#wanting children to have a safe and happy future even after he is dead

[lialovesstuff]

Idk how to explain it but seeing Taiya so distressed was actually kind of scary

I think it’s mainly because we are so used to seeing a side of him that’s quite positive, going for what he wants and always saying how “bakuage da na” something is

And now seeing him in a state where his voice is shaking, with visible sadness in his eyes and barely eating and sleeping is something I never thought we would see

Also Taiya is someone who is so ready to help others when they need it but when it comes to accepting help from others Taiya has a hard time 🥺 I get that he wants to dedicate his life to help people but Taiya you’re only human too please ask for help when you need it and don’t take on all the worlds problems on your shoulders

LIKE I FEEL FOR THE GUY HE HAS LOST ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING AND I JUST WANT TO GIVE HIM A HUG

[karuuhnia]

TF2 Chapter 7 - Karuuhnia's analysis

Christmas came early for the TF2 fandom this year, didn't it? (Well, it really came 7 years LATE if we're completely honest lol)

It was an emotional rollercoaster and had a happy, wholesome ending and conclusion for both the mercs and for us. Several mysteries from the past comics were resolved.

And you know me: I love to overthink and overanalyze every bit of lore and story that I can get my fingers on lmao

So here's my essay:

A) Solved mysteries

1. What the Administrator was planning

It turns out: There WAS no evil plan of world domination or whatever. Just pure hatred for a man who ruined her life - apparently. It's been so long she doesn't even remember the reason. But the thought of revenge was enough to fuel her every life choice.

And to think, it all could have ended in the 1850s already - if it weren't for smart-ass Gray Mann and his narcissistic tendencies to brag about his knowledge and plans. (How he himself figured this out is never explained.)

He was the one who introduced the Administrator to Australium in the first place, around 1850ish. If he hadn't told her that it could bring people back from the dead and prolong life, the senseless Gravel War would have ended with Blutarch's and Redmond's natural deaths.

Well, on the other hand we must be glad that the conflict didn't go on even longer.

Since Dell stated that none of his family members ever went into the room where Zepheniah was kept, the Administrator must have build all of that herself, right? That would certainly explain why it looks so crude and consumes so much Australium. I mean, look at this construction and then compare it to the one Dell built:

The Mark 5 machine gave her ~6 months of life for just a tiny flask of Australium. Imagine what would have happened if one of the Conaghers had improved Zeph's machine as well! She could have kept the zombiefied corpse in a living nightmare for many centuries more instead of burning through tons and tons of Australium so quickly. Good thing it didn't come to that.

2. Who helped the Administrator

Well, we didn't get a clear answer, but I think it's safe to conclude now that it was the Administrator's elite merc teams A-E that obtained all the Australium during the 6 months Miss Pauling and the TF2 team went off the grid. Which only further proves that the Administrator did not really care for Pauling at all and only came to her and her "team of rejects" as a last resort, after everything else had failed.

It's really heartbreaking how much Pauling admired her and wanted to be her trusted second-in-command while the Admin apparently never even invited her to the secret HQ. Nobody there even KNEW of Team Fortress after all. It was such a relief to see Pauling let go in the end and choose a free life instead.

3. Scout's second chance

Well, not really a mystery here, but I really like how Scout had an epiphany that there were other girls out there that would like him as he was and moved on from Miss Pauling. There was no heartbreak, no animosity, no rejection. They are still friends and support each other! I love it!

And then Scout even saved all of humanity by having sex with several women so that God wouldn't have to destroy the world! What a great, selfless guy he is!

I really love Spy and Scout after the time skip. No more bickering, no more annoyance, no more mean comments, just kindness. Spy is also so sweet to his grandchildren! ADSGFSDAF

I hope they all remain in contact and on good terms. Because let's not forget: Scout's health isn't good and he even has a confirmed death date. Which is only 8 years into the future of 1979.

All of his orphaned children would still be minors at that point. When it comes to that I hope Spy and Scout's Ma can take care of their grandchildren.

4. What Charles Darling and Maggie were planning

Darling stated he wanted to obtain Australium in order to make his rare animals immortal and in return he would get Saxton's company back.

The way Maggie always reacted to Saxton led me to believe she knew Darling was planning something ELSE and she felt bad for not telling Saxton and having to betray him in the end:

But turns out, I probably just misinterpreted Maggie's facial expressions. She looked so sad because she loved going on adventures with Saxton again and just hated the thought that he'd go back to Mann Co. afterwards.

I'm very happy that in the end Saxton let go of the company and spent the rest of his days punching wild animals with his true love! (Although he might have started a war again, now between Reddy and Bidwell lol)

B) Unsolved and new mysteries

However, as much as I loved the last chapter, I feel there are still a lot of things that were never cleared up or adequately explained.

So after re-reading every single comic and update page these are some other things I still find inconclusive:

1. Olivia Mann's mother

Not really that important to be fair, but still: Is she really the biological daughter of the 150 old mummy Gray Mann? If so, who is the poor woman who… mated with him and where is she now?

Or was Olivia adopted, abducted or grown in a lab? Well, at least she gets to live a happy and free life now and is provided for by the dad who stepped up. Good on you, Saxton!

2. Darling's knowledge

Back to Darling real quick: Why DID Maggie start working for her nemesis?

HOW did Charles Darling learn about Australium's properties and the Administrator's history?

There is also the fact that the Mann triplets' mother was a Darling!

These things were never brought up again! Whyyyyyyyy?????

3. What was all the set-up with the TFC mercs about?

The TFC mercs made several ominous remarks that made us believe there was more to them:

Both Virgil and Greg were trying to say something interesting, but then got cut off before the revelation. And especially TFC Heavy talked about dying as if it was an immediate danger to all of them. Sure, they were old, but they were still going strong, being able to kill all of the Admin's elite teams after all.

4. Fred's destiny (and identity?)

In Chapter 6 Spy disguised as Fred, trying to trick Virgil. After being found out, the two had this conversation:

Spy managed to impersonate Fred really well apparently. That means he must have studied Fred's personality, mannerisms and way of speaking before he went to Virgil. That also means he must have spent quite a while talking to and studying Fred. Did he and Sniper capture and interrogate him? But more importantly: What happened afterwards? Tbh, they probably just killed him off-screen after learning what they needed.

Because I no longer believe that Fred was Dell's father, as much as that sucks. It would have made for a great plot point and possible conflict within the team.

But Fred obviously had no idea about anything related to Australium or the immortality machines.

Since later on in Chapter 7 Dell says that neither his grandfather, his father nor he himself ever set foot in that basement, we can conclude that they all knew that the Administrator was hiding something nefarious down there. Which also means they WORKED for her and thus must have also worked on her immortality machine. So it makes no sense that Fred would not know anything about that if he really were Dell's father.

That still leaves us with the question: Why was young Fred in the photo with child Dell? Or WAS this guy even Fred?

I mean, a lot can happen in 40ish years between those two pictures:

But my new headcanon now is: These two are not the same person. TFC Medic had to replaced by our beloved Dr. Herbert Ludwig (still not over that name btw lmao), so who says the original TFC Engie wasn't replaced too at one point? TFC Heavy was very obviously worried about his friends dying one after the other.

Virgil said he knew Fred since before the war. So maybe after Dell's father died/left the team, Virgil told TFC Heavy about his old comrade Fred who also happened to be an Engineer. And only then Fred became part of TFC.

But as I said, that's just my headcanon. In reality it's probably just an inconsistency over the many years of convoluted lore. lol

5. Soldier's cave, covered in Australium

In A Cold Day in Hell Soldier and Zhanna have the following conversation:

First it's a stink-barn, then he claims to be homeless. But in Chapter 7 Heavy suddenly says that Soldier lives in a cave.

And it turns out there is tons of Australium in that cave! Now of course I wonder: When did Soldier move into that cave and where is it located? We were always told that Australium only exists in Australia. But I highly doubt this American patriot owns a cave in Australia. Also, how is it possible that the Admin and the elite mercs never managed to find this cave? Did they just not bother to look in America because all known Australium is in Australia?

