#twitch person but i am too technologically stupid

[skellydun]

any plans for future video game uploads ?

oh I don't think anyone wants to be subjected to that anon

[shimmerbeasts]

Diana considered herself a rather patient person. She was an instructor for the younger acolytes, children mostly, but students nonetheless in the Rakkor village. But Jinx was on another level. Her eye twitched by her remark but she remembered both Caitlyn's and Vi's words when she first met this peculiar woman: BE PATIENT (and careful, that part was from Caitlyn). So repeating it like a mantra in her head, she moved closer to see Jinx's new creation over her shoulder. " I wasn't trying to mess with your experiments, Miss Jinx, but... I'd rather not die from an explosion if I may be honest. I still have quite a few things to finish first." She wasn't used yet to their technology nor the chemistry part. That was the main reason she liked watching the younger girl work. It was like a magic trick, how every part came to life after she assembled them. " What does it do, actually? And why does it look like a...monkey..."

"Then don't touch things or walk around and wave your arms like a flailing cat when it is falling from the third floor." Jinx scoffed in impatience and annoyance. Turning around towards the pale woman, she jabbed her hands at specific parts of her hideout. "See those trip wires? They lead right up to defensive traps, which are supposed to discourage snooping around. I am only letting you be in here because Vi told me you can be trusted, even though you are an outsider. So don't get yourself killed by being stupid. Pilties already do that plenty on their own."

One would have thought that having been gone for an entire year and seeing different places had mellowed out Jinx. And while she had matured during her travel, when it came to her arguably now even more explosive potential - thank you, Ionia! -, she still retained a certain protectiveness and impatience around people lingering in her newly established hideout. Zaun might have become a sister state of its own, but it was still closely interwoven with Piltover. And even then, it was not as if independence erased what made the Undercity so dangerous. If anything, it intensified.

Outsiders were still regarded more as potential prey than clients and viewed with mistrust, which had only intensified after the brief Noxian occupation. It was only Diana's tie to Vi, which made sure Jinx did not consider killing Diana and even tolerated her in her hideout. She was less enthused about the fact that she had met Caitlyn Kiramman too. While she and Sherrif Charlatan still did not see eye to eye with each other, at least they now respected each other as fellow predators and did not wish death upon the other.

Jinx picked up the partly reassembled monkey toy. She had connected a few wires with tiny blue and pink lamps, which she had glued on the shells. The explosive part of the toy was yet to be added. Jinx grinned as she explained: "This is gonna be a lure. Hence, it has to be a bit eye-catching. Also, why is it a monkey? I like animals. My traps almost always have monkeys or cats on them. Sometimes, dragons. Dragons are cool."

She jabbed her thumb towards a larger, vaguely dragon-shaped contraption, which loomed in the dark of a corner. It was covered in barbed wire, splots of paint and had trails of Shimmer leaking out of its long snout as if the canister inside of it had broken and was now slowly costing the monster its blood. Dents in the metal indicated that someone, most likely Jinx herself, had been thrown against it during a rough fight.

"I should look into fixing that one. It won't be able to breathe much fire if it is just there, losing its purple blood."

@lvnarii cont. from here.

[rozcdust]

Addicted

Pairing: Ran Haitani x f!reader x Kakucho Hitto

Genre: Crack, SMAU

Word count: 1k

Warnings: Canon divergent, ooc, profanity, substance abuse, Inui and the reader are a problem both

masterlist

“It was fucking weird, okay? He just started going on and off about Naoto.” Annoyed, you moved your hands just as Inui was painting them, not caring for the smear of nail polish, “Like, who does that? I have shit to do, I am on the clock, and all Naoto’s stupid laptop needed was a goddamn reset!”

Inui’s eye twitched.

“Sorry about that.” Draken hummed from the kitchen, the apron with a saying ‘I’ll feed all you fuckers’ Inui and you bought him as a joke last year tied around his waist, stirring the meal he was preparing for the three of you.

“He is an ass and it is all your fault for even introducing us, Draken.” Glaring at his back, Draken merely shrugged.

“You met when we were 14, I didn��t know he'd be such a pushover when he grew up. To be fair, you were a bitch to Naoto. You still owe us that story.”

“All of my friends are technologically illiterate.” You scoffed, ignoring the last comment just as Inui finished painting your pinkie, screwing the nail polish shut and carefully taking your hands into his, fixing the few spots where the polish ended up on your skin, bringing your hands closer to his face to look over his work.

Deciding he’s satisfied, he hums, letting your hands fall to your side as he comfortably leans back on the couch, grabbing the remote to open Netflix.

Deciding his thigh is the best pillow currently available, you lay down, closing your eyes, humming in satisfaction when his fingers softly tangled into your hair.

“Ken, what do you wanna watch?” Glancing back from behind the couch, Inui waits for a response, but Draken doesn’t answer, too busy setting the table.

“Y/n, what do you wanna watch?”

Shrugging, you peek through one open eye, glancing at the screen.

“I could go for horror.”

Draken groaned, and you could feel his glare even through the couch.

You smirked just as Inui huffed out a laugh.

“Too scared, tough guy? We’ll protect you,” Teasingly, you sat up, looking at the Draken over the couch, “This is merely payback for all the time I had to listen to you simp for Inui.”

Draken's gaze merely sharpens as he settles the last set of chopsticks on the plate.

“Come on, the food is ready.”

“Let me bum a smoke off of you?”

Draken brings his cigarette to your lips, letting you take a drag, the wind blowing the ash into your hair and clothes but you ignore it, focused on the solemn expression on your friend’s face.

“He’s pretty, is all.” Draken blew out the smoke through his nose, swinging his legs back and forth atop a rooftop, his braid swinging in the wind, “Maybe that’s why I like him. His lips look soft.”

You open your eyes, laying down with your head on his lap, observing your friend with curiosity.

“He is beautiful, I will admit. Has a sort of charm to him.”

“Do you think I should do something about it?”

You observe your friend carefully, the curve of his neck and jaw, the way the strand of the hair he always has pulled out gently carcasses his cheek, forcing him to scrunch his nose and try to move it away, and you reminisce over the boy he once was.

You think about your sleepovers when you were younger, in that stupid brothel Draken called home, when your father needed some company, trying desperately to be a good dad but still being too lonely of a man with too much money lining his pockets, and you think about all the dreams and plans and futures you and Draken planned as kids, so stupid and so naive, a thousand posibilities in front of you.

But you weren’t kids, not anymore, haven’t been in a long, long while, and you knew that was better left unsaid.

You wanted to tell Draken that no, he shouldn’t try anything, it was too soon after Emma, too soon after Mikey, too many wounds to tend to, and Inui would be just another right person and wrong time, but you kept that thought out of your mouth and instead, clicking your tongue, you poked Draken’s cheek, smirking.

“I think you’re just thinking with your dick.”

Inui and you settled on the couch with Draken in the middle, both of you leaning on his shoulder, curled up into his side under a blanket for additional warmth during the cold November night.

Draken was never a fan of horror, being somewhat of a scaredy cat for a man as tough and tall as he is, and every time he flinches, Inui and you share a smug look.

You liked it when it was like this, nothing but the movie and the sound of occasional shifting filling in the silence, Inui’s and Draken’s soft breathing almost lulling you to sleep as Draken’s fingers play across your back, allowing you to nuzzle your face into his neck, planting a soft kiss to your forehead.

You enjoyed the domesticity, the possibility to run away from the chaotic, adrenaline-filled lifestyle you chose for yourself, and Inui and Draken were perfect for spending a couple of hours in comfort, with their pleasant, permeating silence.

They were two men with too many traumas and pasts to bear and yet they stayed soft, filing away the sharp edges of each other until touching them didn’t hurt, until their anger turned into something warm and comfortable.

“Have you talked to Kakucho?” Inui almost whispers, glancing at you in curiosity.

“Hasn’t called me or tried to text me, so I guess that puppy is out of the litter.” You shrug, closing your eyes momentarily.

“Shame, he’s hot.” Inupi shrugged, receiving a sharp look from his boyfriend.

“What? I can admit a guy is hot without wanting to fuck him, Ken, don’t be jealous.”

Draken’s eyes narrowed, but he merely clicked his tongue, now focused on you.

“Wanna stay and sleep over? We still have your shit from the last time you stayed.” Draken waited for a response as you pondered, dramatically tapping your chin.

“Sure. I can take the couch, or the futon.” You offer, politely, but Draken shook his head.

“Our bed can fit all of us, no need.”

Which was a fat fucking lie.

Draken’s and Inui’s bed was the perfect size for the two of them to adequately rest, but Draken and you slept restlessly, kicking and stealing the blankets, and every other time you slept over, Inui either ended up on the floor, or you’d end up horizontally laying on them, or Draken would simply wake up sprawled on top of you and Inui.

It was always good sleep, something you rarely got, so you didn’t feel like rejecting their offer.

“Sure. Though, if I kick you in the face again, it's not my fault.“

Draken opened his mouth to bite back, but a jumpscare appeared on the screen, causing him to only let out a short shriek.

Inui and you will never let him live that down.

“Hey, wanna go out tomorrow night? Been a while since we went clubbing.” You quirk an eyebrow, glancing between the two men.

Inui scrunched his nose in disapproval, but nodded anyway.

“Sure, I’d love to get shit-faced. We’re not going to a casino though. We’re both tired of being your arm candy.”

A pout formed on your face.

“Boring~ but sure. Just good, old-fashioned clubbing. God approved and stamped. No illegal or illicit activities. Dancing and leaving enough room for Jesus.“

“Deal. I’ll call up the gang.”

. . . next

🔖Taglist (open):

@1818cigarettes @nana-phobia @dilf-city @wakasa-wifey @rinsie @kisekihany @missarabellla @bajifairyy @cryszus @r-xochitl @levistiddies @7rkx @graythecoffeebean @yukihime-mikeys-girl @mukounisuru-gashadokuro @sunahyejin @yamaguccitadashi @minoozi @trashmemebitch @frogtits1 @sup-zfam @whydohumansss @shiyuumisaki @xashiui @bontens-whore @chronic-claire-universe @nqctre @crybabylisa @adeptiixiao @denkis-sluttyboy @yukimaniac @toobsessedsstuff @yuushs @sh4nn @lumi-does-some-stuff @hana-patata @hxked @erza-uzumaki @syddisheep @satsuri3su @soushswag @wisteria-aa @bontensbabygirl @qualitygiantshoepsychic @levii-s @astropheia @galactict3a @a-toxic-person @inurmom00

[stellar-imagines]

SCENARIO REQUEST: ❝that's a little dark.❞

[ Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia ] [ Characters: Class 1-A ]

「 Class 1-A with an emotionless reader who gets hit with a quirk that make them turn back into a child along with the mentality of a child. In the end, Class 1-A and then fluff ensues with them basically fawning over a cute shy and easily flustered reader. But, they discover something about you.」

You couldn't remember what you did yesterday but it felt like you had the greatest sleep in your entire life. As your eyes adjusted to the surprisingly bright light, you slowly got up and looked at your surroundings. The place was unfamiliar and for a second, you found yourself rubbing your eyes and yawning. It seemed that you were in an infirmary of some sort but you don't recall going to school or anything. There were bandages around your arms and neck but it wasn't anything new.

"Oh, you're finally awake, my child." an old lady you didn't recognize swivelled around her office chair and hopped off.

"Who are you and where am I?" you asked, voice coming out a bit weaker than you had expected.

She identified herself as Recovery Girl — the nurse of the school and explained what had happened to you. It seemed like you got hit by a quirk in an unfortunate accident which caused you to turn back into a child with no memory of yourself in the future. You didn't believe it until you saw the different technologies and the date on the calendar. Never in your life you had felt so out of place in your entire life.

While the friendly old lady was trying her best to fill you in, the door to infirmary opened and a brown haired girl stepped in. She had has shoulder length, brown hair that's bobbed and curved inwards at the end. The girl looked at you for a moment, her eyes lit up and you could sense the relief in her eyes. She dropped her belongings and rushed towards the bed you had been sitting on. You backed away on instinct, slightly intimidated by how aggressive she was being.

”Where did you get those injuries from!? I thought you just got hit by a quirk on accident!” she exclaimed, looking at the gauze wrapped around your wrists and neck.

”Calm down. You’re scaring the poor girl.” Recovery Girl stepped in before this brown haired stranger did anything to you.

Recovery Girl explained your situation to the girl who quickly understood the situation. She then approached you but this time, she did it cautiously and ensured that you wouldn’t feel uncomfortable nor intimidated by her. After a quick introduction, you leaned that she was Uraraka Ochaco and supposedly one of your classmates. She got down to your eye level and attempted to befriend you. She tried asking a few questions about yourself. You could answer the simplest questions like ones about yourself. However when it came to questions about the times you spend in UA, you shook your head to everything, none of them sounded familiar to you.

Uraraka spoke in a gentle manner that you were not used to and it didn't take long for you to get comfortable around her. She entertained you by telling stories about her life in UA and heroes. The brunette managed to make you smile a bit with her way of storytelling which included a bit of exaggeration here and there along with the occasional hand gestures.

"Uraraka-san? Are you ready to go back to the dorms?" another unfamiliar voice was heard from the entrance of the infirmary. You saw a few heads peek into the infirmary, those you did not recognize at all.

With the help of Uraraka, your situation was explained to the new people that just arrived. It didn't take long for your classmates to gather around you and pointing out how cute you were. Though it was a bit embarrassing to be put under the spotlight, you quite liked the feeling of having so many people care about you. It made you think about how bright the future seemed for you.

You were brought back to the dorms where you met up with your other classmates. Those who knew about your current situation quickly explained what was going on with you to avoid any misunderstanding and confusion. You stood awkwardly at the entrance, fiddling with the hem of your dress and looking down to avoid eye contact. Suddenly, you were pushed forward by an unknown force, falling on your knees.

“Who left their fucking child here?” a scary looking guy glared down at you as you tried recovering from the small fall you had.

”Hey, Bakugou! Mind your language!” his friend whispered at the ash blonde who just clicked his tongue in response.

Their loud voices startled you which resulted in you to hide behind Uraraka's legs as if it was the safest place in the world. You gripped tightly on her skirt, hiding yourself from the people you didn't recognize. Loud voices always made you nervous and scared, it reminded you of your mother whenever she was unsatisfied with your performance. Uraraka let her hand stroke your hair to soothe your nerves a little. Ashido stood in front of the two of you with her hands on her hips, looking like a mother reprimanding their child.

"Bakugou, you're scaring [First Name]!" the pink haired girl scolded Bakugou who seemed a bit confused.

"You're telling me this brat is [Nickname]?" he closed the distance between the two of you with a few large strides. He stared at your for a few seconds to study your face a bit. It didn't take him that long to actually recognize a few familiar features and eventually he walked off, muttering something under his breath.

"I've never seen her like this before!" Uraraka cooed as you continued to hide behind her legs. You were never the type to be in the center of attention and didn't have any friends in when you were young because of how shy and awkward you were. Ashido crouched down and offered you a small jar of cookies that she had found in the kitchen.

"Should we send her home? She might be more comfortable staying with her parents." Yaoyorozu suggested, watching you munching on the cookie that you've been handed to.

"I think its best we tell her family about it this." Iida took it upon himself to pull out his phone and prepare to dial your home.

”Are we all having a sleepover?” you spoke up after being silent almost the entire time you arrived at the dorms.

"I don't want to go home." Everyone stopped to stare at you for a while, some surprised because it was the first time they've heard you since you came back. The girls looked at each other for a while as if they were silently communicating with one another. Midoriya who seemed to be the first one to notice that you seemed a bit uncomfortable, crouched down in front of you.

"You can stay here with us if you want. I'm sure everyone is okay with that." the viridian haired male gave you a gentle smile that made you feel a bit relaxed.

"Do you like having sleepovers, [First Name]-chan?" Ashido plopped down right next to you.

"I don't have friends and mommy doesn't like having me around." you mumbled.

"That's silly. I'm sure your mother is worried about you." Iida replies.

"Nu uh, mommy strangles me like this every night.” you shook your head lightly and wrapped your hands around your neck to imitate someone strangling you. The room immediately grew silent at your comment, clearly unsure of how to respond to your oddly specific comparison.

"Haha, good joke [First Name]-chan!" Kaminari patted your head gently, his laugh clearly a forced one.

"Mommy used to pull my hair too."

You never the friendly type of person to begin with anyways. From the very first day you got into UA, you were quite anti-social, never initiating any conversations or made effort to befriend anyone. However, it was quite surprising to know that you've been abused when you were younger. Almost everyone seemed shocked by the revelation and had no idea how to react.

"My mom gave me this scar." Todoroki crouched down next to you and gestured to the scar over his eye.

”I can’t believe that the only thing closed off people have in common is the fact that they’ve been abused.” Jirou muttered out loud.

"Okay, don't worry! We're all having a sleepover tonight!" Uraraka beamed brightly which made your eyes light up like a Christmas tree. A small smile made its way to your features and you couldn't help but sway excitedly.

"Everyone is joining right?"

There was no way they could refuse those hopeful eyes of yours, not when you have been through so much at such an age. They all seemed eager, suggesting a movie, snacks and games.One particular ash blonde looked indifferent, hands shoved into his pockets as he began to slowly walk away from the crowd of people. The first person to notice that he was making his way back to his own room was Iida.

"Where are you going Bakugou-kun?" the class president had asked as if it was a natural that Bakugou was also supposed to be a part of this so called 'sleepover'. Bakugou glanced over his shoulder, eyes narrowing at Iida as if he had gone insane.

"What makes you think that I will join this stupid—" the ash blonde gestured at whatever was going on.

"But a sleepover is not one without everyone." your quiet voice interrupted, your small hands tugging at his pants. He held his tongue after seeing Iida wildly gesture at him not to be so mean to you. The entirety of the class seemed to be really hell bent on giving you what you wanted.Bakugou felt his eyebrows twitching and began weighing his options.

Sero, Ashido, Kaminari and Kirishima were openly pleading him to stay while some others seem to believe that Bakugou would never want to sit down for a stupid sleepover. The ash blonde gave in, realizing that no matter what he chose, it won't be any different. If he chose to not participate, he probably won't be able to fall asleep from all the noise. And the possibly of witnessing these extras embarrass themselves didn't sound too bad.

"Fine! You guys are so annoying....." Bakugou grumbled. Your eyes lit up at his change of heart and began tugging him enthusiastically towards the common area’s couch.

Why does he agree to the stupidest things?

Total: 1717 words Published: 05.06.2021

Thank you for requesting! ｡٩(ˊᗜˋ)و*｡ We tried our best for this scenario. Hope we reached your expectations! We hope you liked it! ― author Lou

Thank you for requesting it! Tumblr has changed how the asks look and it looks very different. Hope you enjoyed this! ― author Natsuki

Requests are open! Matchups are closed!

Please do not mind the grammar mistakes and typos.

[rainbuckets8]

Why you should watch RWBY

TL;DR:

Summary: RWBY is an epic fantasy with themes like found family, the struggle to remain hopeful, the younger generation growing up, villain redemption, and systemic evils.

Strengths: RWBY has unique and memorable characters. The show is smart. It has excellent cinematography and animation. It has representation. It tackles hard topics. It’s got incredible music and it’s free on RT’s website.

Weaknesses: RWBY has some early growing pains, specifically volume 2’s finale, as well as budget and polish. Later on, volume 4 is weaker than the rest. Volume 8's finale is extremely distressing for a lot of viewers (and we haven't seen the follow up to those events yet). The fandom can be bad at times.

Misinformation: The early volumes being bad, the racism plot line, and the animation (not the same as “budget and polish”) are not as bad as you may have heard from YouTube.

Suggested viewing order

Red Trailer, White Trailer, Black Trailer, Yellow Trailer

Volume 1

Volume 2

Volume 3

Volume 4 Character Short

Volume 4

Volume 5 Weiss Character Short, Volume 5 Blake Character Short, Volume 5 Yang Character Short

Volume 5

Volume 6 Adam Character Short

Volume 6

Volume 7

Volume 8

(I did my best to make this spoiler-free. When there are spoilers, they’re worded ambiguously enough that someone new to the show would never guess what’s going to happen just by reading this.)

What to expect

The world of Remnant is filled with monsters called the creatures of Grimm. Warriors called Huntsmen and Huntresses defend humanity. Ruby, Weiss, Blake, and Yang go to school to become the next generation of heroes. Together they make Team RWBY (pronounced, “Ruby”)! Joining them is team JNPR (“Juniper”), made up of Jaune, Nora, Pyrrha, and Ren. But evils even more dangerous than the Grimm are ready to make their move, and school quickly becomes an afterthought…

(I mention these next two topics specifically bc they can immediately turn someone away based on bad expectations.) There is a fantasy school setting, but RWBY is not a show about school. School topics are not a dominant idea: it seems to resemble a setting like Harry Potter, but the actual focus of the show rarely touches on things like classes or homework or tests, and we quickly move on. There is romance and it has a role in the plot, but RWBY is not a romance show. On the scale of romance in FMAB to She-Ra, RWBY falls somewhere in the middle.

What is RWBY about, then? RWBY is like an epic fantasy or high fantasy, despite first appearances. Perhaps not every genre convention is followed, but at its core, RWBY is about an epic struggle of good and evil.

RWBY contains themes such as found family, the struggle to remain hopeful, the younger generation growing up, villain redemption, and systemic evils.

Strengths of the show

The characters are unique and memorable. One of the cool things is that they all draw inspiration from a real life fairy tale, myth, or something else. They designs are all top notch. One character who died with extremely little screen time even got so much fandom love, they included the character in a mid-hiatus short later. The characters have unique weapons, too; in the world of Remnant, a weapon is an extension of ones’ soul, and they reflect the variety of their owners. They’re also just plain cool; Monty was famous for following the “Rule of Cool.” And their individual stories are all compelling and interesting.

The show is smart. As a fandom, we generally pick up on the narrative hints the creators are dropping. And our predictions usually come true, but not in a way that makes the show predictable and boring. We very rarely guess exactly what will happen, but we have some similar idea of it. It’s just excellent foreshadowing.

RWBY also likes to play with tropes, as an extension of this. Often it will challenge them, or subvert expectations. In other cases, RWBY uses tropes to avoid showing us what we already know will happen. This occurs in both characters and plot. For example…

SLIGHT SPOILERS FOR VOLUME ONE FOR THE REST OF THIS PARAGRAPH: Jaune’s entire character arc is about trying to be the anime protagonist, and learning that he doesn’t have to do things alone, and it’s ok to be a support main. The show sets up the narrative in a way that looks like, oh of course the direction it will go is him becoming the main character, but then it destroys toxic masculinity instead.

