the victors made the position even more precarious, especially with the militantly nationalistic values the Chruch of Seiros had instilled within Fódlan for so long. Certain countries were willing to make alliances out of the fear, but others doubled down because of their worries that Fódlan could so easily ruin them.

Sylvain made no acknowledgment of romance or your promise, but there was something. The scent of his cologne that found its way into every envelope. The casual, loopy lattice of his handwriting. And the way he signed each letter, words you kept locked up tight in your heart. With love, Sylvain Jose Gautier. Forever yours, Sylvain Jose Gautier. Affectionately, Sylvain Jose Gautier.

You scorned yourself for the hope you felt. But you couldn’t quite kill it, either. /

Winter in the former Empire was as mild as the fall, all things considered. You didn’t even see snow until you ventured up into the former Arundel territory. Sylvain wrote less often. He must have been frightfully busy. Not to mention the difficulty of getting the post in or out of the snow-thick Faerghus. You tried not to take it personally.

Sylvain said, the weather there is probably nicer than here, it feels like I’m always cold these days. Cold and busy. Sylvain said, of course, it would be better if I could bask in the warmth of your smile. Sylvain said, Dimitri has decided to pick up the tradition of winter celebrations in Fhirdiad, any chance you’ll be there? Signed, Your devoted and freezing, Sylvain Jose Gautier.

You told him that you couldn’t. The nobles in the Empire were ready to crack at any moment, even a few weeks away would surely shatter the whole thing. Maybe next year.

Maybe. The word tasted like hope when you said it and you tried to keep your expectations in check.

Winter became spring became summer. Sylvain hardly ever wrote throughout the changing seasons, but neither did you. Too busy, too distracted, too forgetful, too frightened of rejection. Whenever you put the pen to paper, you found that all you could write was that you missed him. So much that it had become a terrible ache. Was that too selfish of you? Too terrible? You wondered if he had found a new love yet, if he thought of you. You wondered if he missed you, if he thought about you as often as you did him. You closed your eyes and pressed your nose to the heavy parchment that smelled of Sylvain’s cologne and dried ink and expensive paper and pretended for a moment longer that you could return to Faerghus as a woman who deserved to be at his side, that he would have you.

Autumn came again, the musty warm scent of sunshine on crispy yellow and red piles of leaves and sweet musk of death. The former Empire was finally becoming stable enough to free you from its clutches, the lords kept in check under Dimitri’s reign. Perhaps you would serve as an ambassador after all, Dimitri seemed willing to entertain the idea.

Winter descended a mild grip, bestowing a chilly kiss onto the city of Enbarr. No teeth, no cruelty. No snow. Although it was possibly one of the worst seasons to trek up north, you knew it was time to return. You had said maybe, but this was the goal you’d been building yourself towards all this time. You looked in the mirror and told yourself that you had changed throughout the year. No longer the disagreeable, antisocial child you had been. Even if Sylvain had forgotten his promise, even if he no longer cared.

Even so, even so.

/

The day had been short, shorter than most that you had spent in the mild climate of Enbarr. Comparatively, winter days in Fhirdiad were fleeting and freezing, the sun coming out just in time to wave goodbye. So many things had changed in the year and a half that you’d been away. Faerghus was a different beast entirely from the barren wasteland it had been. Trade routes had been established, relations between the former Alliance and Empire strengthened, and a certain feeling of life returned to the citizens. Fhirdiad was hardly recognizable, decked out in lights and wreaths in honor of the winter celebrations they were so fond of. Clean streets, rosy cheeks, playing children —you could barely reconcile the image of the city as it had been with the place that greeted you.

You had changed, too. Stronger, smarter, you had more perspective about the world. More confidence, maybe. Hopefully. By the goddess you hoped.

Many things hadn’t changed, however.

Until you were certain of your position and had a place to live, you’d taken a room in an Inn near the palace in Fhirdiad. It was cold and unornamented, such a stark contrast to the decadent rooms you’d taken in Enbarr. One thing you were at least somewhat certain of was that you hadn’t told anyone where you were staying. Despite that, barely an hour after you arrived, Annette and Mercedes towed an unenthusiastic Ingrid to your door. To get ready for the ball, they said, acting as if no time at all had passed.

With them, you didn’t feel as strong a need to prove yourself or the way you’d changed, the growth you’d achieved. They were quite unlike the sisters you’d grown up with, warm and kind and energetic. All the while tripping over themselves to inform you of everything you’d missed in the time you’d been gone, Annette and Mercedes styled you like a doll. “Ooo, you should wear your hair down like this,” Annette said, arranging your hair around your shoulders helpfully. “And I’ve got this shimmery eye pallet that will look great on you.” Mercedes dug through your luggage to find one of the many fancy dresses you’d acquired while living in the former Empire. “I think this dress matches the theme, don’t you think, Annie?” she asked. Surprisingly, even Ingrid joined in. Her hair was still short, but she applied makeup and donned a dress that showed an impressive amount of shoulder. Still, she rejected the lipstick Mercedes offered, saying that there would be sausages at the party and it’d get everywhere.

None of them mentioned Sylvain. You didn’t ask. It was nice to be around them again, to simply bask in their company. Making friends in Enbarr hadn’t been an option when so much of the court would have gladly seen you dead. Odd, you hadn’t realized how lonely you’d been.  

By the end of it all, you couldn’t help but feel a bit vain. Yes, you had changed quite a bit. Where you had been a scrawny and awkward girl hovering between stages of life during the war, you were now truly a woman. Elegant and graceful. Peace had allowed your hair and skin to finally shine, given the proper attention that long war campaigns had denied. No longer living on rations and training constantly, your body was softer than it had ever been, filling out the dress. You put on a practiced smile and stood up straight and told yourself that it was natural, that this was who you wanted to be.