So in return, does that mean that Australium is NOT exclusive to Australia after all? If so, there could still be hidden caches of the stuff anywhere on Earth. At least the Admin and Gray Mann are no longer around to collect it and Miss Pauling does not look for it anymore either. The only one who still has an interest in it is Charles Darling. Him again...

6. Soldier with the photo of the Mann family

Quick reminder: This is the only version of the family photo we'd seen up until this point:

But when Soldier and Merasmus are held by the mafia and the wizard asks him why he needed so much money, Soldier pulls out an intact, unteared photograph of the Mann family!!!

His thumb conveniently covers up the still unknown person standing in the middle. How did Soldier obtain this photo? How does he even know who everyone is, considering he's, well, Soldier?

Could he have any relations to the unknown person in the middle? And why DOES he need so much money (granted, it was only like 20 $ in the end, but still lol)?

Am I just overthinking this? Has anyone an explanation??? Is he and if yes, HOW is Soldier connected to the frigging Mann family??????

*cough* Anyway. This concludes my analysis of the TF2 lore. For now. If I come up with more things or if Valve ever decides to continue the story (That was a joke, haha, fat chance), I will come back to this. In the meantime, thank you for reading this and please feel free to share your own ideas and opinions! I'd love to read all of it! ❤️

[kindaasrikal]

It’s been stated in the show that it’s been years since the merge has happened. Meaning its been years since Morro chose to be the guardian of the Spectral Lands.

So, here are some headcanons.

I think some ghosts, like Soul Archer or Bansha, stuck around a bit to either mess with Morro, help him, or because they weren’t ready to leave. I highly doubt Morro and the others ghosts he was with were ever close, but they were the only things they each had, so i think they very reluctantly began to care for one another, as much as they were capable to at the very least.

Morro, after taking on the duty to be the guardian and guider for the Spectral Lands and for dead souls, was forced into having many conversations he didn’t want at the beginning as he helped people drink from the well. From Mystake and her cryptic words, where he learnt years ago how to translate from another, on his mistakes and his future. From a Sensei Garmadon who tells Morro that he is proud of what the other has finally become. From the other ghosts from his team (Bansha, Soul Archer, Ghoultar, Howla, Wrayth) very reluctantly giving him their thanks and well wishes. From previous elemental masters and their own wisdom. To those he killed himself. I don’t think he’s ever had to deal with so many people who had so many words for him.

Through the flashback episode with Sora and Arin, it’s shown many children are either missing or kidnapped, meaning many could also be dead due to tragic reasons. Imagine the amount of children Morro had to sooth before sending off.

Morro, as we know him, was a lot sharper and louder before. Now, however, he seems quieter and softer than he was, wise even. I think thats because he was forced into helping newly dead children. I think he saw himself in their eyes and couldn’t help but remember the child that died when he left the monastery and the teen that died in a cave alone. He can’t help but remember how scary it was. He can’t help the way he needs to protect these children and sooth their woes before they are sent to a better place.

Sometimes, i think some kids weren’t ready to leave yet, so they would stick around Morro who was forced into playing with them when it was safe. He would even spend hours getting rid of the souleaters to take care of the kids who stuck around.

When they would leave, he couldn’t help but feel weighed down by the loneliness.

He dissociates often now, not having much to do in between fighting souleater and guiding lost souls.

Sometimes, Morro hold conversations with the wind, as if he can still hear it like how it does even now. At least, he hoped his old friend still listen to him. Morro knows he can’t blame the wind for not listening though, not after all he’d done to it.

Morro is very melancholy now after years of fighting and surviving. Sometimes, the silence and simple tasks he now has is much appreciated.

Other times, he can’t help the way he stop and doesn’t move for hours as he thinks. And thinks and thinks and thinks.

As much as a lot of us miss his green streak, I think he was far too happy to have it finally gone from his head.

Imagine him having to convince the preeminent to drink from the fountain to pass on, i think that was the biggest test of his patience yet.

In the silence, newly arrived dead souls can hear the sorrow footsteps of a dance long forgotten.

He hums to himself often to fill in the silence. He isn’t used to everything being so quiet, usually having other ghosts or his wind beside him. Now though, all he really has is himself. All he really ever had, was himself.

At the beginning of it all and of his duty he would wait very panicky as he practiced a speech of apology over and over again for the ninja or Wu to show up.

I think Morro accidentally noticed Lloyd from afar and began panicking. When he finally made up his mind to go and apologise, he full on slumped when he noticed they already left. He started insulting himself right after.

When Morro first met the souleaters, he thought they were adorable little beast and wanted to tame one. Never again will he make that mistake.

He’s now capable of sleeping, thought he doesn’t need too, and its not like he could sleep with everything constantly going on around him.

When he met Arin, he really had to hold back the urge to both squish him and throw him off the damn mountain.

I think he’s gotten really used to having to stop idiots from running forward into their deaths part 2.

And thats all I’ve got here you guys go

[daisyjonesgf]

the river (1) // finnick odair x f.reader

summary: the Capitol has taken you away from Finnick, the life you've been trying to build together and now he has to fight to get every part of you back

the end of a trilogy

the lakes/next chapter

masterlist

7.2k words

warnings: angst, fluff, mental illness, suicidal ideations, self hate, young finnick and reader dynamics, a love triangle that was never a love triangle, smug finnick, it's so cheesey, pining, this is not a slow burn, implied soulmates, unedited, no use of y/n, allusions to trafficking, mentions of torture

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Finnick’s been staring blankly at the hovercrafts’ walls for longer than he can imagine, since it had stopped waiting and left you for dead in the dilapidated arena. He knew if he reacted the way he wanted too they would sedate him and currently he needed to live with his guilt. He should've refused to let you go with Katniss, or have torn out your tracker himself. Most importantly he should never have told you about the rebel plan, of course he only revealed the basics on how you were to get Katniss out of the arena and go to District 13, but that could seriously jeopardize any semblance of sympathy the Capitol would have for you. 

He imagined you on the beach, devoting your life and love to him, and how before Snow broke or killed you, maybe even both, he'd never given you a proper wedding. All the traditions from back home, in a proper ceremony, with a dress would never happen. A large part of him didn't even feel like fighting the rebellion for you, since there was a probability that if the rebels one, you wouldn't be there on the other side to greet him. What was the point of a life if your future, the happiness, the children you could have had if all of this was behind you, if you were gone forever.

Plutarch begins to say something, but Finnick raises his hand as if to indicate he can't listen or speak right now. He's trying not to snap, not to take control of the ship so he can immediately perform his own rescue mission. Of course people were going to get hurt, even die, in the cause of the rebellion, but it was never supposed to be you. Why was he cursed to love someone who refused to patiently wait for him, who needed to be a part of the action? That's what had always been so magnetic about you though, the way you refused to fall into any constraints about how your life should be lived. Maybe, if you hadn't been left consumed by guilt after your first Games, you would've heard his plea and helped the rebellion from home, or he would've never told you about it at all to keep you safe. But that was wistful thinking, instead compassionate, worried, steadfast, beautiful you was in the grasp of the Capitol.

He decided he couldn't stay quiet any longer, he doesn't care if it's futile, what type of husband would leave his wife behind? For years you'd been fragile, like a bomb waiting to detonate, and he'd done whatever he could for you, he couldn't just give up on that now. You would have done it for him, you would have thrown yourself out of the hovercraft to save him, and knowing that hurt him and made him love you more. Finnick had spent years trying to prove to you that life was worth living even if you refused to admit that you felt that way, which in truth, caused him to grieve for the version of you from before the Games. The you that longed for a life that wasn't expected, to be lead by her heart and the wind, to be excited, until suddenly it was the you who didn't think she was worth being trusted, the you who stayed up wishing for death, and the you who wanted him, but felt guilty for it. Snow had taken that away from him, away from you, and now would take more from you. Finnick couldn't help but wonder how much was left to take, you had your compassion, your humor, your love, and if that was gone you'd be a husk of paranoia that he would desperately work to restore. Maybe death would have been kinder.

“Communications are down in seven, ten, and twelve. But eleven has control of transportation now, so there's hope of getting some food out." Plutarch says to Haymitch and Finnick can no longer be quiet.

"We have to go back.” His voice is hoarse, cracking with each syllable.