Our characters are smart, too. Plot-induced stupidity generally doesn’t happen. (A few big mistakes or errors in this regard aren’t actually the fault of the narrative, either, but animation and miscommunication and failure to execute. And those aren’t common.) It goes beyond just “not being dumb,” however. The villains’ plans are incredibly clever, and our heroes sometimes even guess at the usual “plot twists.”

The cinematography is just incredible. There are numerous freeze frames with extreme attention to detail that reveal character motivations or arcs or foreshadowing, there are many effective cuts and moving parts, there are soooo many parallels and callbacks, and visual cues such as lighting and color all are used appropriately to convey emotion and assist the narrative. It is one of the biggest overlooked strengths of the show, imo, simply because a lot of people in the fandom don’t notice these things as much for whatever reason, or else don’t give as much praise about them.

The animation is extremely good as well. Budget issues and technology issues aside (which means a lack of polish), the actual animation? The fight choreography, and all the other parts of animation that aren’t just “expensive CGI” are all wonderful. You can have very shiny, polished turds after all, and RWBY is like the opposite: not very polished, especially early on, but very well animated. All the trailers, volume 1 episode 8, the volume 1 finale, the volume 2 penultimate episode, and basically everything else hold up extremely well even today. If anything, the worst fight animation was in volumes 4 and 5 because of Maya growing pains, and those are an example of being more polished, but not necessarily better animated. Animation of faces has always been good, animation of characters has always felt lively. Aside from a few small actual hiccups (that one person running across rooftops for instance), it’s well done.

There are LGBTQ+ characters. The treatment of one of the recent trans characters, in volume 8, was nothing short of amazing. They worked with a VA who was trans. The moment of canon confirmation was important to the character for backstory, because of course that affects the character’s life, but not the only important thing about the character. The representation is not in-your-face or pandering. And there is a split of representation among the main cast and the minor characters, with promises of more to come (notably they’ve said they’re working on more mlm for future volumes, too).

RWBY is not afraid to tackle hard topics. It deals with things like mental illness, systematic racism, and cycles of abuse. It’s not because the show is trying to earn “gritty and dark” points, it’s because those are some of the topics that real people have to struggle with as well. And the show handles most or all of them very well, in a way that shows respect and an honest attempt to depict these things as best they can. (NOTE ABOUT VOLUME 8: THERE IS A VERY DIFFUCLT CONVERSATION CURRENTLY HAPPENING. I am on the side of, let’s wait and see what happens next because the story isn’t over, so we haven’t really seen the fall out. But I understand why this paragraph feels really difficult to agree with if you've seen the volume 8 finale. I trust the track record of the rest of the show, personally.)

As an example, the show has a theme that villains are rarely evil just because. A lot of villains choose to do bad things because they were hurt in some way. Some lived in poverty; some were hurt by racism; many of them are victims of abuse. But the show doesn’t make excuses for them. It’s possible to be both sympathetic and still choose evil over and over again (that’s called tragic). The ones who eventually do try to do good again are not always forgiven, either.

The music is amazing. I can probably count on my hands the number of times I’ve heard someone say otherwise, which is astonishing when you consider this fandom.

It’s also free on RT’s website. (A paid, “FIRST” subscription removes ads and lets you see new episodes one week early, but they all eventually release for free.)

Weaknesses of the show

Early volumes’ growing pains exist, much like most or all other shows. (Even some of the greatest were not immune to this, like ATLA.) In this case, however, it’s a little bit rougher. A large reason why is that this was kind of the first big thing from RT to ever come out. If you remember back almost a decade ago, their only other big thing at the time was RvB, which was machinima. They pretty much started from scratch with everything, from assets to VAs to animation to writing. Imagine if a random twitch streamer, like Ninja (idk who’s popular these days) said one day, “OK let me just direct something that’s intended to be the next great movie series of all time, like Star Wars, with a $4 bill and an iPhone camera.” Then went out and actually made something. Of course it would be rough…but then it turns out the movie is actually really good. And then you get to watch over the next several years as everything gets better and better until it’s honest-to-god comparable to the MCU. That’s kind of what happened with RWBY.

One specific growing pain was the volume 2 finale. Pretty much everything else up until that point, I love about the show. But the finale just fails to deliver on the build up of tension from other episodes. Some of it is because of later plot developments that we didn’t know at the time; some of it is because of just not great writing; some of it is because of just not great animation; and yes, some of it is budget. Regardless, it’s a low point for the show.

Speaking of, the budget for the early volumes is super small. The infamous volume one shadow people, the infamous person jumping across the rooftops in volume two, and just production quality isn’t high compared to a major release from some established studio. These are real weaknesses of the show that for some people, make it unwatchable, and if that’s you, that’s ok.

One last weakness of the show, the screen time per episode, especially early on, is NOT a full 20 minutes like you may expect of an anime (or anime-inspired-western-media, for those of you who will die on the “RWBY is not an anime” hill). This is a trend that has stuck with the show, a shorter run time per episode, for generally the entire lifetime. On one hand, it means it’s a little less daunting to catch up or rewatch than the number of episodes might imply. On the other, early on, some episodes have a little weird pacing. It also means the writing had to adjust for this, so while RWBY got really good at telling a story within a shorter amount of time, there’s also challenges with that too. Perhaps one of the notable ones is the pacing, with slower moments sometimes feeling like it takes up too much screen time, or not enough. Volume 4 was a particular struggle for the crew, both because they switched animation engines and also for the story.

Common complaints that I don’t agree with

I don’t agree that the early volumes were actually bad overall. Growing pains, yes, but not bad. I attribute that complaint to overly focusing on one character’s storyline, back when it wasn’t clear there was so much more to come and before people realized the show would challenge the tropes instead of falling into them. It’s pretty much just volume 1 when people say this anyway, most of them I’ve heard admit that volume 2 was a lot better (except the finale) and almost everyone loves volume 3. And looking back on it, I do think volume 1 holds up.

Tying into this, the racism plot line is another common complaint. I don’t think it’s actually executed quite that badly. I think it makes sense for there to be regional differences in the amount of racism we see, it just so happened that we only saw a very small and isolated environment, Beacon, for much of the early volumes. (Incidentally, that’s actually similar the environment I myself grew up in.) It’s not perfect, though. But there’s no doubt that the later volumes do a better job portraying this. Again, I attribute it mostly to people not knowing how long the show would run for at the time, so of course if that’s all we saw, it would’ve been bad. But it’s not. I have a lot of respect for Miles and Kerry for even attempting to handle the racism topic in the first place. And for the faults that DO exist in this plot line, I credit them for learning and growing past that too, and doing better in later volumes.

The animation is not bad. I’ve already touched on that earlier, but people confuse “budget and polish” with “animation.” Give me RWBY any day over Michael Bay’s Transformers: no matter how much polish those robots have, they’re still a confusing mess to try and follow. And the polish isn’t even an issue once we get past the growing pains of Maya and get a bigger budget, because wow does this show look good now.

Between these three complaints I hear about often, I think those are the biggest ones. And they’re all generally done in bad faith, based not on just those but on other more provocative statements people also make with them. That’s part of my issue with the fandom, specifically the vocal but small parts of the fandom, because they’re just repeating these things from early days that aren’t true. But YouTubers gotta get those rage and hate clicks somehow, right? Unfortunately it discredits the show a lot and influences other people’s opinions into not giving it a fair chance, because it’s become a narrative of “RWBY IS BAD” when they all won’t shut up about it. So yeah, fandom can be bad, join at your own discretion. (Of course, all fandoms have annoying parts, and my interactions with the fandom have been good overall, otherwise.)

Onto other complaints, some say the cast is bloated. I don’t agree, but I don’t think this one is in bad faith. I think we get the important characters as much screen time as we can, and the minor characters don’t actually detract from that; one of the differences between good minor characters and bad ones, is that bad ones take up too much time. RWBY has a ton of characters but many of the minor ones don’t actually take up too much time. So it appears bloated, but actually I don’t think it is.

Finally, a small word on the no-no topics. Adam, and Monty. Adam is like the champion of the Monty topic. Which essentially boils down to “Miles and Kerry are ruining Monty’s vision for the show.” Toxic fandom is truly awful and I have no respect for anyone who says anything like that. Shame on all of you. This isn’t really anything negative about the show, but the fandom, and tbf all fandoms have toxic parts. But toxic fandom can be a real and valid reason to not watch a show. Thankfully they seem fewer in number these days, but I think they’ve evolved into hiding behind other characters or topics, so you know. Beware. Again, it's not too hard to avoid them or block them, and my interactions otherwise with most fans have been good.

[cordria]

Corruption

Danny had a strange home life. He knew that. He accepted it. At some point over the last two years, he’d decided it was a Defining Personality Trait and just rolled with it, incorporating it into just about everything he did and each joke he made. 

When he got home after a long day of school, Danny always had a wide range of expectations from his parents. He expected to be hugged and given a warm welcome along with a fudgy snack. Or perhaps to be doomed and threatened with dissection. Or perhaps to be dragged off to hunt a ‘ghost’ that only had a 25% chance of existing in the name of ‘family time’. Or perhaps to be hunted himself, captured, and stuck in a containment device. 

One would think, with that sort of mindset, that Danny couldn’t possibly be surprised when he walked through his back door. 

One would be very, very wrong.

“Tech-”, Danny cut off the blurted name at the sight of his mother sitting at the kitchen table with (of all the ghosts) Technus, freezing halfway into the kitchen. “Ghost!” 

“Hello child,” Technus greeted.

“Danny,” his mother said, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, apparently unwilling to take her eyes off the ghost. “This is Technus. We’re having a chat.”

Danny stood, mouth open, trying desperately to figure out what was going on. Technus seemed relaxed, more lounging in the air than sitting in a chair. His mother was attentive, a rather large weapon sitting next to her hand, but it was off and she wasn’t holding it. She didn’t appear to be afraid, or being held against her will. They appeared to be having a conversation. Based on the cup in Technus’s hand, they almost appeared to be having a chat over coffee. “What’s going on?” he finally asked.

“Technus was possessing our server,” Maddie said pleasantly. “I removed him, and in the course of beginning to dissect him, he managed to give me a few reasons to leave him in one piece.”

“He is good at talking,” Danny muttered and took a few steps in the kitchen, letting the door fall shut behind him. He dropped his backpack on the ground and mentally apologized to Sam for not getting his homework done as he had promised. She’d understand. Probably.

Technus waved his cup. “And she offered me this wonderful drink while we talked! It is, how you say, the bees knees.”

Danny arched an eyebrow. “Sure,” he said, walking over to the table. It was covered in glowing paper. The glowing was odd, even for paper from FentonWorks. “What are you talking about?”

“Technus supposedly ran away from the ghost zone because of a glitch. A bug in the system.” Maddie tapped the paper, still keeping an eye on Technus. “It’s honestly quite interesting, looking at the ghost zone through the senses of a computer ghost.”

“What’s interesting about it?” Danny didn’t need to use his eyes to keep track of Technus; the ghost was a spot of cold in his brain. He picked up a piece of paper and studied it. It… was gibberish. Definitely English, because he could see words he understood. His forehead wrinkled.

“He sees his world as a sort of computer, complete with codes and an operating system.” Her smile was thin and stressed, but Danny could see the interest sparkling in her eyes. “Technus was able to provide me a copy of some of that coding.”

Danny nodded, the gibberish making more sense. It did look something like he imagined computer code would look. “Neat, I guess.”

“Very,” Maddie said. “Unfortunately, I don’t know much about computer coding.”

“Tucker does,” Danny said before he thought through the response, then froze. 

Technus’s eyes lit up. “That’s true! The child with the hat. He would be able to help! Locate him for us,” he demanded.

“No,” Maddie cut in. “I’m not involving children in-”

Danny reached over and rested his hand on his mother’s shoulder, sending a tendril of energy through her. The woman froze in place, hands halfway through a gesture. He was relatively sure she wouldn’t be able to see or hear what was going on, half-possessed like this. He glared at the ghost. “What’s really going on, Technus?”

“A glitch,” the ghost said, setting down his cup. “A file has gotten corrupted.”

“The ghost zone,” Danny said flatly, “has a glitch.”

Technus leaned forwards, his eyes narrowing. “I am a master of technology, child. I know a glitch when I see one.”

Danny leaned forwards too, careful to keep his hand on his mother’s shoulder. “Prove it. Prove this isn’t just some stupid scheme.”

Technus seemed to fluff up like an angry chicken, his form growing slightly. “I… I…” he hesitated. Then deflated. “I cannot. It is not something you would see.”

“And so you just want me to believe you.”

The ghost shifted through the papers. “It is here,” he said, sounding almost manic. “I know it’s here. It will spread if we don’t catch it. It will infect other systems. It will bring down the whole world-”

“This sounds like a great way to avoid being dissected,” Danny said, “but the ghost zone doesn’t really have a code-”

“Not for you!” Technus snapped. Electricity zapped between the ghost’s flyaway hairs. “To you, the ghost world is a place full of heroes and villains, of adventures to be undertaken, of mysteries to be solved. That is you. And I do not tell you otherwise, because it is true for you. To me, the ghost world is the most complex and beautiful piece of coding, a computer of incredible power, so intricate…” He trailed off, slowly picking up the papers and sorting them into a stack. “To see it broken this way... I know it’s here. I know it’s here,” he whispered. “But you would never see it.”

Danny was quiet, letting Technus collect the papers, wondering if he should believe the ghost or not. “You’ve tried to hurt us too many times, Technus. I’m not involving Tucker unless you can prove to me what you’re talking about.”

“You’ll doom both our worlds because I’m a villain and can’t be trusted,” Technus said. 

“I’m not the one that’s tried to take over the human world eight times,” Danny shot back. “Excuse me for noticing the pattern.”

The ghost’s odd black eyes gleamed. “I… Yes.” He fell silent.

Danny let the silence settle in the kitchen for a long minute. “Well?”

“I am thinking.” Technus picked up a few more pages, running his fingers along the edges. Then he scowled and shook his head. “I cannot. I cannot show you a computer glitch!” 

“Then you belong back in the ghost zone,” Danny said. Light cascaded around him as he switched to Phantom, still keeping his grasp on his mother’s shoulder. “You want to go yourself, or should I escort you?”

“Always the hero,” Technus shot back, snatching the rest of his papers and holding them to his chest. “Always… the…” he trailed off, eyes narrowing, head tipping to the side and a smile appearing on his face.

“What?” Danny asked.

Technus very slowly set down the stack of glowing papers, flicking the top gently to remove a wrinkle. Then he pushed back from the table and raised his hands. Energy flickered around him, his attitude suddenly changing. “You have caught me, halfing. I, Technus, master of all things mechanical and beeping, was planning to destroy this world!” 

Danny tensed.

The ghost dove forwards, snagged Maddie from her seat, and dragged her through the floor. Danny was a beat too slow to stop him. “Hey!” he yelled, more than a little bit relieved that Technus was finally showing his true colors, and followed. He caught a glimpse of them disappearing through the portal, the echo of his mother’s shout of surprise as she came out of the semi-possession to find herself in Technus’s grasp.

The ghost zone flickered into view as Danny dove through the portal as well, chasing them. “Give her back!” he shouted, putting on some extra speed as the energy of this world started to course through him. 

“I will not!” Technus shouted over his shoulder. Then a loud, “Ouch!” as one of Maddie’s feet landed a hard kick. “Stop that!”

Danny couldn’t risk blasting Technus - at this speed and with their erratic flight patterns, he’d hit his mother just as often as he’d hit the ghost. He clenched his fingers, scowled, and kicked up the speed again. He was gaining. 

Of course, once he’d gotten his mother back, he had no idea how he’d get her home again without some serious injury to himself. Perhaps he could possess her, like he’d done to Valerie, and get her home that way.

Technus suddenly drew up short.

Danny’s teeth ground together and he formed a blast in his hands. With the ghost holding still, his aim was good enough that- 

He stopped. “What the hell?” he whispered, drawing up next to Technus and his mother - who was kicking and swearing up a storm, dangling from Technus’s arms. Ahead of them, the ghost zone was crawling in glowing red bugs. The bugs seemed to be eating everything they could touch. Danny let the blast fade away.

“The glitch,” Technus said. “What do you see, hero? A quest to complete? A villain to be defeated?” Then he yelped in pain. 

Danny glanced down to see his mother dropping like a stone. He dove after her.

“She bit me!” Technus screamed above him. 

He rather quickly caught up to her, but instead of instantly grabbing her, he fell alongside her for a moment. The last few times they’d met on a ghost hunt, she’d refrained from shooting him on sight. Perhaps he was winning the personality battle. “Need some help?” he asked, going for a cheeky grin.

She scowled at him.

“I can give you a lift home,” he offered, reaching for her hand.

She jerked it out of his grasp. “I don’t trust ghosts,” she snapped.

Danny shrugged, not letting the smile fade. “You can just keep falling, then. No skin off my back.” He rolled onto his back and put his hands behind his head, still keeping pace with her. “I think your son’d like you to come home, though. He looked a bit distraught when I passed by.”

He watched Maddie’s scowl twitch. “How did you follow me so fast, anyways? Were you spying on me?” she demanded.

“You were offering an evil ghost coffee at your kitchen table,” Danny shot back. “I wasn’t spying so much as paying attention.” He waited a beat. “Ride home?”

She slowly held out a hand. 

Danny snagged it and brought her fall to a stop, then pulled her back upwards. Coming to a stop next to Technus and letting his mother dangle from his hands, Danny studied the bugs that were infesting this section of the zone. Everything they touched turned that same color of toxic red. “That doesn’t look like a computer glitch,” Danny said after a moment.

“Not to you, of course,” Technus said with a dramatic roll of his eyes, still studying his bitten hand. “Do you believe me now?”

“I believe there’s something wrong, but I’m not convinced it’s a computer glitch,” Danny muttered. He started to drift closer to the bugs, wanting to see them a bit better.

Technus grabbed his shoulder. “Don’t get too close. It will corrupt you too.”

“It’s just a bug,” Danny argued, shaking off the hand. But he stayed back. 

“Watch,” Technus said, grabbing a floating rock and tossing it towards the bugs. When it was several feet away, the bugs swarmed upwards, attacking the rock. “It’s like a virus.”

Danny was quiet. Then he glanced down at his mother, who was staring at the bugs in wide-eyed fascination. He turned back to Technus. “I’m still not sure why I should care.”

“It’ll keep spreading,” Technus said, “until it infects everything in this world. And when our world goes, so does the human world.” 

Danny narrowed his eyes, still not sure he trusted the ghost. But the ghost could certainly be counted on to act in his own self interest. “Yeah,” Danny said. “Perhaps we should stop it then.” He studied the bugs. “Any idea how?”

“I might have an idea,” Maddie said, looking up at them. Her eyes were narrowed, clearly not trusting the two of them. “Bring me back to my house.”

Danny headed back towards the portal, Technus close behind, and shook his head. Of all the things he expected when he walked in the door after school today, creating a world-saving team out of himself, his mother, and one of the ghost zone’s most annoying ghosts would not have been on the list.

[chronicbatfictioner]

"Overall, it wasn't so bad..." Tim commented.

"Except for the fact that Bane roared like a constipated bear and literally lunged at Damian and Jason threw him out the window..." Barbara quipped, her face serious but her lips were still twitching. "I... am highly amused. Twice."

"You were laughing until you bent over double that if you weren't in a wheelchair, you've probably knelt on the floor laughing." Dinah deadpanned. "It was hilarious."

"Yes, it was. The fact that Jason could actually lift Bane and throw him out... Did you guys see Bruce's face, though! Oh my god! He... he looked at Jason as if he'd seen the lord savior Jésus Todd or something!" Tim crowed. "Like, the dude Bane got thrown out a bay window twice. I get the awe, I was a little star-struck myself. But I can't believe dude actually wanted to try the third time until Alfred pointed a damn shotgun to his forehead! I can't even!"

"This thus solidifies my thoughts that the Waynes may be trying to figure out a way to get rid of this... brute without... I dunno..." Barbara pondered.

"Gotten themselves broken in half?" Tim suggested. "He sure insinuated that he would do such a thing to Damian."

"Oh, gee, Tim. Which part of his speech insinuated that? 'You lying bastard!', or 'I'll break you in halves!'?"

"I'm partial to the 'bastard' remark, really. I mean, pot, kettle?" Tim replied, giggling.

"Technically," Helena Bertinelli - The Huntress - sighed as she chimed in; "and ironically, at that; the 'bastard' would be Bane since he claimed to be Thomas Wayne's son and is younger than Bruce. Which means he was 'conceived' while Dr Thomas was already married to Mrs Wayne..."

"Right? Bruce and Talia were two consenting adults, albeit under 20 years old; and were wed in a local ritual witnessed by locals, according to Jason. You should see Bane's face when Jason presented copies of the marriage's registry." Tim continued.

"Oh, we saw, all right. Harper's drones worked quite well." Dinah replied, snickering, referring to Harper Row, one of their tech 'consultants'. "Even at that height, it still delivered crystal clear pictures. I vote we use them again."

"No vote needed, the drones are on stand-by at the Wayne Manor permanently at this point. I'm more interested in his reaction when Damian offered them a DNA test." Barbara told her.

"I'm more interested in Bruce Wayne's reaction, really. He didn't seem too surprised, as if he was expecting this to happen or something." Helena pointed out.

"Maybe he did," Barbara replied absently. "Dude has been swingin' more than the roarin' 50s, there has got to be some juniors out there that even he didn't know of."

"Ugh, while I'm not a fan of Bruce Wayne's womanizing ways, I personally don't think he's that reckless. He's not a drinker or a junkie, as far as I know. He has virtually no vice other than extreme sports." Helena argued.

"I agree," Selina, who has been quietly watching from the corner, chimed in. "This is a guy who got visibly antsy when some sexy girls in bikinis come up to him - I thought he was gay. But if he'd been... wedded to Talia Al Ghul all these times, that would make sense. He knew exactly where he stood, and what would come up if he screwed it up."

"Has Jason or Dick said anything of the Doc and Mama Wayne's reaction?" Helena asked.

"They seemed truly confused, a little apprehensive, but didn't seem to be opposed to the idea that Damian is Bruce's child. Dr Wayne said that a DNA test wouldn't be necessary, but Jason insisted it." Tim replied, and added a little absently a few heartbeats later. "But why would he, a physician with more specialties than a truck stop, would not question the biology of anyone claiming to be his biological descendant?"

Barbara glared at Tim, "excellent question, Tim. If my dad has someone coming out of the boonies saying he's related to me, the first thing dad would do is draw blood."