Snow drifted down in lackadaisical twirls when the four of you entered the royal palace ballroom. It was a place you’d only seen once, when Dimitri took the throne. You had strong memories of that night, ones that made your stomach dip and churn with anxiety. And excitement.

After being relieved of your cloaks and announced, you paused to take it all in. Built in much the same fashion as other Faerghus structures, there was a harsh, utilitarian cut to the grand palace ballroom. The low ceilings lent a bunker-like quality to the place, although you wouldn’t call it cramped, either. Everything was cut with sharp angles and little detailing. Most of the stone was smoothed and finished but not colored or altered. Despite the relative simplicity, the floor plan was expansive, giving the party goers more than enough space to spread out into the various nooks and alcoves. The dance floor, a rather new addition, was set on a platform on the far end, the band set up on a slightly higher platform beside it. Tiles on the floor were what truly denoted the inherent wealth and style of royalty. The Crest of Blaiddyd was the largest, patterned across the dance floor, but the major noble Crests from Faerghus were printed in other important spaces. It couldn’t be seen from the entryway, but a sequence of stained glass panels representing Loog’s war for independence was set behind the King’s table.

Ingrid broke off from the four of you, ostensibly in search of the buffet, but Annette took your arm. “We should go see His Majesty first! I’m sure he’ll be super excited to see you again.”

“Annie,” Mercedes chided. “I’m sure there are many people she’d like to see.”

“No, I’d love to see Dimitri again,” you said with a smile that felt somewhat weak. You weren’t even sure if you wanted to see Sylvain, if you were ready for that. At the same time, you felt like you couldn’t wait.

King Dimitri was easy to find. He cut a grand figure in his royal ensemble, mingling among the people with a genuine smile. His confidence in the role of king had clearly grown, his movements as easy in his gala finery as they were in armor, not to mention the way he interacted with people lacking the awkwardness you were used to.

He smiled and greeted you, even kissing your hand, and it was utterly genuine. Dimitri was as polite and kind as you remembered, but it was wrong. He looked at you and that blue eye didn’t linger or seem surprised, he saw no difference between the woman who stood in front of him and the nervous, awkward girl he’d celebrated with after the war. Only a year and a half had passed, but still.

“You’re here to stay, then?” Dimitri asked. You smiled, but it was strained. To stay in Faerghus, yes, that had been your plan. But why? To do what? You realized right then how silly it was to be wearing a face full of makeup and a gown, like you were playing an odd game of pretend. You wanted to be validated, to prove to them all how you’d grown. That you were worth something now.

“I am.”

“I’m interested to hear everything about the situation in Enbarr,” Dimitri said enthusiastically. His eye flicked behind you, a new group of people hoping to meet the celebrity Savior King. “Er, later, if that’s alright with you.”

“Yes, of course,” you responded. “Later.”

He shot you an apologetic smile as he bowed out.

You turned back to scan the ballroom and you told yourself that you weren’t specifically looking for a dash of bright red among the muted wintery colors because that felt an awful lot like hope. And that was silly. You had grown, you had changed. Childish promises were hardly a concern of yours, now. When disappointment struck your chest at the absence, you ignored it.

Instead, you set to work trying to find where Mercedes and Annette had disappeared to. Before you could stray too far, a familiar soft voice called your name. Mercedes stood beside the hulking figure of Dedue. “I was just telling him that you came!” she said, smiling.

“It seems that everyone is here,” Dedue noted. “I’m… Glad to see you again.” He bowed, stiff and polite. It didn’t necessarily shock you that he would regard you in the same way as he always did. Straightforward and famously terse.

“Dedue just got back, too,” Mercedes said.

“From where?” you asked.

“I was in Duscur,” Dedue said.

At your confusion, Mercedes added, “After Dedue left Dimitri’s service, he and I have been working on opening a school for the children of Duscur.”

“Yes, it is a difficult project, but a worthwhile endeavor,” Dedue said, wearing a small smile as he looked down at her. A private look that you didn’t quite grasp. “In any case, a great many things have changed while you were away. It must be shocking.”

“A bit,” you said vaguely, surprised by their behavior. Caught off guard. Awkward. “I’m going to go get a drink.”

“Of course, we’ll catch up with you later!” Mercedes said.

Drifting over to the buffet table, you saw that Ingrid was right about the sausages. The spread was quite grand, but you’d grown used to such foods by spending so much time in Enbarr. Maybe a little spoiled, as you couldn’t help but note that many dishes were missing. But your stomach was far too nervous to eat anyway, so you accepted a flute of bubbly champagne, sipping at it as you made your way around.

People looked at you, watched you, but none of it was quite like you wanted. Did they see you because of the way you looked, the ways you’d changed, or did they view you as an awkward introvert pretending at being a lady? Which, you wondered.

You saw Ashe at just about the same time that he saw you, your eyes locking and his face immediately breaking out in a smile. “I heard you were here!” he said enthusiastically. He didn’t look older, not really. His hair was a little longer, but that was it. It was the same Ashe who had taught you the names of all the flowers in the greenhouse greeting you with the same smile he always had.

You smiled and nodded, unable to think of any more elegant greeting.

“It’s great to see you again,” Ashe said. So genuine, it made you feel bad for being so bitter. “I wish I had more time, but-” His eyes danced around the crowd, looking for something. Or someone. “I brought my younger brother along to introduce him to everyone, but I’ve no idea where he might have gone.”

“Do you need help looking?” you asked, the words more polite than anything.

“No, thank you. I can manage,” Ashe said gratefully. “I can’t wait for us all to catch up.”

