#to the point that he DIES for you and you lean on him when you lose your quirk | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

m1d-45 · 2 days ago

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post-mortem

summary: war was not a gentle affair; not to the land, the civilians, the soldiers, or their captain.

word count: 1.1k

-> warnings: major spoilers for natlan aq, very very brief mention of canon-typical violence

-> gn reader (you/yours) and unspecified traveller

taglist: @samarill || @sarienic || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

harbingers were not meant to be kind. they were meant to carry out the tsaritsa’s will, and while they were allowed some level of leniency within their methods of doing so, their goal remained firm: fetch the gnosis. if they could manage that, then it was to return home in more or less one piece.

capitano was not in natlan for fun. he had a mission to complete. anything that stopped him was an obstacle to be immediately removed. anything that slowed him was to be brushed off and cut away. for hundreds of years, he had had no problem with this goal, and no problem for what would come after it.

he stationed himself just within natlan’s borders, gathering as much information on the ley lines as he could without stepping on too many toes. he had bided his time patiently, tending to his mechanical heart and the souls within, his plan ready to go as soon as the traveller arrived. carefully reviewed and edited millions of times, paperwork he no longer needed to read to remember the words of. it was the pinnacle of his years on teyvat, his will and testament to the nation he once served.

he held no reservations. he had no doubt, no fear for what was to come. il capitano did not linger.

the captain sat behind his desk, the plain wood empty and unoffensive. there was neither pen nor paper across its surface, all reports having been reviewed just as midnight struck. the only light in the cramped tent was from a lamp in the corner, the flame’s light flickering over the walls and everything held within. outside, the wind whined through the stone of tezcatepetonco range, keeping all words far from listening ears. had he wanted to, he would feel comfortable even listing out his plan to someone he trusted enough to tell it to.

that had been his plan, initially. his tent was nestled deep within the heart of the camp, and he doubted neither his soldiers’ fealty nor their ability to alert him should something go wrong. in the wilds of the land of war, he had forged a sliver of true privacy. any day now, he would receive word that the traveller had finally left fontaine, and his plan would fall into place. every possible failure and fault had long been accounted for; all that was left was to secure that his affairs would be in order after he died.

and with that, you had been called into his office, the summons delivered by an agent with a deep red mask and a voice permanently roughened by illness.

you had been hired young by the fatui, like so many others in their ranks. you were a remarkably ordinary person, in fact; at least by snezhnayan standards. you were born, you starved, you joined the cause. and because the captain made a point of caring after those put under his banner, he let you try to forget the things that happened in between. you came when called and struck when commanded, carrying the same loyalty that marked the rest of his division. you were entirely unassuming, if not for the fact that for some inexplicable reason, it was you that he had called.

there were soldiers with more experience than you. there were soldiers with a more precise control over the elements than you, with a higher kill count, with a broader stature or quicker strikes. you were perhaps not average, but assuredly not him, nor someone fit to manage every loose string.

the only thing you were, for certain, was slumped over his desk, leaning rather uncomfortably on your arm in a way that you’d certainly regret in the morning. normally, he’d never allow such disrespect—this was his tent, after all—but given that you were the one he’d chosen to step alongside him for the past few days, he supposed he could cut you some slack. regular people needed sleep, after all, and the captain was in the habit of protecting those under his banner. as a reward for trekking with him across the country and back and dealing with the combat in between, he would allow you to rest with him as your guard for one more night.

no one person could handle every consequence of the power vacuum that would be left in his stead, and he was not stupid enough to think so. he had informed both the jester and her majesty, but their business was not with inter-platoon affairs. while he may not have to worry about anyone striking when they thought the harbingers were weak, he did have to worry about who would upkeep all of his contacts, monitor the ley and those that resided within them, who would coordinate his troops while they either filtered to the other harbingers or were reassigned to whomever would take his place. it was for this reason that he had spent his tentatively “free” time developing and editing a second plan for when news of his death reached fatui ears. it sat in his pocket, a thin weight he was never meant to hold on to.

he was meant to give it to you. ordinary you, as plain as the uniform over your shoulders, tasked with filling his shoes until the storm passed. you, who he should not be fond of because captains did not have time for such childish things as favorites, and yet your name had refused to leave his mind. no, he was not forced to give command to you in particular, and neither was he made to leave it at all. but war was cruel, and a soldier without a cause was as good as a cart without wheels. he was to reduce his people’s suffering, not impart more upon others. you just happened to be better suited for the job, and he had happened to tell you more about natlan’s ley lines than anyone else. it only made sense that he kept calling on you rather than anyone else, as he could handle any combat anyway. informing you would make your transition to stand-in all the more easier, that was all. there was no place for “kindness” in his crowded heart. “kindness” implied a level of sympathy he did not show, not to any of his troops and assuredly not to you. it was not “kind” to mark you with his death.

he waited until the sun crept above the horizon to move, letting you sleep uninterrupted. you would need a much of it as you could get. he let his chair slide against the floor as he stood, letting that wake you instead of his gauntlets on your shoulders. you snapped to sitting up, but just as fast winced at the knot in your shoulder. “get moving,” he ordered, and you hurriedly apologized, thanked him, and turned to comply. as the wind swept in behind you, he watched you shiver at the sudden drop in temperature, hunching your shoulders high and walking quickly.

for just a moment, his mind briefly drew the idea of giving you his coat. he discarded the idea as soon as it came, pushing his chair back into place and following you out, running through today’s agenda.

his last wishes would be dealt with another day.

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #gender neutral reader #genshin impact x reader #capitano #il capitano #genshin capitano #capitano x reader #capitano genshin #capitano x you #il capitano x reader #il capitano x you #another man with too many names #augh #genshin x you #x reader #if you cant tell. i am fucked up abt this man and the aq. god

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ialreadymadeyouapromise · 11 hours ago

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𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐃.

PAIRING: jj maybank x fem!reader WARNINGS: no use of y/n GENRE: fluff SONG INSPIRATION: golden - harry styles WORD COUNT: 889

navigation | inbox | jj maybank masterlist

you’d been talking about getting a tattoo for months.

maybe years at this point. it had always been one of those things.

‘when i have the money.’, ‘when i’m sure about the design,’ ‘when the time’s right.’

every time it came up, he’d tease you relentlessly.

“you? finally committing to a tattoo?” he’d laugh, leaning back on your couch.

“please. you can barely commit to what you want for dinner.”

you’d roll your eyes every time, but the truth was…he wasn’t wrong. you’d had a million ideas, a pinterest board, even a few consultations, but none of it ever felt solid enough to make it permanent. until now.

when you unexpectedly came into some extra cash. a little freelance gig that finally paid off, you’d walked past the tattoo studio you always told him about. the one with the big windows and the friendly artist whose instagram you stalked religiously. this time, you didn’t stop at the window. you went in.

the design had come to you. something about the sun, about warmth, about light and life, it just felt right.

when they cleaned the area and held up a mirror for you, your breath caught. it was more perfect than you imagined, bold and intricate, the swirling lines almost alive against your skin.

“damn,” you whispered, unable to tear your eyes away.

the artist smiled knowingly. “looks good, huh?”

“it’s amazing, thank you!” you said, a grin spreading across your face.

after carefully wrapping it in a thin layer of clear foil, they handed you the aftercare instructions, their tone light but firm. “keep this on for a few hours, then follow the steps i gave you. it’s gonna look even better once it heals.”

you nodded, still staring at your reflection in awe. it was surreal. you’d finally done it.

and you couldn’t wait to show him.

you didn’t tell him right away. no texts, no calls, nothing. not because you were nervous. okay, maybe a little nervous, but because you wanted to see his reaction in person. when you did finally text him to come over.

his reply was typical: be there in ten. getting snacks!!!

when he arrived, he was already talking before you even opened the door.

“i swear, if you dragged me over here to talk about another tattoo you didn’t—” his words died in his throat the moment he saw your face.

you stepped back, letting him in with a small smile tugging at your lips. “what if i told you…i actually went through with it this time?”

he stopped mid step, eyebrows shooting up. “no way.”

you nodded.

“liar.”

“swear to god.”

“prove it.”

you took a breath, your pulse quickening, pulling the hem of your shirt up just enough to reveal the ink. his reaction was instant.

“holy–” he stopped himself, leaning closer, his voice trailing off, huffing out a surprised laugh. “you actually did it.”

“i told you i would,” you said softly, almost whispering.

he didn’t say anything at first, his eyes glued to the tattoo as if he was trying to memorize every line. his fingers twitched at his sides. wanting to reach out to touch you.

“it’s…it’s perfect,” he said finally, his voice a little rough around the edges. “it suits you.”

“yeah?” you couldn’t help but smile.

“yeah,” he said, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. “i mean, i’m still kind of in shock. you actually did it. but–it’s beautiful. you’re beautiful.”

the last part slipped out so naturally, so quietly, that you almost missed it. almost.

your heart stuttered in your chest. “what?”

he blinked, his expression shifting like he hadn’t meant to say it aloud. but then something in him shifted.