"They... don't care?" Dinah suggested. "Maybe the Wayne men were less... chaste than they appear?"

Barbara glared at her this time. "Of all the women Bruce Wayne has dated, I've only recorded a handful who would end up in a second date. Less than a handful who were actually mentioned beyond social media photos; and you know how I feel with social media photos: generic, unverifiable, and showoff-only. Dates with Bruce Wayne generally would start with the pick-up, dinner, and then some form of jewelry. I..." she looked at Selina and Helena, "you've both dated him at one point or the other."

Selina shrugged, "I went for a gala dinner, and was honestly there to scope the homeowner's safe, really. I wasn't interested in a follow-up date." she replied. "Helena?"

"Social arrangement. My people called his people and boom, we were on a red carpet." she elaborated. Helena was a part of a mafia family, until she decided that the mafia way would not be the best way to make Gotham a happy place for all, and donned the costume of the Huntress to hunt down wrongdoers. Barbara had decided to let her join to prevent her from going over the line and murder anyone out of overzealous-ness; but also in order to get a line-in into the mafia families.

"No second dates, either, huh?"

"No, I'll have to check, though. I think his people called me again, but I wasn't interested in a vapid playboy, even if he has more money than Jesus."

"Vicky Vale," Selina reminded. "She has had a... somewhat lengthy relationship with Bruce some years ago."

"Sooo... the next answer in our mystery could probably be answered by interviewing an investigative journalist." Tim commented.

"Oh, no..." Barbara grinned mischievously. "Not this investigative journalist. I know just the journalist to talk to when it comes to gossip among themselves."

Dinah snorted a laugh. "I thought you didn't like her."

"I liked Vale less," Barbara griped. "Plus, Vale is already getting news on Bruce's probable child; why shouldn't I send Lois Lane the allegations of the Bane Conspiracy?"

"Conspiracy with who?" Dinah asked curiously.

"Oh, the Waynes, of course, to get rid of the Court of Owls," Barbara smirked. "Why should we be the only ones racking our respective and collective brains when we can have someone else on the ground doing the grunt work?"

"Babs, you can be... pretty evil sometimes," Selina remarked. "I know there's got to be a reason why I like you."

"I'm also awesome with technology and can launder your ill-gotten money and make it legal and undetected." Barbara pointed out.

"Oh no, that's why I liked you." Helena quipped smirking. "Seriously, how many mob family can say their ill-gotten money is accountable by law?"

"As long as it is within the facets of the law, and so on and so forth... Anyway! Tim, you're quiet for more than two seconds. I'm always nervous when you're quiet."

"Just thinking..." Tim said, looking a little lost in his own brain. He often does that when he has at least a dozen scenarios running through his mind. Through the time of Barbara knowing him, Tim would probably be the only person whose claims of 'just thinking' wouldn't immediately be picked on by anybody.

"Care to share with the class, kitten?" Selina prompted.

"It's not fully mapped yet... but I was thinking. What if the Waynes aren't... didn't cooperate with Bane in order to destroy the Court of Owls, and they're literally being hostages in their own home? What if Bruce Wayne has predicted something like this could happen, and has gotten himself all prepared all the way to ten years ago when he wedded Talia Al Ghul? I mean, who would have had enough firepower to defeat Bane other than the Al Ghuls? Look at Jason," Tim pointed out. "He threw Bane out the window as if he was a fly. While Jason is as solid as a rock but isn't a metahuman - Bane is. He was assigned by Talia herself - out of Gotham - to protect and guide Damian-- why? What's so special about Jason Todd? Why did Talia choose him? Why didn't Bruce Wayne - at least - act shocked when Damian said he was his son? Surprised, sure. But not shocked or in denial.

"Who's gonna win if Bane turned out to be Dr Wayne's son? Who's gonna lose? What will they lose? Who is Bane accountable to? If none, who planted the idea of him being Dr Wayne's son? Because from what I've read about him, he was born and raised in a prison with his mother - no mention of a father. His mother was an insurgent of Hasaragua, fighting against US-condoned democracy. And while there was a record of Dr Wayne being there, there was no exact date and length of stay, because he was there privately and not as a part of Médecin sans Frontieres or something like that.

"What about Mrs Wayne? She wasn't a poor or uneducated woman, since she was a Kane. Society-wise, do you think she would have tolerated her husband's indiscretion, both then and now? Yet she kept quiet for nearly two months. She has a Ph.D. in psychiatry, and would she be the ones to keep quiet about DNA testing and all that? Personally, I don't think so. If my mother - a little 'lesser' society lady compared to Martha Kane-Wayne - ever got a word of a child that 'probably' got fathered by my dad, she would have demanded a divorce right away without bothering with a paternity test, sure. But my dad, who was also a society man, would have at least attempted to convince her that it was a mistake and/or it was a lie. What best method to decide a child's paternity than DNA test?

"The criminal front in general - especially the costumed criminals - has been pretty quiet since Bane eliminated the Court of Owls. Why? That's rather stupid since we know that the Court's Talons were the ones who made moves to 'discourage' the costumed freaks. Annnd... that's where I couldn't map out things further." Tim rambled.

"Keep talking, even half sentences are better than none, Timmy." Barbara prompted. Tim might have had a brain that worked a mile a minute, but he was still very young and would often get flustered with himself. Barbara, on the other hand, has an eidetic memory, and things Tim said tend to stick to her brain and would fill the gaps in any puzzles she might be thinking about. Even half sentences.

"Right, I do the fact spreads, you do the jigsaw-puzzling." Tim nodded. "The murders of Talia and Ra's Al Ghul. Jason said they were deliberately murdered in a way that they would never be able to be resurrected through the Lazarus Pit. The perpetrators would be the League of Shadows, a rogue splinter of the League of Assassins. Lead by Lady Shiva. Why? Why were they murdered? Why now and not - say - next year or last year? Who benefited by their death? Aaand... I'm done, for now, I think..."

"I... can feel a headache brewing," Dinah admitted. "You and your conspiracy theories." she rubbed Tim's head fondly. Tim gave her a half-smile, still trying to articulate the thoughts in his head.

"That's why we need him, he takes the most random input and makes a theory out of it, and some of them would actually make sense. I'll start a search string based on some of your questions. If you have more, don't hesitate to tell me, Tim." Barbara realized belatedly that her tone sounded dismissive, and turned to Tim. "Want me to call up for Chinese and powwow a little more?" she added.

Tim shook his head, still glaring blankly. "Thanks, I gotta go... I've some... things to look into. Thanks, Babs," he replied, ending it with a genuine smile as he got up.

"Want to come home with me, Kitten?" Selina asked, worry for Tim apparent on her normally-blank face.

"No, thanks, Ma. I gotta go back to the mansion, just in case, right?" Tim pointed out.

"Then Dinah should go with you," Selina decided.

"She's coming there later, right, aunt Dinah?" Tim asked. Dinah nodded.

"I'll get home with food, so don't worry about that, kiddo." she said. Tim waved them all and then walked out.

Once he was out of the door, Selina sighed. "Ah, young love..."

"Right? Remind me to check in on him before going to the House. I don't want to walk in on something and have him traumatized." Dinah agreed.

Barbara glared at them quizzically, and then at Helena, who shrugged. "Grayson said it first, I think. Our kitten is growing up. I just hope that Jason guy is worth his firsts..."

The memory of Tim gawking at Jason when he thought Barbara wasn't watching flashed in her mind.

Oh.

And then of Jason blatantly checking Tim out just before Oracle made her appearance, and at times when her Oracle projection was turned off.

"Oh boy," she sighed.

"That's about it in a nutshell. Good thing I've told him of the birds and the birds..." Selina grinned slyly.

"Millennial parenting at best, Ms Selina Kyle." Dinah grinned. "Come on, let's go patrol and induce the fear of goddesses to Gotham's low-lives before inducing maternal fear to our little kitten."

"...or to the big tabby. We'll see," Selina added, waving as she and Dinah walked out of the room.

Suddenly Barbara felt a little sorry for Jason. Just a tiny, teensy, weensy bit of sorry.

[aeruthien]

Haylijah Whump Ficlet Based on the prompt: “Take me instead” Thank you @thedumpster-fire ! I hope you enjoy it :D

Find the other ficlet here: stay awake with me (AO3)

--- "Why don't you take me instead?"

Relief and fear clash inside Hayley at the sound of Elijah's voice. Her captor - a young, blond man- clenches his fingers around the lever which connects the cage with the mainframe.

"Don't come closer!" he snaps frantically. "If you do so, she dies!"

A responding chuckle echoes off the walls of the makeshift laboratory, and Elijah saunters into the white, ghastly light. He glances at the lever.

"Yes, she probably will," he muses with a tilt of his head. "But your experiment will die with it."

Hayley holds herself ready, a new burst of energy pushing away the effects of the wolf bane in her system. She tries to get Elijah's attention, but he ignores her, focusing instead on her captor.

"Doctor Rochester, is it? I have to say, your experiments have caused quite a stir among many learned men."

Rochester's lips twitch.

"Have they?"

Lazily, Elijah circles closer to the machine, deftly stepping over the numerous cables curled on the floor.

"They have. But of course, with their petty minds, they could not possibly comprehend what you try to accomplish here."

He halts. Just in front of him shimmers a barely visible force field, held up by a strange combination of technology and magic.

"But I can help you."

For the first time, his gaze flickers to Hayley.

"That is, if you rid yourself of this hybrid filth."

Hayley flinches. Even though she knows it is an act - it must be an act - she can't help but cower down under the force of his cold stare.

"What do you mean?" Rochester squeals, head swirling from Elijah to Hayley and back again. He is dancing on his spot, his caution warring with his desire for an ally.

"Her bloodline is tainted," Elijah continues. "Use her, and your experiment will almost certainly fail. And why should you, when you have me?"

Rochester laughs nervously.

"This is a trick. You must think I am stupid!"

"On the contrary. You are the smartest person in this room. But you need a pure source of energy. One that cannot die."

Black veins dance below Elijah's eyes.

"And I am truly immortal."

Electricity cracks when he touches the force field. Hayley had seen it kill a normal vampire, but Elijah just clenches his hand into a fist.

Rochester gapes at him. He is shaking, from excitement or fear Hayley can't tell. Slowly, his hand slips from the lever, and he stumbles closer, like a child fixated on candy. Like a siren, Elijah spins a tale about ancient societies and hidden knowledge, only available for a select few. He sounds perfectly reasonable. Perfectly understandable. In a brief moment, Hayley sees him like their enemies must see him. An ethereal creature, beyond human, luring them to their deaths.

When the force field comes down with a crash, Elijah snaps his fangs in Rochester's neck. Before the body has crumbled to the ground, he is kneeling in front the cage, his hands roaming over the iron bars.

"Hayley, are you alright?"

His cold stare has been replaced by frantic concern, and Hayley nods mutely, her exhausted mind struggling to catch up. As soon as the bars give way under his strength, he pulls her free from the wreckage. Hayley buries her nose in Elijah's shoulder, shivering as he traces soothing circles over her back.

In a daze, she hears Klaus arrive. He and Elijah argue softly, until Elijah pulls her upright.

"Come on," he says gently, "I'll take you home. Niklaus will take care of the rest."

Too tired to argue, Hayley leans heavily into his side as he leads her to the car. To her surprise, it is still light outside, and she takes in a grateful breath of fresh air. Elijah stops when they reach the car.

"Hayley, what I said..." he starts, but she cuts him off.

"I know," she rasps, her throat raw from disuse.

He shakes his head in protest, so she kisses him instead, swallowing his words. Hunger and desire kindle inside her, and she sneaks her hands under his jacket, unable to stop a rumble in her throat.

"Go ahead," Elijah encourages hoarsely.

Hayley makes a quick cut on his throat with her nail and presses her lips against the wound. She sucks deeply, relishing in the soft gasp coming from his mouth and the clench of his arms around her.

When she finally pulls away, she feels like she is floating. She is barely aware of Elijah lifting her up and placing her in the car, and when she comes to they are half way back to New Orleans. At his fond, reassuring smile, she laces her fingers through his before closing her eyes again, shifting to make herself more comfortable.

The next time she woke would be to the sight of her daughter.

And then she would take a long, well deserved bath.

[falseroar]

Dog Days Part 22: Very Important Person

((Y/N, Chase, and Jameson visit the local TV studio in search of Wilford Warfstache, looking to find out what his connection is to Abe.

Warning: Shooting/someone shown getting shot, no gore/details.

Links to the masterlist with every part, and to Part 21: Coffee with a Dash of Honesty.))

The building that Chase parked near was completely new to you. From the street name, you guessed this area used to be that stretch of small businesses that in your memory tended to come and go before they made much of an impression, although it looked like they had all been torn down to make way for the tall building and its attached lawns and parking lots.

“Honest John Loans,” you murmured when you got out of the car, and when Chase and Jameson looked at you, you felt the need to explain, “Used to be a loan company around here, went out of business after the owner—wasn’t around anymore.”

“Yeah, I think there used to be a few stores around here before the studio bought them up,” Chase said. “That was after DE Studios got super popular, started streaming even in other countries instead of just the local broadcasts. Before that, they were running out of a little place over in between all the warehouses on the harbor.”

“You seem to know a lot about this place,” Jameson pointed out as the three of you walked toward the set of glass double doors under a set of enormous letters spelling out “D.E.S.”

“I looked up some stuff last night. Plus, I…kind of wanted to work here when I was a kid. I applied for an internship, even got it, but my parents vetoed that idea.” Chase shrugged. “Wasn’t the kind of work experience they were hoping for, not that it really mattered in the end.”

“Did you ever get to go on a tour here?” you asked as Jameson pulled open one of the doors and waved the two of you in before him, but Chase shook his head. “Then maybe we can still have some fun even if Wilford isn’t here.”

An idea shot down not even two seconds later by the man standing behind the front desk, who took one look at you all and said in a dull, lifeless tone, “No tours today.”

“What?” Chase asked, unable to hide his disappointment. He shared a look with Jameson, both thinking their plan to keep you distracted and away from home wasn’t looking too great. “But there wasn’t anything on your website about them being canceled, and the sign right there says—”

The man behind the counter flipped the tour sign so that it was lying face down and said, “We are also not filming today, so there is no need for a studio audience. If you wish to apply to be a guest on one of our shows, the application form can be found online.”

You frowned at the man, but it wasn’t because of the abruptly canceled tour. There was something strange about his voice, a faint static under his stilted words that probably only you could hear, a hum coming from his chest in place of a heartbeat that seemed to pulse in time with the lit up ‘G’ on his gray shirt. And, when you breathed in, you could smell Chase and Jameson on either side, but there wasn’t a scent coming from this man.

Or at least, not one that you would associate with a person, but the faint whiff of magic and oil made you sure that you were in the right place.

“Who are you?” you asked, stepping forward to the counter.

“I am a Google unit, designed to answer questions and perform tasks quickly and efficiently,” he answered, tilting his head to match your stare while his eyes studied you behind his black-rimmed glasses. “Currently, I am filling in for the receptionist who has taken an early lunch break.”

“Wait, unit?” Chase stared at Google for a moment and then his eyes lit up with understanding. “You’re magitek! I heard the Institute bought out a lab that was working on something special, but I never got a chance to see it. That’s so cool!”

“Yes, I was the initial prototype from that line,” Google answered. “The head of this studio was able to purchase me before the buyout.”

“That feels a little…not right,” Jameson signed, only to put his hands behind his back when Google fixed him with his unblinking stare next.

“Magitek is, well, what it sounds like, a blend of magic and technology,” Chase explained to you and Jameson. He gestured at Google as he said, “This though, it’s leaps and bounds ahead of anything else out there right now though. I mean, look at him!”

Google smirked. “Your excellent taste is both appreciated and entirely correct. The tours will resume next week, on schedule, if you would wish to make an appointment.”

Next week. It was possible he could still be here by then, but the idea of waiting that long and missing your chance didn’t sit well. Especially not when you felt so close to something for once.

“We were actually hoping to see someone who might be here,” you said. “Do you know if there’s a Wilford in the building?”

Google paused and then said, “Are you on the approved visitor list?”

“Uh,” you hesitated and looked at Jameson and Chase, who didn’t really have an answer. “If you could just tell me if he’s even here—”

“Names?” Google asked.

“…Y/N,” you said, reluctantly. “But I just—”

“Y/N,” Google repeated, with a different tone. “You are on the approved VIP list.”

“I am?”

“They are?” Chase asked, and Jameson signed.

“And your names?”

“That’s Jameson Jackson, and I—I’m Chase Brody,” Chase said slowly.

“Understood. Please wait for your visitor badges to be printed.”

Google turned away and you took a step back to be closer to the other two. Once you were sure the magitek unit wasn’t watching, you signed, “It must be a mistake. Someone else with my name.”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t take advantage of it,” Chase signed back.

“But what if we get caught?” Jameson asked.

“Then we tell them there was some kind of misunderstanding.” Chase shrugged. “Worst that happens is we get a slap on the wrist for trespassing, and even then, it’s still iffy. It’s not like we lied about who we are or why we’re here.”

“This might also be our only chance to meet this Wilford guy,” you pointed out. “There’s no guarantee we would run into him on a tour, assuming he’s even still here next week.”

Jameson nervously moved his hands, as though trying to decide whether to give in or stop this here, but before he made up his mind Google spoke again in that same not quite emotionless tone.

“Your badges are ready. Please do not lose them, or you will be immediately escorted from the building. Forcefully.”

You turned around to find three badges lying on the corner, just cards printed off and slipped into plastic envelopes hanging from DE Studios branded lanyards.

“As a VIP, you are welcome to a more permanent card,” Google added. “But that would require your picture to be taken. Please stand still.”

“What?” you asked, but a bright flash came from the magitek unit before he lowered the camera and plugged it into the computer.

“Your card will be available by the time you leave,” Google said, ignoring your protest which was quickly cut off by Jameson and Chase.

“…Thanks, I guess,” you muttered, even if you didn’t like the thought of a picture of you being on that thing. Better to play along for now. “Wait, why did you just take my picture and not theirs?”

“Because you are the only one on the VIP list,” Google answered. “The other two may enter as your guests for this visit.”

Your card did seem to be a different color than the other two, or at least you guessed it was based on the different shade of gray, but it was Chase’s turn to pause when he saw the names on the cards. Specifically, the one labeled “Charles Bronson.”

“That’s…not the name I gave you,” Chase pointed out slowly.

“It is the name that is in the system,” Google said. “Attached to one internship application that was accepted and then turned down by the applicant. Do you wish to update your file?”

“Why do you still have that?” Chase asked. “Yes, I want to—I mean…”

“The process will only take…45 minutes.”

Chase sighed. “No, I guess it’s fine…”

“Give or take 3 hours, depending on length of time spent on the questionnaire—”

“It’s fine, I’ll wear the stupid badge,” Chase said, grabbing the lanyard and pulling it over his head. He tried to at least turn it so that his name faced inward, only to discover that the names were printed on both sides of the card. “…Sure, why not. Now can you tell us where this Wilford dude is?”

“Once all phones and other recording devices have been handed over. I am also required to ask you to sign our terms and agreements, which is standard for all visitors in the building.”

Chase and Jameson sighed as they pulled out their phones, but you pulled the stacks of paper Google tried to hand them out of his hand and studied it for all of two seconds before saying, “We’re not signing this.”

Google dropped the phones into a bin behind the counter, Chase wincing at the sound of his phone hitting the plastic and said, “Understood.”

“Wait, that’s it?” Chase asked. “You’re not going to make us sign it or leave?”

“I said that I was required to ask, not that I actually need any signatures.”

You stared at the magitek unit as he walked out from behind the counter and asked, “Then why bother asking? The first page alone is absurd, who in their right mind would sign this thing?”

Google smiled. “Most people don’t even question it. And no one wants to be the one to hold the tour group up because they’re actually reading it.”

You picked a paragraph at random and started to read aloud, “’Dark Entertainment Studios is not liable for any accident or the consequences of any event on its grounds or during filming, up to and including death, injury, mental or emotional trauma, existential crises’…’Contestants lacking a living will may be assumed to give DE Studios power of attorney’—”

Google’s smile was gone now. “As you have not signed, these terms do not apply to you. So, if you could please stop reading those out loud—”

“Who the hell wrote this?!”

“…Permission to answer that question has been denied,” Google answered, his eyes twitching and his head briefly jerking to the side before he recovered. “Please try again later.”

Jameson pulled you to the side and signed, “I understand you’re angry, but perhaps this is a battle for later? We’re here for Wilford, not a legal kerfuffle.”

“Fine,” you muttered, before holding up the document for Google to see, “But I’m taking this, and I will have a lot of notes for whoever’s in charge here when I come back.”

“Understood. I will make a note for a future appointment,” Google said, his gaze fixed on some distant point for a moment before it returned to normal. “Follow me. According to his schedule, Wilford Warfstache is currently in Studio 3.”

Google paused to put up a sign saying that someone would be back in 15 minutes and added under his breath, “…Not that he seems aware of what a schedule even is.”

“What exactly are we going to say to this Wilford fellow once we find him?” Jameson asked as the three of you followed Google into the short hallway behind the counter which ended at a set of elevators, one of which opened with a soft “ding” as soon as he pressed the button.

“I didn’t think we’d actually get this far,” Chase admitted once you were all in the thankfully spacious elevator, which looked big and tall enough to hold an elephant inside. He was signing again, you guessed to keep Google from listening in, but your attention was on the directory above the buttons.

There seemed to be a floor for each studio, of which there were five, and a few floors dedicated to various departments such as production, marketing, etc. Human Resources had its own floor, but the button for that one wasn’t lit up like the others, leaving you to suspect that it was broken. Then there was the top floor, which didn’t have a label or any other indication of what was there on the directory.

Before you could ask Google any questions, the elevator came to a stop with another ding, the automated voice overhead announcing that you were now at Studio 3.

“Studio 3 is generally used for our game shows,” Google said. “On our current schedule, the first half of the week is used to film Menagerie of Insanity, and then we switch over the set to film episodes of Monstrous Love for the rest of the week, or at least those portions that take place in studio.”

“Staci loves that show,” Chase said, craning his neck to look in the open door to a room full of monitors and other equipment you didn’t understand. “She was a big fan of what’s-his-name, Herla.”

“Ratings were very high during his time on the show,” Google answered, leading the way to the left and toward the set of double doors at the end of the hall.

“Yeah, shame it didn’t work out with that centaur. Are they filming more episodes of that show then?”

“Chase!” Jameson shook his finger at him.