“Me neither.” Your smile was thin because you knew he certainly didn’t see you any differently. And you weren’t sure what it was that you expected, that you wanted. Only that the absence made you feel a bit hollow, like you wanted to retreat to the shadows and hide.

You found Felix by acting on that impulse. He stood by the wall, on the fringe of the crowd with a slightly annoyed look about him. He didn’t wear the current style of laid back formal wear with a militaristic edge, but a cape and coat and boots. They were fine and well maintained, of course, but little more could be said for the look. Despite that, Felix had a way of standing out, his narrowed eyes watching the crowd like he expected something to happen. Or maybe that was just a vain hope. “So you are back,” he said, turning to acknowledge your presence. His expression didn’t change, but his voice wasn’t exactly cold, either. You’d always felt a certain sort of understanding towards Felix. But that was probably why the two of you had never become very close, either.

“Try not to look too excited. I might get the wrong impression,” you told him, the vaguely clever retort coming out in a practiced way after the words had been properly arranged in your head. That made him smile. But there was no other reaction, no indication that he noticed the way you’d changed or the way you looked.

The previous song ended with a flourish, the next one picking up right on its tail. Laughter buzzed around the expansive room, conversation and heat filling the space.

“Do you need something?” Felix asked. He didn’t sound frustrated, more distracted.

“No,” you said. “Actually, have you seen Sylvain around?” you asked. And you tried to keep your voice casual, but something kind of cracked towards the end and you could hear the naked want in your voice which was all kinds of pathetic.

“No, I haven’t,” Felix said, seemingly blind to your slipup. Right. Felix wouldn’t notice that sort of thing.

“Is he with someone?” you asked.

Felix snorted. “I don’t know. Or care, for that matter. Why don’t you ask him?”

“If I could find him, maybe,” you muttered softly, although you knew the words were more of a cover for your nerves than anything. “What about you”

“What about me?”

“Are you seeing anyone?”

Felix eyed you for a second, his narrowed gaze unnervingly piercing. “Why?”

“Isn’t that what people normally ask their friends after having been away?”

“Probably,” Felix responded with a nod of understanding, but he didn’t answer.

“Right,” you eventually said, more to ease your awkwardness than anything. The person you wanted to be probably could have conjured up some way to draw Felix out of his shell, but you had no idea.

Instead, you bid him a farewell and ducked out. It was all so very anticlimactic. You’d been dreaming of the moment you’d return to court, confident and beautiful and desirable. But nobody looked at you like you wanted to be looked at, appraising you like you were worth admiring. It was like nothing had changed and that should have been comforting, but instead it just made you feel oddly weak. If you hadn’t changed in the way you thought you had, that took away the lie you’d told yourself so you didn’t feel so silly, the lie that you weren’t doing this for him. That you hadn’t returned because you were following the sweet trail of a promise made in the heady aftermath of battle and victory by tongues loosened with alcohol and intimacy ignited by the wild cocoon of a late summer night.

You wanted to be beautiful, but that wasn’t it. You wanted to be seen as beautiful. And worthy. Throughout the war, you had all remained in a half state of adulthood. Undeveloped and held back from moving forward until the war was over. That was why you had been unable to accept his proposal. One day he’d lose that mischievous affection in his eyes and you’d be left gutted and hollow and cheap. He’d realize you weren’t enough and leave you like a broken and useless toy. And things hadn’t really changed, not in the way you wanted them to have changed.

It felt like failure. Deciding to get some wintery air to calm yourself down, you abandoned your glass and reclaimed your cloak to wander outside into the garden. Most people opted to stay inside, but the weather wasn’t unmanageably cold. The tall stone walls kept the wind at bay, and the temperature wasn’t really so bad considering the heating artifices that had been set up in intervals along the paving stone walkways. You put up your hood to defend against the faint fog of the lazy snow. Mostly, though, you were just amazed by the sight that greeted you.

No flowers were cultivated at this time of year, most of Faerghus was killed by the brutal weather. To replace them, the garden was decorated with elaborate ice sculptures. Art was as rare in Faerghus as flowers were, making the sight a genuine surprise, but not an unwelcome one. It drew you out of your poor mood, giving you a much needed distraction.

Some of them depicted familiar scenes, frozen tableaus made to reflect scenes of scripture or history. Not just Faerghus history, either. All three nations were given spotlights among the icy sentinels.

The most interesting one, to you, was the ice Dimitri, standing double the height of the man himself with Areadbhar at the ready. Byleth had received similar treatment, the Sword of the Creator held high to fall on whichever unlucky individual happened to be beneath it. You wondered what the pair thought of such treatment, such deification. Either way, the sculptures were nothing short of breathtaking.

The arrival of a group of people urged you onwards, deeper into the frozen wonderland of stone and ice. It was colder as you got further away from the main plaza, the main sculptures grouped where they could be seen and admired. Darker, too, colors fading as if you were walking beyond the clustered beating heart of the celebration and into something else. Something eerie. You’d been too lost in empty ponderance to notice how far you’d walked. There weren’t any sculptures here, just ice molded into shapes to replace the empty flower beds, regular stone statues posed amidst the path. Just as you were about to turn around, the dark spoke.

“Do my eyes deceive me, or is that really you?”

Recognition hit you instantly like a sharp flash of late summer lightning. Even muffled through the wool of your cape’s hood, you knew exactly who that voice belonged to. Despite that, you had to turn around to be sure. Just in case. No matter how much you doubted yourself, Sylvain Jose Gautier himself stood behind you, wrapped up in a dark cloak that allowed him to nearly fade into the shadows. Only his face, as pale as you remembered, stood out in the magic light. He was smiling, shadows cast beneath his arched eyebrows and high cheekbones, his red hair both unruly and stylish at the same time. Although the finer details were lost between the darkness and distances, you were more than aware that your memories didn’t at all do him justice.