“i said you’re beautiful,” he repeated, his voice steadier now. “and i love it. the tattoo. you. all of it.”

you didn’t realise how close he’d gotten until you could feel the warmth coming off of him, the way his hand hovered just inches from your skin. “can i…?”

you nodded, and his fingers brushed against the edge of the tattoo, careful not to press too hard against the healing skin. the touch was so gentle, giving you goosebumps.

“is it bad that i'm kinda obsessed with this,” he murmured, his eyes tracing the design.then his eyes flicked back to yours, something in his expression you’d never seen before.

“i can’t believe you actually did it,” he said again, softer this time.

“you know, you’ve been here for all of it. all the indecision, the doubt…everything. i don’t think i would’ve done it without your overwhelming support.” your words sarcastic as playfully push his shoulder.

“don’t give me too much credit,” he said, though his lips curved into a smile. “this? this was all you.”

maybe it was the way he said it. maybe it was the way he was looking at you. whatever it was, you leaned in, kissing him.

it was soft at first. hesitant, testing, nearly going to pull away but the second his hand cupped your jaw, pulling you closer, the tinge of worry melted away.

when you finally broke apart, his forehead rested against yours, he let out a shaky laugh.

“took you long enough,” he said, his grin lopsided and so very him.

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop smiling.

“shut up.”

reblogs and comments are appreciated ᯓ★

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friendlybowlofsoup · 12 hours ago

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I think the person who sent this ask meant what would the ROs do if they heard the MC talking to someone else about the RO. For example: MC talking with Ann about how cool and how much they like Min He and Min He happens to be passing by and heard the MC saying that.

I wonder if you are taking reaction asks? If not, feel free to ignore (>w<) But if you are, how would the RO’s feel if they overheard MC absolutely gushing about them to someone else? Bonus points if MC is specifically complimentary/admiring of something theyre a bit insecure about !

I have terrible reading comprehension skills, I'm sorry Anon.

TO THE REAL ASK:

Qiu is entirely pleased, and while he never admits to having overheard, he's certainly glowing for a few days after. When you needle him about his grin, unaware, he simply hums and pinches your chin fondly, leaving you without an answer.

An very deliberately sidles up to you, enjoying every second of your embarrassment as you realize she's heard everything. Ignoring the poor third party, she flips her hair back and coyly stalks up to your retreating form, asking you to repeat it all again.

Min He feels guilty, at first, for eavesdropping but the longer the conversation goes, the more it turns into warm, fuzzy affection. She confesses to hearing about it later, and asks you, hand against your chest, if you truly meant everything.

Xinyi might cry. He's comfortable enough your relationship, thinking you chose him despite his inadequacies, until he hears you praising what he thought were flaws, and--well. Later you find him pressing a cold cloth against his red eyes, but he only laughs as you worriedly ask what's wrong.

Kaski leans against the wall, listening carefully to your words, soaking in the love pouring from your voice. He glances at your figure, the way your eyes shine as you insist on his goodness, of all things, and basks in the ache of his heart-- one that is sweet and unheavy.

Hiemi is, genuinely, surprised. She considers your words, your enthusiasm and earnestness--she didn't doubt your feelings, but part of her has always wondered why. Later, when you've forgotten all about that conversation, she rests her head against your shoulder, reaching for your wrists as she thanks you.

Go Ro is never letting you forget this ever. He is there when you leave your conversation, towering over you as you blanch in horror. He repeats every praise you gave him, slowly, word-by-word, clamping down on your arm when you try to run. He's bringing this up every time you bicker with him, the words permanently etched into him.

Chun cannot look at you afterwards. She avoids you for the rest of the day, near tripping over herself, until you finally corner her and she admits, flushed, that she overheard. She asks you, disbelieving, if you were speaking the truth, and when you say yes, she sinks to the floor, completely melted by joy and embarrassment.

Spider is oblivious to who you're praising so highly, so when he comes over, curious about what you're gushing about, you snap your mouth shut. He immediately goes on the attack, pestering you to spill, repeating those praises (very loudly), until you have to nearly wrestle him to just back off. He, of course, learns the truth later, and just about dies laughing as you try to strangle him.

#RO Asks #fluff #NOT jealousy IM SO SORRY OP

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mama-qwerty · 1 day ago

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Second Chances v1

Okay, here's the start of my de-aged Knux story. I like the beginning, but am not thrilled with what happens after she finds little Knux. I don't know what's bothering me about it, but it's just not jiving with me.

But I wrote 6200 words, so I'mma post it. I might rework it once I can figure out just where the problem is.