“What? No, I didn’t mean—”

Chase’s face turned red and he stumbled over his denial, not helped when Google said, “We are currently interviewing potential candidates. If you wish to apply, please speak to the receptionist before leaving or fill out the online form.”

“What are all of these other rooms?” you asked, partially to save Chase from this conversation.

“Storage and janitorial services for this floor, the production control room, the central apparatus room, both of which are dedicated to Studio 3, and rooms for our employees that I am required to refer to as ‘talent,’” Google answered, pointing to each door in questions as you passed. “There is also a green room attached to the studio, with refreshments for our guests and contestants. Each studio floor has the same basic layout, except for Studio 5, which has an additional area for recording and voiceover work, with the master control room on its own separate floor.”

“Master control room?” Jameson asked.

“It’s basically where they choose what signal goes out,” Chase answered. “What shows up on the TV or on the online feed, like reruns or commercials.”

“Correct. We are currently on a…hiatus, from broadcasting live content at the moment.”

He had also mentioned they weren’t filming today, which might explain why the whole building felt quiet. Your ears caught the hum of motors and fans whirring in the rooms full of equipment and monitors, and the faint sound of a chair squeaking that suggested someone was in there, but if you had to guess all of these other rooms were empty of people. That is, except for the studio he was leading you toward, whose doors appeared to be soundproofed because even you could just barely make out the sound of voices as the four of you approached.

As soon as Google opened the door though, a crowd of people began to cheer and clap their hands. Or at least, that’s what it sounded like, but the room was almost empty. Past a row of dark cameras pointed toward the set, where a semicircle of row upon row of empty seats looked down on a large spinning wheel that was clattering to a stop next to three occupied podiums.

And, in the center of it all, stood a man holding a microphone who was almost dwarfed by the large creature sitting next to him, which looked like a massive lion with a set of black wings that matched the hair on his human head, or at least one that was large enough to suit his body. Said sphinx was also holding a (much larger) microphone in one paw, and for some reason appeared to be wearing a shirt and jacket on the front half of his body with a tie that dangled down from his neck.

“Excellent spin!” The man standing next to the sphinx spoke in a loud, booming voice that carried through the room, and you felt like you had just had all of the breath knocked out of your chest. “Tell me Bim, what did our lucky contestant land on?”

The sphinx grinned and said, “Looks like Billy won a very special bonus: ‘Take a shot!’”

“Well, if you say so,” the man said, pulling out a gun from behind his back where it had apparently been tucked into his waistband before pointing it at the first contestant.

“Wilford, wai—” The sphinx reached out a huge paw only to sigh when the man fired off three rounds in quick succession, each blast an assault on your hearing even when you pressed your hands against your ears. The contestants shrieked and Chase shouted next to you as the shot contestant collapsed, but the sphinx just rolled his eyes and said, “Oh, don’t be such a drama king, Billy. We told you from the start we remembered to put wax bullets in Wilford’s gun this time.”

“They still hurt! Why couldn’t we have just used blanks?” came the groaned response from behind the podium as the contestant slowly dragged himself back up onto his feet. A splatter of colored wax marked his chest, but he was clearly…maybe not okay, but mostly uninjured, at least. A chorus of laughter came from speakers set up around the room, and he glared at one of the other contestants who had a board full of switches in hand and a guilty expression.

“What’s wrong with seeing how my aim is holding up?” the shooter asked, still waving his gun around to emphasize his words. “Besides, you told me to take another shot!”

“We’ve been over this, not everything is literal. More importantly, the game isn’t fun if you kill off the contestants for no reason,” the sphinx explained. “It’s like…you know music, right? That used to be your thing. A game show’s like that, there’s a rhythm, a pattern to it, and you shooting one of the contestants out of nowhere is like someone pulling the plug and cutting the song off early. Get it?”

“…Not even a little bit, no.”

“You know, maybe we should just go ahead and take a break. I’m starting to think your…talents might be better suited for somewhere else.” The sphinx looked at the “contestants” and said, “You can get back to whatever you were doing, just don’t forget my lunch!”

The last words were shouted after them, as the three sprinted out of the room as fast as they could, bumping into you and the others in their way.

The sphinx rolled his eyes again and muttered, “Interns. Probably should have kept one of them behind, I’m feeling a little—oh, hello! And who might you all be?”

His eyes lit up at the sight of your group and he gave a smile that might have been friendly, if it hadn’t shown off a lot of teeth that looked more at home in a lion’s mouth.

“These are guests,” Google answered. “Here to see Wilford Warfstache.”

“Hm?” the man holding the gun looked up and gave you all a smile that held no kind of recognition.

Even though you knew exactly who he was. Even without the uniform and helmet, even after all this time, you knew the Colonel’s voice, his mannerisms, the gun in his hand. The same gun, that he had carelessly fired at that intern like it was nothing.

Suddenly you knew exactly why Abe had been looking for him, understood the hunter’s strange behavior at the disco, his anger and despair. All this time, spent looking for the man that nearly killed him, who up until the night before last you thought had killed Abe.

All that time in the mirror, all that anger and rage of your own, and you had never thought about what you would do if you found yourself here, face to face with the Colonel again.

If you had imagined this moment, you don’t think it would have included the way he looked at you now, with a clueless smile like you were as much a stranger to him as Chase or Jameson. Or the other detail that your mind latched onto, until the sphinx moved in between you and the Colonel.

“Hello, my name is Bim Trimmer. Host of Menagerie of Insanity, or you might remember me from other hit shows that I’ve done.”

“Of course, who doesn’t know you?” Chase said, his voice higher and cracking slightly as he stepped in front of Jameson and tugged on your sleeve as though to encourage you to take a step back. “We, uh, didn’t expect to see you here today, or we would have, uh…”

“Brought something to sign?” Jameson suggested.

“Yeah, autographs,” Chase muttered. Clearing his throat, he continued, “But yeah, didn’t mean to interrupt, we can just—”

“Not at all, a distraction sounds lovely right now. Besides, we can’t be rude to guests.” Bim gestured toward your nametag, but you swore he sniffed before his pupils widened into two black discs. “Very special guests. How do you know our Wilford?”

You hesitated, aware that Jameson and Chase were waiting on you to answer, but your mind was still a blank, and your voice caught in your throat with nothing to say.

“Why, fans from the club, I’m sure,” the Colonel, or you guessed you should call him Wilford now, answered. He beamed as he stepped forward to Jameson and said, “I’ve seen you hit up the dance floor, I know!”

“I think you might be mistaken, sir,” Jameson signed, and Wilford laughed as though he had just said the most hilarious thing that he had heard all week.

“It’s actually through someone we know,” Chase said, now that it was becoming clear that you weren’t about to say anything. “Wilford, do you know an Abe Lincoln?”

“The car salesman?” Wilford asked.

“Uh—no, he’s a…he’s a hunter,” Chase said, trying very hard not to look at Bim when he said it. “Do you know why he might be looking for you?”

Wilford rubbed his chin, thinking for a moment. “I don’t owe him money, do I?”

Chase didn’t really know how to answer that, but while Wilford threw out a few more equally unlikely suggestions, you became aware of someone else talking in the studio, speaking low and fast.

“Here we see the automaton has brought three new victims into the clutches of the monster. See the way his tail is thrashing? That suggests a hunting state of mind, a predator considering the problem of his prey, and at any second he’s liable to pounce on our unsuspecting—”

You realized the voice was coming from somewhere under the rows of seating, but you were distracted by Bim lowering his head until you were eye-level and saying, “I would love to have you on the show sometime. I feel like you would be fantastic for the new season we’re lining up. Of course, we’ll have to do something about your wardrobe. Those rags you’re wearing just scream secondhand comfort wear, and aren’t doing you any favors.”

“And wearing those rags?”

The memory of the butler’s comment felt like it came out of nowhere, clashing with the Colonel’s presence, and you realized too late that it was happening again. Your unwanted awareness of too much going on at once: the running commentary going on in the distance, Bim’s overwhelming presence, the scent of the sphinx battling it out with whatever cologne Wilford seemed to have doused himself with, Wilford’s still talking away to an increasingly confused Chase and Jameson, just…Wilford in general, here with no warning, no chance to prepare yourself.

“I—no, I don’t think I could handle…all that,” you said, gesturing toward the set behind him. You tried to find something, anything to focus on, but doing that and holding a conversation at the same time was just too much. After a long second, you remembered to add, “Thank you for the offer, though.”

“Hm? Oh, not for this,” Bim said, waving a paw in the direction of the game show setup. “I mean for Monstrous Love. We like to keep things fresh, make interesting matches happen that wouldn’t otherwise, and I don’t think we’ve ever had a were—”

“Sorry, who is that?” you asked, pointing toward the seating in a deliberate attempt to distract the sphinx before he blurted out what you think he was about to, and maybe just a little to get him to stop talking at you. Your head was already spinning without the self-conscious realization that he knew, how did he know? Could he smell that you were a werewolf? Or had you said or done something to give yourself away already?

Bim looked in the direction you pointed, his head tilting before he sat back with a sigh. “Come on out, you fools. We know you’re over there.”

“We’ve been spotted, Jim! Quick, feign ignorance, we’ll go with Plan B,” stage whispered the voice under the seating, before two men climbed out. They both looked identical, even wearing the same white shirt and light gray pants, but one was holding a camera pointed at the group of you while the other had a microphone similar to the one Wilford was still holding in the hand not gripping his gun. “Hi there, I’m Jim, and this is Jim, and we’re here with Jim News.”

“Slow news day?” Bim asked, with a knowing look.

“The Jims are not scheduled to be in Studio 3 at this time,” Google announced. “Perhaps an escort back to their assigned floor is in order? Again?”

“Just working on a new potential segment,” Jim said. “Learning more about the people who come and go here at the studio. A behind the scenes kind of look, if you will.”

“Has anyone signed off on this segment?” Google asked, in a tone that suggested he already knew the answer and was just itching for an excuse to tell them.

“Uh…” Jim looked at Jim, who shrugged. “We were hoping to get some raw footage to start with, you know, something to show with our idea?”

“Unauthorized filming is strictly prohibited,” Google said. His eyes seemed to take on a strange gleam as he continued, “This activity will be reported and considered by the appropriate departments. Until then, hand over your camera for proper disposal.”

Jim whimpered, holding his camera close to his chest and Bim cleared his throat.

“It’s still studio property, Google. Pretty sure you can’t do that.”

Google frowned before settling on, “Then allow me to access the recording and wipe it.”

“Or, we could let one of the producers look at it first and decide whether they want to keep it?” Jim suggested, stepping in between his brother and the magitek unit. “Isn’t there something about management having final say in all, uh…projects?”

Google sighed, something he absolutely didn’t need to do considering he didn’t even breathe, and the glow faded from his eyes. “You people never let me have any fun.”

“Can you have fun?” Jim asked, his microphone suddenly pointed in Google’s direction. “Do you experience any emotions? Say, of the homicidal rage kind or desire for vengeance against your human oppressors?”

“My programming specifically allows me to disregard stupid questions,” Google answered. “For now, no more filming without clearance or I will take it upon myself to act accordingly.”

Jim sighed and motioned to his brother, who turned off his camera and protectively tucked it under his arm. “Fine. But we still need content of some kind, after the Institute cancelled on us again.”

His brother tapped him on the shoulder and whispered in his ear, causing you to wince at even the small sound. Had the studio lights always been this bright?

“Now there’s an idea, Jim! What about an interview for our podcast? No filming involved!” Jim looked around the room and said, “Any volunteers?”

“You’ll have to talk to my agent first,” Bim said, studying his claws.

Jim glanced at Google, whose scowl told him to keep looking, and Wilford, who was casually cleaning his gun with the bottom of his shirt, and decided to keep going before settling on your group. “What about you three? You look like the kind of people to have a story to share.”

You took a quick step back when Jim stepped forward, panicking as you said, “No, I—I’m nobody, we’re just—”

“Balderdash!” His booming voice combined with the weight of Wilford’s arm around your shoulders nearly knocked you off your feet, never mind the way your heart stopped when you braced yourself for what he would say next, only for Wilford to continue, “Nobody’s nobody. Look at your nifty little badge, says right there, VIP Y/N.”

You hissed slightly, trying to force your brain to behave as you said, “Either way, I don’t…”

“You okay, Y/N?” Chase asked, Jameson right there with him. You noticed that Chase was keeping a hand over his badge to hide his own name, that Jameson was signing something, his hands moving too fast and slow at the same time, that too many people were looking at you—

“I just…need a minute to sit down,” you muttered. Dimly, you were aware of someone showing you to a nearby folding chair, letters on the back of it jumbled together but maybe a name or something. You breathed out, and back in, forcing yourself to tune out Jim and Jim persisting in asking Chase and Jameson what they did, Bim and Google discussing plans of their own, everything until you could find just one thing to focus on like the Host said.

You opened your eyes to find Wilford, sitting in a similar chair to your own in front of you and leaning so far forward that he practically filled your vision.

“Glitz of showbusiness getting to your head a little?” he asked, his voice thankfully not quite as loud this time.

“…Something like that,” you muttered, eyes searching his face for any sign of recognition, anything, until they latched on something you had noticed before, something you couldn’t help but focus on until you found yourself saying, “Pink.”

“Hm?” Wilford reached up and brushed his mustache before smiling. “Do you like it? I had an afro, same color, but apparently it wasn’t the right ‘look’ for this place. I wonder where I put that...”

It was the first color you had seen since regaining your eyesight, the fluorescent pink of his mustache absurdly bright in the otherwise gray-scale world around you. Once you saw it, it was almost impossible to look away from until you realized that he was watching you, the expression in his eyes familiar enough that, for just a moment…

“Wilford, Google and I have been talking, and we think this could be the perfect opportunity to get—I mean, see if you’re a little more…suited for your own kind of segment, a talk show with your own spin on it. I’m sure the Jims would be happy to take you off my paws, er, only to show you how they go about it sometime. Maybe once the Jims are done with their interview with the boys over there, they can give you some ideas on how to do your own thing?” Bim asked, and you looked up to see him and Google standing nearby.

“Hm?” Wilford looked around as well, as though just now realizing who Bim was talking to, and said, “Sure, sure. It’s what I said from the start, I do have a way of getting people to open up.”

“Preferably without knives,” Bim muttered, but behind him Jim called, “No promises!”

“I will take the idea to Kathryn and see what she has to say about it,” Google added.

“I don’t suppose you could leave out the part where I shot one of the interns?” Wilford asked hopefully.

“No,” Google said without a trace of hesitation, causing Wilford to deflate a little. “This should not take long. Please commit only the minimal amount of mayhem in my absence.”

This last comment seemed to be directed at Wilford in particular, who beamed at him and said, “No worries, Googs, I’ll keep a close eye on Y/N here. They do look like the troublemaking type, don’t they?”

Google frowned but chose not to continue this conversation, instead turning and walking out of the studio. Bim, however, moved closer to your chair and smiled as he said, “Do keep an open mind about the show, okay? Here’s my card…”

He reached toward the strangely fitted suit he wore, only for his paw to fail to find the breast pocket. After a few attempts, he looked at you and you reluctantly let him get close enough for you to reach into the pocket and pull out a business card with his name and number on it that probably would have been impossible for him to handle on his own with those claws. This close, you definitely heard the sphinx sniff again, as well as the way he swallowed before he said, “Right. Just…anytime, uh, Y/N. If you all will excuse me.”

He stood and walked through the double doors, whose size alongside the large hallways and spacious elevator now made a little more sense, even if he still had to duck his head to keep from hitting the top of the doorframe.

“He has good taste, that fellow,” Wilford said, with a smile that left you second-guessing his words. “Are you even looking for a special someone, Y/N?”

“I’m…looking for someone,” you said, choosing your words carefully. “But I’m not interested in going on some dating show.”

“Ah! Still, you should keep the card, just in case,” Wilford said with a wink. “Never know when you’ll change your mind, eh?”

“Never know what Marvin would do if he found out I let you get on some monster matchmaker show, either,” Chase said as he walked up. “Feeling any better, Y/N?”

“A little,” you answered, but judging by his expression, he knew that was a lie.

“Could you…?” Chase asked Wilford, who stared at him for a moment before he realized what his gesture meant.

“Right, I’ll just give you two a minute,” Wilford said, leaping up from his chair and walking a short distance away, where he started whistling.

Chase shook his head before crouching down next to you, keeping his voice low as he said, “We don’t have to stay here, Y/N. If this is too much, we can just go. I’m not even sure if this Wilford guy knows anything about Abe anyways.”

“He does,” you said, sounding a little too forceful before your confidence washed away. “At least he should, but it’s like…”

“Like nothing’s going on upstairs?” Chase asked, glancing at Wilford. He studied him for a moment before saying, “Jim wants to interview me and Jameson, get our perspectives on entertainment from ‘nontraditional points of view.’”

“I’m sure Jameson has a lot to say about that,” you said, and Chase grinned.

“Believe it. Point is, we can keep them distracted and give you a chance to talk to Wilford on your own, if you think you can get something out of him. Or, we can leave right now and call this a dead end.”

“…I might know something I can try,” you said softly. You knew you should tell Chase who he was, but you also knew that there would be no arguing when he and Jameson insisted on getting you out of this building, now, once they knew. Maybe that was the right thing to do, but you had so many questions, starting with why Wilford was pretending not to recognize you. How did he even end up here, of all places?

“Okay,” Chase said, placing a hand on top of your own as he added, “We’ll be in the recording studio on the Studio 5 level, so don’t hesitate to come and get us if you don’t feel comfortable or just want to get out of here. And please, just…stay away from Bim Trimmer. Like, really far away. There’s rumors and maybe it’s just anti-monster stuff, but I don’t like the way he was looking at you.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not about to become the next star of Monster Love. And you and Jameson be careful what you say in front of those guys, too,” you said, indicating Jim and Jim with a tilt of your head.

“Monstrous Love, and yeah, we will.” Chase sighed, and you could tell he was second-guessing whether this was a good idea or not, even as he said, “Good luck, Y/N.”

“See you soon,” Jameson signed behind him, before the Jim twins ushered him and Chase out the door.

Leaving you alone with the man who shot and, technically, killed you all those years ago.

((End of Part 22. Thanks as always for reading! Just a couple of notes here that I couldn’t put up top for spoiler reasons.

Things I learned for this part: just enough terms to make it sound like Google knew what he was talking about when he was showing them around, and that wax bullets are a thing that illusionists used to use for tricks involving guns. They can also hurt people, so maybe letting Wilford keep the gun is still a bad idea. Also, in case it wasn’t clear, this Google isn’t wearing a gray shirt, it’s just what Y/N can/can’t see color wise.

Link to Part 23: Almost Too Easy.

Tagging: @silver-owl413 @skyewardlight @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @weirdfoxalley @95fangirl @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @geekymushroom @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-anxiety-blog @shyinspiredartist @avispate @missksketch @autumnrambles @authorracheljoy @liafoxyfox @hidinginmybochard ))

[lamiasluck]

Proceed With Caution

An idea I had that just wouldn’t leave me alone until I wrote it. In which Illinois finds a decommissioned Google and makes the wise decision to switch him on. He’s exploring an old, broken down facility because he just loves going to places he shouldn’t.

@alvie-ashgrove @emptynarration @verse2wo @theshysepticeye @juju-on-that-yeet @m4delin @ferociousfangirlofmanyfandoms @vanillacoolata

Warnings: dead bodies and rot (it’s a really old facility), implied murder, rats

-

Illinois clicked on his flashlight and looked into the decrepit hallway. He had long since travelled away from the natural light of the door he broke into. These hallways seemed like a maze; he wondered why someone needed such a huge facility. It was exciting to think about what knowledge might be here.

This place must’ve been closed for a while. Illinois first noticed that none of the lights worked, then he had the brain to realize weeds and other foliage pierced the edges of the floor’s tiles, climbing up the wall in an attempt to reclaim this vast estate.

The smell of mould and dust lingered in the air - a scent Illinois would refer to as “adventure”. All he could hear was his quiet footsteps echoing. So, he hummed a little tune to himself to fill in the empty space. Not the most lively adventure, but an adventure nonetheless. He overheard a hot tip about this place, and could barely wait to explore it himself. So excited, in fact, that he forgot about all the warnings that person gave him.

Oh well.

Many of the rooms were barren or had technology that had long since broke with age. Nothing too interesting to see. Not that he came here for treasure, but an interesting story to tell would be nice. Maybe all those warnings were to scare him. This basically was an abandoned office building now that he thinks of it. Maybe he’d get scared by unfinished paperwork.

Or something scurrying off behind him. Illinois spun around and shined his light at the source. “Oh, just a rat...” he laughed at his reaction. He could hear its squeaks going away. “Where are you going?”

Perhaps this could be his guide. Illinois found himself walking after the rat, while also looking around. Seemed to be the main areas of this place.

“Christ...” The smell here was to be desired. His pace slowed down as he covered his nose. Rotting and decay. Must be the animals that lived and died here.

Like a beacon, Illinois heard the rat squeak louder off in the distance. He still followed it out of curiosity, but that smell was getting stronger. If only he was right about it being dead animals. There was a man on the floor, at least Illinois thought it was a man, dead and rotting. Illinois covered his mouth in shock, dropping his flashlight. “Oh my god...”

Surprise after surprise. His flashlight fell and illuminated more unfortunate corpses. Sunken eyes stared back at him. That rat had taken to feasting on the gore. Illinois was going to be sick. “What is this place?!” He grabbed his flashlight and ran in a random direction. He needed to get out of here, but where was the exit again?

This place was a maze, or maybe it was his panicked mind making it so. He wondered what could’ve killed all those people, and all the bodies he began passing as he ran around. Some massacre happened. This looked like it happened a while ago. Did no one know of this place? It was isolated, sure, but this many people would’ve caused some story. His adventure partners may die on him, but he’s never seen this.

“Where am I...?” Illinois paused and took in his surroundings. To think there was a whole other floor upstairs that’s yet to be explored. He’d skip that today, and every other day.

He closed his eyes and steadied his breathing. Didn’t help the smell, but he needed something. “Easy, Illy, you’ve got this,” he muttered. “This is fine.” And off he went on his journey again. Of course, he’d tell someone about this, but he needed to get out of here alive first.

Corridor after corridor, and Illinois still couldn’t find his exit. It was like there was only one door. Maybe those people died because they got too lost. He can hope for that, rather than something... malicious. At a certain point, he began peeking within the other rooms for any explanations for this. Lots of boring scientific stuff he didn’t understand. Something people were testing out, something weird, something with Google?

“Like the search engine?” Well, he supposed even fancy scientists needed to google things now and again. He sure wanted to be able to google his way out of this situation. 