"I'm sorry, you know we can't do that. Her tracker was still in, they've definitely got her by now.” Plutarch tries to sound somewhat sympathetic, but it doesn't work.

“She's smart, she'll think of some way to pretend she knows less about the rebellion. If she can convince them of that, then she'll be used as bait.” Haymitch sounds so sure of himself, but Finnick isn't. You hadn't known too much, but not only were you willing to do anything if someone threatened him, you were like a glass sitting on the edge of the table, with one nudge you'd shatter.

Finnick starts shaking his head, “No, we have to-" Whatever plea he's started to make is interrupted as Katniss bangs through the door. 

“Done knocking yourself out, sweetheart?" Haymitch focuses on Katniss, “So it's you and your syringe against the Capitol? See, this is why no one lets you make the plans." He's chuckling slightly, but only Plutarch would also want to laugh right now. “Drop it." He's forced Katniss to get rid of the syringe and sits down by Finnick, who's been infested with thoughts about how if he hadn't let Haymitch convince him of putting Katniss and Peeta first, he could've focused on you. 

They're rambling an explanation of the rebellion to Katniss and Finnick is left once again wondering if he could hijack the ship. Snow probably wants him to, expects him too. You probably don't blame him, but Finnick knows your self-destructive ways. First, you'll try to find ways to end it all, and do nothing but mourn him, then you'll start to convince yourself maybe he left you on purpose, that you weren't stable or trustworthy enough to help with the rebellion, but you still wouldn't blame him, you'd tell yourself it's what you deserved. Finnick needed to be there to intercept the doubt before you ate yourself alive. Additionally, he didn't know how long he could last without you as an anchor, his sweet girl, refusing to acknowledge her own problems while trying to keep him afloat.

“I still don't understand why Peeta and I weren't let in on the plan." Katniss is saying, her voice just as broken as Finnick's had been.

“Because when the force field blew you'd be the first ones they'd try to capture, and, the less you knew, the better.” Haymitch explains.

"The first ones? Why?”

"For the same reason the rest of us agreed to die to keep you alive.” Finnick finally chimes in although he resents the words he's saying. He should've instead let you work your magic, try to convince someone to volunteer for him ahead of time, and stayed at home with you. If he stayed there was a higher chance you would too, yet maybe you would've gone over his head and decided you still couldn't live with yourself if you didn't volunteer.

"No, Johanna tried to kill me.” Katniss argues.

"Johanna knocked you out to take out the tracker from your arm and lead Brutus and Enobaria away from you.” Haymitch is seemingly getting exhausted and annoyed from all the explanations he owes her.

“What? I don't know what you're-"

Plutarch interrupts her, “We have to save you because you're the Mockingjay, Katniss. While you live, the revolution lives."

More words are mumbled and Finnick's head buzzes, it wasn't worth fighting the revolution if he couldn't do it with you. There was no way he could stomach it without your help, there's no way you would admit to it, but you kept him from drowning.

The way Katniss hisses at Haymitch helps Finnick zone back in, “Where is Peeta?" She's finally caught on, that her survival is without the person she loves safety.

“He was picked up by the Capitol along with Johanna, Enobaria, and-" Finnick hits the table interrupting Haymitch's train of thought. No one can be outraged at him for long though because Katniss has launched herself at Haymitch, screaming, and scratching, he's screaming back and Finnick is forced to leap into action. Katniss is only doing what he so desperately has been holding back on, how dare these people not understand that you had to be saved too. Yet he's dragging her off, back to her bed, to be tied down, sedated.

“Katniss. Katniss, I'm sorry. I wanted to save all of them, but I couldn't move." Finnick whispers, he doesn't know when he started crying, but he has. When the lighting hit the tree and Katniss' arrow had flown, the burst of electricity had left him helpless, frozen on the ground when he could hear you in the distance, screaming for him. “It's better for him, they'll figure out he doesn't know anything pretty fast. And they won't kill him if they can use him against you.

“Does she know too much or will she be used as bait, Finnick?" Katniss' voice is hazy in the mess of the sedation, but it's clear she's not very empathetic with her statement.

Finnick lets the tears take over him, weeping for you, how he couldn't save you. “I wish she were dead." He quietly admits, probably echoing something you'd agree with. "I wish they were all dead and we were too. It would be best.” Katniss is far gone, but Finnick can't stand his own thoughts any longer. He's basically begging to be sedated until they let him, he wants for it to stop the thoughts, leave him in a world where he's still with you. Even if you haunt his dreams. 

             𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

He knew of you, from school, from the similar social scenes, and you were well liked enough, but although he'd never admit it, Finnick Odair had never been confident enough to talk to you. Maybe it's because so many people spoke highly of you, but you'd never approached him. Shamefully he was a passive admirer, watching as you laughed at parties, nursed drunk friends, charmed customers at the markets. Maybe though he was scared that the person who everyone considered genuine would reject him as a person worth being around, see him the way he saw himself.

One sunny day in the market though he decided he had to take the step, see if were really the way people described you as, and possibly put to rest the infatuation he'd had for you. One that had really sparked when one of fair-weather friends, Beckett, had mentioned how you'd basically saved his life when he was drunk by a dock after another party. Kind, but brazen especially when Beckett tried to pay back the favor the next day by walking you home. Eventually the same night he told Finnick about you, he'd left to find you at the party and your magnetic company. You just seemed to draw people to you, a charm that Finnick couldn't resist much longer.

So there you were, flashing your tooth bearing smile to every potential customer. He'd talked to plenty of pretty girls before, but usually they introduced themselves to him, and the fact he barely existed to you certainly made you more intriguing. The moment the customer you were with was gone he forced himself up to your booth, one that was full of crates with huge crabs. 

“Most of what the Capitol serves is from here anyways, so it's certainly not a downgrade." Your sweet, peachy voice spoke first and Finnick was somewhat taken aback, unintentionally sending you a quizzical look. “The crabs." You smiled, probably wondering why he didn't pick that up the first time.

“Oh, yes, of course, the crabs." He feigned interest in one, picking it up.

“You know, if you're not here for the crabs you better say something before I start listing off facts." Finnick decided he wouldn't mind that, your voice soothed his ears, but more importantly he'd been given a piece of who you were.

“Who says I'm not here to talk about crabs?" His natural playfulness shined through any persona he was scared he would have to put on if you weren't like he'd been told about, observed. For less then a second there was a flash of what must have been embarrassment in your eyes that quickly subsided with a shrug of your shoulders.

“They're caught in the-" Finnick couldn't stop himself from laughing when you diligently started on your promised list.

“No, please, you'll bore me to death. Guilty as charged, I'm not here to talk about crabs." He put down the crab he'd been holding, hands in the air.

You leaned on the counter, hands propping up your face, “Okay then, what are you here to talk about, Mr. Odair?"

“Finnick." He said almost too quickly for his liking, “Just wanted to talk to you." It was cocky the way he said it, but he couldn't help himself when you seemed so ready to bite back.

“Flattered, Finnick." You paused, like you were waiting for him to say something, “I'm working."

“And I'm a customer."

“Are you planning on buying anything?" Your hands moved from your face to the counter top.

“Maybe." He shrugged, his usual smug smile making its appearance. 

You sighed like you were defeated, but your body language said otherwise. Maybe you'd wanted to talk to him just as much, but he'd been the one holding out on you. He'd like to think that even if it was presumptuous. “So, what does the Finnick Odair want to talk to me about?”

He didn't really know what he wanted to talk about, just that he wanted to talk to you. "The party, tomorrow night, are you coming?” It was a stupid question, you were at all of them, but much to his amusement you shrugged.

"Depends.”

"Depends on what?”

“Do you want me there?" You were bold and your aura exuded that even though if he stared deep enough into your eyes he could sense it hid other feelings.

“Are you flirting with me?" He clicked his tongue, head shaking as if it wasn't what he wanted.

“No."

“I don't believe you."

“Well it's your party, your house, I'm just asking permission." Your eyes widened, feigning innocence, and he decided you were nothing in short of perfect. Maybe he was just clouded because someone finally wasn't oooo’ing or ahhhh’ing at him. Or because he'd admired you from afar for so long that anything you said would be enough to draw him in. He also didn't really care because he'd made up his mind about liking your presence, more than that off any of his fickle friends.