Calling it 'version 1' in case I tweak it and post again later.

~~~~~

The fire burned down, leaving just a few soft flickers of flame against the burning embers at the bottom of the fire pit. Two figures sat around it, on opposite sides. They sat in silence, watching as the last of the flames died down, the darkness of the night around them moving in to replace the light.

“All I’m saying is you could have come to me, and I would have helped you.” Callie’s voice was soft, but edged with frustration. “You aren’t out in those arenas anymore. You’re not on your own anymore. I’m here, and I can help you.”

The echidna across from her frowned, scratching at the bandage on his arm. It was sloppily applied; he’d injured himself during one of his training sessions, and tended to it himself without her assistance.

“No need,” Knuckles said, waving a hand. “I am capable of taking care of myself.”

She sighed. “I know you are, but you don’t have to. I’m here. All you have to do is come to me.”

He let out a huff, giving his head a shake. “I do not need your help.”

Callie rolled her eyes. This was a sensitive subject, but one she had tried again and again to instill upon him in the months since he’d come to live with her. Yes, he was the most dangerous warrior in the galaxy. (Or had been, anyway.) But that life was behind him now. She was going to make sure that life was done, and he never had to feel alone and hunted again.

But he was a stubborn kid. Very, very stubborn. There’d been times when he’d come home looking as though he’d gone three rounds with a pissed off gorilla, and only offered a wave of his hand when she was, understandably, a bit freaked out by that. “I was training,” was his only explanation, which only raised further questions in her mind.

He was still acting like he was on his own, expecting an attack at every turn. She supposed it was second nature to him by now, having been on the run since he was so little, and it was unreasonable to expect that to fade. At all, let alone after only a few months.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t be frustrated by it. And that she couldn’t try to show him that he didn’t have to take care of himself anymore. Not like that.

“Look,” she said, rubbing her eyes beneath her glasses before looking back at him. “I’m not saying you’re some little kid who needs his boo boos kissed. I just want to make sure you’re okay. I would hope that you trust me enough to let me know if you slice yourself open on one of your training runs.”

Knuckles clicked his tongue. “It was a minor wound. I’ve had much worse.”

“That’s not the point, and by the way, the blood all over my towels says otherwise. I thought you’d lost an arm with the mess you’d left behind.”

“You are overreacting.”

“Actually, I think I’m being quite calm and collected, all things considered,” she said, leaning forward to rest her forearms on her knees. “You’re not a child, but you’re still a kid who’s under my care, and I don’t think it’s out of line for me to want you to, you know, tell me when you nearly cut your arm off.”

He rolled his eyes and gave out a huff. “I did not—“

“Can you focus on what I mean instead of what I’m saying?”

“And can you not treat me as though I were some foolish child who needs supervised?”

“I’m not—“

“Enough!” Knuckles stood, rolling his shoulders. “I do not need tending like a puggle. I am a fierce warrior and do not need your coddling. I am grateful for your guidance and support, but your concern is misplaced.”

She sat up, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “For cripes’ sake, Knux, I don’t want to coddle you—“

“I am going to bed. Good night.”

And with that, the echidna stalked toward the house, leaving her by the dying fire.

Callie heaved a deep sigh, rubbing her temples with both hands.

“. . . I just want you to let me take care of you. At least a little.”

She heard the kitchen door slam, and gave a little groan.

That could have gone better.

~X~X~X~

Ridiculous.

Unnecessary.

Condescending.

Knuckles didn’t quite stomp, but didn’t quite not stomp up the stairs, pushing the door to his room open. He kicked it closed behind him, a soft growl in the back of his throat.

Take care of him. She wanted to ‘take care of him’? He took care of himself. He didn’t need her help for that. The only reason he was still alive after all these years was because he was strong and tough and self-reliant.

He tore open the velcro straps at the base of his gloves, giving his arms a sharp flick to send the heavy mitts flying. They bounced off the wall, landing on the floor with two solid thuds. The woman didn’t like when he did that, and would call out to remind him not to when she heard it.

Well, she wasn’t here right now, was she? He was a warrior. He didn’t need such rules.

With a grumble, he sat heavily on the mattress on the floor, shoving aside the curtain that hung over it in a tent-like covering. A few quick movements and his boots were loose enough to toe off. He used more force than necessary, sending them cartwheeling heel over toe into the door. More loud thuds as they settled on the floor, one on its side and the other upright.

He didn’t depend on others. He’d been shown time and time again that trusting others was a recipe for treachery and betrayal. Everyone he’d trusted had hurt him. Turned him in for rewards, used him for their own gain. Yet he continued to trust, continued to hope that someone would help him. Would be his friend.

His mother had praised his kind heart as a child, but now he wondered if it were more of a hindrance than advantage.

Flopping onto his back, he looked up at the ceiling, his eyes floating over the little painted dots there. Back when he first agreed to stay with her, Callie had brought Tails over to try and get as accurate a sky map as possible for those little dots. The clever fox had somehow found the positions of the constellations and stars over Knuckles’ village, and he and Callie had painstakingly painted each one to match those Knuckles had seen in his childhood.

It was a touching gesture. No one had ever gone so out of their way to make him comfortable. To give him a bit of familiarity to his home. He appreciated it.

But it made a tight knot twist behind his ribs when he looked up at them.

Because he couldn’t remember what the constellations were.

The knowledge seemed to flick at his consciousness, teasing the back of his mind, but when he tried to pull the names forward, wrap his tongue around them and throw them out, they disappeared back into his fading memories.

He was losing his connection to his people. His tribe.

The language that he’d been raised on, the words that once rolled off his tongue with ease, now took more effort to get right. Callie had encouraged him to share his mother tongue with her, which he appreciated, but sometimes when he said a word, it didn’t feel right on his lips. As though it were something he had no right to speak anymore.

He had learned a number of different languages in his travels—how many, he wasn’t sure, as there was a certain degree of overlap in a few—and sometimes it felt as though these new languages had almost pushed out his first. Smothered it.

And now, like the fire just a few moments before, there were only a few little embers left of what he remembered. His tribe. His customs. His language. His heritage.

Slowly dying.

He was the last. It was his duty to keep his culture intact. To not lose sight of who he is, what he is. To do so would dishonor the memory of his entire species.

His father.

Knuckles stared at the ceiling, at those little blobs of glowing paint, brow furrowed. He knew those stars, he knew them. He could hear his father naming them as he pointed. Could hear his voice, feel his father’s hand on his shoulder as he sat close by. Felt the soft breeze of the night as it rippled through his quills, while the others sat and chatted by the village fire.

He remembered all of this.

But the words, the syllables, refused to form.

A low growl rumbling in his chest, Knuckles rolled over to crawl into his artificial burrow. Yanking the curtain closed, he bundled himself beneath the thick blanket inside, curling into a tight ball. Shame burned in his belly, because it had taken so long to find the Master Emerald. It had taken nearly ten years to hunt it down. And in that time he had been so concerned with his own survival, he had lost his tether to the very reason he was doing it in the first place.

He missed his tribe. He missed his father. He missed feeling part of something, of being cared for. This planet was fine, one of the more comfortable ones he’d been on, but it wasn’t his home. This house wasn’t his home.

He wanted to go home. Back to when he didn’t feel so lost. So afraid.

So alone.

After a long moment, Knuckles drew in a deep breath, letting it out in a long, slow exhale. He’d been rude to Callie. She’d opened her home to him, and had never expected anything from him except courtesy in return. It was so different from what he’d experienced before—any other time he’d trusted others, they would have turned on him by now. She’d been nothing but kind to him.

Still. That seed of doubt poked at the back of his mind. Maybe it was time to stop being so trusting. To stop expecting anything other than betrayal. Despite her kindness, she could still turn on him. He had to be vigilant.

Soon after, his eyes began to close, and Knuckles the Echidna, last surviving member of his race, and guardian of the Master Emerald, fell asleep.

~X~X~X~

She should have handled that better.

Callie dumped a pitcher of water over the glowing embers in the fire pit, stirring it in with a poker to douse the last of the heat. As the wood hissed and smoked, she cursed herself for coming on too strong with Knuckles.

He was a proud kid. A fighter. A survivor. She knew that.

She really should have expected this reaction, honestly. Suggesting he needed to come to her simply because he’d injured himself? No matter how much blood she’d found in the bathroom—which had been a lot, and she may or may not have freaked out a little bit—she should have just let him come to her when he was ready.

But she didn’t. She pushed. And now she’d pushed him even farther away than he already was.

Once she was satisfied the fire had been adequately extinguished, Callie stood and pushed against the small of her back to produce that familiar crack. Massaging the area, she turned, and headed into the house.

She paused by Knuckles’ door as she headed down the hall to her own room. Leaning in, she heard a soft growl as he moved around. She supposed it was lucky he even came in instead of just wandering off into the trees surrounding her home. Sometimes he stayed out all night, and though she tried not to worry—he could take care of himself, after all—she did.

Her fingers curled into a fist, and she raised it to knock. It hovered near the wood for a moment, before lowering back to her side.

He didn’t need her checking on him. He was a big boy, capable of taking care of himself. He could take care of himself. She just had to keep reminding herself that.

Maybe it was time for her to just back off. He wasn’t like Sonic or Tails. He hadn’t been looking for a family. A home. He’d been looking for that magic rock. And now it sat in his closet, protected by a high-tech security system concocted by Tails. Knuckles sometimes sat before it, meditating. She was glad he had found the thing that had been driving him for most of his life, but saw the question in his eyes on the rare occasions he sat still.

Now what?

She wished she could tell him.

She wished she could help him.

But he didn’t want her help. Didn’t need it. Had said as much not fifteen minutes ago.

Maybe it was time she started listening to him.

With a sigh, Callie turned and headed to her bedroom, trying to convince herself she was worrying for nothing.

~X~X~X~

The night wore on. The house grew quiet.

Inside the middle bedroom, a faint green glow seeped from the closet.

~X~X~X~

Sunlight filtered in through the curtains, and Callie blinked against it.

God her head hurt. Sitting by the fire last night had dried out her sinuses something awful, and she uttered a grunt in the back of her throat as she pushed herself to sit up. She had to peel her tongue off the roof of her mouth.

What a night. After collapsing in bed, she’d tossed and turned for a while, eventually falling into a restless sleep with really, really weird dreams. Something about an egg and trees and a giant owl?

She shook her head. Weird. She didn’t normally remember her dreams.

With some effort she managed to push herself out of bed, shuffling to the bathroom to pee, splash some water on her face, and drag a brush through her hair before folding it into a loose braid. Tossing on a t-shirt and jeans, she pulled her glasses on and headed toward the stairs.

She stopped at Knuckles’ door once again, and this time quietly pushed it open to peek inside. The door thudded against something, and she looked down to see his boots lumped right behind it. She rolled her eyes. Probably got pissed and tossed them again.

Despite his differences, he was still very much a teenager.

Glancing up, she could barely make out a moving shape beneath his blanket. It was unusual for him to still be in bed (well, his artificial burrow, anyway) this late. Normally he was up with the sun to train or patrol or whatever it was he did with himself when he left the house.

Her heart gave a clench when she realized she didn’t really know what he did when he wasn’t here. “Training” was a pretty vague term, and she didn’t know if that meant exercising or running some death course he’d built himself up in the mountains. She could honestly believe either one.

With a sigh, she pulled back, leaving the door open a crack. She’d make some breakfast, and maybe the lure of a hot meal will draw him down so she could apologize for last night.

Her cats’ cries hit her once she reached the bottom of the stairs, and she rolled her eyes as she headed toward the kitchen.

“Yes, yes, I know,” she said with a sigh. She reached into a cabinet to pull out a can of cat food, popping the lid off to shlorp the stuff onto a plate. “You’re starving. Just wasting away. However did you survive on only the dry food you always have available to you since yesterday’s breakfast?”

The cats responded with excited meows as she placed the plate on the floor, before attacking the food as though they weren’t lazy housecats who did nothing but sit around all day before occasionally getting underfoot just as she decided to walk down the hall.

Another eye roll and Callie moved to start her coffeemaker. She’d forgotten to set it last night. With practiced ease of a daily ritual, she cleaned yesterday’s pot, refilled the water and grounds, and let it do its thing.

A yawn escaped her as she leaned back against the counter, massaging her temple, her eyes closed. The soft crunches of dry cat food came from the other side of the counter, as the coffeemaker hummed behind her.

She’d messed things up last night. Once she’d had her coffee, she’d make some bacon and eggs, maybe toss a few sausages in as an apology for overstepping. As he ate—if he ate—she’d tell him she would just stay out of his way, and let him come to her if he needed.

It went against everything she wanted, but this wasn’t about her. It was about Knuckles, and his comfort.

He could take care of himself.

That just needed to be her mantra for a while. Until it stuck.

Bloom and Suki argued a bit over the last bits of moist food, just like they always did every morning. She mostly ignored them. For sisters who’d been adopted at the same time, they really hadn’t bonded, or even seemed to like each other all that much.

A louder growl floated to her, and she called a quick “Knock it off” to them. It faded to softer hissing, as though they were arguing over whose fault it was they were yelled at. Callie sighed, rubbing her temple again, when a thought came to her.

She could still hear the crunch of dry cat food.

That . . . wasn’t right.

Opening her eyes, she leaned over to catch a glimpse of both cats—her only cats—still scarfing down the moist food on one side of the kitchen island.

And still, the crunching continued.

Great.

She hadn’t had her coffee yet, and there was already a problem. Some animal must have gotten into the house and was helping itself to her cats’ food. Mouse? Rat? Squirrel? Not exactly something she wanted to deal with at not quite 8 AM on a Saturday morning.

Moving slowly, Callie grabbed a dish towel, hoping to surprise the whatever-it-was and nab it before it had a chance to run or bite her. Would it work? Probably not. But she had to do something.

She moved slowly, coming around the counter making as little noise as possible. Inch by inch she rounded the island, before she could see the cat food bowl, and the creature having a free lunch. Or breakfast, as it were.

And she froze.