“It’s you,” you said, unable to think of anything more articulate. Even with as much as you’d anticipated this moment, you hadn’t planned for it, not like this. Actually, you weren’t even sure what you had planned for.

“Uh, yeah,” Sylvain said after a beat, grinning. “I hope you weren’t expecting someone else.”

“I wasn’t,” you said quickly. “You surprised me.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he said. “I’d have thought of a better ice breaker, but I wouldn’t want any of the mages to get mad at me for ruining their hard work.”

It was almost surreal. He was the same as he had been. The line was stupid, but it worked, it made your chest ache.

“Okay, I know. That one was terrible,” Sylvain said with a rueful laugh when you didn’t answer, scratching the back of his head. “Guess it’s kinda an off day for me… I didn’t know you’d be here. I mean, I heard that you were, but I wasn’t sure. Especially since it was so hard to find you.”

“Sorry.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining,” Sylvain said. “In fact, I’m overjoyed.  Although… I’d be happier if I could actually see your face. Don’t get me wrong, I love a bit of mystery, but I appreciate beauty much more.”

It took a moment to register what he meant, but eventually, it dawned on you that with the only light at your back and your hood up, your face was probably entirely obscured. “Right,” you said. It wasn’t exactly the grand reveal you hoped for, but it was still something. You pulled down your hood in a way you hoped didn’t mess up your hair. Trying to remain somewhat surreptitious about it, you turned slightly, enough to catch the light better. The air was colder without the buffer of the wool, but you didn’t exactly mind it.

“Wow,” Sylvain said, his voice soft, surprised. “You look beautiful.” He looked at you in the way none of the others had, his breathy voice quiet and expression stunned. Not in the artificial way of his flirtations, but something honest and fascinated. A moment later, as if coming to his senses, Sylvain’s awe turned awkward. “What I mean is that you look stunning tonight. Not to say that you never looked nice before! ‘Cause you did, er, do. You’ve always looked beautiful, but this is different. Good different.”

“Thank you,” you said, unable to keep from the spread of a slow smile across your face, a giddy feeling making your heart jump. Nerves, doubt too. But it wasn’t so bad.

“No, really,” Sylvain insisted, his expression earnest. “I almost feel bad for the mages who set this all up. Your mere presence completely devalues any piece of art. How could anybody admire something else when you’re around?”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you said after a moment of consideration, trying to deliver the line in a properly playful way. It must have worked, because Sylvain’s face broke out into another wide grin.

“You think so?” he asked. “‘Cause if you do, maybe you’ll do me the honor of touring this little exhibition together?” Sylvain held out his arm, one of his eyebrows quirked hopefully.

“I would,” you said, jumping at the chance to give such an easily presented answer and taking his proffered arm before you could talk yourself down.

“By the way, how’d you wind up all the way down here?” he asked as the two of you retraced your way back to the main plaza.

“I guess I was distracted,” you told him, trying your very best to keep your gait normal and not look at him. It hardly made a difference. Standing so close, you could smell the wool and tanned hide of his fur trimmed cape, the deeper musk of his clothes and the body beneath them, the leather polish of his gloves. It was intimate in a quiet, still way.

“That’s it?” Sylvain pushed, expectant.

You tried to figure out what that might be before giving up. “What do you mean?”

“Huh? Oh, nothing,” he said. “I guess that part of you hasn’t changed.” Sylvain seemed pleased with that observation, but you weren’t. He was right, it was just like you to get wrapped up in your desire to isolate and your own thoughts and feelings. To isolate yourself.

Brushing past other couples, you and Sylvain walked and admired sculptures depicting Sothis creating the Fódlan. Serios with her sword held high, her hair and dress picked up by an unseen breeze. The Four Saints. Nemesis, the King of Liberation.

All the while, Sylvain was looking at you. The feeling was heavy even as you tried to avert your eyes onto the shining sculptures. They were marvels, genuinely, but you could barely see them for as hard as you were staring.

“Is everything all right?” you finally asked, meeting Sylvain’s eyes nervously. As much as you had craved it, you had been avoiding his gaze.

“Yeah, of course. It’s just… It seems like a waste to keep you out here all alone where nobody can admire you,” he said. “Then again, that makes me pretty lucky, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose,” you said slowly, “it depends on how you define luck,”

“Running into you?” Sylvain said. “I’d say that’s very lucky. Some might even say it’s fate.”

“That’s silly.”

“You don’t believe in fate?”

“No more than you do.”

“If it’s not fate, how is it that I seem to constantly run into you like this?” Sylvain asked, his voice and smile playful. “Face it, we’re fated to be together.”

You didn’t respond to that, trying to gauge how serious he was and coming up short of anything other than conflicted confusion.

“By the way,” Sylvain said after a moment passed, “what are you doing out here? You couldn’t have gotten dressed up like this just to admire the scenery all by yourself.”

“I was inside for a while,” you told him. “I said hello to everybody.”

“Except me.”

Did he sound a bit hurt? He was smiling, but there was an edge to his voice. “I couldn’t find you.”

“Really? Then you couldn’t have been in there very long. Are you sure that’s it?” Sylvain pushed suggestively. “You didn’t come out here to, I dunno, meet someone?”

“Obviously not,” you said carefully, holding just a bit more tightly to his arm. Not clinging, you didn’t want to think of yourself as clinging. “I’m known to be unfriendly and antisocial, it would be more out of character if I didn’t run away and hide.”

“I don’t think you’re that bad,” Sylvain said, either not picking up on your self deprecating tone or ignoring it. “Felix definitely has you beat in that regard. He’s completely hopeless.”