“You've never asked permission before." The look on your face told him he'd caught you, that was your brain racking for a response before your face could slip back into its soft smile.

“You've never talked to me before." Maybe your words were even, but the way you fiddled with your necklace spoke measures to him.

“So you just show up at the houses of men you've never talked too?" Finnick teased, but he knew you'd always had plenty of invites from other people unlike the crazy fans who'd try to push their way into his home. Regardless, the parties were a way for him to keep up Capitol appearances and drown out his sorrows, so extra guests with actual connections to his social group hardly bothered him.

“If you wanted to talk to tell me it feels like I'm intruding, then you can just come out and say it. I get it and I won't go." You maintained a somewhat playful sound, but were so genuine it shocked him. So willing to give up your entire social scene if it made him slightly uncomfortable.

“No, I do want you there." He felt like he said it much too quickly, but he didn't regret it when your smile widened.

“Okay." You bit your bottom lip when another presence was ducking into the booth beside you. The local healer who whispered something to you. “You know you can have as many as you want for it, we can't thank you enough." You said earnestly. He handed you a couple of bottles of some type of medicine that you shoved into a netted bag before grabbing him a smaller box.

“Four or five?" The man said quietly and you filled the box with crabs before handing it to him. “Thank you, now you tell your mom I wished her the best and let me know how she's doing."

“Will do." You smiled as the man scurried off. “Sorry about that." Your attention was back on Finnick.

“Is your mom not well?" It was an obvious question but he wanted to show he cared, you just waved your hand in dismissal.

“She's okay, don't worry about it." So he respected the fact you didn't feel like opening up about it and moved onto playful banter again. “If you want me there and already knew I'd be there, why are you talking to me now?" You led the conversation back and it was obvious to him that it was a sore subject, perhaps you were one of those people who didn't like to trouble others with their problems. 

“I can't talk to a pretty girl?” 

"You talk to pretty girls all the time, Finnick Odair, and you've never talked to me before.” Your hands settled back up to support your face. 

He leaned in closer, “Don't tell anyone, but maybe I needed to hype myself up before I talked to the prettiest one." Your laugh was addictive and he wished he could've seen more of how your face scrunched up when you buried it in your hands. 

“God, you're treacherous." One of your hands decided to nervously play with an earring and the other went back to the necklace. “I bet that's what you tell all the pretty girls." Finnick's ears were blessed with another nervous laugh.

“Just you." He winked, grateful that he'd found an easy rhythm in talking to you. You were teasable, but would bite back, for the first time in a while he was glad he trusted his observations.

“You know flirting with the girl at the market to get free food only works for people not famous all across Panem."

“Good thing that's not why I'm flirting with the girl at the market then." 

Your face was once again buried in your hands with a giggle, "You're dreadful. Is this how you usually entrap a girl, don't speak to her, and then it's all sweet talk?” 

Finnick wished he could say it's because seeing you around gave him unexplainable butterflies deep within his stomach, but that wasn't a very suave explanation. “I had to make sure you didn't have a boyfriend first.” His voice was low and he could tell it was giving you goosebumps, or maybe you were just cold in your sundress.

"Oh, you're bold." You guffawed, “Besides you already have a hole in your story, there isn't a single person anyone would think I'm dating.”

"That's a bold-faced lie, sweet girl, most people think you do since he's always trailing around like a lost puppy.” If he was lucky you would melt at the pet name and you somewhat did before you scoffed.

"Who?" You didn't seem like the oblivious type, but so earnestly confused.

Finnick's eyes dragged over to a nearby booth where the subject stood, sulking and your eyes followed, “Looks like he might attack."

“Conway?" You shook your head so earnestly it made Finnick feel like he could blush from how ardently you wanted him to know you weren't taken. “No, no, no, no! God, no, he's just my friend. We're friends.”

"Have you told him that?” He smirked.

You were so cute, when you were biting back, when you were nervous, when you were embarrassed, he didn't know how a person could manage to be so adorable all the time. “Yes, he knows that, he's just, well he's just Conway. It's just a phase, he'll grow out of it." You rubbed your neck as a much more forced laugh escaped those perfect lips.

“Hopefully, looks like he's coming over to rip my throat out. Please come to my funeral, front row, no roses on the coffin, lilies preferably." Finnick pulled a faux terrified face as he clasped his hands together with his plea, successfully turning your laugh into a much more genuine one.

“Hi, Princess." Conway approached the booth and Finnick wondered how you could ever think he was getting over you. Behind the brunette's back he shot you a look, teasing you for as much which you seemed to instantly understand as you bit your lip with a shrug.

"Hey, Conway. You guys finished up?" You asked, that dazzling smile on your face.

“Yeah, mom was wondering if you wanted to come over for dinner tonight? Nixie and Delta had something they were excited to show you.” 

“Yes of course! Tell them I have something for them too, and I'll meet you guys after I've dropped everything off at home."

“I'll walk you."

“I'm gonna walk her home." Finnick seized the opportunity, even if you said you were just friends he couldn't let himself lose the build up he was working for. Conway looked at him like he'd forgotten he was there and was angered to have remembered. “If you want me to, do you want me to?" Finnick looked back at you and you genuinely had a look of complete confusion.

"I always walk you home.” Conway said softly and Finnick wished he felt worse for interfering with another person's love, but he couldn't help that he felt a spark just by looking at you and fireworks in your presence.

"You wanna walk me home?” Your eyes were glued on Finnick, like you thought he'd just been bored and was going to leave after finding his enjoyment in flirting with you. He wanted to get inside your head, see why you were so vulnerable, prove to you that you deserved to feel better about yourself.

"Of course I do, sweet girl.” His voice was less focused on being charming and so earnest it rewarded him with the happiest, biggest smile he'd gotten out of you.

“I'll walk you home after dinner though, that way you're not walking home alone in the dark." Conway inserted himself once again and after a pause you shook yourself out of whatever haze you were in to turn to him.

“Thank you so much, you're so kind, Conway. Either way I still have to wait until everything closes or I sell out, so it could be a while."

“Oh, mom sent me over to buy the last half crate for dinner tomorrow,we've got some extra wiggle room, and we're all tired of trout and crawfish all the time. So a little something special until I'm sure we'll all get tired of the leftovers. Do you want to come tomorrow too?" He pulled out the money from his pocket to slip into your hand.

“Lucky you, I hope you all enjoy it!" You took the money to put into the small metal box where you must have been storing the cash. “I've got plans tomorrow or else I definitely would." You picked up a box to move the crabs into.

“Is there a party? You should've told me, mom won't want me to miss tomorrow and you'll have no one with you."

“Conway, as much as I appreciate the sentiment, I don't need to be watched over. I'm perfectly capable of myself." You handed him the crate, “Besides you hate going to them and I don't want to drag you to one just for you to mope in the corner."

“And I'll be there anyways." Finnick raised his hand as if to remind everyone he was still there and you did seem to soften when you looked at him.

“Yeah, Finnick, will be there. I'll be fine!" 

Conway took a step closer to you as he filled his box, trying to whisper, but it wasn't hard for Finnick to eavesdrop. "You barely know him.” 

You glared back at Conway and mouthed a ‘Stop it!" The much taller man seemed to reluctantly relent as he stepped away. “I just have to close everything up then, and I'll be ready to go." You look back at Finnick who nods and smiles.

“Let me help you."

“Oh no, you don't have to do that!" You quickly assure.

"Angel, I want to.” You seem to respond well to that pet name as well whereas Conway is instantly glaring into Finnick's head. He doesn't mean to be cocky, but Finnick can't resist a cocky shrug to the other man the moment you're going to retrieve your bag and the little metal container of money to shove into it. Finnick’s nimble fingers are quickly undoing the ropes holding the top up.

You exit the structure and walk up to him, “How'd you do that so fast, the knots always take me forever to undo."

Finnick can't hide his amusement with your awe,"Always been good with knots, I could show you sometime.” 

You're nodding in agreement when suddenly your mouth is agape and you're playfully shoving him, “Finnick Odair, I hardly know you!"