Sitting in front of the bowl, grabbing handfuls of dry cat food and shoving them into its mouth, crunching loudly, was a . . . little red echidna.

“What the . . .”

She spoke without realizing, and the little thing froze, whipping his head around to look at her, eyes wide. Violet eyes. Ones that looked so, so much like those of the echidna upstairs. Her eyes flicked down and took note of the white patch of fur in the shape of a crescent moon on his little chest.

Oh god.

It couldn’t be.

Was that . . . ?

They stood there, staring at each other, frozen in shock for a long moment.

Then the little echidna—what were they called? She couldn’t remember at the moment—reached forward, his eyes never leaving hers, and grabbed another handful of cat food to bring to his mouth.

That got her moving.

“NO!”

Her voice was louder and sharper than she intended, and when she reached for him, he gave a little squeak, turning to scramble away from her. He ran on all fours, a kind of loping half-crawl, half-gallop kind of gait, and he was fast. Callie hurried behind him, her socked feet threatening to slip on her laminated floors.

“No no no,” she muttered as he ran beneath the kitchen table. She slid to a stop and yanked a chair away, falling to her knees to try and grab him, just as he scooted through the other side and made a beeline for the living room. Getting to her feet once more, she followed, trying to keep him in sight. He was about as large as one of her cats—bigger than a kitten, but not a full on adult—which meant he could fit in places she couldn’t reach.

Like behind the computer desk where her laptop sat. He squeezed between it and the wall, and Callie hurled the rolling chair out of the way as she threw herself beneath the desk. The little echidna—what the hell were they called again??—skittered along the back, getting tangled in the cord for the lamp and pulling it down with a crash as he bolted from behind the desk and headed for the side table by the couch.

“Stop!”

He gave another little squeak at her order, but never slowed. Scrambling behind the side table, he latched onto the curtain, climbing deceptively fast for a little guy his size. Realizing she was still holding the hand towel, Callie threw it toward him, not necessarily thinking through what that was supposed to accomplish. But she never expected his reaction.

He launched himself off the curtain and flew across the room.

No, not flew, exactly. More like glide. Like a flying squirrel.

But still.

“Are you kidding me??”

While gliding seemed to come naturally to him, landing did not, and he bounced off the TV, tumbling down to the floor with a few grunts. She hurried over to him, and caught his leg just as he was trying to scurry beneath the TV stand.

“Gotcha!”

He did not like being caught, wiggling and twisting his body like a live wire, uttering little grunts and growls as he did so. Callie kept having to rearrange her grip on him, alternating between grabbing a limb before switching to a different one when he jack-knifed his body to try and hurl himself out of her hands.

It was like trying to hold doll filled with Jell-O, if that doll hated you and was trying to bite you and poke you with its quills.

In desperation, she tried something that usually worked when her own son was cranky and fighting all those years ago.

She tickled him.

At first she wasn’t even sure if he was ticklish. Did creatures with fur have tickle triggers, or did their fur absorb that touch before it could work? It wasn’t exactly a question she’d ever thought to ask Maddie, and certainly not something Knuckles would ever let her know about. Weaknesses and all that.

Her fingers danced over his sides, seeking out the spots that most humans found ticklish, and he continued to fight her. A little more juggling, and she ended up holding him by an ankle, the rest of him dangling. She brought her other hand up and went for the bottom of his foot.

And he giggled.

Her fingers wiggled, barely touching the pads on his foot, and now he wiggled and twisted for a different reason, laughing and giggling at the touch. A smile curled her lips and she gave a little amused hum of her own.

“There, that’s not so bad, is it?”

When his laughter went a little wheezy, she stopped her tickle attack and carefully adjusted him so she held him beneath his arms. He giggled a little more before looking up at her, his eyes big and wide. She felt his little chest heaving from the laughter, and gave him a good look over.

Same eyes. Same moon mark on his chest. She moved him so she could see the arm that was bandaged last night. There was still a tiny wound there.

“Holy . . . ohmygod . . . you’re him. Knuckles?” He didn’t respond to his name. Could he understand her at all? “You’re a . . .”

“Knock knock, MacPhersons!” a voice called as the kitchen door opened. Wade came in, carrying a bag from Dough Ray Me Bakery. “I brought breakie! Or snackie!”

“Baby,” she said, looking at the deputy over her shoulder.

“Yes, dear?” He snickered, amused by his own joke. “Ah, kidding, what are you—”

“BABY,” she said, louder and more urgent. She turned and held the little echidna out.

Wade stopped, his eyes going wide. “Did . . . did Knux have a baby?”

“Knux IS the baby,” she said, moving closer. The boy turned his head, looking between the two adults. “I woke up and he was like this.”

Silence settled for a moment, before Wade rubbed the back of his neck. “So . . . is this something space echidna do? Like a phoenix kinda thing?”

Callie opened her mouth to answer, before closing it again. She looked between echidna and man, before giving Wade a look. “I think my smoke detectors would have gone off if he’d burst into flames to revert to a . . . joey. No, that’s kangaroos. Damnit. What are baby echidna called?”

Wade shrugged. “Think the other boys are like this?”

Her eyes went wide. YES! Verifying Sonic and Tails were babies too wouldn’t exactly make this okay, but would go a long way into making her feel less . . . weird about it. Shared experiences and all that.

“I’ll check.” She thrust Knuckles toward Wade, who looked distinctly unsure about taking him. “C’mon, Wade. I have to make a phone call.”

“I dunno, I’m not really great with—“

That’s as far as he got before she practically dropped the little echidna into his hands. She rushed to the counter, grabbed her phone, and punched Maddie’s contact. It ran twice before she picked up.

“Hey, Cal!”

“Hey, Mads, uh, sorry to call so early, I just have a quick question.”

“Shoot.”

Callie glanced over at Wade, who had pulled Knuckles to cradle against his chest. Knux gazed up at the man, playing with the buttons on the hideous Hawaiian shirt he liked to wear on days off.

“Your kids wouldn’t happen to be, I dunno . . . babies?”

A slight pause.

“It depends on the situation, really.”

“RUDE!” A certain hedgehog’s voice called out in the background.

Oh. Oh no.

“That seemed an oddly specific question for this early in the morning,” Maddie continued, seemingly ignoring her hog son. “Why do you ask?”

A soft, not quite sane laugh escaped Callie, and she switched from an audio call to video. “Because, funny story . . . Today I woke up to . . .” She turned the phone to show Wade holding little Knux. “This.”

Silence. Then, “OH MY GOD! HE’S SO CUTE!”

Wade blushed. “Aw, thanks, Maddie!”

Callie rolled her eyes, and pulled the phone back around to herself. “Maddie, he’s a baby. Why is he a baby?”

“Why are you asking me? I don’t know any more than you do about his species.”

“Don’t tell me you think he’s like some space phoenix thing, too.”

“What?”

“Nevermind.” Callie sighed, reaching beneath her glasses to pinch the bridge of her nose. “I haven’t had my coffee yet.”

“Hang on, lemme ask Tails.” Maddie’s voice went a little muffled as she blocked the mic, turning to call for her younger son. There was some back and forth between the two, when Tails came on screen.

“Hi, Callie!”

“Hey, Floof,” she said, dropping her hand and giving him a weak smile. “Your mom fill you in?”

“Yeah, and I’m not completely clear on echidna physiology but am pretty sure they don’t spontaneously revert to become babies overnight.”

“Wait a minute, Knux is a baby???” Sonic’s voice started faint but got louder as he pushed forward, sticking his nose in the camera. “LEMME SEE!!”

Callie sighed, and turned to show the hog. A gasp, followed by laughter, and she pulled the phone back around with a cocked eyebrow.

“Hey, see if you can remove the stick from his butt now, so he’ll be more fun when he grows up!”

“Sonic!”

A warning call from Maddie, who wrestled control of her phone from her older son.

“So,” Callie said, trying to redirect the conversation. “Any ideas how this happened, or how to change him back?”

“Tails?” Maddie asked, turning the phone slightly to get the fox in frame. He rubbed his chin slightly, before looking back up.

“The Master Emerald is said to be able to change reality, based solely on thought alone,” he said, before shrugging. “Maybe that has something to do with it.”

Callie could have slapped her forehead. Duh. She knew the Master Emerald could do that, that’s what the whole trouble with Robotnik was when Knux first came. That should have been her first thought, honestly.

She blamed the lack of caffeine.

“That’s a good call, Tails,” she said, glancing over at Wade. He’d pulled Knuckles up and was currently dancing with him, making silly faces. The boy laughed, kicking his little feet, and Callie’s heart just about melted. She looked back to Tails. “I’ll see if I can, I dunno, convince the Emerald to change him back.”

The fox looked hesitant, but nodded. “Probably your best bet. Just . . . be careful.”

“I will. Thanks, guys. I’ll keep you in the loop.”

The Wachowski’s said their goodbyes, and she hung up, putting her phone back on the counter.

“You sure you wanna use that?” Wade asked, pulling Knux back to hold against him. He still swayed back and forth, seemingly without realizing he was doing it. “Could make things weirder.”

“Not sure we have much of a choice, Wade.”

She paused, looking up the stairs toward Knuckles’ room. She tried not to think about having a magic rock capable of altering reality in her house. One that allowed Robotnik to create a giant robot out of cars and trains and who knew what else. One that apparently worked through thought alone.

Because if she thought too hard on it, it really, really, really freaked her out.

“We can call Sonic and Tails to come over,” Wade said, his voice softer. “They know a little more about it and maybe could help.”

Part of her wanted to say yes, because this was way too much to deal with. At all, much less before her morning coffee. She turned and looked back at Knuckles, who was seemingly fine hanging over Wade’s arm.

She sighed.

“No,” she said, giving her braid a little tug. “We don’t know for sure that’s what changed him. What if the other boys come over and BOOM, they get babified? Then we’ll still be on our own and Maddie will be pissed. No thanks.” She sighed again, steeling herself. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

She made her way upstairs, into Knuckles’ room, and opened his closet door. The Master Emerald sat in its little glass box, its ever present soft glow illuminating the otherwise dark room. With a few calming breaths, she reached forward and pressed her thumb on the little square plate at the base. There was a soft beep, and a little recording of Tails’ voice filled the air.

“Identification code, please.”

Callie leaned forward to speak toward the mic. “Callie MacPherson, 7322-07.”

A second later there was another beep, and Tails’ voice again.

“Access granted! Hi, Callie!”

There was a click and a hiss as the top of the clear box opened, swinging back to allow access. The material the container was constructed with looked like glass, but Tails had called it some sort of polymer that was stronger than steel—a recipe he’d concocted back on his home planet when he was five, and at that point she’d stopped listening because it sounded like a lot of tech talk, and frankly she got the feeling that some of Tails’ inventions were borderline illegal no matter what planet he was on.

She reached into the box now, and carefully took hold of the Master Emerald, lifting it out slowly. She’d only touched it once before, as Tails was installing the security system.

She didn’t like touching it.

It was warm.

Not warm as in ‘a rock that had been sitting in the sun’ warm. But warm as in ‘something that was somehow generating its own heat’ warm.

It was almost a living warmth.

And beyond that, it seemed to . . . thrum in her hands.

She tried to tell herself she was simply feeling her own heartbeat through it, that somehow the gem was amplifying it back to her.

But considering how her heart was pounding in her own ears right now, the gem’s . . . well, pulse didn’t match the rhythm.

She tried not to think about it.

She tried not to think about anything, considering the powers the gem held.

Having her house turn into gingerbread because of the ones she used to make with her mother at Christmas popped into her head was the last thing she needed right now.

(damnit stop thinking about that)

Hurrying downstairs, she found Wade entertaining Knuckles by tossing him in the air before catching him. The little echidna laughed, his soft voice squeaking with his happy giggles.

Callie was only a little jealous that Wade could coax such happy sounds from the boy. She didn’t think she’d ever heard teen Knux sound that free. That happy. Sure, he’d been through hell in his quest to find the gem now in her hands, but she thought she had given him a nice safe place to stay. A home.

Maybe she’d just been fooling herself.

Focus.

“Keep doing that and he’s gonna barf on you,” she said, in what she hoped sounded like her usual snark.

Wade caught him one last time, before giving the boy a little nose nuzzle. “Ah, he’s okay. He’s a cute little guy!”

“Yeah, well, why don’t we see if we can change him back—PUGGLE!” The word came out loud and suddenly, and Wade and Knuckles both jerked. She gave them an embarrassed smile. “Sorry, I’d been trying to think of that word all morning. Anyway . . .” She held up the Master Emerald. “Shall we give it a try?”

Wade nodded, turning Knuckles around so they both faced Callie. She stepped forward, holding the gem up in front of the little puggle.

Nothing happened.

She gave the Emerald a little shake. “C’mon. Change him back. Uh, please.”

Nothing.

“Think maybe it’s like a genie kinda thing?” Wade offered, and Knuckles turned his head to look at him. “Like, you gotta wish for it or something?”

“Tails said it works by thought,” Callie responded, watching as the puggle turned back and began chewing on the nearest edge of the Emerald. “But I’m not exactly sure how to do that. And kinda worried about a monkey’s paw kinda situation.”

“Oh, like you wish for something and it grants it in the most horrible, twisted way possible. Like instead of changing him back to his normal self he’s a . . . I dunno, an eclair or something.”

Callie gave him a look. “Why would he be an eclair?”

Wade shrugged. “It kinda sounds like echidna. And maybe it sounds so much like echidna that you think of eclair instead and now he’s a delicious pastry and—”

“I’m not going to think of an eclair instead of echidna,” she snapped, before pulling her lips in tight. “Well I wasn’t before you said that, now that’s all I can think of, thank you very much.”

Closing her eyes, Callie drew in a deep breath, before letting it out slowly.

Okay.

She opened her eyes, and met Wade’s gaze. “I’m gonna try picturing him like he was yesterday, and see if that works. Ready?” Wade nodded, holding Knuckles out. “Okay. Here goes.”

Callie closed her eyes again, squeezing them shut tightly as she pictured Knuckles, teenage Knuckles, and definitely not an eclair, standing before her and giving her that typical scowl, his arms crossed. She kept that image in her mind, her grip tightening on the Master Emerald.

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting to happen. A feeling of some sort of energy or something flowing through her as the Emerald did what she wanted. A sudden shift of the air around her. Something.

That didn’t happen.

What did happen was little Knuckles sneezing, spraying the Master Emerald—and her—with little puggle snot. She jerked, opening her eyes.

“Well, that’s just grand, that is,” she said in her best Wallace impersonation. She turned and walked to the hand towel she’d thrown at Knuckles while he was hanging off her curtain, and picked it up to wipe the spray off the most dangerous and powerful gem in the entire galaxy. Then she turned the towel to herself, wiping her face and heaving a sigh.

“At least he’s not an eclair,” Wade offered, tucking Knux into his elbow. “What now?”

Callie cocked an eyebrow at him, tucking the Emerald against her hip. Her eyes flicked behind him, and found her coffee pot nice and full. “Coffee,” she said, heading toward it.