“If he wore a dress you wouldn’t think I was any better,” you responded, making a valiant attempt at teasing him to avoid giving in to your self pity.

It worked. Sylvain looked down at you like he was shocked, at a loss for words. “You have changed,” he said dramatically. “Ouch. You leave for a year and suddenly you know just where to hit me where it hurts. Did Ingrid tell you about that?”

“I’m just saying,” you said, skirting around that question, “that you’re biased when it comes to girls. And other feminine individuals.”

“Well, maybe,” Sylvain allowed. “But not about you. I pride myself on having enough personal experience to know firsthand how cute and charming you can be.”

“What is strange,” you said, forcing the conversation onward to ignore the way he made your stomach buzz with thousands of little butterfly wings, “is that you’re out here. Unless you’re meeting someone.”

“I was,” Sylvain said, “but I already found the girl I was looking for,”

You didn’t know what to say to that, all of your quips and clever retorts running dry, a dizzy intoxicated sort of feeling rising up into your head. Rather than answer, you pretended to be very interested in a sculpture of an eagle. It stared down at you with beady and judgmental icy eyes, it’s wings folded and posture regal.

“Anyway,” Sylvain continued, “I’ve heard that you’re in Faerghus to stay.”

“Yeah, I guess I am,” you responded.

“You know, I was prepared to wait way longer,” Sylvain casually noted as you continued down the line of sculptures to a lion cast in ice, his mouth forever fixed in an intimidating roar. “I had an image in my head of how I’d try to woo you as an old man. I figure that I’ll be one of those graceful old grandpas who uses a fancy walking stick and everything. Obviously, you’ll age very gracefully. Probably would have had to get the ring resized for your old lady hand, though.”

Your heart thumped, the palpitation hard enough to make your head spin.

“Um… What?” you asked in a faint voice, your arm going limp and releasing his as you stopped in your tracks. Sylvain hesitated, his feet brushing against the stone as he half turned towards you.

“Don’t you remember?” Sylvain asked, confused. “The night that the war ended, we made a promise.”

“I remember,” you said, swallowing down a lump in your throat.

“Great! So, uh, where do you think I should begin?”

“Begin what?” you asked dumbly.

His eyes narrowed, a frustrated glare that accused you of being purposefully obstinate. “Wooing you? Y’know, proving the extent of my undying love and all that.”

“Oh, that,” you said, your stomach dropping and a cold breath catching in your throat.

“Yeah, that,” he echoed, his confidence fading a bit. “If this your way of politely rejecting me, it’s okay to just say it outright. I’m a big boy, I can handle it.”

Winter’s unyielding touch pierced the bubble created by walls and warmth, a draft of cold air teasing your hair, slipping beneath your cloak and making you shiver. Snowflakes settled in Sylvain’s messy hair, sparkling as they caught the light.

“I don’t have anything to offer you, Sylvain,” you told him after it passed, your eyes flicking away from his to stare hard at the lion’s icy maw to keep your eyes from stinging. “I thought that if I took some time and tried, I could. I wanted to, but coming back here and everything… I am what I am.”

“And I wouldn't want you to be any different,” Sylvain said. From your periphery, you could see that he was frowning, his brow furrowed in concern. “What do you think you don’t have that I want… Or.. Or expect? I don’t mean to be crude, but I could get almost any girl I wanted. At the very least, she’d be compelled to marry me because of my-”

“Crest and title,” you filled in, your voice flat.

His lips quirked up like that was a funny thing to say, but his eyes didn’t change. “Yeah, that. I mean, that’s how it is, right? That’s the person I’ve always been told I was. The fate I accepted. Until I met you. You showed me that I can be more than that. And this past year…” He laughed dryly, a gloved hand brushing the snow from his hair nervously. “Well, to be honest, it’s been pretty miserable. But it made me think even harder about myself and about what I wanted. I’ve made my choice.”

“And what’s that?” you asked. And you knew what he meant but that knowledge was unbearably presumptuous, something you could hardly let yourself dream, let alone be given in real life. So you asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Sylvain asked, “You.”

Dizzy and cold, you probably could have been knocked over by a particularly stiff breeze. “Me,” you said softly. Not a question, just an attempt to taste the word, to understand it. He didn’t even hear you.

“But…” Sylvain continued before stopping himself. He sighed, shook his head. “Now don’t get me wrong, I love the chase, but I’ll give it up if you tell me right now that you don’t want me. I can accept that. However, if there’s even the slightest chance that I can convince you that I truly, genuinely want to be with you, I’ll do anything.”

“I’m not worth all that,” you said, but your voice was hushed and cramped by your swollen throat, spoken to the ground because you couldn’t look at Sylvain and admit that. Not directly. Couldn’t he tell? Beneath the makeup and hair and dress and all of the things you’d done to grow, you were still the pathetic slip of a girl he found in that greenhouse. The same nothing girl you’d been your entire life.

“What?” he asked, taking a step towards you.

You looked up, daring to meet his dark eyes. The words hurt to say. Icicles piercing between your ribs. But you did. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You don’t deserve me?” Sylvain asked slowly, emphasizing the words as if to make sense of them. You could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he considered you, picking you apart with that too-keen gaze. “So all of this, the way you’ve been acting… I think I’m starting to get it. You think that you’re not enough… For me.” After saying that aloud, Sylvain laughed another humorless laugh. “Why, what makes me different?”

“Everything,” you said, speaking at a nearly inaudible hush because you didn’t trust your voice. “You’re my first friend, the only person who’s ever made me feel like I mattered. I couldn’t bear to ruin this because I…” Words weren’t your forte, they never had been. You knew that, he knew it. But you swallowed against your dry mouth so they could come out all the same, the warmth of your breath fading into the cold and carried away by the wintery air to the heavens above. “I love you.”