“That's not what I meant, honestly!" He defends, laughing, and he's being truthful. It hadn't crossed his mind when he said it, he would love to show you how to tie a rope, he'd always found it calming. “Says a lot that your mind jumped to that though." He tilts his head and the way your eyes widen makes him wish he could feel how hot your face must be by now. 

“You do barely know him." Conway mutters and Finnick wishes he would disappear.

You seem to regain your composure and point to the left, “I'm about 30 minutes that way, so you really don't have to walk me home if you don't want to, it's long."

“Stop worrying about me, I'm certain I want to walk you home."

You're nodding softly and biting your bottom lip, "Okay.” Swiftly you're leading the way, both men trailing behind and Finnick is annoyed that Conway is still sticking around, before he realizes his family's booth is in that direction. Suddenly you're stopping before basically leaping towards a booth, a fruit booth Finnick recognizes. “Douglas, you have peaches! Why didn't you say anything?"

The older man chuckles and gives you a knowing look, “Because you can't afford them and will barter me for them."

You gasp in mock offense, “So rude and after all this time too, Mrs. Damaris would be astounded by your behavior.” 

"You know if you sneak me a couple of crabs tomorrow I'd give you a whole bag.” 

"Your father would be angry-” Conway begins some sort of lecture when you're snapping at him like you'd also like to be rid of his presence.

"I know, Conway.” The look you shoot at him could kill, and Finnick feels a weird sense of elation knowing you're more peeved that Conway won't let you be alone with Finnick. 

“Then I'm sorry, sweetheart, nothing's going to work on me this time. I've prepared myself."

Finnick is already pulling out his money, “It's okay, I've got it."

“No." Your resistance shocks him, he's used to people begging to be around his wealth and to charm you he's more than willing to she'll it out. “You're not buying things for me, Finnick. I'm serious." He says nothing, but doesn't return his money back to his pocket. 

“Come on, princess, you'll live without one." Conway manages to still sound so kind and you purse your lips, refusing to satisfy the man you feel pestered by with a response. Finnick is busy trying to silently communicate with the vendor that whatever you try to barter he'll give him the money right after.

“My ring?" You hold up your hand, waving the finger around and the older man shakes his head.

“I can't accept every piece of jewelry you find on the beach."

You sigh dramatically and Finnick thinks he's finally been able to indicate to the vendor. “Mrs. Damaris would love this necklace, look it's got an actual ruby in it and I didn't find it. Someone gave it to me, it's worth a lot more than a peach and I only want one.” The man reluctantly exhales, glasses at the end of his nose, “Please Douglas, we barely ever get them here.” Your pout has to make you even more adorable and Finnick wonders how you can be so perfect.

“Fine!" The man grumbles with a sly smile and Finnick can tell the man would've taken the necklace even without the money he was about to give.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!" You gush as your fingers rush, struggling as you unclasp the necklace. Putting the necklace on the counter as the man hums. You take your time picking out the perfect peach before grabbing one, “I love you so much, Douglas, Mrs. Damaris is a lucky woman!" You began to walk off.

Douglas nods, “Sure she is, take care of yourself and bring some actual money next time." The moment your back is turned Finnick is putting the money on the table, with a little extra.

“Thank you." He mouths with a smile, grabbing the necklace.

“No, thank you. I've got no use for the necklace, or anything else she's given." The old man is shaking his head with a smile, grabbing the money. “You take care."

Finnick nods, catching up to you where he can hear another tense conversation between you and Conway. “God Conway, it doesn't matter. Tallulah gets me a gift every time I take care of her during a hangover because she feels bad, it doesn't matter. Yes it was pretty and I really liked it, but I'll tell her it fell off in the ocean and she'll buy me a new one.”

"You're just so careless sometimes, it's a fruit.” Conway shakes his head in disbelief.

"And it's just a necklace, what's your problem? It's not even from you, and it's not a big deal. I liked it, I'll probably miss it, but I might not have a peach for another year and Tallulah will have given me another gift by the end of the week for the hangover she'll definitely have from tomorrow night.”

"She's not a bank for you, and that trade was so uneven.”

"Why are you trying to make me feel guilty? That's not how I see her, I've been her friend for years and it's just how we work! You're being so weird about this and it's none of your business. I don't take her money, or ask for it, or let her pay for things, she just gives me them when I help her out!” Finnick finds himself being enraged at Conway for the way your voice shakes as you defend yourself, for the way he's making you seem selfish when you adamantly refused to let Finnick buy you something as small as a piece of fruit.

Finnick is suddenly standing beside you holding up the little heart necklace, it swinging in front of your face. You stop dead in your tracks, “Finnick." Your voice is so soft it makes him want to melt, "You don't even know me, Finnick. I don't need you to buy things for me, you don't have to do that. I traded it for a reason, go give it back.”

"He's much happier with the money, anyways, sweet girl. I have enough money to drown in, you're hardly breaking the bank with a peach. And I know you enough to want to do that for you. Can't a man buy things for a pretty girl?” You look like you might cry, but you don't allow yourself too and Finnick comes to the conclusion that you're not used to being helped, to have someone willing to just do things for you without some sort of transaction involved, and he's intent on changing that. "Red looks good on you, angel, let me put it back on you.” You're playing with your earrings as you finally slowly turn to let him clasp the necklace on. He adored the way you shiver when his fingers brush against your neck as he puts it on and the way you seem to miss his touch the moment it's gone. It's like fate designed the two of you to meet each other, to be perfect for one another and he's only just forced himself to talk to you.

He also gets a sick pleasure from how vexed it makes the other man vying for your affections. Within a few more steps you've arrived at the Delmare family booth and they're ecstatic to see you before they've calmed down. “I'll see you tonight?" Conway asks.

“Yes, of course." You offer a smile even though Finnick can tell you're still seething underneath and Conway nods somewhat sadly. You turn you back to him as keep walking, “So are you-"

“Yes, I'm sure I want to walk you home!" Finnick interrupts with a laugh and you accept the answer and finally begin to eat your peach.  “Let me take your bag." He offers, hand reaching for it.

"It's okay I've got it.” You must have decided you're able to slip back into your normal playful tone, and he curses Conway in his mind for making you anxious enough to ever stop in the first place, “I know you must be used to women throwing themselves at your feet, but we are in fact strong enough to carry our own bags."

“You have an indent in your shoulder from it." He remarks, with what he's sure must be an infuriatingly smug smirk. You don't look at him as you seem to reason in your head that it is quite heavy and slowly pry it off your shoulder. He's grabbing it from your hand before you're even reaching out and although it's nothing for him, he's surprised by the weight. “Good thing I want to carry your bag even if you're a woman throwing yourself at my feet." He clicks his tongue as the two of you stroll down the cobblestone street.

You elbow him softly, “I'd say you're throwing yourself at mine." 

“I'd agree and say I'm glad I am." 

“Finnick." Your voice is suddenly much more serious.

“Yes, angel?"

“Seriously, why are you talking to me?" He assumes you must be trying to protect yourself and it hurts him to think you'd ever imagine that his intentions were anything less than true. 

“Because I like you."

You laugh so delicately it could be carried into the breeze, “No you don't! We've never talked before, I mean you don't really know me at all."

“So you don't like me?" He teases, a glimmer in his eyes.

“No, I do, I mean, I just, that's different." You stutter through it, hands moving as you speak.

“How's it different?"

“Because you're you, you're Finnick Odair, everyone likes you and if they don't they're stupid. And I'm just, I mean I'm just some girl, who you've been trying to fluster."

“People talk about you too, I see you around, listen to you, what you say, what people say about you, and I've decided that I like you. And I think that if you didn't want to be flustered, you'd tell me. That's it, that's the explanation, and I'm talking to you so I can really know you.”

There's a silence where you must be deciding if you're satisfied with his answer, "What do you want to know about me?” The walk to your house seems to go by too fast with the stories and banter, the way you sass him back and then get ruffled when he makes flirty remarks before you make them back, and the way you savor each bite of that peach like you'll never have one again, which he'll make sure you will. He's already mourning your company when you're walking up to the door, “This is me, I know, it's not much to look at." It's a dilapidated little house, cracked, white brick and he can tell it used to be nice. You're slowly walking up to the door and he hopes you feel the same way he does.