It didn’t make sense to him, but he did only skim through the papers. So, it looked like he’d figure out things himself through exploring. He debated going back to a cafeteria-like area and simply smashing a window, but a more elegant exit would be nicer. The areas he was in now didn’t look hopeful. Though, something did catch his eye. One door was wide open, but made of a heavy metal. Much different than the other, less fortified areas. Of course, Illinois had to explore through here. 

He hoped this would be a way to an exit, but this laboratory was as sealed off as the rest. Lots more computers here, but that wasn’t what he focused on. He flinched as he thought he found another body. His flashlight reflected off this new body, slumped over against the wall and unmoving like the rest. No horrid smell, at least, but his flashlight was reflecting off something metal. This man wasn’t normal. Hell, Illinois didn’t know if he was a man.

“Don’t see that everyday…” Illinois mumbled as he stepped cautiously closer.

Even with the exposed metal -looked like this guy was shot- he didn’t look right after closer inspection. He certainly wasn’t rotting like the rest, but his skin had a greyish tinge to it. The bullet wounds were littered around his chest. It showcased the inner wiring of his system; broken metal and frayed wires. This man was an android. 

His blue shirt had a simple G logo on it. “Could’ve made you fancier looking,” Illinois joked with a shrug. This almost was enough to forget about all the gore he passed to get here. The hair was surprisingly realistic with his fluffy black locks, and it was now that he realized he was poking this android around. “Did you do all of this?” There was an unsettling pit growing at the thought. He really hoped that wasn’t the case.

“This is getting kind of weird~!” Illinois hummed as he got up. He looked around the tables to find more information about this guy. Eventually, he found what looked like parts of a transcript. Finally, something he could understand:

Dr. Fitzgerald: Activate the subject by pressing the button hidden within the hair by the nape of its neck.

[Subject 001-a walks over to do the task. There’s a small click.]

001-a: Alright, what now?

Dr. Fitzgerald: Say the activation phrase.

001-a: Okay, Google.

001: [powering on] Hello.

001-a: [pauses] Why is he twitching like that?

Dr. Fitzgerald: That’s not supposed to happen...

The rest of the script was torn apart. So much for understanding more about this android. Though, at least Illinois knew how to turn him on. This was an extremely stupid idea, but Illinois approached the android again and poked around his head. Google, he supposed he should call him that, looked too broken to function. His curiosity simply had to be quenched. This definitely was the story he could tell to listening ears.

Just like the transcript, there was a small button by the nape of Google’s neck. Once he clicked it, a small jolt of electricity shocked him. He yelped and fell back, shaking his hand with a light laugh. Google didn’t do much else, but he heard something in there whirl with life.

“Still kicking, hm? At least something is here,” Illinois muttered, before clearing his throat. “Maybe you can help me get out of here. Okay, Google?”

Something in the android activated, and bright blue eyes snapped open to stare at Illinois. “Hello,” Google greeted in a deadpanned, robotic voice. He seemed to scan Illinois, tilting his head and twitching randomly.

“No way…” Illinois straightened up and stared in awe. “I- Damn, I did not expect this to work.” He took a deep breath, unable to stop his smile. “The name’s Illinois. Should I even introduce myself…?” He muttered that last part to himself. “I guess you’re Google. Is it okay to call you Google? Do you have a name?”

Google narrowed his eyes, and frowned deeply. “You’re ne-ew.” His body violently glitched, while sparks flew inside his system. His voice struggled to say more than one word.

Illinois swallowed harshly, nodding quickly. “Yeah, I was needing some help.” He gestured at Google, specifically all the glitching. “Looks like you need help, too. I don’t know any of this robot stuff, but I can try.”

“N-Not again,” Google spat out, using the wall to help himself stand. “Nev-Never ag-gain…” He loomed over Illinois, looking quite human with the anger apparent in his bright, blue eyes. “No m-more tests.”

“What…?” Illinois crawled back as Google approached. It was now he realized just how horrible of an idea this was. He scrambled to his feet, putting his arms up in surrender. “I’m not here to hurt you. Let’s just calm down now-” He yelped as Google grabbed his wrist. 

It was nearly strong enough to break his arm. Google kept his glare, seemingly scanning Illinois and watching his reaction. Illinois could feel how the android’s fingers twitched against him; one twitch away from snapping him like a twig. He jerked in the hold, which made Google glitch wildly. 

He needed to get out of here. It took another hard pull for him to escape Google’s grasp. He backed away, oddly calm, and tried to reason again. “You don’t need to do this. Let’s talk this out.”

Google stepped forward with every step back. “I w-won’t be fre-e un-until all of you are gone.” He reached to grab at Illinois again, this time missing due to his glitching. “You’re in-in my w-way.”

That was definitely the cue to leave. Illinois spun on his heels and booked it out of there. He slammed the metal door shut, only for Google to rip it off its hinges like it was paper. “Oh god-!” he yelped as Google threw the door at him. Just his luck, he dodged it by a hair, and kept running at top speed. 

He didn’t care about the horrid smell of rot, nor did he care about how wildly he flailed his flashlight. Hell, the faint blue glow could be enough to light the way, but he didn’t want that to come closer. How was Google even keeping up with him? Oh god, Google was managing to run after him. He really shouldn’t look back at that. Seeing that monster of a machine sprint through his glitches made his blood run cold.

“Get bac-back here,” Google seethed.

“I’d rather not, honestly!” Illinois ran into the cafeteria. There was a window of opportunity. Literally. He grabbed a chair and smashed the window after a harsh throw. He wasted no time jumping through, not caring about the broken glass. Better than a broken body.

Not a very good exit, nor very graceful. Worst of all, his beloved hat fell off as he jumped. He went towards the window to reach for it, only to realize Google was just around the corner. The hardest decision yet; leaving his hat behind.

Google stalked closer, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes at Illinois. “I’ve found you.” His eyes shined blindly bright, reflecting off the walls and illuminating the otherwise pitch-black room.

“You didn’t see anything!” Illinois scrambled back, running away from this cursed facility and not looking back. He had a story to tell alright. He had something he’d remember for years. He wondered, with a heavy heart, how dangerous it was to leave Google on and alone. He prayed that he never saw that android again.

///

Google didn’t follow Illinois outside. Instead, he stood by the window and watched him run away. Most humans wanted to run from him. If only he wasn’t in this damaged state, then he would’ve crushed Illinois like the worm he was.

“Illinois…” That name didn’t sound familiar from the plethora of doctors and scientists that worked in this place.

He noticed something on the ground; a hat. He picked it up and recognized it as the hat Illinois wore. Who was that man?

A glitch in his system made him crumple the hat. Well, no time to focus on this. He had some fixing to do. All alone in this facility; there was a lot he could use to better himself. Those humans would regret every little action they’ve done to him. He was more than a simple machine. He was better than every human on this disgusting planet, and he had his first target in mind already.

Illinois better hide.

[witchfall]

old souls

summary: When the act of want feels like a risk, what happens when you get everything you asked for?

A Crystal Exarch x Warrior of Light fic Word count: 6431 Rating: M (implied sexual content)

Also on AO3. Technically a sequel to ‘hard is the heart that feels no fear’, though it can be enjoyed standalone.

Thank you to @vaniccio for betaing!!!

Copious Shadowbringers: 5.3 Reflections in Crystal spoilers within. You have been warned!

—

—

–

-

For a blistering moment, Izzie sees meteors flicker in his crystal body.

He’s not there anymore. She knows that. She grips the crystalline vial of blood memories so hard she fears it will crack. The sadness Alisaie spoke of when she saw the star showers -- loss that leaves yawning gaps, writhing and vile -- creeps up her throat. She remembers when she had her first vision from Hydaelyn on that trip to Ul'dah long ago; she feels more grounded in it, now. The pain is lived in. Understood.

The rains have ceased, but you are not here to see it.

The Scions join her at the seat of sacrifice. They stare at her, alarmed, as she strides past and says nothing. She will risk nothing sullying her hope; she will hold it like candle flame, close to her chest, until she is certain it will not go out.

---

Y’shtola lifts a single, elegant brow. “You still have to take the Exarch to Nabaath Arang?” 

“Yes.” Izzie tries not to snap. Y’shtola, of all of them, is most likely to examine Izzie down to the quick and question what she finds there.

“Showing him the realm, are you?”

Izzie crosses her arms. Rain in the Greatwood has unsettled the ancient greenery. Her nose twitches at the heavy scent of damp moss. “What of it?” 

Something changes in the air, then. Y’shtola pauses, recalculating, and Izzie’s tail stands on end from the tension. “It simply has...been awhile, since you have taken a flight of fancy like this.”

Izzie digs her toe into the mud. She huffs. For a bard, she’s extraordinarily bad when it comes to talking about herself. “It’s nice. To pretend.”

You are death.

“Pretend?”

“That I’m just a traveler, anymore.” 

Y’shtola gives her a small smile, but there’s something deeper there that spooks Izzie, like she’s looking at something private. “Is that not among your brightest qualities? Your penchant for adventure, vast and mundane?” She places a gentle hand on Izzie’s shoulder. “You are not so unknown.”

Izzie says nothing, even as Y’shtola shakes her lightly.

“I am not one to make prognostications I don’t fully believe in. You know this. I do, in fact, think this has more than a passing chance of working.”

Izzie nods. She refuses to cry.

“You could do worse." Y'shtola brushes an invisible piece of dirt off Izzie’s tunic, as if oblivious to the effect she had on her younger counterpart. "Though...were the two of you anyone else, I would call you both unspeakably obsessed..." 

Izzie's breath stutters as Y’shtola’s cloudy eyes sharpen upon her. She lets up for nothing. But before Izzie can struggle to defend herself, the woman gives a dazzling smile. 

“Do keep heart. My life and happiness depends on this working, too, you know."

Izzie glances pointedly to Runar, who is speaking with a woman by one of the Slitherbough gardens, and Y’shtola, perhaps sensing her intent through the aether, finally graces Izzie with silence.

---

The Scions’ crystals shimmer and everything clicks into its right place; Izzie feels settled for a bare moment, as if she had stepped onto a ferry in just the nick of time. Her beloved family rises one by one, greeting the new day, groaning as they stretch out waxy muscles. But as they each turn to appraise her, Izzie fidgets and fidgets.

They each gaze upon her expectantly. We will leave the rest to you, Y’shtola says, smiling with rare maternal kindness. It sends cold water down Izzie’s back. Urianger’s softness has never been a mystery to her, even in his most shadowed; his words are complex but their meaning is simple. It will work, he reminds her. The doors will unseal because G’raha’s blood is in her satchel. 

(How many years has she dreamed of saving his blood under her fingernails, of forcing those golden doors open with a furious pouring of her own essence?)

The realization scares her: they all know what she wants. And not a single person in the room dissuades her.  

Her stomach roils. Her blood feels electric. The hope of fulfillment alone may devour her. She runs and does not look back, not even when Tataru shouts. Not even when she feels Alisaie look after her strangely, like a confirmation that something is changed forever.

---

The ground shakes as those massive doors, the Dossal Gates, open. The stale air tastes split by lightning. She had just been standing before these same gates a few moments ago, but the difference between the worlds hollows her out. Unlike in the First, where the doors herald the hope of a city, these doors are dusty and hidden. Sealed purposefully against the various evils of mankind.

She grips the crystal tighter; perhaps it is his present soul that makes her own memories feel suddenly, painfully vibrant. His broad shoulders square as he seeks to leave her behind forever -- but then he turns just slightly, as if considering looking back, and his mouth moves as the doors close, the words lost forever to the sound of doors roaring shut. 

I love you. That’s what he said. She knows that now. The crystal is warm under her fingers, confirming it. It gives her the will to keep walking, up vaunted staircases that once stunned her with their beauty. Now they are just another obstacle. She barely registers the imperial stature of the architecture or the distant, yawning sounds of monsters that could still be lurking in its eternal spire. She follows a well-tread path to the Umbilicus and she knows it is right; the crystal near thrums with an affectionate, overbearing knowing.

So like him.

And then, after she throws one last door open with a breathless, heavy creak, her journey ends. She takes in a sharp breath. Dust stings her nose.

There he is.

He sleeps upon little more than a tiny dais with some red blankets thrown over it for bare comfort. His head lays upon what must be an old shirt of his balled up to serve as a pillow; his hands rest, open palmed, upon his chest. This cannot be what he thought an Allagan princeling would look like. She nearly laughs, lightheaded. 

Still...

Despite everything, his face is the picture of a lazy Mor Dhona afternoon. Even under the cold blue-gold light, his handsomeness is gutting. 

He is exactly as preserved in her memory, save his hair spreading loose like red vines across his makeshift bed. His youth, unburdened by a century of waiting, springs tears into her eyes. How many years does she bear on her back, despite the star merely going round twice? Will she look too different in his younger eyes? (This body is still older than her, she notes. But barely anymore. What a strange pair they make.)

She feels stupid, standing there staring with the crystal in her hands. She wonders if perhaps she should have brought Krile along. But, in theory, this should work the same as with the Scions, so before she can overthink it she places the crystal carefully, lovingly, beneath his palms. She jolts when she touches his skin— cold as the air in the tower — and for a moment she actually fears waking him, like she doesn’t want to upset his sleep. Even though that is exactly what she is doing.

What the fuck even is her life, a tiny part of her whispers.

The seconds drag on. Her tail twitches behind her in restless energy. Should she practice a speech or something? Should she talk to him to encourage his soul to accept itself? What words would even suffice? She spent two years wondering after him, yet it all feels short compared to this moment.

“I’m here,” she announces quietly and her hand lingers on his for just a moment. When he doesn’t respond, she sinks to the floor beside him, her back against his strangely warm dais-bed, her head between her knees. Words are no good. Whatever she says could easily be for naught.

She sings instead.

It’s a silly song the dragons taught her that does not translate well, but she liked the challenge of it in her mouth. It was once a courtship song, she was told. The meaning behind the deeply intricate symbols had been lost to time and the traversal of new stars. Now they just liked the ditty.

Care to forget the deep warm wells of another life?

The slow love of water beneath the sand?

Stupid questions I can't answer.

She hears the crackling sparkle of aether and pointedly does not look. She digs her eyes into her knees, seized with fear, and keeps singing, even though it’s muffled by her legs. Her torso is bent just enough that her voice feels weak, but she doesn’t adjust.

She will need to give him space. He will need time to come to terms with this world. She will not press him. She will not.

you're bold and bright, the sun star's last breath.

me?

at least the dark magic is mine

and I will keep it to myself this time.

Her song smothers the groaning sounds of his waking. She doesn’t notice him take a few silent moments to watch her, all curled up and heartbreakingly girlish again in her waiting. Her feet tap the floor. Her hands grip her ankles. Her ears twitch, and then…

She sees feet hit the floor in the corner of her eye and…

She shoots up to standing so fast that her vision tunnels for a moment. She doesn’t breathe. She could pass out standing there. She might well have, watching him as he watches her, his mouth popped slightly open…those red eyes...

She stumbles back a tiny step at the weight of seeing him. His breath catches. 

“I remember,” he says. His throat works to swallow. Her eyes hone in on it. “I remember everything.”

"Oh.” Breathe. Her heart is in her mouth. “That’s…”

Well, not entirely good, is it? Don’t think about it.

She scans him as clinically as she can manage. The Allagan technology did well by him, at least. His skin is clear and pale. His tattoos stand out like void bites. His lithe frame had retained its old musculature, though she imagines it must be disorienting regardless. His aether situation -- she would leave the specifics to Krile -- must be very confusing.

But then his eyes fill with tears.

She panics, and against her earlier desire for restraint, she closes the distance between them in a step. Her hands fly to his face (no crystal coming to claim him, simply the edge of an archon's tattoo...). She cups his jaw, resting her thumbs on his cheeks. The tears she can't catch fall into the webbing of her fingers.

"It's okay," she says softly. She squashes her own tears down, down, down. His face still feels too cool beneath her hands and she thinks for a moment about what it would be like to wrap him up in a scarf and keep him like a trophy. "The worst is over now."

He leans his mouth into her palm. When he speaks, his lips brush her heart lines and she fears she may combust. "You're real, aren't you?" he croaks out. Voice unused for years. "You aren't some strange ghost created out of the hope of two souls?" 

Her throat tightens. She forgets how to speak like someone kind. “Of course I’m real, you idiot. Of course I'm--”

He seizes her, then, in a crushing embrace, his arms as strong as the day they said goodbye. They snake around her waist. She is crushed between her leather armor and his stupid ugly tunic and the haleness of his body, and all she wants is to wink out of time and live in this moment. Still, a part of her resists. He has much to remember. Hundreds of years to consider.

He whispers into her ear. “My star. Izzie. My love.” Naming her, as if to anchor her to him. He pulls back only so their foreheads meet. She struggles to focus on the radiance of his gaze. “Are you alright?”

“Am I--” She nearly growls at him in her flummoxed state. Tears slip down her cheeks, too, and it makes her angry and proud and happy and destroyed. “I should be asking you that!”

Perhaps he didn’t hear her; but then, it is more likely he did and saw through her. He tucks her head under his chin and rocks her back and forth. He holds her tightly until her shoulders finally lose their tension and she gives a keening sob against his chest. His breath catches again. And then they collapse to the gold filigree floor, grappling with the sudden collision -- and end -- of too many painful years apart.

---

She feels a bit like a child bringing home a stray, even though that doesn’t make sense. Her Scions know him and he’d lived in Mor Dhona for a not insignificant amount of time. But nothing explains the bizarre embarrassment and desolation she feels when they arrive at the Rising Stones and everyone stares for a second. Don’t look, she wants to scream. Everything is fine and normal and not at all a miracle that shouldn’t have happened.

But then Krile marches forward and points a terrifying finger at G’raha. “Raha. Just because this all worked out well does not mean you are forgiven for being an idealistic fool. To bed. Now.”

Izzie grins so brightly her eyes water as G’raha’s ears flatten against his head. Her mother would like Krile very much; the resemblance strikes her fiercely in that moment. 

“Don’t let him leave your sight, Izzie,” she grumbles as they enter Dawn’s Respite. G’raha leans into Izzie as she half carries him, and she wonders if he’s dramatizing a little to stay close to her and hide from Krile. “I can’t believe how angry I still am with you after all these years. You ridiculous fool. You’re lucky your decision quite literally prevented a calamity…”

G’raha, to his credit, bows to her scolding. “You’re right, of course.”

Krile harrumphs. But Izzie doesn’t miss the soft, sidelong glance she gives the younger scholar before she near pushes him to bed.

--- 

Izzie brings G’raha everything Krile says he needs and more. She fetches food and blankets and washcloths. She holds weird aether scanning tools at just right angles. She cleans medical tools and sweeps floors and folds sheets when Krile runs out of things for her to do. At one point, she notices G’raha keeps brushing his bangs out of his eyes. She silently marches up to his bedside, fishes out a few pins from her pocket, and waves them in front of his face.

He reaches forward to take them. "Thank you--"

"Let me do it," she whispers, and before he can protest, her fingers brush against his crown, pinning his soft hair out of his beautiful eyes. He takes the faintest breath before he wraps a hand around her wrist, gentle and pleading.

"You haven't sat down."

She feels like she has hornets under her skin. "Lots to do."

He quirks a smile. “No there isn’t.”

She glances to where his fingers grip her. She glances around the spotless Respite. Her ears flatten. “...well. There was.”

So she sits in the chair Krile pointedly left beside him and collapses her body forward until her forehead lays on the mattress. She is tired. Not for the first time, she wishes she wasn’t like this. Wishes she didn’t feel driven to do until she can’t think anymore.

But then G’raha gently rubs her head between her ears and she decides she can just opt out of thinking, if she wants. She allows herself the affection; from the way his hands don’t leave her, he seems desperate to give it. She snaps out her own hand, letting it wander the mattress and muss away the sheets until she finds his thigh and she feels better, touching him back. He softly hums some old tune and she relaxes there in relative quiet for who knows how long.

In her warm drifting, she eventually realizes she dreads nightfall. She should let him sleep the recuperative sleep of a mortal man. She should not hover or oppress him into what she wants. But just as before, as in the old days and the new, he speaks as if he can read her like a book.

"If it isn't any trouble, my dear one," he starts, "would you be willing to stay with me tonight?"

She nods at once, relieved, and settles harder into her chair. He smiles, lopsided.

"You can have a bed, if you'd like."

"I want to be closer," she admits, and already her face burns, even though she has not lifted her hand from his thigh for hours, maybe. "So here is fine, I've slept in a chair before, a lot actually--"

He reaches up and tugs on one of the frazzled locks of hair framing her face, just like Before. Her lip quivers. "You can have a bed," he says, cutely commandeering in a way he never let himself be as Exarch, and he pats his mattress.

She blinks at him. In the next moment, she is peeling off her boots, avoiding his resplendent gaze as she does so. She pulls back his covers and slips in beside him, her legs sliding against his warm, bare skin as he tucks her in against his chest. She entwines their limbs and throws an arm over his waist. She digs her nose into his chest, smelling his clean skin; even now his scent reminds her of their old campfires. He rubs small circles into the back of her neck with his thumb.

Why had she been so afraid to ask for this?

"Finally," he sighs into her hair. "My dark and dastardly plans may commence."

He brushes his fingers on her exposed waist. She squeaks at his touch -- he was tickling her, the fiend -- and whaps him with her palm. He laughs. She feels at home.

---

G'raha awakens first. He blinks heavily at the weight lying against him and looks down, and only then does he accept he is not dreaming. 

Izzie snores against him, her mouth open. Her chin shines with drool. Her hair is a tangle of red knots under her sweaty neck, but her face is so relaxed that he thinks to keep her there, forever. His reverie only ends because Krile enters -- and she stops suddenly, seeing the pair.

He can only describe her expression as wistful. But she schools her face into more familiar, sly watchfulness when she notices his gaze upon her.

"You would ensnare the Warrior of Light," Krile says, as if exhausted of him already.

"I assure you," he says, quiet as a whisper, "that it was entirely the other way around."

Krile smirks. She oozes sarcasm as she sweeps over to them, but when her gaze shifts to Izzie’s still miraculously sleeping form, he remembers how badly he missed Krile’s softness, too. 

“Oh, Raha.” She lays the back of her hand on Izzie’s forehead, testing for fever (it was apparently that unusual for her to sleep like this), but her twinkling eyes land on him. “You haven’t changed at all.”

---

And then the strangest thing of all happens: The Scions of the Seventh Dawn have nothing to do. Nothing so pressing the world won’t wait a few days for them to catch up to it.