Sylvain didn’t react at first, staring at you in shock. Finally, just when the tension was ready to kill you, words emerged from his parted lips. “You…me…I...” He paused, then shook his head as if to clear it, to focus. “Come again?”

“I love you,” you repeated, the words coming louder now that they’d already been exposed, brittle in your mouth.

“Right…” He blinked once. Twice. “Do you remember earlier when I said that you were less hopeless than Felix?” Sylvain asked.

You nodded.

“I take it back.”

You purposefully fixed your gaze at the frosted ground with some mixture of embarrassment and nerves. Regret, too, it was tangy in your lungs. As it happened so often, you found yourself without anything to say. What were you supposed to say now that all of your damning insecurities were out in the dark winter cold? His tone was semi-playful with that last remark, but it was true. You were hopeless, you hadn’t really changed at all and now you felt like you were going to cry. Right here, in front of him, running your makeup, ruining the night-

Refusing to allow you to sink back into your own head, Sylvain grabbed your hands. Both gloved, his in leather and yours in silk. Despite that, you could feel the firmness of his grasp, remember the way his skin was calloused and rough against your own. You looked up to meet his eyes on instinct, confused and surprised by the easy way he touched you. But not displeased, not enough to shake off his grasp.

“I couldn’t bear to see you change,” Sylvain told you emphatically, his dark eyes serious and eyebrows raised. “Sure you’re a little weird sometimes and I can’t say that I always understand what you’re thinking, but I like that. I like the way that you listen to what I have to say and the way you try to understand me. Me, not my Crest or title or whatever. I like the way you smile and the playful look in your eyes when you say something clever. You’re intelligent and supportive and kind.” The words had an odd rhythm to them, like they had been practiced before but Sylvain couldn’t quite dole them out in the measured way in which they’d been composed. Each one was caressed by his voice before puffing out in a little cloud in front of his red lips, accentuated by the pleading, vulnerable cast of his eyes on yours. “I like you…” he told you, his fingers tightening around yours. “No, I love you. And if you’ll have me, I’ll prove it to you. I’ll show you how wonderful I think you are. I’ve thought up a few pretty compelling ways in this past year.”

From an outside perspective, you could imagine that you were standing as still as the lion made of ice. Rigid, your eyes wide, your lips slightly parted as if to make way for words you weren’t able to speak. In your own head, however, you just felt dizzy. Aware of the cold biting the tip of your nose and freezing your feet in their brand new fancy shoes. Your breath was held as if to retain Sylvain’s impromptu speech for a moment longer, as if you could parse out the meaning of his words just from keeping them in.

“Uh…” he finally said, frowning. “Are you okay? Maybe that was too much...”

“No!” you said, the word finally breaking through the barrier of your mind to your lips before you could rethink it. Too loud. You flinched, clearing your throat to more easily manage your voice. “N-not too much.”

Sylvain waited expectantly for more. But there wasn’t more. What were you supposed to say? How were you supposed to offer him something even halfway comparable to that confession?

“Should I give you some space?” Sylvain asked, his grip loosening around your hands.

You panicked, holding onto him tighter. “No, it’s okay. I’m sorry. I’m trying to… I mean, I… I don’t know what to say.”

Slowly, hopefully, a smile tugged at the edges of Sylvain’s mouth. “Have I ever mentioned how cute you are when you’re flustered?” He seemed to ponder that for a second before adding, “Strike that, you’re always cute.” Another beat passed and his expression sobered. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t able to show you how wonderful you are before you decided that you’re not.”

“Don’t say that,” you told him.

He frowned, but nodded. “You’re right. All I can do now is spend the rest of my life making it up to you…. If you’ll have me, that is.”

“Sylvain,” you said carefully, trying to keep your voice even so it didn’t slip away from you. “Is this a proposal?”

“Huh, well, I guess it kinda is...” He frowned. “I hate to say it but I’m completely underprepared for this. I haven’t really asked your father and I don’t even have the ring on me, also, I was envisioning more flowers. But…” He paused to compose himself before nodding resolutely. “Yes, this is me proposing marriage to you. I’d be the luckiest guy in the world if I could spend the rest of my life with you by my side.”

Like sugar in tea, everything that had been holding you back from accepting him was dissolved away. All the reasons you’d clung to so you could justify your cowardice and insecurities were dwarfed by what Sylvain was offering. Because you were weak, because you couldn’t hold onto the martyr mentality anymore. Not like this. “Okay,” you said. It was barely more than a whisper because you could feel the tears coming back, making your throat tight.

“Okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” you clarified, just a bit louder. “I’m sorry I made you wait.”

Sylvain smiled. It was a look you knew well, one that you had treasured since the first time you saw it. He grinned and looked at you like you were worth wanting, worth caring about. Like he’d won something grand. “You’re a girl well worth waiting for,” he told you. “Although, we do have some things to make up for. I guess we’ve got time for that, though.”

Time to make up for the seasons apart. The thought alone made you feel giddy. Overwhelmed. Like this was a dream. Maybe it was, although you couldn’t say you minded the idea too much, assuming you never had to wake up.  

“Is that a promise?” you asked.

Sylvain pulled you in closer. He was warm despite the cold, he smelled good even though your nose was a bit stuffy from the tears and chill. “You’re the only girl I’ll ever want, the only girl worth looking at. I swear my heart to you.”

You blushed, looking away. “That’s-”

“Too flowery?” he butted in nervously. “Sorry, force of habit.”

“I don’t mind it,” you told him slowly, honestly. “Even though it’s embarrassing. Maybe you don’t remember but the first time we met, you told me that if we were flowers-”  

“We’d have a budding romance,” he said with a wry smile. “That was bad, I know.”