"Go out with me tomorrow.” Finnick says abruptly.

"What?” You turn to him, trying to not act as giddy as he can tell you are.

"Tomorrow, just you and me, an actual date. It's a Sunday, so the market will be closed. We can picnic by the water, there's a lovely, private piece of beach in Victor's Village and we'll swim, we can do whatever else you want too.” He tries to sound nonchalant as he runs his hands through his hair.

"Okay.” You nodded, fingers running up and down the chain on your necklace. "Yes, I'd like that.”

"Okay, good, that's good.” He doesn't mean to seem desperate for your time, but he is. “I can be here at noon? I'll walk you." 

“Yeah." You muttered, by now you're both standing at your front door. Staring at him and he prays you'll never go inside and just stand here with him. “My bag."

“Sorry, yes, your bag!" He pulls it off his shoulder and feels more embarrassed than he ought to be, “Sorry!" But you just laugh it off as he hands it to you. 

"It's okay.” You're back is to the door, slowly pushing the handle. He wants to kiss you, but he's already moving so fast with everything else, he figures that he better let you have something to wait for even if it's disappointing to you know, it disappoints him too.

"I'll see you tomorrow, at 12.” He reiterates, feeling like a magnet being pushed away from his other half as he steps away, ready to fly back forward.

You do look somewhat let down as he moves away, but he has to be resilient,"Thank you, Finnick! Have a good night.”

"Have a good night, sweet girl!” He flashes his Panem adored smile and forces himself to turn his back towards you. Finnick decides he's glad he listened to the caverns of his soul when they called him to you. He can't help himself from being so forward with you when he's already so sure, like he's been with no one before, that you must be meant to be and he's running back to the marketplace praying that Douglas hadn't yet closed down shop.

             𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Doctors occasionally hover above him and the ceiling is white, which is all he knows when he's in his sedated state. Sometimes they let him be without, but he can't process their questions, not when he's thinking of you which sometimes leads him back to being sedated when he starts lashing out at the nurses and doctors. Screaming, insisting you need to be saved. He's not sure when he asked, but at some point they give him a piece of rope which he diligently ties knots in to calm himself. It always seemed to work until he thought about how hard he tried to help you master different knots, but your hands would fumble. At some point he'd become sure that you did it on purpose so that his fingers would be by yours and his back pressed up against you, but he didn't care, it was heartwarming. Then he would fly into a fit again.

The same thing had happened when they'd brought him some type of dry oatmeal usually with a mix of berries that made it barely tolerable, once he could've sworn he caught a whiff of peaches in it that had him desperately trying to inhale the scent. Sobbing over the bowl until his nose was so stuffed he could no longer smell it, smell you and the sobbing became too uncontrollable. The doctors couldn't calm him down and he was once again sedated.

For weeks that's all his life was. Haunted by you, what could be happening to you, all the things he missed about you and trying to stay calm enough that he wasn't being restrained or returned to a cloudy state. Although the sedation sometimes brought back good memories he could dissociate into, other times all he could picture were all the things the Capitol, that Snow could be doing to you.

What if you were still being sold off like some kind of doll on top of what you were having to endure. And you'd have no one to comfort you at the end of the day which would drive you to insanity. Or he could picture you hypothermic on the floor. Or being taunted with jabberjays screaming in his voice. Or it could be a violent torture. He could picture thousands of unpleasant things that made him wish the rope was long enough to be a noose.

Sometimes he'd picture the last time he saw you, begging with him to not be upset when you parted ways with Katniss' insistence. Each time he thought about it he'd come to a different conclusion. Most of the time he blamed himself for letting you go, for not fighting harder to stay together or not tearing out your tracker right before you left even if it alerted someone of the plan. Sometimes he'd blame Katniss for forcing your hand in the first place, why couldn't she have just followed the plan that had been so carefully structured out. And on a rare occasion he blamed you for trying to follow the objective of keeping Katniss safe and leaving him, for not remembering to take out the tracker, for not keeping your promise. Which would then make him sick with himself for thinking anything slightly negative about your actions when you were probably enduring unbearable lengths of pain for him, for the rebellion. 

On the lucky occasion where he wasn't heavily sedated he'd been anxiously tying small knots into the rope when the television began playing some mandated report from the Capitol and there was Peeta. Proclaiming how he and Katniss knew nothing about the rebel plan, that Katniss had coincidentally shot her arrow into the dome when the lighting struck, and how there needed to be a ceasefire. Finnick wished he hadn't told you about the rebel plan, that you would just be bait, not someone trying to hide that they had some semblance of information regarding the rebel plan to get out of the arena. He'd signed your death warrant and delivered it straight into the Capitol's cold hands.

Finnick got swept up in his thoughts of what he could've done differently, how much he despised himself for not doing so when suddenly it was your voice on that television screen.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

so exited to start the river with you guys and to explore reader and finnick's past more. thank you all so much for the endless support and for continuing to read my little series, ily all. as always reblogs, comments, and likes are super appreciated, and my ask box plus request are open even if they take a hot second more me to get through. again endless thanks to you all and love you 💋

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[princessofghosts-posts]

[Headcanon]

In an universe where Nico and Hades relationship was healthy from the start,and Hades had his children multiple times in the Underworld to visit him,when they were little and Persephone wasn't around,I image Thanatos to be the children's babysitter.

Hades was doing something in his office while the kids where there? No problem,he could have Thanatos to watch them for him until he finished everything he had to.

Bianca is painting and has finished the colors? Don't worry,Thanatos will get her the prettiest and expensive ones and the one she liked the most. How? We don't know,but he will.

Nico is running around playing with Cerberus? Thanatos is anxiously following his every move to make sure that he doesn't get hurt,while also playing with him.

The children are exploring the Underworld? Thanatos is with them to make sure they are safe,and don't end up causing trouble to others chthonic gods. Or don't end up too close to extremely dangerous places.

Since Bianca is pretty calm,and don't cause him extremely high level of stress unlike her little brother,she is Thanatos favorite,but he is extremely fond of Nico too.Hades is just glad that someone can help him with their chaotic personalities since Maria never wanted to be with them during their visits.

Now,imaga this Thanatos post-TTC,knowing that Bianca was dead and without memories of him (he was the one to bring her soul in the Underworld if Hades didn't do it himself) while not knowing where Nico went and with who.

He will probably do extraordinary,watching over Nico from afar because he doesn't know what to do anymore,since the children don't remember him. And after they formally met again? They fall back in the same dynamic they had before,because it's came natural even tho Nico doesn't know why. And Thanatos is just happy to being close to him again,so he is extremely protective of him and if Nico ends up in some trouble during his stays in the Underworld,he is the first one to help him.

And as you know most of my headcanons are about the beings of Underworld's relationship with Nico as their prince,and one of the ones I have on them is that Thanatos is like a big brother to Nico,and he call Nico "litte prince". Only he,outside of Hades and later on Persephone,can. Nico doesn't mind but sometimes it can gets embarassing.

"I told you already Thanatos,I'm fine! You don't need to drag me back,I can walk by myself."

"You and your father argued,you wanted to leave and accidentally shadow-travelled all the way to China,met a Chinese god –I don't even want to know about it but I'm sure your father will be happy about it– stayed there 2 days because you just wanted to,bought another 20 bags of designer clothes –they are heavy by the way– and only come back home because your father told me to come and get you. So,I'm sorry little prince but I can't do that."

"At least you didn't list my near-dead experience,that wasn't a funny one."

"W H A T?!"

Really,just Thanatos dragging Nico home everytime something happens,and Nico coming back with insane lore to dump on him,every single time. Nico's shenanigans are on a whole different level of insanity that Thanatos wasn't prepared for when he accepted to by their babysitter back in their childhood days. Thanatos doesn't mind,deep down,and for Nico,Thanatos is his favorite chthonic god for this reason.

(I will probably write something about it in the future on Ao3 now that my head gave me the idea. It would be pretty funny-)

[backjustforberena]

oooo can you elaborate on what you mean by there being meaning behind rhaenys not being at the dinner?

I am typing on my phone because I'm without my laptop for a few days but I REALLY wanted to answer this so sorry for any typos or messy thoughts or just general un-policed rambling.