~~~~~

And that's where I petered out because it's just not working. UGH

#sonic fanfiction #knuckles the echidna #callie macpherson #wade whipple #deaged Knuckles

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redravenblogs · 3 days ago

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I can't stop thinking about what an incredible episode "Children of Time" was in how it explored a number of the characters, and I might expound on them later, but I'm particularly transfixed with Odo's arc. For the entirety of the series up to this point, his two defining personality traits are his sense of justice and his profound loneliness, and the writers used both of those to deliver a precision gut punch to the audience.

That profound loneliness is magnified in this 200-years-older version of Odo. He has been waiting and hoping for so long for this brief chance to see Kira again. He probably couldn't even hold his form when she died in his timeline, so he never had the opportunity to tell her how much she mattered to him, or even to say goodbye. He's been living with that for two centuries.

In light of that, what does the staunchness of his past self matter? What did it ever get him? That's why he's so quick to tell her how much he loved her. Loves her.

They get to spend a precious day and a half together before she decides she must sacrifice herself, and he begins desperately and hopelessly trying to convince her not to. Then he asks her: would things have been different between us if you'd known I loved you all along?

When she says "maybe," you can see his heart fucking break all over again. Because he suddenly knows what was possible, even by the slimmest chance, but he's losing her all over again- she has to be thrown 200 years in the past to die so he and his society can continue existing.

And then she kisses him!

SHE is the one who leans in for it!!