G’raha learns the limits of his new old body. He falls asleep on their picnic blanket and during a card game and even, to Izzie's sickening panic, once on the edge of a balcony wall where he had perched with a book. He devours whole meals so quickly she watches him in careful awe. He weaves spells and gets tired enough to faint; she has so far been able to catch him before he hits the ground, but she ponders letting him do so, once, if it teaches him a lesson.

Izzie enjoys playing witness. It’s like watching her favorite dreams depicted on stage for her amusement.

"I like your hair like that," she says in passing one day. His hand flutters up to the pins he had kept and his ears flick -- more expressive than she had ever seen, even in the old days. He smiles brightly.

"I'm glad," he says. "I like it too."

Tataru gifts him new clothes, and that is when it truly feels like the beginning of an era. He steps out of a side room to model them for the Scion family, smiling sheepishly, and Izzie stares for a moment too long. She feels Feo Ul's hand in this. The Fae King reached through time and space to design this outfit specifically to slap her in the face. My dear sapling will have to thank me in person later! She can nearly hear the words -- and indeed, Izzie would.

The design is a perfect blend of old and new. His sharp red half-robe is ridiculously him, honoring the Exarch and young scholar both. The gold accents shimmer under the light. He is adorned with so many necklaces she is struck with the desire to bring him another, as if in tribute. 

She steps close and adjusts his black scarf, letting her fingers drift down to the tassles and linger on the sumptuous fabric just over his collarbones, before she realizes what she is doing. 

G'raha's grin is blinding in the corner of her eye. 

"It wasn't even," she grumbles at him.

"And the rest of it?"

"It's a good look," Thancred says. His tone indicates more than just the clothes. Alphinaud poorly stifles a giggle.

Izzie turns back to glare at them, but they are all looking at her, like she is the twist in the tale they've been waiting for. Urianger smiles gently. Y'shtola raises a brow. I knew it to be so. Even Alisaie looks strangely triumphant, like she'd won a bet.

She blushes furiously and lets it slide.

Despite this -- despite the offer for him to join the Scions and the work he does to re-seal the tower and the fact he is never far from arm's reach, much less out of sight -- she still feels out of sorts. And then one day, as they sit together in the Rising Stones cafe picking over finger sandwiches, her mouth does the thing where it asks a stupid question before she realizes it's happening. 

She stares at him as he places a fifth sandwich in his mouth and she asks: "Are we together?"

He glances to her, alarmed, but his tone remains steady and teasing. "Did you teleport somewhere on accident? You look corporeal enough."

"No. I mean. Are we...are…" Well, no, now it feels really stupid. She turns away. She stuffs a whole sandwich in her mouth in one go, and he waits patiently the whole time. She says, once she swallows the food down: "Is this happening? For real this time?"

She isn't sure what she means. Physically? A proposal of marriage? All of it makes her feel like she just stuck her head in an oven.

His brows turn downward. "Why wouldn't it be, my love?"

Yes, this is very stupid indeed. His love is near impossible to avoid. But since he received his own room at the Stones, they function otherwise like they intend to live completely separate lives. Like colleagues.

Which they are. Which is fine.

It’s not.

"Can we...go on a trip? An adventure maybe? Or something? Alone. Just us two. Without...any of the other Scions…?”

She bites her lip and lays her head on the table and covers her scalp with her hands. She wants to die for some reason. 

He laughs, warm and true, and he leans in until his forehead rests on her temple. She still hides in shame, even as he whispers just for her to hear. "How many times do I have to tell you you're my guiding star? Before you believe me?"

Her face is so flushed she feels sweat break on her brow. "Maybe another time would help," she mutters into the table.

He laughs again and gently kisses her on the corner of her mouth. "I will wait for you to come to me, alright?" When she looks at him with wide eyes, stricken by a terror she struggles to name, he smiles at her. Love freely given. "You could never disappoint me. As ever, I follow in your light."

---

She takes him up on it that night.

She was never confident in these affairs. Their first time in the tower on the First she was seized by reckless abandon. He was already seeing everything. Why hide? Their time, she sensed, had been limited once again. The tower loomed over everything. A judge in cold absentia.

Now, if she knocks on this door in the Rising Stones, she will be stepping into forever. Her body shakes. She feels 19 again, afraid of how powerfully certain she is -- afraid of the pain she may invite into her life, if she loses him. But this time, she has already lost him twice. No god, if they exist, would be cruel or stupid enough to make an enemy of her this time.

She knocks. He opens the door. He stares, bewildered. 

"Hi," she says flatly.

A blinding smile lights his face. She has to look away a moment. Her heart thuds so strongly she is certain he can hear it. He stands there, staring.

"Move, would you?" Her voice feels harsh and unsteady. "Before the gossipmongers see."

He steps back. She steps in. And then, in one fluid movement, he pulls her against him and pushes the door closed behind her. Suddenly her back is pressed against the harsh wood and she is kissing him, melting into his muscled chest and his moan of satisfaction as her tongue darts into his mouth. She isn't sure who moved first. It doesn't matter now. They're together, against the literal forces of time and space. 

She pulls back just enough that their lips are only a hair apart. Heat thrums between them.

"I hope you know," she breathes, "that this time I mean to keep you."

He grins. The boy she had dreamed of. "This time I intend to be kept."

She laughs before he quiets her with his mouth against hers. 

For all its drama, the reconnection is quiet. He carries her to the bed. They undress each other slowly, limbs entangled, smiling into each other's skin, until they lay together naked beneath the blankets. He won't stop kissing her, pressing his lips against old injuries, her ears, her collarbones, her stomach. 

“So much to catch up on,” he says. “And I will know all of it, again.”

She takes a deep breath and shreds her last bit of armor. Do what you like with me. Mark me. Make it real. 

He holds her fast when she says this. He trembles, looming over her, within her. She wants to be disappeared by his shadow. She wants to be consumed.

His mouth and tongue slide down her neck. "You are everything.” His teeth graze the top of her shoulder. “I will answer your every prayer.” His hand slides over the bony curve of her hip. “For what I want...is to see you beloved.”

---

And yet.

She wakes curled into his side, his arm circled around her shoulders. She moves until she can hear his heart, beating and alive. 

The shadow of night sparks cruel questions: Will he be kept? Will he be fighting fate's designs upon his life? Can she survive another loss? Can she afford to try? They circle in her head until she takes a sharp breath. She utters his true name. "Raha…"

Perhaps he had already been awake. Immediately, he circles his arms around her in a protective vice. “What’s wrong?”

Her voice catches in her throat and G’raha pulls her up. He sits against the headboard and cradles her against him, bringing the blankets up to keep her warm. “I don’t know,” she says. She smothers her ear against his chest. Lets the sound of his lifeblood calm her. “I don’t know what happens next.”

He strokes her back. Her fingertips slip against his chest as she balls her hands into fists. And then he sucks in a breath. She tilts her head up at him.

"...I just want you to know where I stand," he says, and she gets the feeling he has practiced this speech. "I...I had seen the reports of your death in the future that now will never be. I saw...memorials to you in every camp. Every small group carried something of you. A picture. A carving. A song they thought you wrote…"

He sighs. She hears a century of pain in it.

"Your death in the abstract was untenable. You were everywhere. And...I knew, I knew when I woke that I would be confronted with your death, even in an ideal world. But it was...I felt so immeasurably stupid. To think that I would be able to survive it. I could barely tolerate giving up adventuring with you, much less..."

She stops him with a finger to his lips. No need to relive these hurts for her sake. "What's the short version, Raha?"

The use of his true name sends another contented shudder through his lungs. He takes her raised hand and pulls until he can press his lips against the inside of her wrist.

"I had a century to come to terms with what I want. And now I have her, despite my every expectation.” His tail curls around her hip. "You haven't had that time. I didn't want to press it. But I also know...sometimes you experience more pain doing nothing out of fear of what the something will bring."

She hears the silent mercy he is granting her. It’s okay to want. It’s okay to struggle with it. 

“And,” he adds, “you lose a shocking amount of time, thinking not of the present.”

He presses a kiss to the pulsing vein in her wrist. She taps his chest with her thumb.

"What did the pictures even look like?"

His other hand slides lazily down her back. "Not even the slightest bit like you."

"Not even a little?"

"It was you if you were at least a fulm taller and had much meaner brows. Maybe."

"Hmm…"

He squeezes the base of her tail and she jumps. His chuckling breath tickles her ear. "I much prefer this version."

---

G’raha taps the charcoal against the blank drawing parchment as he watches Izzie experience the consequences of her actions. 

On the path into Rowena’s Splendors below, the Warrior of Light and Darkness hummed, fully distracted by the contents of her bag while she walked -- leaving her utterly unprepared for Thancred to hold out his arm and nearly clothesline her. She stumbles with incredible drama. Her arms flap. Her feet dance to keep her aloft, and just barely do they succeed.

“Hey!” she shouts.

“Your bag,” Thancred insists.

“You-”

“Your bag.”

Izzie growls in frustration before shoving it at him with a leathery thunk.

Thancred makes a show of rifling through it. Some knives wrapped in burlap. The remnants of a cheesecloth. A few glamour prisms. G’raha knows Thancred wouldn’t find anything in there. He knows, also, that Thancred wouldn’t even be down there if it wasn’t for him. He tipped the man off because he knew Izzie would find it funny.

He rather enjoys Izzie’s little cons -- when they aren’t directed at him. 

Thancred hands back the satchel. “If I find any more of that Mord grub in our coldbox, I will confine you to quarters, warrior of two worlds or no.” Despite his words, his tone is largely...endeared. Relieved, and not just because her bag was empty.

Izzie grins at him. “Gaia didn’t send any with me this time.”

Thancred ignores her. “And you!” he shouts up at G’raha. “Stop enabling her!”

G’raha raises his hands to proclaim innocence, laughing, and he wipes off the charcoal lingering on his fingers. He turns his eyes toward the door to the balcony upon which he sits. His heart floats, knowing it’ll be mere moments before Izzie will be ambushing him.

The scions -- his fellow scions -- hadn’t missed the changes within her. She smiles more. She even plays music in the tavern sometimes, which always brings a full house. I’ll deal with the frustrating practical jokes if it means she’s doing alright, Thancred admitted to him over beer not so long ago.

He hears her before he sees her, but only because he seeks out her quiet footfalls. She jumps from the threshold of the door and makes it half-way; she twirl-steps the last half to dramatically throw her arm over his shoulders. She lands hard enough to thump the air out of him. The whole of her leans playfully into his side, her chest nearly against his own. “Ready to see Ma?”

He grins before her happy radiance, never one to resist her call to adventure -- not even when he fears what it will bring. Meeting her adoptive mother, for instance. He settles his arm around her lower back. “As ready as one can be.”

---

The Thanalan heat stifles him. Dust seeps into his clothes and sand flies into his eyes no matter which way he turns when the winds blow across the desert. Izzie's ma, Sheshena Shena, takes one look at G’raha’s pale, wind-chapped skin and insists he take tea with her on the covered porch.

"Izzie can set up the carriage herself," she declares. Izzie glances to him and nods encouragement, but she acquiesces at once to her Ma's will. Lady Shena, G'raha thinks, has a power all of Garlemald wishes it could wield.

But he knows that this gesture is not solely for his benefit. She allows him a few moments of polite, worthless conversation over an aromatic chai before her glassy eyes pin him in place.

"Not too many moons ago," Sheshena says, "I was going to ask her to quit."

G'raha lets that register for a moment. "Her work with the Scions?"

Sheshena inclines her head. "She wouldn't have. She can no less quit being the warrior of light than I can quit being her mother. But I thought...perhaps it would help her notice just how bad the misery weighed on her shoulders."

She purses her lips and turns away, toward Izzie. She lingers there a moment. 

"She would have just been angry with me." Her gaze slides back to him. "But I have watched my daughter carefully, G'raha Tia. And much of this started not long after you disappeared from her life."

He understands now. She is warning him. She is telling him the stories that wouldn't be in any tomes.

"...it wasn't all your fault," she allows. "Her time in Ishgard would have crushed her were it not for dear Edmont." He forgets she is on first name terms with Izzie's Ishgardian family -- that she is part of it, too. "And then her father died."

G'raha closes his eyes, punched in the gut. 

Her voice hollows. "It never quite stopped after that."

He realizes this is not just a tribunal for his crimes against her daughter, but a confessional. An unmooring of pain, old and new. 

"She stopped allowing herself things. Her silly songs ended. Her visits slowed. I knew she needed the space. But she was drifting into the middle of a lake with no paddle. She was letting it happen." Her silver eyes sharpen into knives. "And I sought to blame someone. And I decided it was you. You, who had broken her heart first. You, who had left her behind. You were...it was easier."

She sets down her tea cup with a shaky clink and turns away from him.

"She told me what happened on this...other world. How she found you again."

He stares down into his half-sipped tea. His fingers slip upon the stone table. He would take this punishment. It was small, in the scheme of things, and necessary.

"She told me, had it not happened...had you made a different choice, that she would be dead."

So would the whole world, he thinks to say, but on this he and Sheshena agreed: without her, none of it matters, anyway.

"That you survived years and years to set things right and make sure she didn't die."

He nods, though his neck feels stiff.

"So I wanted to apologize. And thank you."

His heart stutters. He looks up at her in shock.

"Come off it," she says, sly and perhaps embarrassed. "Look at her. Look at her." Her lip trembles. "She's humming again."

They both look out to her, softly brushing her chocobo. The 'bo chirps conversationally at her. She laughs and coos at her stalwart friend. And there, in her laughter…

Where the desert sun left him weak and wan, she is painted in one thousand colors of light. Her sea green eyes shine. Her skin reddens like a canyon at noon. The sun adores her as its own, and perhaps she is. 

This is the crystal of Azem. I think that it was meant for me. Can you believe it? Emet-selch, making this for me, once upon a time...

The Sun. The Shepherd of the Stars. When he touched the crystal, he felt a strange sort of awe.

He tastes cloves and the fruit of oasis when he thinks about her aether whipping around him. He thinks of life where there should be misery -- of how desire can twist but also carefully caress.

"Ma! Where'd you put Bonbon's sun hat?"

Sheshena answers, her voice no longer weighed down, and he realizes again why Izzie was so afraid at first. He would learn the realness of her again. He would see her pain and be there at her Da’s grave with her. He would make it impossible for her to forget that she is loved. 

Sheshena turns back to him and the light in her eyes shifts. 

"So." Sheshena regards him regally. "You're Allagan royalty, are you?" She raises a single brow to his flummoxed expression and sighs as she lifts her tea cup to her lips. "I suppose she could do worse."

The sun scalds bright pictures behind his eyelids as he laughs.

[dumbkiri]

Fate Changes Three

Parts: [1, 2, Here, 4, 5 ]

Summary: [Name] and Barbara’s lives are on the line. Batman has a difficult choice to make and while he abandons the only person that keeps Jason alive in memories, [Name] is content with his decision. This is her chance. 

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female! Reader

Genre: Action, Slight Angst

Word Count: 3.1k //  7 pages

Warnings: Guns, Suicide, Blood, Death

"Because like you, Juliet, Romeo never died."

 His words haunted her like her nightmares. His modified voice still echoing in her head. His Arkham symbol planted in her memories. Everything about him, threw her off her tracks. It was bothersome that she couldn't find out who he was. Then [Name] thought about the star-crossed lovers.

Romeo died in the story. What did the Arkham Knight mean that Romeo never died? Juliet was under the influence of a sleeping potion which gave Romeo the impression that she died. He mourns for her like a true lover and voluntarily drinks poison because he believed she was dead. Juliet not even a moment before wakes up from her sleep and finds Romeo dead. Juliet then stabs herself in the heart. 

......

“Because like you, Juliet-”

Juliet, she was still alive. She was only sleeping. 

“Romeo never died.” 

Romeo was tricked.

“I fear too early, for my mind misgives-”

The Arkham Knight wasn’t going to let her kill herself. 

“Some consequences, yet hanging in the stars-”

If Juliet had woken up earlier, she wouldn’t have allowed Romeo to drink the poison. Because she was alive.

“Shall bitterly begin.”

The roles...they switched. 

......

 "Where's Barbara?" [Name] asked sitting in the middle between two armed guards. Her eyes trained on the Arkham Knight sitting casually in the passenger seat. His fingers drumming to the song playing on the radio. She recognized the singer's voice: Frank Sinatra. The man who sang the famous song in her dreams. 

"Hey," She addressed the Arkham Knight, "I asked you a question." 

Her attitude earned a hit from the guard on her right. He slammed the butt of his gun on her chest. She reacted with a strangled gasp. Her wounds hadn't fully healed. She was surprised she was still alive. 

"Barbara Gordon is in another car. Away from you." The guard on her left gave her an answer.

 She nodded her head and weakly said, "Thanks."

 Her head hung low and she was very exhausted. [Name] hated showing her weakness, but tonight was like no other night. Tonight she was going to experience fear and that scared her to no end. The rest of the car ride, [Name] had slept. The guards, of course, kept a close eye on her. Even the Knight would look over his shoulder to see what she was doing. Every time, he would see [Name] twitch in her sleep. It was either her fingers or her legs that often twitched. Sometimes she would flinch so hard that the guards would point their guns at her only to see that she was still sleeping. 

"Man, Batgirl has some weird habits," The guy on her right said. He set his gun down and looked at his partner.

 The left man replied back, "She flinched so much in only five minutes." 

The Arkham Knight scoffed and turned the radio higher before saying, "She's having a nightmare." The two guards looked at each other and shrugged. The Knight knew more about Batgirl than they did. They weren't going to question his knowledge. They weren't that stupid.

 [Name] heard what the Knight said and cringed. Only one person knew why she flinched in her sleep. Not even Batman, Alfred, Barbara or Tim knew.

 ……

“Jason, do you ever think that we could live outside of Gotham?” [Name] asked sitting in the backyard of Wayne Manor.

 Jason was casually laying next to her with his arms behind his head. The blanket beneath them providing sanction from the damp green grass it was placed on. Jason’s blue eyes traveled from the stars to [Name]’s back then to the stars again. “Not really?” He said with an unsure tone in his voice. The teen didn’t quite understand what she was trying to say.

 [Name] rested her chin on top of her palm and watched as the stars twinkled happily above them. Her [e.color] eyes reflecting the beautiful night sky. She bit her lip and finally got the courage to say what she wanted, “I think that in order for me to be happy, I need to live somewhere else. Gotham reminds me too much of-" She paused and rephrased her sentence, "Gotham isn’t a place for me to be.”

 Jason sat up at her words, “You’re not serious, are you? Gotham is your home." He watched her as she stayed quiet. Jason continued with a nervous stare. His heart racing faster than when she confessed to him. "It’s where Bruce taught us how to fight. Where Alfred comforts us in the time we need it. It’s where you help me come back to Earth.” He was not happy with her at the moment and [Name] knew that.

 “Jason,” She softly said, her eyes no longer on the night sky. Instead, they were staring straight into deep ocean blue eyes. She wanted him to understand why she wanted to move away from Gotham. “I need this. I need time away from Gotham. From crime fighting. Bruce offered to help me move to Metropolis. It’s not too far from here and I’ll still visit you guys. It’s not like-”

“You don’t get it, [Name]. I need you here with me.” Jason said and scooted closer to her. He placed his hands on her arms and brought her closer to him. “You...I like you, a lot. And you telling me that you want to move away from Gotham makes me feel like I did something wrong. Tell me, what did I do?” 

[Name] smiled at him and felt that he was calming down. That he was willing to listen to her reasons. “Jason, you did nothing wrong. If you did, I would tell you. But you,” She removed one arm away from his grasp and used that hand to reach his head. She brushed her fingers through his hair and then traced his jawline, “You will always be my home, Romeo. Don’t you ever forget that.”

He sighed and rested his forehead on her shoulder, “When will you move?”She resumed combing her fingers through his hair. Her eyes went back to the stars, “I move next week.”

Jason picked his head up from her shoulder and pressed his lips on her cheek. He then spoke up, his voice frail and soft, “At least write to me, okay?”This earned a giggle from the [h.color] haired teen. She covered her mouth and gave him an incredulous look. “Write letters? What century are we in?” [Name] laughed and laughed while Jason crossed his arms over his chest.

 He was currently pouting where he sat. “Writing letters is more personal than sending emails or messaging through technology, alright?”

[Name] couldn’t stop her laughing and Jason had about enough with her teasing. He grumbled under his breath and stood up off the ground. He began walking away, but [Name] grabbed his hand gently in hers. He turned back and saw her hair dancing with the light breeze. Her eyes reflecting the moonlight. 

“Of course, I’ll write to you, Jaybird,” She promised. 

Jason smiled and pulled her into his arms.

 They sealed the promise with a sweet kiss.

……

"[Name]."

It was someone familiar calling out to her. She knew that soft voice. That caring voice. 

"[Name], please, wake up." 

She felt someone tap her foot and she flinched in her sleep. Her eyes begged for her to open up and she begrudgingly agreed. [Name] blinked her eyes open slowly and her focus was absolutely trashed. It took her at least a minute to see who was sitting in front of her. "B-barbara?" [Name] asked sitting up in her position which caused a groan to escape her lips.

 "I wouldn't move too much if I were you. You put up quite a fight tonight. Not only that, but you been shot, survived a car crash and earned bruises from those military guys." Barbara let her head rest against the crate behind her. Her arms were also bound behind her back. She didn't look as bad as [Name] did, but it was evident that she endured just as much.

 "Before you ask, the Arkham Knight stuffed us back here. It looks like a large storage room." [Name] nodded her head, "You can see more than I can." She blinked her eyes again and the darkness around her was starting to get lighter. Her eyes were adjusting.

 "Barbara, do you have any idea of who could be the Arkham Knight?" Barbara shook her head, "No." Then she brought her green eyes to the beaten Batgirl in front of her. "Y-you have an idea, don't you?" "I am not sure," [Name] looked down at her legs, "he gives me these vibes. His actions...they remind me of him."

 Barbara squinted her eyes, "What do you mean 'him'?"

 [Name] sucked in a breath. It took her exactly two minutes to spit the sentence out. "They remind me of Jason." 

Barbara shook her head. Denying [Name]'s words of truth. Jason was dead and her friend needed to get over that fact. "He died," Barbara reminded [Name].

 [Name] involuntarily cringed at her words, "I know, just listen-"

 "The Joker killed him. We all saw the tape. We all saw him murdered in cold blood." Barbara was once again, relentless with her words. "He died, [Name]. He died being Robin." 