I love it because it illustrates Rhaenys's place within the Targaryen family and what she means to those responsible for the dinner. The answer of which is... bugger all. Take Viserys's words. He's delighted that his whole family is there and wants them all to come for dinner. He looks around the table at the faces "dearest" to him.

But there is no seat for Rhaenys. Rhaenys is not one of the faces looking back. Rhaenys is not even mentioned. There's no clue to support the idea that Rhaenys has been invited and rejected the idea because of her feelings. It's just... she's not there. She is a Princess of House Targaryen and she is not present at a dinner to celebrate House Targaryen. And not only that, but the settled succession of HER HUSBAND'S seat and her home, and the betrothal of 4 of HER grandchildren. A dinner that is meant to symbolise peace and bygones and unity after strife. She's not a part of it. Either because she cannot, emotionally, be a part of it, or it does not matter. She does not matter. Not to the adults present. Not until they want something from her.

Everyone at that dinner had a calm before the storm. A happy memory. A grand delusion, just for a night. Rhaenys gets no such comfort. She gets the consequences of her good brother's body on a slab. And she LOOKS at it. They don't have to do that, even though they've brought it about.

It's the severance of the relationship she has with her paternal house. With her cousin. A cousin she LOVES, but who has orchestrated the destruction of everything she holds dear. He is the root cause. It's his brother who wants his love. It's his daughter who he enables. It's his war that her husband fights, and who might be dead. It's his will that sees over everything.

He has his meal of peace. He sees the children laughing and dancing. He eats and drinks and has his loves (however complex that is) by his side. He GETS VALIDATION, enough to shuffle off this mortal coil.

Rhaenys gets nothing of the sort. She is the flip side of him. Viserys and Rhaenys, to me, have always been in opposition. They don't want to be and they love each other very much but the gap has become wider and wider. Think about it, we've had Rhaenys and Viserys smiling and being so happy with one another in Episode 05 ("Cousin!!" / "Princess!") - to a relationship where they haven't seen one another in 6 years and there is no contact between them other than when he is King and she his subject. When she is forced to give up something and follow his rules to benefit him and keep her life. He gives her leave to speak... but not her own words.

Rhaenys is left alone. The only persons she has had in this have been Baela and Rhaena. And she has had to give them both up. Because of Rhaenyra. And because of Viserys. Baela especially. Baela, who stood with her in the Throne Room. Baela, whose hands she could hold. Baela, who has been her ward. She does not have Baela anymore. Her granddaughter is claimed by the Blacks, by the family. By a betrothal Rhaenys had to make to keep her safe. They take her away to Dragonstone as soon as.

Rhaenys's only other kin are Velaryons. But Vaemond lies dead on a slab. Her husband lies, dying, on Tarth. Her children are both (she believes) dead. She has no claim to her home. Her future looks terrifying. If Corlys dies... she will have to be reliant, mainly, on the hospitality of the woman who killed her son. Lucerys is not of age. Rhaenyra will be the true power. And how horrifying is that?

On a more basic level, her not being in the dinner illustrates the idea that she does not belong to a faction. She sides with Rhaenyra for the succession, but only that. Her voice in that instance does not equal her declaration for the Blacks. She is not a part of it all. Nothing has changed, in her heart. Which means that Alicent can make a bid later, which means her isolation is a real danger, which means she's still in the Capital.

[one-idea]

Horrible idea, but:

Marineford au, in which everyone survived. (At least on whitebeards side. Something Something Marco awakening his devil fruit after seeing his family die around him)

Happy end, right?

Exept that Ace is going through major Angst because A) realization that the family he loves would (and could) have died because of him and B) the uprise of people trying to assassinate him.

No matter where he goes, everyone knows who and (more importantly) whose son he is.

He is seen as the son of the devil, a demon that shouldn't have been born

There isn't a place in the world where he is safe, no matter how much his family tries .

This!

So here’s the thing. I have always seen Ace survives Marineford as having this problem. Everyone now knows who he is.

The government wants him dead. His bounty is going to sky rocket and while we normally see that as a good thing it’s not because of any feat he has done. He hasn’t earned his bounty. And that would hurt. He’s tried his whole life to separate himself from his father and now all of his accomplishments are forever over shadowed by his blood.

It’s also dangerous because his abilities are now over stated (to the general public and other crews) we see in the show how people react to Luffy and the crews different bounties and how much they are treated like a threat or a joke. If Ace’s bounty sky rockets because of his connection to Roger and not his skill the people coming after him are planning to take down someone of let’s say Kaido’s strength and Ace isn’t there. (We are seeing this with Buggy and Cross Guild in the cannon where Buggy’s strength doesn’t match his bounty. And while we are making memes out of it the man has to be stressed)

The Whitebeard’s can try to shield him but they aren’t what they used to be. Even if Whitebeard survives they got out by the skin of their teeth and the arrival of Shanks. While Marineford is them fighting on enemy territory with a mass disadvantage it’s still going to effect the reputation. And even if Whitebeard loved he’s not fighting fit and the world knows that. Marcos and the crew can probably repeal some people but can they full shield Ace the way they could before the war? No.

In fact it would probably be a constant struggle for the next two years. Maybe at some point Ace disappears for a while but in reality he’s met up with Rayleigh and Luffy and joined in on training up his Haki. (And spending time with his little brother)

By the time Luffy and crew are ready to hit the sea again, Ace’s life is in constant danger. And remains so until Wano. Wano where his baby brother beats the pants off of Kaido and becomes the new emperor of the sea. The new emperor of the sea who has a very public tigh to Ace and has already destroyed Enies Lobby to get back one crew member, successfully broke into and out of Impel Down leading a large prison break to Marineford where he publicly declared Ace his brother and fought to save him once already.

Now it’s not the Whitebeard name shielding Ace but Luffy’s. It’s not being the son of the King of the Pirates that gives him infamy but being the brother of the future king of the pirates Monkey D. Luffy. Even if Luffy doesn’t publicly declare Ace as under his protection you would have to be stupid not to understand that these two would go to war for one another.

Honestly Whitebeard’s statues probably got downgraded depending on how badly they got their butts handed to them in the first place. They might join up as part of the Strawhat grand fleet. Whitebeard just wants to protect his kids and at this point he’s old, injured and not what he used to be. It Strawhat has already shown his loyalty to those that are his and Ace is already his.

Of Whitebeard can’t make a run for King of the Pirates anymore. Can’t protect his children and territories he might as well through his hat in with the person he knows is going to take care of them. Someone so much like Roger’s who believes in freedom above all else. (Shanks would be his second choice but the man has to many of his own plans. And it’s kind of obvious that Shanks has through his hat (or his arm) into Luffy’s ring long ago)

Now that’s idea one but idea 2

But this is where we get to have some fun with abilities, timelines, and shenanigans. Because let’s say Marcos’s phenixes ability when awakened is not just to heal but to burn away trauma for the point he can revive someone. When did the revival happen? Because if this happened at Marineford the Whitebeard’s get a second wind and can probably pull out a win in the fight. But everyone knows they survived and who Ace is.

If he does it after the fight. After Ace dies in front of Luffy and Luffy is whisked away. After the Whitebeards retreat. Looking over the bodies and grieving the loss, Marco unlocks his ability. Receiving Ace, Whitebeard, and the others, now we have some shenanigans.

Because Luffy doesn’t know that Ace is alive and Ace doesn’t know Luffy is alive. Maybe Ace lost his fruit maybe home didn’t but we can tackle that later.

The Whitebeards are hanging low until they get their strength back. No one in the government knows they survived and that’s the way it needs to stay. Until Luffy shows back up at Marineford to honor Ace.

Ace sees the news paper and he thought Luffy had died. He knew Jinbei had taken him away from the battle but no one could tell him where Luffy went or if he had survived his injuries. He wants to rush to Luffy and make sure his brother is okay. Marco has to tell him to slow down. If he races out and the world realizes he survived before he’s back at full strength he will just get captured again. But Ace is stubborn about seeing Luffy and making sure he’s okay.