And that's the turning point. Because he knows that if she and the rest of the crew make it back to DS9, his past self has a fighting chance to escape the loneliness that has always defined him. His other self has the possibility of something better, even if he is bound to lose her either way. That's why this other Odo is willing to eliminate himself and everyone else on the planet from existence in order for Kira to live. So when everyone else is planning on a noble self-sacrifice, he chooses to be selfish for once.

(Arguably, making it so that 8000 people never existed isn't the same as killing them - one of the big moral quandries of the episode, but I wonder if Odo wouldn't have burned that whole planet to ashes if that's what it took to save her.)

When our Odo is linked with by the alternate timeline Odo, he suddenly knows everything. He knows every single person that lived on that planet. He knows the pain of living for 200 years filled with a regret and loneliness unlike he'd ever experienced before. He knows the fate he narrowly escaped (and was utterly helpless to have any control over). And he suddenly knows what it's like to kiss the woman he's been in love with for ages! And he understands. Because now he also knows hope. A hope so wonderful and so terrible that the other Odo would go to such great lengths for it.

That's why even in the face of Kira's outrage at the great injustice of it all, he can't give her a straight answer when she asks if he thinks what the other Odo did was right. Two hundred years of XP has just downloaded into his brain and is exerting its gravitational pull on his sense of just and unjust... Not to mention he's had his deepest secret revealed to the person who he least wanted to know.

Until now, he's never even opened his mouth about his own feelings because his sense of lawfulness extended to not even creating ripples on the surface of the social status quo. But he's suddenly been blursed with the understanding of how the other Odo has benefitted him. (Wingman of all time?)

The tension between what he's always thought is right and what his gut is telling him he wants now is so delicious to me. His sense of justice is suddenly much more flexible than he ever thought because of the possibility of not being lonely anymore. Finally belonging. It's maybe the most humanizing experience the audience has seen him go through - even more so than being stuck as a solid for a while, I think.

#screaming crying throwing up #am i sick for thinking this is so romantic?#i want to be loved so much that it would justify the elimination of 8000 people's existence lmao (not really but really)#star trek #ds9 #deep space nine #odo #kira nerys #children of time #personal #text #star trek ds9 #deep space 9 #analysis

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reidhalstead · 3 days ago

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He's not sure it helps, but a lot of the hatred comes directly cocked and aimed at Nisha. She could give him the world and he'd loathe her for it, still. (And he doesn't want the world.) There is no silence in his thoughts for him to know the relief that seeds itself within. Hate is easy when it comes to his sire. Reid's had so much time alone, to fine-tune the rancour.

So has this guy, apparently.

Dark eyes hover on the phantom; lacklustre fineries from an era Reid knows nothing of. The ghost has nothing better to do? Surely? Haunting this woman? Reid would want far from her, even in his death. Bliss would truly be if Eleazar no longer existed and he never has to stare at the woman so gorgeous, but who is so grossly decayed inside. It has him wondering if he gets some brazen opportunity to return as a ghost, who would he visit in his limited time? (irony is, that he already had that chance.) But blood doesn't permit him to get lost in the thoughts, because a monster-man's mind has one track and it is sick.

A ragged creature leans forward, starved of basic needs and he's clawing for the bottles of blood. Verbena be damned. It might finally have him dead, this time. But it doesn't burn as his tongue swallows the bottled mortality. Reid too, hates, how quickly he swallows down bottle one, dropping it with a clatter to the stone beside him, it trickles down his chin. Blinking his senses to awaken like the lights of his mind have electricity again, after a long blackout. Things died in the darkness, swallowed whole. But there's something there, flickering its survival as it peels away from the abyss. Fingers steal the second glass and he scuttles back against the wall, ignoring how undignified everything about this place makes him. It's dead; pride; morality; this fickle idea of animal blood being enough; being better than Nisha Eleazar. Reid cares not for the secrets of this room, either. Not from whoever this ghost had been to her.

A bastard, for one. It's eroding the walls of his tolerance. He hisses, bloodied teeth grit when it's pointed at the glowing entity: "Shut the fuck up already." They can have a domestic away from him. As if his torture isn't enough without seeing whatever fifteenth-century misogny this is. If he hadn't already had his own ghosts come greet him, he'd think he's lost his mind; that this man is the epitome of his worst parts made hallucinogenic, because Nisha doesn't address him more than implication.

He doesn't know — or care — what has Nisha's attention split behind her.

His glare meets her when she asks her question. He's still got half a bottle of blood he wants to devour in a frenzy trapped in his grasp. Even if he did, what did he want to help her with anything. The dryness in his throat remains and instead there's a sound like wet gravel. "He bothering you?" It's a snark, as he tips another mouthful back, desperate for some relief in the pitiful state. "Good. You deserve some discomfort." Look the fuck around, Nisha.

"You don't even know where a line starts and ends, Eleazar."

"I thought it would help to know that she's okay and safe." Nisha said with honesty. No, she wasn't going to allow him to leave. Not yet, anyway. He'd been in the basement for almost two months now and still hadn't learned his lesson. Still was fighting her and acting like he did nothing wrong. Normally, she'd appreciate the fighting. The arguing and the glares. Nisha found it amusing.

But now...

Her late husband's words cut through her own thoughts and she let out a frustrated hiss. "Were you a good wife for him? Did you let him take you that first night or did you make him wait like you made me?" The constant reminder of her sire was causing somewhat of a glitch in her mind. Feeling as if he was going to appear right next to her at any second.

Nisha had learned how to block it all out. How to ignore her past. He was dead so why bother in thinking about it any longer? But... what if he wasn't? She racked her brain, searching for the memory of that night. The one where they were attacked by hunters. Where she saw one of their stakes penetrate his skin. His shout. Him falling to the ground. Her running.

Reid's words brought her back and she blinked. Blood. The blood. Nisha nodded and pulled two bottles of untainted blood from her bag and placed them in front of him. She opened her mouth to tell him that if he wanted more, she'd offer hers to him, but she was cut off by Henry. Again.

"I hope he beat you. Put you in your fucking place when you crossed the line." He was in her ear now and thankfully, since he was a ghost, she couldn't smell any alcohol on his breath. Memories of being locked in a room flashed in her mind. Of being hit, dragged, choked. Forced into submission, over and over again.

And then her eyes flickered towards Reid and she frowned. She was doing the exact same thing to him. Granted, it was no where near as bad, but still. She'd taken him here and was isolating him. She was starving him. All to teach him a lesson. But Nisha didn't know how else to teach it. Reid could have died due to his stupid decisions and she couldn't have that.

Her old self would have apologized to him already. Would have cried, too, and let him go. The young girl who had been broken by her sire would have never done this to anyone. But decades of hardships and torment had hardened Nisha. Shown her how life shouldn't be taken for granted. And Reid was taking it for granted. Everything she'd given him, while it started out as revenge, was now her caring about him. About his survival.

At a faint noise behind her, Nisha jerked her head over her shoulder, glancing towards the stairs. He's here. He's not here. He can't be here. Her mind was playing tricks on her. She let out a breath and tried to use her hand to shoo her late husband away, although, it didn't work. He was still there, standing behind her, asking her questions about her life after him. About him.

"Do you, by any chance, know how to get rid of a ghost, Reid?" Nisha asked, her voice cracking slightly as she glanced towards the former hunter.

#o: n.eleazar #isolation tw #why r they ody and calypso lmao #slur tw #?#misogny tw #dv tw

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antsday · 2 months ago

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okay i will admit it: i don't like 431 from a narrative standpoint (or really any standpoint) but if you view it exclusively as the true epilogue in an alternate universe of mha in which 5 year old katsuki is right about deku looking down on him and doing everything to spite him and wanting to bring about his downfall then the whole thing becomes kind of absurdly funny

#telling a guy that hes your symbol of victory and that youve been chasing after him for years #& establishing a rivalry with him & getting him to confront the fact that he's in love with you & fighting TOGETHER in your final battle #to the point that he DIES for you and you lean on him when you lose your quirk #and he spends 8 years grinding so he can buy you a suit and be partners with you so you can BE together #and then JUST when he decides to ask you to work with him- you leave him for a woman haunted by the ghost of yuri's past #and specifically dump him in his car with his best friend next to him.#ALL as an elaborate scheme to get back at him for bullying you in middle school #like idk its almost fucking funny.#imagine thinking that the guy who helped you up once when u were both 5 is plotting to make you suffer and twenty years later #it turns out you were RIGHT #okay to be clear this isn't actually how i feel about what happened in 431 #thats more complicated. in the meantime: shitpost!#mha leaks #mha manga spoilers #mha #bnha #bkdk #bakudeku #bkdkbk #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #ant speaks

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rmbunnie · 8 days ago

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Something kinda tasteless about the way that alongside the concerns of "Batman needs someone to rein in his aggression/edginess" (mostly a meta concern,) "Robin is a symbol of undying hope right alongside Batman, Superman, and the police system," and "now that the thought's crossed my mind I think being Robin would be pretty sweet actually," one of Tim's points for why he should be Robin at the end of A Lonely Place of Dying is "we need to show the criminals of Gotham that they can't just kill Robin and expect to get away with it!" Because. They can. That's exactly what happened.