“It worked,” you said. “I never told you, but it did.”

“Really?” Sylvain’s eyes widened. “I thought you hated me for the longest time.”

“Never.”

“Even when I kissed you?” he asked. “You avoided me for a while after that, I was worried I had scared you away.”

“I didn’t want you to think that I felt like you owed me something for a mistake.”

“A mistake,” Sylvain repeated, his voice twisting the idea into something ridiculous. His leather-clad hand reached up to cradle your cheek, pulling your eyes up to meet his. Playful, dancing in the dim light. “Fine, what if I kissed you now?”

Your eyes widened, flicking down to his smiling mouth. Wide, full bottom lip, constantly on the verge of a half-smirk. Sylvain was so close, it would be very easy for him to close the distance between the two of you. “If you want,” you said. His thumb brushed across your lip, making you shiver in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. “Yes.”

It had been winter when he first kissed you. Now it was winter again and the air was cold but Sylvain’s mouth was hot, his arms wrapping you up in a scorching embrace. Whatever else you were, in that moment, you could believe that you weren’t alone. You could believe that you —nothing little you— were wanted in the only way you’d ever wished to be wanted. As yourself, as someone worth loving, a girl worth caring about. Beautiful, not in the transient way you’d always feared.

The two of you parted and your breath was quick and warm as you tried to steady it, your pulse racing. “I love you,” you murmured quietly, your eyes closed. Finally, those words felt comfortable in your mouth, like they had a right to be spoken. Sylvain laughed breathlessly, delighted, his arms still wrapped around you.

“I don’t think you have any idea how happy it makes me to hear that,” he said. “Beyond happy, actually. I didn’t think this was possible.”

“You make me happy, too,” you told him, peeking through your eyelashes to meet his eyes. Warm. Tender. Excited.

“When you smile at me like that… You know, I don’t think there’s a single more beautiful sight in the world,” Sylvain said in an unfamiliarly soft voice, his dark eyes adoring. “It almost makes me not want to share you with anyone else. What do you think about eloping?”

“Eloping?” you repeated, caught off guard.

“Yeah. Right now, tonight,” he said. “I’m sure we could find someone…”

“You’re that impatient?” you asked, halfway questioning the playful intent behind the suggestion.

“You did keep me waiting for around, what, five hundred days, give or take? It’s romantic to act with such passionate abandon.” Sylvain paused, a wicked smirk twisting up the corner of his mouth. “If we stay here too long, I might feel inclined to want you to dance with me...”

“No.”

“Not even if I ask nicely?” Sylvain asked. Although his voice was innocent enough, the way he’d raised an eyebrow and suggestively licked his lips oozed bad intent. And desire. For you. The thought was as potent as any liquor you’d ever tasted.

“No,” you repeated, your voice less firm.

“So there’s no chance I can persuade you?” he asked, leaning closer.  

You opened your mouth to refuse before rethinking it, your stomach tied up in a dozen wonderful, unknown sorts of knots. “You could try.”

[darlingandmreames]

I rewatched The Ritual the other night for the first time in a while and am officially Back On My Bullshit, which means lots of thoughts and opinions that I am now going to make everyone else's problem. So without further ado, here are my thoughts on The Ritual's themes, character dynamics, and how the movie (in my opinion) improved upon the book

(spoilers for both the book and the movie)

Themes

So what is The Ritual actually about? I mean, obviously it's about a freaky forest monster that kills people and grants one of those kinds of immortality where you really gotta read the fine print, but underneath all that what is it actually about?

The answer depends a bit on both whether you're talking about the book or the movie, and how detailed you're being about it. Both the book and the movie share the very broad theme of "moving on", but what the characters are "moving on" from is different in each. I'd argue that the book primarily deals with moving on from past chapters in your life- cherishing the good memories, acknowledging and accepting the failures, and moving forward without becoming stuck on either.

The movie, on the other hand, is very explicitly about trauma, pain, and grief, and the process of confronting and moving on (or NOT moving on) from those experiences. This is achieved by the introduction of Rob, a character who didn't exist in the book. His actual appearance in the movie is brief, but his death is the driving force behind the entire movie. It's sudden, violent, and senseless, and it provides a very distinct and viscerally present context for the character interactions moving forward (more on that later). Rob's death faces the characters with a complex, heartbreaking, and traumatic loss and allows the movie to explore what it means to confront and move on from something like that, as well as the consequences of NOT doing so, by making that pain and grief into a very real (and beautifully designed) monster.

And that's where the movie's second major change comes in: the portrayal of the cult. I.... admittedly didn't really care for the cult portion of the book all that much honestly. It wasn't bad and some of my favourite lines were actually from that part of the book, but it felt almost jarringly different from the first part of the book to me. I felt like the heavy metal teen cultists were very much at odds with the sense of sinister supernaturality the first part of the book had spent building.

I loved the cult in the movie though. These are people who worship the personified (monstrified?) pain and grief that stalks the forest. They were chosen to survive specifically because of their own personal pain ("why me?" "Your pain is great") and by worshipping the monster they're kept in the forest and granted an immortality that saves them from death but not decay. It's a beautiful look at the consequences of being unable/unwilling to move on from pain/loss/grief and instead being consumed by it. The cultists are defined by their pain to the point that it eventually warps them into something almost unrecognizable. By worshipping Moder they are literally unable to move on, both physically (they're stuck in the forest) and spiritually (they can't die). Whereas the cult in the book felt jarringly different in tone from the story leading up to it, the cult in the movie tied into the theme beautifully and provided Luke with a look at his future if he allows his own pain to consume him.