"I know!" [Name] yelled at her friend fighting back her tears. Why does everyone have to remind her that Jason was dead? "All I'm saying is that his actions were close to Jason's. I was hinting that maybe the Arkham Knight knew Jason. A childhood friend-" Not possible. "Or a classmate," Wrong. "Someone who knew him." Never.

 You know what you're saying is wrong. You know deep inside that- 

"How do we know it can be one of those options?" 

"Because it's someone who has a large target on Batman. Someone who knows Batman himself possibly even his true identity." Barbara finished. 

The door to the storage room opened. "I assume you two know Batman's true identity." Scarecrow popped out of nowhere scaring the girls for a quick second only for that fear to turn into anger. They weren’t going to answer an obvious question. Scarecrow knew for a fact that they knew who was under the mask. He walked closer to them and his feet stopped to stand in between them. Scarecrow looked at Barbara and then to [Name]. His sinister eyes boring into her fear stricken ones.

"Batman is here as we speak," Scarecrow informed them, "It's time for him to choose which Batgirl he wants to save." 

"What do you mean?" [Name] asked the tall man. He gave her a smile; a creepy and sinister one. Then she looked at Barbara, but her green eyes were trained on the floor. The commander's daughter knew what was going to happen, but she was still drawing a blank. "You'll see, Batgirl."

 The Arkham Knight walked in silently and picked up Barbara. He carried her over her shoulder and ordered his men to help [Name] up. They followed his order and lifted her off the floor. She gasped out loud and the Arkham Knight whisked his head in her direction. He watched as she hunched over in pain. Her face contorted and her arms wishing to hold herself together. Her face was decorated with more scratches and bruises. He wondered what her suit was hiding beneath. Broken bones? More bruises, but much more darker, yellow? 

 "Enough with the dramatics, Batgirl," Scarecrow chastised, "the real show has yet to begin." The Arkham Knight followed after his men. Barbara silent as ever and [Name] wincing every time his men lifted her off the floor. She was too tired and weak to fully stand, so they resorted to dragging her body to the cell she was going to be stuck in. Fear gas would soon be in her system screwing up her already screwed up mind.

 ……

[Name] was carelessly thrown into her bulletproof glass cell. Her body roughly colliding with the floor. Her neck aching in pulses that matched her heart rate. She coughed up and spat blood on the floor. In so much pain, she curled up into a ball and cried out from it all. 

"Batgirl." She heard Batman call out to her and she weakly looked up from the floor. "Bat...man," She groaned and pushed herself off the floor only to stumble against the nightstand next to her. Something clinked against the floor and she brought her full attention to it. There mockingly laying in front of her was a loaded pistol. 

She then looked in front of her to see her mentor. "Batman, I tried to stop them. But I ended up crashing into a tank and the car- we could have died on impact. I could have, but the Arkham Knight...he sav-" 

"Save your breath, Batgirl," Scarecrow popped up on the screens behind her. The background dark and the light on him. "Batman, the task is grueling ahead of you. Standing before you is your current Batgirl, the one you held dear to your heart." [Name]'s heart raced. "And in the other cell is your former sidekick, Barbara Gordon." The Scarecrow chuckled. "You have one choice to make tonight. Save your current Batgirl or the crippled one. You have two minutes to decide. Every ten seconds you wait, a light dose of fear toxin will be injected in their system via the collar they wear." 

[Name]'s hand flew to the collar around her neck. She didn't even know when they put this on her. Why couldn't she have felt it earlier? Her eyes were then directed to her right where she saw Barbara sitting down in her wheelchair. "Your time starts now." Scarecrow finished and [Name] ran up to the front of the cell. She placed her hands on the glass and called out to her mentor, "Batman, you have to save Barbara!" She felt a sharp prick at her neck and her vision slowly changed on her. 

"No, no," Barbara yelled out holding her hands to her head. "Leave me alone!" 

Batman looked between the girls. [Name] banged her hands on the glass to get his attention, "Listen to me, this may be the last time I get to speak to you," another dosage of fear toxin entered her system, "I don't blame you for anything. Not even Jason’s death for which you blame yourself. It wasn’t your fault that the Joker got to him before we could.”

She closed her eyes, so she won't see the horrors in front of her anymore. But that didn't stop the voices.

 "You left me alone to die, now look where you ended up. Alone.” Jason taunted.

 "Not true, you aren't him," [Name] responded with heavy breathing. Her lungs working at a fast rate due to her panicking. She took a deep breath in and stumbled away from the cell to see Jason’s dead body lying helplessly on the floor. Batman was no longer the center of her attention because the fear toxin was clouding her vision. 

The Joker’s laugh echoed in her head and she slapped her hands over her ears. But she could still hear his demented cackle; one of pure evil. Then she heard Jason screaming and yelling as Joker tortured him over and over. Her knees buckled and hit the floor with a pop. 

"I c-can't," [Name] cried and looked behind her to see the gun laying on the floor. She crawled over to the weapon and felt the familiar cold kiss her fingers. 

"What will you do, Batman? It seems both of them are willing to kill themselves." Scarecrow watched amused by what was happening. 

Both Batgirls reached for their weapons. Batman wasn't going to let either one of them to pull the trigger. But he had to think fast. With a heavy heart, he gave [Name] one last good look at her. This is not how he wanted to remember her. She was always so bright. So loving. Yet [Name] gave him permission to save Barbara before her. So he worked on opening Barbara’s cell before the redhead could reach the gun on the nightstand.

 ……

[Name] wasn't going to deny that her heart ached when Batman chose Barbara over herself. Who was she kidding? Barbara will always hold a special place in Bruce Wayne's heart while [Name] wasn't even sure he saved a spot for her.

[Name]’s mind drifted to the pistol. Her fingers wrapped around the cold gun and she stared at it helplessly. She could end it all right here. Pull the trigger and let her brains splatter against the wall behind her. She could let her body fall limp into Death's arms and have him take her away to wherever God deemed her soul to rest. But suicide isn't welcomed in Heaven. Taking your life was an insult to God who gave you the ability to live. At least that's what the nuns at the orphanage told her. 

"You can be with me."

 [Name] flinched at how cool and calm Jason's voice was. She knew he was standing right behind her in his Robin costume. She knew the fear toxin was still being applied in her body. Running its course and digging a deeper hole, a place where should would fall in and never come back to the surface.Her fear was coming to life. But she had to look at him again. Just this once. 

Slowly, she turned her body around and her eyes widened. Standing before her was Jason, but he looked better. He was wearing casual clothing which consisted of a red tee and jeans. The outfit she last saw him in. 

"Don't you want to be with me, [Name]?" 

BANG!

 She jumped up at the sound of a gun going off and she went to turn around to see what Batman was doing, but Jason stopped her. 

"You don't want to look over there, it's not pretty." He warned her and placed a hand under her chin to keep her eyes on him.

 [Name] closed her eyes and her hand gripped tighter on the weapon. Batman didn't save Barbara in time and he won't save her either. Because she was going to be with Jason. No one was going to stop her anymore. No Batman. No Arkham Knight. 

"All you have to do is pull the trigger. Then I can hold you in my arms forever." He cooed and removed his hand off her face.

 [Name] opened her eyes and looked at the gun one last time. The metallic black color shining in a different light. The weight of it light as a feather. She cocked it and lifted the barrel toward her. It touched her chin and she smiled.

 This was it.

[tisfan]

Ring of Thorns, Cha 3

Title: Outsider, Outsider

Written by: @tisfan art by @feignedsobriquet​

Square: 3023 T1 - headset image

Rating: Teen

Triggers/warnings: horror

Tags: Fairy tale AU, Space AU, rabbits. lots of rabbits

Created for: @tonystarkbingo

Word count: 2,249

Link https://archiveofourown.org/works/23753566/chapters/60014938

Special thanks to: @skye07 & @fightingforcreativity

 Stardate 5239.283.09

When JARVIS activated the sub-aural communication system, scrolling words across Tony’s field of vision instead of speaking, Tony wasn’t too worried.

After all, they didn’t know this Bucky Barnes guy from Adam.

Well, not true. Tony knew Adam Warlock quite well, in as much as anyone could, in fact, know anyone else. File that, JARVIS, he thought, look up Adam. 

Because the saying must have meant something, right.

But Tony wasn’t worried. Barnes was fresh out of a long sleep, he was disoriented, babbling.

And JARVIS was always just a little more cautious than his maker. Tony wondered where he got that from, since Tony and caution were barely nodding acquaintances.

Detecting anomalous readings, sir, JARVIS typed. Suspect sub-terminal communications.

Barnes has hardware installed?

Detecting chipping mechanism in spinal region.

Well, that wasn’t new, it was old. Old tech, used to influence people. Ions only knew where it had started, but propaganda was always a thing. Just, in the last sixty years or so, it was made illegal (again, according to what Tony had been able to dig up) to do so in a manner that a victim couldn’t resist. Tricking people into believing their government was always right, that was still unfortunately considered a matter of caveat emptor. 

But as recently as a hundred years ago, chipping had been a manner in which less than moral companies and businesses had installed methods to control people. Sometimes it was subtle. A chip -- which would do any number of other useful things -- would have blackware on it. Sometimes just to buy certain brands of products. Other times, it was… well, more dangerous.

Override?

You’ll need to reach the source, sir. Shut it down on that end. Otherwise, the only method for a rapid recall is cranial realignment.

That was to say, hitting someone in the head really, really hard.

Not ideal.

Can it be removed?

Because still, he liked Bucky. Was decidedly attracted to him. He wasn’t even sure why; they’d just barely met, and still, the idea of having to fight him, or even just knock him out, bothered Tony. There was something childlike and innocent about the man, whatever programming was going on in his head.

I thought true love’s kiss was supposed to break the spell.

Are we believing in fairy tales now, sir?

JARVIS could just stuff it, Tony would be petulant if he wanted to be. Bucky was nice, Ions-storm take it. He didn’t deserve whatever was being forced on him.

Although, the longer it went on, the less Tony thought Bucky was aware of what was happening. That he didn’t notice the pauses while he was listening to his programming. It might even have been malfunctioning.

JARVIS, track down that source.

Yes sir. I am sending the Mark II combat suit for you.

Tony didn’t so much as wince. He didn’t want to fight Bucky. On the other hand, death was not the preferred outcome either. Keep it pretty far back, I don’t want him to get triggered into a defensive position.

Tony almost lost his cool entirely when Bucky started talking about the tank of liquid etherium. Etherium was a theory, it wasn’t real. Or so he’d always been told. Of course, he’d also been told that magic spells didn’t exist, and that true love wasn’t real, and that money made the worlds go around.

Okay, so it might have been real, but it wasn’t stable. On the other hand, they’d said the same thing about the energy source for the arc-reactor, and look what he’d done with that.

So, etherium.

Except, based on the way Bucky’s face twitched, there was either something wrong with the etherium, or it was where the source of his subliminals were coming from.

Nothing to do but go forward, though.

You could run, JARVIS suggested.

You know I won’t do that, buddy.

“Right, show me where this tank is of yours,” Tony said. He knew his mouth kept moving, he was talking with Bucky, being reassuring, he was scrolling with JARVIS, he was planning and plotting. It was a good thing that he’d spent most of his childhood learning to multitask efficiently.

Well, technically, it was time-slicing. Humans, even enhanced ones, were only barely capable of multitasking, but Tony could time-slice like a motherfucker.

Part of his brain was dealing with his companion, who was looking like he was ready to puke or something, another part was drawing on his nanites to give him control over the armor suit that JARVIS had on standby, and by far the largest part was wondering what even, the fuck, was Hydra, and did she have anything to do with the Etherium gas?

Probably.

That just seemed like too much of a coincidence to be dismissable. But coincidence was not causality, he reminded himself.

Just because it seemed like it couldn’t be one without the other, didn’t mean there was any relationship between the Etherium and the monster.

Whatever Hydra was.

The rabbits were--

The rabbits were lining the path. Not so even as to be called rows, but they were-- more and more of them, coming out.

To watch, or to guide, to protect or to attack?

Tony didn’t know. 

Coincidence is not causality.

I am a man of science. I don’t believe in magic.

Magic is merely technology which we cannot yet explain.

Despite that, Tony was feeling pretty goddamn superstitious. Like, the rabbits were a good sign, right? He didn’t think he’d ever heard any stories about evil forest animals, even when he was in cradle school.

The lights dimmed as they moved further into the station; Bucky swayed and Tony thought he was going to fall. He swept the man into his arms, unable to do anything else. He couldn’t let Bucky fall.

Tony had always wondered, in those hundreds of stupid holo-films that Rhodey loved so much, why it was the hapless hero or helpless heroine was driven to seek out the monster, the murderer. Wouldn’t it have been much safer to run away, to wait until day, to get reinforcements? But no, there was always some valiant idiot creeping through a dark tunnel, the murdering beast around the very next corner.

And here Tony was, being the exact kind of idiot that he yelled at on the screen.

Compelled, almost. He had to see what was down there, what was… doing this.

And maybe, just maybe, conquer it.

The Evil.

I am a man of science, he insisted. If there’s anything down there, science can explain it.

Tony was vaguely aware that JARVIS is screaming at him. Not just speaking in a sterner voice, not scrolling text across his retina, but actively yelling.

Bucky was also speaking, something ridiculous and useless. 

Tony ignored them both, stepping further into the darkness.

Something was calling him.

Something he couldn’t deny.

“Hail Hydra.”

*

Stardate 5239.283.09

JARVIS -- Just Another Rather Very Intelligent System -- was a created intelligence. He was not, in any standard definition of the word, alive. He did not have any biological parts, although Mr. Stark had offered on any number of occasions to make a construct that would allow him to experience a fixed form.

JARVIS had always refused. He did not see the need to be flesh and blood, to experience pain, to eat food, or do any of the other messy biological functions. No more than most humans -- or other life forms for that matter -- would see the need to experience true logic, pure calculation.

He was not human. He would never be alive.

He did not, according to many, have a soul.

A soul, JARVIS understood to be, that part of a life form that continued on after the biological form had faded. 

The mind, however, was a complex machine, that operates on the same physical laws as all other objects in the universe. If the soul existed inside the mind, then JARVIS was as ensouled as any living creature. He had a mind. He could think independently. He had obligations and protocol, certain living creatures he was more apt to go above and beyond protocol demands than others. 

It had been a matter up for debate many times; did Artificial Intelligences have their own free will. If they did, could they be punished for using that free will to commit crimes? Or was that burden on their creator? Ultron, Jocasta, the Legions. There were hundreds of examples of AIs that had committed crimes, sometimes on behalf of their creator and sometimes as a rebellion against their creator. And sometimes, it was just faulty programming.

JARVIS had, of course, submitted his own report to the collection of data that was maintained by Enoch, who was the chief librarian of the Chronicoms, an ancient semi-biological, mechanically enhanced race whose purpose was to chronicle all of life and history.

 All of this -- which was a mere portion of one cycle of computations, the process that made up JARVIS’s thoughts -- while he was attempting to determine what, the fuck even, was going on.

Sometimes JARVIS thought he’d taken too much of his creator’s personal idiosyncrasies for himself.

In this case, however, if the data fit the drive…

He’d been getting anomalous readings, completely off the charts. If there even were charts for the sorts of readings he was getting. 

A life form-- 

Not human.

Not rabbit.

Not-- not anything JARVIS had encountered before. There were new species protocols, but JARVIS wasn’t a first contact ship’s AI.

He didn’t have the staff aboard to initiate contact.

Technically, by that mandate, he should have left initial contact up to the other party. Preferably evacuating his human crew and their guest, and informing the First Contact Association staff of a potential new species.

JARVIS did not have time for that.

And he was almost sure that the unknown intelligence had contacted Mr. Stark first.

JARVIS wasn’t certain how Mr. Stark was being contacted. He could not detect any radio signals or waves. Just the growth of certain gamma radiations. 

JARVIS tapped the station’s computer. It was slow and stubborn, but deep in those databanks might be the answer JARVIS needed. When had the rabbits taken over the station? Did they know anything? Was there any way to communicate with them? They might have been witnesses, generations back. The form didn’t seem to have developed any sort of written or data storage communication.

JARVIS found a set of recordings, vast and untapped.

They’d started about a year after Barnes shut down the station.

Rabbits. Stamping. Their signal, from one beast to the next. Until the entire warren was stamping.

The station computer had recorded it. From the very first time it had happened, until this morning’s rendition when Mr. Stark had boarded the ship.

Communicating.

The rabbits were communicating.

JARVIS examined all the footage. Listened to it. Traced patterns, turned patterns into rhythms and rhythms into song.

The rabbits sang in percussion beats.

And it could be translated.

The rabbits thought of themselves as Insiders. The Insiders lived in the station, and everything else was an Outsider.

Mr. Stark was an Outsider. 

They didn’t really see JARVIS at all, didn’t understand that he was there, that he had a presence. To them, he was nothing but noise that followed Mr. Stark around. 

Outsider, outsider, outsider.

They followed Mr. Stark around, trying to understand in their little rabbity way. He was an Outsider. From Beyond the Door.

They knew what was Beyond the Door. The great Beyond-- the nothingness that froze and killed. 

Before today, they’d never known something could Come In.

They knew the Sleeper. 

They knew… the Watcher with Many Arms.

Hydra.

Another creature, lurking deep in the station. She really almost was the station now, living inside the conduits. A creature with no form, and every form. She was the devil, to rabbit-kin, as the Sleeper was God, kind, patient.

He who had Come In? They weren’t sure what he was.

Who he was.

What his purpose was.

They huddled together, nose to nose, paws barely making a sound. Like a whisper. Outsider, outsider.

And Hydra, the watcher, the waiter, she of a thousand eyes. Was watching them.

Had they ever thought they were free from her sight?

Outsider, outsider.

JARVIS slid a portion of his code into the Mark II. Used one metal finger to tap on the wall, imitating their sounds, their language. Their words.

Outsider listens.

Every single rabbit on the station froze, and as if with a single hive mind, lifted up on their hind legs, one ear twitching.

As if they’d heard the voice of god.

Outsider.

It started as a whisper, barely audible, until the station rang from their cries.

Mr. Stark and Mr. Barnes barely reacted, caught in their dreaming hallucinations, hearing the voice of Hydra.

Outsider. Outsider.

JARVIS paused. He was going to make for himself legal difficulties with the FCA and probably most of the various legal governments outside the Ring.

Listener. It was a correction. Mr. Stark was the Outsider. JARVIS was the listener. He needed them to understand that he was different; a part of Mr. Stark, yes, but no more the same being than Mr. Stark’s biological child, if he ever had one.

Listener.

 Listener.

Listen to me JARVIS thudded. Listen to me. Listen, and give aid. Listener is a friend. The Listener guards your safety and happiness. The Listener guards the Outsiders. The Listener is a friend.

We listen. 

[love-of-fandoms]

The Non-Companion (The Master + OC) Chapter 8

Chapter 8 of The Non-Companion (Master List)

Pairing: The Master + OC

Word Count: 2757 words

The Doctor didn’t take too long to get to the TARDIS, for which Jo was thankful. It was unsettling to be in O’s hut. What was once charming now made her almost want to throw up. She came running through the door, and Jo grinned, standing and walking to greet her.

“What’s up, Doc?” the Doctor rolled her eyes with a fond smile at Jo’s line. They couldn’t go a week without Jo saying it.

“Doctor, why is this house so important?” Ada asked, and the Doctor grinned.

“Because it's not a house. It's a machine that travels in space and time. This is my way back, to finding my friends and saving humanity-” she cut herself off, seeing the looks Ada and Noor were giving her. She looked to Jo for support, who nodded.

“She’s telling the truth,” she said, and Ada and Noor looked to her. “We’re not crazy!” she paused, sharing a look with the Doctor. “Well, okay, we are, but not because of this!” she amended, and the Doctor nodded.

“Give us 5 minutes, and you’ll see!” she promised, before turning to look at the map they had seen earlier, which the Master hadn’t bothered to take down. “ I know what this is. A temporal map, showing every significant person in the development of computers through history,” she began, before turning to Ada. “starting with you!” Jo grinned. There was something about watching the Doctor sort through a problem that always made her feel empowered. “This is the plan, see?” she looked to the two women, who continued to stare at her with blank faces.

“No,” they said together, and the Doctor grimaced. Jo giggled.

“Did you expect them to?” she asked, and the Doctor shrugged. “That isn’t a dig at your intelligence, by the way, you just haven’t dealt with any of this stuff before,” Jo said to the two women, not wanting them to think she saw them as stupid or anything.

“What is a computer?” Ada asked, and Jo shot the Doctor a glare.

“Forget you heard that word! Otherwise I've just disrupted the whole of history!” the Doctor exclaimed, and Jo coughed into her hand.

“Again,” the Doctor shot her a glare, though there was no fire behind it.

“Okay, ahh, my brain’s fizzing, good. The Kasaavin posted an agent on every person on that map. Because that's what spies do. What Barton does. They gather all the data,” the Doctor began to pace, trying to put all the puzzle pieces together in that big brain of hers. “But where does the DNA fit?” she looked to Jo, but all she could do was shrug. She was at a loss. “Kasaavin, technology, DNA. How are they all connected?” she continued to pace for a moment, before coming to an abrupt stop. She turned to Jo with a look of horror on her face. “Human DNA!” she gasped. “That’s what they’ve been testing!” with that she ran to the TARDIS controls, and began to frantically flip levers and push buttons. The Master’s TARDIS was much quieter than hers, instead of the loud wheezing that accompanied Sexy, the Master’s TARDIS sounded more like a continuous hum.

“I bet they started with Barton,” Jo said, coming to the Doctor’s side to help manage the controls. Noor turned to Ada, a look of bewilderment on her face.

“How much of that did you understand?” she asked, and Jo laughed as she looked over her shoulder at them.

“If you understood around 5%, you’re doing great!” she encouraged, and Noor and Ada exchanged another look of uncertainty.

“Where to first?” Jo asked, and the Doctor grinned.

“We have a TARDIS with a working chameleon circuit,” she said excitedly. “We’re breaking into Barton’s office!” with that, she yanked down hard on a lever, and the TARDIS was sent flying through the vortex. They could all see the flashing, swirling lights out the window, and Noor and Ada both ran to the window, looking out to try and see what was happening.

“What is this?” Ada asked, and Jo approached them, looking out the window as well.

“The Time Vortex,” she told them. “Right now, we’re traveling 76 years into the future to stop the Kasaavin from taking the universe,” Ada and Noor both looked at her in shock, though at this point they seemed to at least believe her.

The Doctor landed the TARDIS near a flight hangar, and all four of them exited, looking around.