Using that line of reasoning, Tim makes the claim that the idea of Jaybin's life as disposable and inconsequential is heinous and bad, his killing something impermissible, but instead of disproving said idea they allow it to become true and devote their energy to making sure it doesn't become widely known as such. By covering his death up, they actually are permitting his murder to go unaddressed and deeming it acceptable, even taking away the opportunity for it to be consequential to anyone outside of Bruce's inner circle by not spreading the news. As much as we say "oh Bruce was a great dad because losing Jason crushed him" and "he almost considered trying to kill the Joker one time," he in all tangible areas did not do anything about Jason's death. Setting aside the question of killing the Joker or not, it's still shown in Batman Year 3 that Bruce's reaction to Jason's death in the time til Tim showed up was to hide away everything Jason owned and carry on with business as usual, a little angrier. Bruce didn't make any changes or actually evaluate anything in a significant way after the warehouse and Jason's death didn't warrant any tangible consequence, that's evident from reading the comic. I know some may disagree, and I acknowledge the room for interpretation, but in order to discuss Tim's reason we have to concede that it is explicitly written into this specific comic as something Bruce and Tim both recognize as fact, because it serves as the foundation that this reason is built on: there is good reason for the criminals to believe there would no punishment for killing Robin based on the actions Bruce did or didn't take in response. The concern about the public realizing there are no consequences for killing Robin wouldn't be reasonable if it wasn't true, if there actually were.

While they recognize that Jason's death came to pass largely without consequence, the fact itself is less of an issue to both Bruce and Tim than letting criminals actually find out that it doesn't have consequence. They know it's unjust, the notion that Jason can be killed without repercussion (and in making an effort to minimize his murder confirm it to be true,) but their concern isn't for what actually happened to Jason or the lack of proper response. At least on the vigilante side of things, the problem is public perception and continuing to uphold an image of Batman as just and diligent while permitting him to ignore injustice against those close to him. There's no efforts taken to actually disprove the idea that killing Robin would lack impact, what Tim proposes is just making it harder to prove right.

I think the best way to word what comes across tasteless for me here (aside from the side commentary on the unstoppable might of the institution of police and how it's an exemplar of heroism) is that beyond Tim's victim-blaming of Jason during his stint as Robin, (discussed in more depth by people who can word it better than me,) in the base text of a Lonely Place of Dying, it is foundational to the initial premise of Tim as Robin that part of his motive for being Robin hinges on accepting what happened to Jason as something that cannot be allowed in their pursuit of justice or go unaddressed for reasons completely unrelated to the actual harm, and then intentionally erasing the event and the way in which it was allowed and did go unaddressed. No matter how much it's claimed in later comics that Bruce was faultless and Jason doomed himself, Tim's Robin came to be at least in part (in-universe) as a cover-up for the lack of action taken about Jason's death, and by extension as an effort to overwrite his time as Robin and an individual entirely. And thought it wasn't the way his character viewed it, Tim wasn't passively complicit in it or going along with a poor grieving man, the intentional and deliberate erasure of Jason as a murder victim and the injustice of his posthumous treatment was part of his opening pitch.

#truly just “we can't let them think we do the thing that we do” at its core #because the thing that we do is bad and not fair like we want to look fair and would have consequences we don't want. so they can't know."#i see too much of people saying Jason took Dick's mantle so he shouldn't be mad at Tim when 1. he wasn't mad at Tim for it. didn't happen #and 2. Jason became Robin because Bruce was lonely and Jason was homeless and Tim became Robin in an effort to minimize Jason's death #Jason worried Dick wanted his job back (implying he would give it up if he wanted) and Tim shamed the dead kid he was hiding the murder of #can we spot the differences?#you can't really say Jason's gripe of “my death changed nothing” was off-base #when one of tim's first points on panel was that they should be giving the consequences of his murder the landlord special #i feel like all of the ways in which they made tim “more likable” were just leaning back into the status quo they branched out from #like “Jason doesn't like cops and believes they fail victims? well Tim thinks they're the good-hearted models for what a real hero is”#“Jason has conflicting opinions about cases with Batman? Tim is trying to bring back the true Batman who works exactly like he always did”#“Tim is nice and sweet and comes from a good family and has been there from the start. he respects what Batman is”#he's nice enough but his character is (meta not in-universe) rooted in a return to the safe classics that bring us good sales #idk why fanon props him up as the sad shunned outsider of the batfam when he is fr designed to maintain the norm and not rock the boat #also it's immensely funny to see Bruce accuse Jason of being needlessly violent over his emotional state as Robin #when not only does Bruce do exactly that and only that when Jason dies but he was doing it BEFORE too!#Oh No! he went from brutal to criminals and forgoing proper investigations to being brutal to criminals and forgoing proper investigations!#jason todd #batman #bruce wayne #robin #dc comics #discussion of tim drake #again not using the character tag because this isn't the most nicies #but i honest don't hate him that much

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trevisos · 2 months ago

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i don’t think leaving the crows entirely is in the cards for magpie and lucanis but i can see a post game future where lucanis gives up the first talon seat, probably after caterina dies and he’s been forced to actually Do His Job as first talon for a couple of months and has a breakdown about it lol. i think after that he and magpie just like, operate more or less independently but are still technically crows. because magpie simply will not leave while viago is there. that isn’t an option. but if lucanis giving up on being first talon is what keeps them both sane and allows them to spend more time with neve she could do that. so probably they just live out their days killing blood mages and cultists across tevinter for insane sums of money and in between help neve solve her cases and still host family dinners with viago and teia occasionally :)

#idk who the new first talon would be but i Do have a series of very dramatic scenes in my mind #that take place over a couple of years and culminate in lucanis losing his fucking mind after caterina dies for real #bc i believe his avoidant ass is refusing to actually do anything of substance while she’s alive and running the show #which is a major point of contention between him and caterina. because she wants him to learn what needs to be done and he refuses #and runs off to tevinter at the slightest provocation.#it doesn’t help that before the events of the game magpie’s whole career as a crow was getting viago into the fifth talon seat #and then protecting his status #and so she’s…. kind of on caterina’s side. slightly.#however she’s also happy to run off to tevinter on contracts so it’s mostly her going ‘maybe you should listen to caterina? idk. whatever.’#i do believe there’s an issue with she insists the seat go to viago but lucanis is leaning toward teia because he thinks it’s what caterina #would have wanted. idk how this is decided in the end #basically i’ve devised a series of fights for magpie and lucanis to get into that neve has no idea how to resolve because it’s Crow Business #LMAO #i’ll have more thoughts on her place in this when i’ve finished her romance i think #but 1. i still don’t know if her getting blighted is canon and 2. i want to see how her romance plays out #before i can really decide #so it’s mostly lucanis and magpie drama rn #漫言 #oc. magpie #r. birds of a feather #datv spoilers

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lgvalenzuela · 2 days ago

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And here's the first part of a companion fic I made for this great piece of writing

He woke up in the most familiar of unifamiliar places. He had seen it many times at this point, but never quite grasped the severity of the situation until he was surrounded by those hues of grey. Voices whispering in his mind, familiar voices. The voice of his father, long passed, long forgotten to time as he could only place the face of the man who raised him. The voice of a woman who gave him a chance when he never could do the same for her. The voices of the people in Dock Town, and the Grey Wardens he wasn't able to save…

The voice of Bellara…

The voice of Lace…

Lucanis…

LUCANIS.

He remembered now, the body of his love laying on the floor. He couldn't reach him and now. But he wouldn't…he couldn't…

He quickly stood up as a pang of pain from his abdomen to his head. He fell as quickly as he rose, he couldn't even scream he was in such agony. He tried to breathe as he reached his side, he wasn't bleeding anymore but he could still feel every ounce of pain, he could recall the feeling of Ghilan'nain’s stab perfectly. And yet there he was, alive, while Lace…

He grunted, as he tried clawing his way forward. He had to do something, anything. He needed to know if everyone got out of Tearstone Island. But he wasn't going anywhere while staggering through the floor like a worm.

He cried out a silent scream as he regained his composure as best he could, slowly getting up and limping his way forward. If wherever he was going was forward to begin with:

“This is something I've always admired about you, kid. You don't know when to quit”

“Varric?”

But Varric couldn't… he couldn't be there.

Then why was he speaking to him?

“I told you the enchantments were dangerous! And you chose me anyway! You picked me to die!”

The voice of Bellara blew a hole through his heart. Like an arrow… like Lace…

“I died because you chose me. You want see the rest? Like you don't know how Taash is going to look at you…”

“Lace… Bellara… I-I didn't mean to-”

But it didn't matter what he meant to do. Because he chose anyway. And at every turn.