Which brings us to....

Characters

A stories themes are often best portrayed through it's characters, and in this case that mostly means Luke.

Luke in the book is....well, to be honest, he isn't really that sympathetic or even that likeable when we first meet him or really for a large chunk of the story, at least not in my opinion. He's a 36 year old man-child who's clearly still chasing the glory of his college days and who's life up until now has mostly been characterized by failures, flakiness, and not taking responsibility for any of it. And on top of that, he's angry. The kind of angry that's violent, easily provoked, and generally unwarranted. All of the characters are facing failures at the end of this chapter of their lives to some degree (such as Phil being separated from his wife), but Luke is very clearly the least well adjusted- and least sympathetic- of them. His character arc revolves around him learning to move on from this previous chapter in his life, accepting the good and the bad and finally being willing to move forward with determination. In the beginning of the book Luke is characterized by indifference and petulant anger that masks fear and doubt, but he ends the book with a desire to move forward and determination to survive.

The inclusion of Rob and his subsequent death COMPLETELY changes Luke's character though and, in my opinion, makes him FAR more compelling and sympathetic. We still get similar notes to where he starts out as we did in the book; whereas Rob, Dom, Hutch, and Phil have all clearly settled down and moved on from their uni days, Luke obviously hasn't. This is made clear in his suggestions for the lad's holiday, his wanting to get a bottle of liquor after they leave the bar, and his conversation with Rob when they're in the liquor store. Movie!Luke really isn't all that different from book!Luke in the first scene or two.

Rob's brutal murder profoundly changes Luke's character though. He's left dealing with the grief and loss left in the wake of Rob's death, as well as the guilt associated with not having been able to stop it. By taking a character that may not otherwise be particularly sympathetic or likeable and having the audience watch him experience a deeply horrifying and traumatic loss, the movie makes Luke into an extremely compelling character and set him for a far more emotionally engaging character arc as he struggles to cope with both his grief and his guilt.

As I mentioned above, the cult in the movie provides Luke with a glimpse of the consequences of allowing his pain and grief to consume him. Now, the cult in the book sort of does the same thing- the indifferent anger and violence of the cultists mirrors Luke's own anger covering his fear and doubt and shows what could happen if he embraced that part of him. But the cult in the movie, in my opinion, works far better in this role because they feel more thematically and tonally in line with the rest of the movie and because Luke is a more sympathetic character. His decision to accept or reject that path carries more weight because we care about him. Moreover, accepting the same path as the cultist would provide him with a community that understands his pain, something he very much did not have with his friends; we understand that accepting the cult is a bad decision, but we also understand why Luke would be tempted to do so. Simply put, we feel for him and that makes the presentation of this choice much more emotionally impactful.

Interestingly, Luke's character arc in both the book and the movie end with him developing the desire and determination to survive. It comes from two very different places though. In the book, it revolves around Luke's willingness to finally close out the previous chapter of his life- highs and lows and all- and move forward into the future despite the fear and uncertainty doing so may provoke.

In the movie, though, this decision comes within the context of Luke's survivor's guilt. He feels guilty over Rob's death because he wasn't able to intervene and this guilt is reinforced by the other characters, most notably Dom and, later, Hutch. His decision to reject Moder, to fight back and refuse to kneel, represents not only his decision to move on from his grief and trauma but also the acknowledgement that despite what happened he still has worth and his life is still worth living. It also resolves his struggle with his inability to help (which plays a large role in his guilt), something that comes into play in all of the deaths in the movie even beyond Rob's. In Hutch's death Luke tried to find him but was unable to find him until it was far too late. In Phil's death he's initially paralyzed before running away, both in fear, in much the same way he did in Rob's death. In Dom's death he was able to take the necessary steps to help Dom (dislocating his thumb to get out of the restraints) but was ultimately too late and was forced to watch Dom die anyways. By recognizing that he still has worth and that is life is worth living, Luke is able to act in spite of his fear and make the decision not to allow his grief, pain, and trauma to consume him.

No discussion of Luke as a character is completely without also discussing how he interacts with the other characters and hoooo BOY did the movie really ratchet those interactions up a notch or ten. The interactions in the book were well written but they admittedly felt a little one note at times (though this is also probably somewhat due to me viewing book!Luke as not particularly likeable or sympathetic). By including Rob's death the movie adds a layer of complexity to the character interactions that I felt really wasn't there in the book and we get to see the interpersonal effects of traumatic loss. Luke may have been the only one to witness Rob's death but they're all grieving him, and we get to see how that (and how Luke's friends' perception of his role in Rob's death) impacts and strains their relationships. As I mentioned earlier, we see very clearly that Luke doesn't have any real support or understanding from his friends; Dom does little to hide the fact that he views Luke as directly responsible for what happened and while Hutch does initially attempt to provide support, it comes off as superficial and he later admits he isn't sure whether he blames Luke. Luke is very clearly struggling with what happened but can't turn to the people he would normally rely on for support, and his interactions with his friends often alienate him and further reinforce the guilt and blame he's grappling with rather than provide any source of comfort. This, again, makes the temptation to submit to Moder and join the cult, to give into his pain and grief and loss and let it consume him, that much more compelling and his choice to reject it that much more meaningful.

Overall, the movie's decision to add in Rob and his subsequent death and to change how the cult was portrayed was, in my opinion, a truly excellent one and helped move the movie from a story I would've enjoyed but shrugged off into legitimately one of my favourite movies of all time. It allowed for a more thematically and tonally consistent story and made both Luke and his character arc more sympathetic, compelling, and emotionally impactful. When it comes to adaptations I generally tend to enjoy the book more than the movie, but this is one of the few exceptions where I truly believe the movie significantly improved upon the book