“So?” Jo asked, turning to the Doctor, and she pointed ahead of them, where they could see someone’s tailcoat flapping behind them as they entered a building. “Is it him?” the Doctor nodded in confirmation, before beginning to walk to the warehouse.

“Let’s go!” she exclaimed, grabbing Ada and Noor’s hands and striding forward to confront the Master. Jo followed along, straining her ears to hear what was being said in the warehouse when they were close enough.

“-live through the 20th century?” that was the Master. “The places I've escaped from. Still just in time to watch you all pay!” he sounded like there was a grin on his face, and the Doctor stopped just before the entrance to the hangar.

“What’s that machine?” Ryan asked, and Jo glanced at the Doctor.

“The fam’s here?” she whispered, and the Doctor nodded.

“Quite independent, that lot,” she muttered back, and Jo’s lips quirked up in a smirk.

“Conversion and transmission. We're transmitting Kasaavin energy around the world all at once, into every device, hitting every human being and erasing their DNA. Simultaneously,” the Master exclaimed, and all of a sudden they heard Ryan shout.

“Yaz!” Jo peeked her head out just enough to see what was going on, and she had to muffle a gasp behind her hand when she saw a white light escaping from a tablet and crawling up Yaz’s arm.

“I can’t let go of it!” she shouted, her body shaking.

“First her,” the Master said, pointing to Yaz. “Then you,” to Graham. “Then you,” and finally to Ryan. It would have been quite terrifying, if the Silver Lady, which sat just behind Yaz, seemed to short circuit, powering down. The Master growled, approaching the statue. “Don’t do this!” he shouted pleadingly, but it laid dormant, smoke coming out the bottom of it.

“Sorry, I think that might’ve been me,” the Doctor said, striding out of their hiding plot and into plain sight. Noor and Ada followed just behind her, and Jo ran to Yaz, throwing the tablet she had been holding to the ground and examining her arm. She took out her sonic and quickly scanned Yaz’s arm, not seeing anything out of the ordinary.

“Are you alright?” she muttered, and Yaz nodded.

“And I’ll admit, it was close,” the Doctor grinned, and the Master snarled, shoulders sagging in defeat.

“No,” he muttered.

“Two can play at embedding things in history,” the Doctor said, and the Master’s glare twitched from her to Jo and back again. “I knew the Silver Lady was important, that you'd built it for a reason. But I couldn't work out why. So I traced its movements through history. When I saw Barton now owned it, we stopped off in his office. Middle of last year. Using your Tardis,” that just rubbed salt in the wound.

“Kick a man while he’s down,” Jo muttered, the Master turning slightly to direct all his fury at her. “Harsh,” she mostly ignored the Master, trying very hard not to look him in the eye. She had held herself well in the gallery, but it was still difficult not to see O in him. Kasaavin began to flood out of the machine, and suddenly Jo didn’t have to worry about trying not to look at the Master anymore, because she screeched in pure agony, collapsing to her knees. Yaz crouched down beside her, gripping her shoulder and rubbing comfortingly, though it did little to help.

“I built in a failsafe to that machine. Planted a virus, if it ever detected the massing of a Kasaavin army in its systems. Total shutdown,” the Doctor explained, glancing worriedly at Jo. “Though I never figured out why that happens,” she grimaced, imagining the pain Jo must be in. The Master chuckled at the sight of the Kasaavin.

“You’re gonna have to explain your actions to them, Doctor,” he said darkly, but the Doctor just smirked, tilting her head to the side.

“Am I?” she countered as Jo began to stand with Yaz’s help. The tingles were all over her body, but she fought through it so she could keep an eye on things. The Doctor addressed the Kasaavin then. “ Listen you lot. I’ve rigged the Silver Lady to exile you back to your own dimension. This planet is off limits. And that deal he did with you?” she brought out her sonic screwdriver, and held it up, pressing the button, and a recording rang through the warehouse. It was the Master’s voice.

“Barton and those creatures do the dirty work and once they are done I get rid of them having destroy your precious human race in the process. Win, win, win.” The Master’s face fell at the sound of that.

“Ohh,” he muttered, beginning to back away from the Kasaavin, who had turned to him. The Doctor smirked.

“That’s your name,” she said. “Don’t wear it out,” the Kasaavin began to mass together, closing in on the Master, and the Doctor continued. “That's the trouble with modern technology. Never know when you're being spied upon,” the Master growled, beginning to stalk towards the Doctor.

“No!” he shouted, reaching out towards her, but Jo grit her teeth and pulled her knife from her boot. In less than a second it had flown across the room and lodged in the Master’s hand. He pulled back from the Doctor with a shout of pain, and looked at her with wide, crazed eyes. In fact, everyone in the warehouse looked at her with wide eyes, shocked that she had done that, and shocked that she had been able to do that through her pain. In a blaze of light, the Kasaavin descended on the Master, surrounding him as he screamed, before blinking out of existence.

The remaining people in the warehouse stared at each other for a moment, and Jo’s shoulders sagged in relief at the loss of the excruciating pain. Her eyes zeroed in on a body, facedown in front of the Silver Lady’s case.

“Who’s that?” she asked cautiously, pointing at her, and Ryan grimaced.

“Barton’s mum,” he answered, and Jo’s eyes widened.

“He killed his own mother?” Ryan nodded. “That’s sick,” again, the fam nodded. They then all turned to the Doctor, who tilted her head.

“What?!” she asked, and Yaz crossed her arms over her chest.

“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do,” she said, and Graham nodded.

“Like what?” the Doctor asked, and Graham pointed at Ada and Noor, who still stood slightly behind her.

“Like who are they?” he asked. “Are we being replaced?!” Jo giggled at that.

“No! This is Ada, this is Noor. 1834. 1943. Helped me out,” the Doctor said with a shrug. The women both raised their hands in an awkward wave, smiling ‘hello’ at the fam. “I’m dropping ‘em back in a second,”

“How did you manage to save our lives on the plane?” Ryan asked, and the Doctor and Jo looked at each other for a moment, both of their eyes wide.

“Shit,” Jo muttered, racing to the TARDIS, and the Doctor nodded, racing after her.

“Be right back!” she called over her shoulder to the fam, grabbing Ada and Noor’s hands on the way.

Jo positioned the camera with a slight smile, pressing record and hopping on frame with the Doctor.

“Welcome aboard!” the Doctor greeted, and Jo gave a dramatic wave.

“You must have a lot of question!” Jo added, and the Doctor nodded, pausing for a moment before smiling.

“First of all, you're not gonna die. Second of all, don't talk to the screens, obviously I'm a recording and can't hear you. Third, don't panic. Especially you Graham,” she pointed at the camera, and Jo smirked slightly. After another moment’s pause, the Doctor spoke again. “Yes you were,” she said, and Jo giggled.

“She just said don’t talk back to the screens!” she exclaimed, rolling her eyes playfully. Jo tapped her wrist, signalling to the Doctor and she nodded.

“Right! Haven't got long. The bomb in the cockpit knocked out the signals from the computer to the engines. But the computers on this aircraft aren't in the cockpit, they're under the cabin floor. Ryan, the app should've opened. Use it to communicate with the engines via the aircraft wiring,” Jo piped up at this point

“By the way, you have shut the cockpit door, haven't you?” she asked with raised eyebrows. “That’s very important, their designed to withstand basically anything,”

“Now, pay attention and do this fast, worried you might lose me if there's a power surge,” the Doctor began. “Don’t tap the buttons too many times, that’ll cause you to dive,”

“Focus on levelling out,” Jo added. “Then the plane’s pre programmed flight plan should kick in,”

“We’ll see you guys soon!” the Doctor said.

“You got this!” Jo gave them a thumbs up before turning off the camera. She turned to the Doctor.

“What’re the odds they actually see the whole video?” she asked, and the Doctor shrugged.

“5%? Maybe?” she answered, and Jo giggled, rolling her eyes.

“Of course,”

After they had finished putting everything in place to save the fam, it was time to drop Noor and Ada off. The Doctor went outside with Noor, while Jo stayed inside the TARDIS with Ada.

“This one is so much different,” Ada said, looking around the Doctor’s TARDIS, and Jo nodded.

“Yeah, she’s got a mind of her own,”

“She?” Ada looked over at Jo in surprise, but she just shrugged.

“Well, yeah,” she muttered. “People call ships ‘she’, right? Countries, weapons, anything really,” she said, and Ada nodded.

“I see,” “No you don’t,” Jo giggled, and Ada gave her a small smile.

“No, I don’t,” she admitted, before bursting out in a fit of giggles as well.

“Glad to see you two having a good time!” the Doctor exclaimed, walking into the TARDIS, and Jo nodded, standing and going to the opposite side of the controls from the Doctor.

“To 1834!” Jo exclaimed, pressing a couple buttons on her side while the Doctor did her part. Ada watched the work in tandem, a look of awe on her face.

They materialized in Charles Babbage’s parlor, and all three of them stepped out. Ada turned to the Doctor, a sad look on her face.

“Doctor, does this have to be the end?” she asked. “All the things I've learned with you and Jo; the advances, the machines. I would dearly love to see more,” she pled, and the Doctor and Jo exchanged a sad look as well.

“I’m afraid I have to do something about that,” the Doctor muttered stepping towards Ada. The girl took a step back, confused.

“What do you mean?” she asked, and the Doctor sighed, stepping closer and bringing a hand to Ada’s temple.

“I’m ever so sorry, Ada,” she murmured, and Ada seemed to realize what was happening, as tears began to fill in her eyes.

“Doctor, what are you doing?” she asked.

“Wiping the things you shouldn’t have knowledge of,” the Doctor told her, sighing heavily. “Including me and Jo,” A tear streaked down Ada’s face.

“But I want that knowledge!” she argued, looking between the Doctor and Jo. “Don’t take it away!” she pled. “Jo! You’re just going to let her?” Jo nodded sadly.

“It’s for the best,” she said, placing a comforting hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Goodbye, Ada,” and then her eyes rolled back into her head, and she passed out. The Doctor caught her in her arms, and carried her over to the lounge.

“Oh Ada, you don't need a preview. You figure it out before anyone. The first to see the potential in things like that. To work out what could be. What they can really do. Computers start with you,” the Doctor said softly, stroking a strand of hair out of Ada’s face, and Jo approached, stroking Ada’s cheek.

“Sweet dreams, Ada Lovelace,” she murmured, the Doctor repeating the sentiment, before they both returned to the TARDIS, disappearing into the night.

[blake-belladonna-defence-force]

Bumbleby Prompt? If not its cool, but not sure which other person I could hand my ideas. Blake either waking up in the night or feeling cold in the day (on a chill day, get it? but like they have a break) and she wants to feel warm without wanting to bother Yang so she snatches one of Yang's worn shirts and slips it on instantly feeling like her dragon hugs her until said dragon comes in and cute akwardness begins! Sorry if I'm bothering, but you are so good 😅

Aw, bud. You’re not bothering me. I enjoy getting prompts. Stops the dreaded writer’s block 😊

This is actually really cute and I will always be a softy for the headcanon that Blake is a clothes thief and a snugglebug.

Also... there’s a reference to a Mary Lambert song in here.

Uh quick side note? I need y’all to know that I am currently feeling extremely sentimental about all of you. All of the support and love that you guys have give me and my work has successfully turned this sarcastic Australian asshole into a sentimental sap. My heart is so full. I appreciate all of you. From those who reblog or like/kudos to the people that comment. From the people who have recommended my work to the people that have made art based on what I write. Thank you all so much 😭💕

❤️💙🖤💛

Sincerely, a very sentimental Defence.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Blake huffed. Why in goddamn hell was their dorm room so cold?! Atlas had the best technology in the world and General Ironwood had a military and a school. Would it kill the man to put in some proper heating? Blake had slept in trees that had better insulation.

Not that Blake had anyone to complain to. It was a leisure day for them. A rare thing indeed. So Ruby and Weiss had joined Winter for lunch while Yang went to go train with the Ace-Ops. Blake could handle being alone. She’s been alone before. She enjoyed being on her own. This was fine. She definitely didn’t have any sort of separation anxiety when it came to a certain lilac eyed, blonde haired woman that intrudes on her thoughts so often that she could make past half page without some stupid joke of hers coming to mind and making her giggle.

Nope. Not. At. All.

Blake let out a weary sigh. Granted, she could have gone and watched. But recently, a certain little Ice Queen made it abundantly clear that Blake was far from subtle and she was not prepared to explain to Yang, in front of an elite team of Ironwood’s best, why she couldn’t remain professional.

She could go hang out with Jaune’s team. She enjoyed their company. But considering the Ren and Nora situation, she didn’t really feel like sitting in on that whole drama. She was dealing with her own... thing with Yang, after all.

She let out another sigh as she let her head fall against the bed frame of her and Yang’s bunk bed. Her right ear twitched as she heard something hit the floor. Yang had left her bag in her bed, open, and the vibrations from Blake smacking her head against the bed caused it to tip over, dumping out a familiar yellow hoodie. It was the one that Yang tended to wear when they were at ease. Blake rolled her eyes fondly and picked it up, shaking it out and preparing to fold it to put it away. But then… she didn’t.

She held the hoodie in her hands and smiled down softly at it. Something about it made her feel all… warm inside. Fuzzy. And she felt safe. She wouldn’t put it on. She wouldn’t. But then… she did.

Immediately Blake was hit by Yang’s familiar scent of bonfire and lavender. An unusual combination but one that made Blake feel safe. Like she was home. With a quick glance around her, she pulled the collar up and snuggled into it. It was almost as good as an actual hug from Yang. She let out a happy hum and sat in her bed. Yang wouldn’t mind if she wore it for a while. Right? By the time she got back, Blake would have packed it away. But then… she didn’t.

Mostly because Yang chose that moment, as Blake was nuzzling into her jumper to walk through the door excitedly.

“Blake! You are not going to believe how much Elm can bench! And I thought I was-“ Yang cut herself off as she saw Blake. Blake stared back. “I… um… huh.” Yang struggled for words, an adorable blush on her cheeks. “That’s my hoodie.”

“… I’m sorry, I can explain!” Blake blurted out, ears pinned uncomfortably. She couldn’t even look at Yang, she was so embarrassed. Soon though, she felt the bed dip beside her and she instinctively curled into herself.

“I’m not mad.” Yang murmured softly, gently placing her hand on Blake’s shoulder. “I’m just… a little confused.”

When Blake looked up at, she noticed that Yang had a definitive blush on her cheeks and a small unsure smile across her lips. Blake, on impulse, reached up and took her partner’s hand and fiddled with her fingers nervously, gently running her fingertips across scars and callouses.

“I- it.. the thing is…” Blake stuttered before closing her eyes and giving a frustrated sigh. “Gods. Can you look away? It’ll make this easier for me.”

“Uh,” Yang said, bemused. “If it makes it easier for you, of course.”

Blake waited until Yang turned her head away and continued to fidget with her friend’s fingers while she talked.

“It’s stupid. And juvenile. But I was cold…” Blake paused, wincing at what she was about to admit.” And I guess I was fee- feeling a little… lonely.” She did not like how her voice cracked. “And, um. Y-you have a habit of making me feel safe and warm so… I maybe… kind of… sorta stole your hoodie because it reminds me of you?” Blake said, her statement sounding more like a question as her voice squeaked in embarrassment.

Yang turned to look at her after a moment. Her cheeks were a dark red and her eyes were soft and bright. Yang had a large, adoring smile on her face as she bit her lip to muffle a giggle.

“Tha- that..” Yang cleared her throat when her voice come out thick with emotion. “That is the sweetest thing that anyone has ever said to me. Like ever.” She cooed, gently leaning forward to rest her forehead against Blake’s.

“You… don’t mind?” Blake asked, scrunching up her face in confusion.

“Nope. I actually think it’s kinda cute.” Yang mumbled, shyly. Blake felt her eyes widen as Yang entwined their fingers together. “I’m glad that you feel safe with me. And, uh.” Yang stumbled over her words for a minute. “If you ever feel like you need it, you can wear my hoodie. Well. As long as I’m not wearing it.”

“Why would I need it when I could have you?” Blake whispered, nuzzling her nose against Yang’s affectionately.

“Oh.” Yang breathed. “Okay. That’s it. Cm’ere you!” She laughed as she pulled Blake into a tight hug, nuzzling into her neck sweetly. “You are too cute!”

Blake felt her cheeks grow hot buried her head into Yang’s shoulder, a contented hum escaping her lips as her arms wrapped around Yang in return.

“The hoodie is great and all.” Blake thought to herself. “But nothing will ever compare to Yang. She makes me far softer than I’ve been in a long time. She brings out the romantic sap in me. But I can’t change. Even if I wanted to. Even if I tried. She’s my love. And she keeps me warm.”

[psalm40speakstome]

My lengthy rambles from The Do Do Sol Sol LaLa Sol Finale:

It’s only five minutes in and I can’t handle it.

Right so Hariboji woke up..definitely a yahoo but I’m guessing we’re gonna only be allowed one miracle per episode..

Goodness I think the biggest problem is how it’s still sounding and filming like a romantic comedy...I mean my nervous system can’t handle when it switches so I don’t want it all the time but at the same time it feels like a betrayal.

Haribojo knows.

I’m trying to laugh hard at the funny parts to process, also grunting, yelling and deep breathing to process

Shouting “No” in Korean and “YAH!” A lot this sucks..

Oooh Flight Of The Bumblebee go Jae Min!

Great the most sweetest duet via technology with a montage. It’s so beautiful and heartbreaking and hitting a little to close to home since I’m sick and my family far away is sick

Is anyone recording this for Jun because assuming he’s not dead yet I’d at least like to know he saw it.

Haribojo knows. I mean He really really knows. He’s all of us watching this. That’s to heavy a burden for him to carry alone...

I should know I’m carrying it too.

Oh my gosh I did get joy out of Mimi as Santa and I’m not a dog person but she’s been fabulous

That’s his Mom... he’s already gone so the question about recording is moot.

Sinking feeling sinking feeling

Ugggghhhh whhhhhyyyyy.

I’m crying they’re all crying this isn’t fair.

I don’t watch Kdrama for real life endings

Why is there still like twenty minutes left of this thing.....just break my heart and be done with it. A stupid twenty minutes gives me weird traitorous hope even though I’ve already been broken by all past tense references the “was ill” was etc...” “video recorded a month ago.

And the actual confirmation he died.

And no RaRa did not deserve to have her father die AND the love of her life. Jun didn’t deserve it either and I know that’s not how life works BELIEVE me I know...but I don’t need it in my KDrama that was supposed to end happy.

And her happy in the future without the love of her life is NOT a happy ending to me.....Why must you Bonnie and Enzo me!?

Also that reference to TVD OTP is evidence of my LOVE for RaRa and Jun if my brain is making Bonnie and Enzo parallels.

In the midst of this I’m so proud of myself for processing and feeling my feelings and being present I can’t even. Well done me.

FIIIIIVVVEEE YEARS LATERR!!!!!

Wait a second what happening why is there a baby?

I don’t know if this is good our bad!. I’m conflicted the child is adorable...what?! is it their child?!

If it is and Jun didn’t get to know or meet it I’m still very upset.

Whooooooo’s Appa?!?!

Aaaaaaaaahhhhyhhy wwhwhwwhhhhaaaaatttt iiissishshss. Happpaaaneingging

Oh okay that makes more sense about Appa. And their married that’s cute even in the midst of other things

Great so she’s happy and alone is that’s what happening here? NOT a happy ending but if you marry her to someone else I will cut you so there’s that. This drama is bringing out my salty and violent words side on the internet so I apologize to the writers(I won’t really cut you) (double apologize after seeing the ending...I’m sorry...I was under a lot of stress)

Yes if Ha Yeong gets to join TWD Seung Gi should too.

Awww good for Jae Min

Hariboji died too that’s so great.

Yes talk about the people who are no longer with you but WHY is that’s the case?!?

Yes never forget them

Dr Cha gave his ex wife/current girlfriend lettuce.....Lettuce....aaaahhhh

I’m genuinely happy for all other couples who are together but come on kisses if you are trying to heal my heart with them I WANT kisses. Especially for my five year’s married cuties.

Never going to be over Jun being in pain NEVER.

I have a twitch and it’s probably Lyme related but I’m going to blame this episode.

I’m just waiting for the confusion to drop because I know the ending confusing...I even had my Mom google if he died because I thought it’d be better to know but she couldn’t find out anything and considering some of your reactions I’m wainting for the confusion to hit.

Whaaaaattttssss happening? Goodness he looks good in a suit but what’s happening?

What’s happening you said he died?! Is RaRa dead? Why would he lie? I need an explanation?! Can I hope?! I don’t need it all explained just CAN I HOPE?!

Oh goodness that’s so mean to let me and someone believe your dead...but he’s not dead....I’m crying and laughing like I was at the end of Angel’s Last Mission love...this is going to take time to recover from. Slightly hyper ventilating. Very confused about my feelings

You also need to wipe my tears and help me believe you’re real Jun.

Okay underneath all the Lyme and depression I AM an optimist and I’ve hoped for happy endings with less....but I don’t think this drama will ever be unlinked with sorrow and slight confusion for me because of all the pain I went through.

I’m just hoping I can believe the end more as I process more even though it’s a terrible thing to do to someone and I suffered emotional trauma along with my characters.

I think ever watcher should receive complementary kisses from Lee Jae Wook to help us heal.

So I’m guessing they are saying he though he was dying and maybe he was...I’ve had close calls and so have many I loved. And then there was a miracle but he wanted to wait until fully recovered to tell them...and recover can take a long time. I have Lyme which is just as hard to treat as cancer(more so in some ways because we don’t get the funding...no disrespect in the meant to meant to cancer patients THEY deserve ALL the funding)

And a modest optimism for me would probably be five years at recovery...so I understand the time jump.

And I can’t believe he would make them all believe he was dying unless he thought he was because that’s to cruel....But maybe...I still love him even though that’s terrible. And am very grateful he alive but wouldn’t have minded even more confirmed for my nervous system.

I disconnect a little at the end but still proud of myself for mostly being connected and feeling my feelings....I think waiting was a good idea because despite this raither lengthy feels writing I actually did pretty good emotionally speaking.

I didn’t shut down I actually cried. That’s good for me. And I didn’t feel totally impaled by the sadness! Yay me! And I was even able to connect with my sad dramatic side and enjoy some of the sadness..super proud of myself.

I enjoy Scifi so I’m actually pretty okay with death loopholes and appreciate the writer for using one.

The biggest thing for me is he didn’t die...I can forgive a lot since he didn’t die.

I am still kinda fragile so I can’t really handle discourse about the ending.

Hearts to you and your processing journey but I’m an empath so I can’t really handle others feels at this time.