It was the wrong choice.

Neve got a scar within minutes of meeting him.

He chose to help Treviso for selfish reasons while he left Dock Town to its own devices.

He couldn't help at Weisshaupt.

He couldn't help Ferelden.

He didn't save the only chance of his family’s legacy to survive.

He forgot his father’s face.

And he couldn't even get to see if his friends were okay.

He fell to his knees, grabbing the sides of his torso in torment.

He felt himself being swallowed, the hands of the ghosts he had gained along the way dragging him to the ground as if it were the water destined to drown him…forever…

“Finn…”

He couldn't look up, he couldn't face him. What if he… what if he got him killed too?

Lucanis placed a hand on his face, softly, tenderly:

“Don't go where I can't follow”

“Lucanis I-”

“No, don't say it. You have to tell me in person…”

He finally looked into his eyes, he smiled so delicately. Caressing his cheek. This wasn't his Lucanis, he was… an idea, a little regret. He leaned into the touch just as he disappeared:

“I have to tell you in person…”

But for that he had to get out of there.

Varric extended his hand, with a sympathetic smile. A melancholic gaze:

“Come on kid”

He held his friend’s hand, as Varric helped him gain any sort of composure while he could feel his body giving up on him:

“Varric…since when…?”

“I think you know…”

He cried out on his friend's shoulder, maybe he always knew.

But even this Varric was too awkward to just hug him, he patted him on the back:

“Come on Rook, it's fine. It's fine…” Varric choked a little “I had a good life…”

“I should've- I could've-”

“Don’t carry my mistakes Rook, I chose to talk to Solas. It was my decision and you don't get to make it about yourself”

“I-”

“Neve chose to go with you that day, and she knew the risk”

“But I-”

“Look at me, kid” he grabbed his shoulders, looking into his eyes deeply “Every decision we make has consequences… sometimes they're small, sometimes… they're not…

And I've been around enough to know when someone choses, trying their best…

When you went to Treviso, didn't you send the rest of your team to help in Minrathous? When you went to Weisshaupt, did you know Ghilan'nain and her Archdemon were going to be there?”

Finn stood there in silence.

“When you told Violet to leave, didn't you think there was going to be someone there who would love her? And don't you think of your father, even if you can't remember him?

What do you think the Hero of Ferelden thought when there were only two Wardens left to defeat the Blight? What do you think Hawke did when they were left alone in a city that hated them? What about the Inquisitor when he had to fight for an organization that cursed him, when he only wanted to help having the mark on his hand?

You know these people… and you know they tried their best… just like you…

Just like your team…”

“But Solas… what if he tried his best as well?”

“Maybe he did, maybe he thinks he did. But he did choose to sacrifice other people at every turn” Varric put a hand on his chest, where Solas plunged the dagger “Did you? Can you really say you sacrificed anyone willingly?”

Finn thought about it for a second, but Varric didn't let him dwell on his regret for too long. He signaled with his head.

Finn looked up, an eluvian.

He tried to reach it, until the pain shot threw his body like lightning again.

Varric put Finn's arm around his shoulders, carefully wrapping his arm around his back and together they climbed through the steps to the eluvian. One by one:

“This is the last thing I'm ever going to be able to do for you…”

“Varric… Thank you for everything… you were a good friend…”

He didn't know if this was another figment of his imagination but it felt real… real enough to say goodbye.

Finn could feel his vision getting blurry as he got nearer the eluvian. But if he could just… see them one last time… that was enough…

Just enough…

—------------------------------------------------------

They could've felt their heart skip a beat when they saw that handprint on the eluvian. They jumped out of their seats, to pull him towards them.

Finn fell into Lucanis' arms, and smiled slightly. Lucanis cup his face on his hands, getting his hair out of his face. Spite pulled out his wings embracing their Rook.

He was back. They got him back.

And then Finn's wound started bleeding again, it had been so long they had forgotten the state Rook was dragged to the Fade in. He gave his friends a teary smile, as he buried his face on Lucanis' chest and his body went limp:

“No! No no no no” Lucanis grabbed his lover before he fell to the ground “Please! Please no!”

Neve and Emmrich rushed to their side, Taash gave Lucanis the first piece of cloth they found so they could stop Finn's hemorrhage long enough for the mages to remember any healing spell that might work.

Healing wasn't Neve or Emmrich’s speciality but that wasn't the problem. The problem was that Finn wasn't breathing, at all.

His own words hit him like a boulder.

All I know is death.

All he knew was death.

He didn't know how to help. He couldn't save him.

He got him back just for a second.

Just for a goodbye.

All I know is death.

And yet, as if guided, he ripped Finn's chestplate and started pushing on his chest. He didn't know where he learnt this, and there wasn't time to think about it now. The memories were foggy, of family long gone.

He opened Finn's mouth and breathed life into his lungs. He would lie down on his own if that's what it took for Rook to return again.

He placed his ear on his chest. Nothing.

Next thing he knew Davrin was next to him, he pushed on his friend's chest waiting for Lucanis to continue breathing. As the mages closed the wound on his torso.

He breathed. A quiet gasp.

Lucanis placed his ear on Finn's chest again, hearing his heartbeat might have been the most relieved he'd ever felt.

He was still unconscious and heavily mangled, but he was alive. And he could get through this:

“We need to find an actual healer” said Neve, whipping some sweat of her forehead

“We must take haste, our dear friend is stable but…” added Emmrich

“There were some people stuck on the Crossroads. I'm- I'm sure we can find someone quickly” said Davrin, he was breathing heavily like he had just remembered he could “Neve, Emmrich, you should stay near Rook. Taash, I need you to search with me”

Taash picked up Finn as if he weighed nothing:

“Come on, I'll take him to my room first, I have the closest bed”

Lucanis followed closely.

—------------------------------------------------------

He couldn't even believe it when he woke up. The fact that he was opening his eyes at all, alive and breathing. He instinctively drew his hand to the side of his torso, a certain level of pain was still there but at least the wound was closed. He could feel his body covered in bandages, somebody had done a thorough job of taking care of his aching body, probably Emmrich.

He took note of his surroundings, Taash' room. They must have taken him to their bed to rest. A good bed was more comfortable than the infirmary, he had to give them that. How was he supposed to face them?

As his eyes accustomed to light he sighed. It was gone now, the vision from his left eye, from the scar he got at Weisshaupt. Gone, after all that time.

It was okay, they knew it would happen… and he had a master assassin at his side… always on his left side…

He searched carefully through the bed, he couldn't see him, or barely move to face him. But he knew he would find him if he searched.

His hand reached him crouching down at the side of the bed, resting until his lover woke up. Lucanis flinched at the touch, and incorporated himself so Finn would be able to see him:

“Finn!”

“Lucanis”

Tears swelled as he opened his arms, Lucanis wrapped him in a tight embrace. Soft enough as not to hurt him, close enough as to never lose him again. He buried his face on Rook's neck, caressing his hair tenderly. Finn could feel his tears dripping down his shoulder:

“ROOK.IS.HERE”

Finn chuckled:

“Hello Spite…”

Spite’s wings wrapped around them, protectively, warmly. Who might have said that he'd be loved by a demon:

“Lucanis… I know you don't want to hear it but…”

“No… Finn… I-”

He looked at him with those big, sad eyes. He never thought someone would ever look at him with so much love:

“Say it… say it as many times as you need…”

Finn choked a sob, and Lucanis placed kisses on his face:

“I love you… I love you…”

In the Absence of Everything

I'm very happy to share my first gift fic for my graphics challenge! Thank you @lgvalenzuela (whose commissions are open) for the beautiful art you did for the contest! Here is your angst Post-Tearstone fallout where Davrin and Lucanis try to pick up the pieces. Click here to see it on AO3 Preview under the cut:

Davrin had carved Lace, taking the time to capture the embroidery on her armor best he could. Debated giving it to Taash but hung onto it in his uncertainty. Bellara had been next, and Davrin would kill Elgar’nan for that, personally. Rook, he did again, capturing him in his Warden armor, placing it next to the others.

Lyra’s was the hardest. Every time he started, he couldn’t get it quite right. It had turned into an obsession when he wasn’t around the others. This time, he got almost to the end, eyes burning as he got to her face. His hand cut too deep and he growled, throwing the carving into the fire and going to bed. Assan chirped and climbed onto his chest, weighing him down, trying to urge him to sleep. Davrin smiled and stroked a finger down his beak, humming to calm him.

Something about it worked, and the griffon closed his eyes. Davrin followed him soon after, if only for a little while.

#fanfiction #dragon age the veilguard #friend's writing #mine writing #veilguard spoilers #veilguard fanfic #rookanis #lucanis dellamorte #rook thorne #finn cousland #davrin #taash #varric tethras #bellara lutare #lace harding #emmrich volkarin #neve gallus

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