They know he went to Marineford with Rayleigh so they use some connections to find the old man. He’s not about to tell them where Luffy is until Ace reveals himself. He agrees to take just Ace to see Luffy. After a reunion filled with tears Ace decides that the best way to build back up his strength is to stay and train with Luffy.

Now fruit? Did they keep their abilities? They technically died. So either yes they kept them, they lost them, or Marco restored their body and powers but the fruit also exist outside of them so two people can now have that ability. (Meaning Sabo can still get the Mera Mera and Blackbeard still gets Whitebeard’s fruit.) this is helpful to keep the story moving but also reinforcing the lie that the Whitebeards died.

If this is the case Ace and Luffy train their Haki and abilities together for two years. When Luffy is finally ready to burst back o to the scene so is Ace. Stronger than ever.

Again maybe the Whitebeard’s eventually join the grand fleet. If the world thought they were dead they don’t have their statues as emperor crew anymore but they would be a lot stronger in this version.

In both versions they Whitebeard’s help out with Wano and Ace and Sabo get to reunite.

[nobody0805]

Hello Major

A Jasper Hale x Reader Oneshot

Someone force me to finish chapter 5 before I write more Oneshots god bless.

Warnings: a bit angsty? But also fluffy.

1334 Words

They had known each other for a long time.

He was still human when he got to know her. His eyes were still shining with his young innocence, his body was not ridden with scars.

But most importantly, his heart was still beating.

When he had to leave for the war, he felt terrible for leaving her behind.

He had promised her to write her letters whenever he can, to keep her informed on how he’s doing, if he’s alright, and most importantly to him, to let her know that he still loves her.

To prove his commitment, he had given her a ring. A ring as a promise he will return.

And once he’s back he’ll make her his wife.

And he kept that promise for two years.

His letters had mentioned how he focused his work on saving and evacuating women and children, leaving him riding across the state to make sure everyone was safe.

His letters had also told her about his progress, how he had become the youngest major in the army, even when considering how he had lied about his age to get into the army in the first place.

But it was one letter that broke her heart.

It had arrived in the evening, two weeks after his last letter.

She had been happy, until she saw the expression of the mail carrier.

The man looked sad, almost sorry for her.

And when she finally opened the letter and read through it, her world shattered. Her hand clutched the ring she wore on a necklace, the ring he gave her before he left.

He died.

At least, that’s what the letter told her.

The army expressed their condolences, telling her how sorry they were for having to tell her that Major Jasper Whitlock went missing and presumably died in the war.

Her reaction was conflicted.

She wanted to scream, cry, rip the letter apart, curse whoever was listening and caused this fate for them.

But she didn’t.

Instead she just kept clutching the ring and read the letter over and over again, hoping that this was just some sick joke. That someone just wanted to see her suffer, maybe the mail carrier, maybe someone else.

But even after two more weeks, no new letter arrived.

And she had to accept that it was true.

Jasper had died, the love of her life was dead.

And she was left alone. Unable to even visit a grave, unable to know where he went missing, what he felt, if he had been in pain before it was all over.

And it broke her.

The big unknown broke her.

And in her grief ridden state she decided that it couldn’t be true.

She was in denial, she was angry and in denial.

Her future with the man she loved was ripped away under her feet, and it made her incredibly angry.

So she decided to take her horse and ride to the last position his letters had told her he’d be.

But she couldn’t have expected what would happen to her.

Never in over a hundred years could she have seen this outcome.

——

Jasper Hale, formerly known as Jasper Whitlock, had been living with the Cullens for a few decades now.

He had gotten to know Alice, who turned out to be a great friend to him.

Thanks to her he managed to cope with the fact he never got to see her again, that she had probably died a long time ago.

And especially that he never got to keep his promise.

But it still hurt, of course it hurt.

In this immortal existence, knowing that he lost his love to time while he was stuck in this stupid army, forced to hurt people despite knowing how they felt, forced to follow the orders of the woman, the monster, who changed him and made him like her.

It all hurt so much.

And going to school over and over again, living amongst humans, pretending that he’s normal, that he’s fine and that he’s human, while having to constantly ignore just how everything hurt without her near.

His thirst was nothing compared to the constant pain of not having his love with him.

——

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed since everything changed, since she was told Jasper had died and she decided to search for him.

But she knew that something was drawing her to this small town, Forks.

She had quickly learned how to cope with her new… abilities. Especially with this near-constant burning in her throat that told her she needed to feed.

She had quickly learned that she could feed on animals and avoid hurting people. And she was glad it worked.

When she arrived in Forks, she felt lost. It was a new town for her, for someone who had been wandering on their own for years.

But she felt like something important was awaiting her.

And when she wandered through the forest, trying to avoid the weird smell of dog nearby, she found a house.

She hesitated, what if whoever lived in this surprisingly big and beautiful house in the middle of the forest wasn’t happy with spontaneous visitors.

But something was still drawing her near, as if something in her mind wanted her to enter and see who or what was inside.

Only when a man who looked like he had seen centuries of history stepped outside the house and welcomed her in was when she started moving again.

Reluctantly, she stepped closer, and finally saw a short, pixie-like girl standing behind the man.

”I‘m Alice! I knew you’d come here! Come inside, there is someone you should see!“

And if her heart was still beating, she was sure it would be racing right when she saw him.

When he saw her, his eyes widened and he felt like his words were stuck in his throat.

”D-Darlin‘…?“

”Hello Major.“

As soon as he heard her voice, sensed her emotions, and saw how she looked almost exactly like he remembered, he rushed to her side and pulled her into a tight hug.

”I thought I lost you… so long ago…“ the words were barely loud enough, but she was still able to hear them. And with how he sounded she was sure he’d be crying if it was physically possible.

And she wasn’t fooling anyone, she’d also be crying if she could.

Unable to restrain himself, Jasper pulled away from the embrace just enough to cup her face and pull her in a long overdue kiss.

And it felt like they hadn’t been apart at all, like the past decades of pain just started to disappear.

And he was so happy for the first time in years.

Once they pulled away and finally got to properly look at each other, Jasper’s eyes wandered and he saw the ring he had given her all those years ago. It was attached to a necklace and sat near her heart.

When she noticed where he looked, she smiled and gently cupped his cheek with her hand.

She chose to ignore the scars littered across his neck and jawline, deciding that there were better times to speak about what happened while they were apart, especially now that they have more than enough time together.

He practically melted into her touch, leaning against her hand as if he was afraid she would vanish before his eyes, like this was just an illusion and he was being tricked.

His own hand went to hers, holding it against his scarred cheek to keep her close, to keep enjoying her touch.

”you still have the ring“ he whispered, his golden eyes finding hers.

”and you still have a promise to keep,“ she smiled, ”but I think we have a lot to speak about first, before we take any big steps.“

And he was certain he would keep his promise, but at first they both had a lot of time to make up for.

[aphroditelovesu]

⸻ The Lost Queen - IX ⸻

— summary: You woke up near a military camp without remembering how and why you got there, you didn’t understand why they were dressed like ancient Greeks, all you knew was that you weren’t safe and you needed to get out of that place as soon as possible. Too bad for you that you found yourself attracting unwanted attention from the Macedonian King and he won’t let you go so easily.

— genre: yandere, dark!au.

— warnings: time travel, obsessive and possessive behavior, murder, mention of torture, kidnapping, angst, fluffy (very rarely), dub-con, eventual smut, pregnancy.

— pairing: yandere!alexander the great x female!reader, yandere!generals x female!reader.

— word count: 1,600.

— tag list: @devils-blackrose, @faerykingdom, @hadesnewpersephone, @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 , @kadu-5607, @zoleea-exultant, @borntoexplore11-blog, @silmawensgarden, @elvinapandra, @jennifer0305 , @his0kaswife, @animetye-23.

— the lost queen series masterlist.

Chapter 9

A few days passed and everything remained the same except for a few changes. The atmosphere in the camp was slowly improving and Alexander seemed to have recovered after your decision.

You still regretted your choice, but you knew it was the right thing to do.

Cleitus finally woke up, to everyone's surprise, and he was recovering slowly, but that was to be expected. It was almost a miracle that he had woken up and that was both a good and a bad thing.

You had prevented his death and changed history.

You sighed and looked around you. There was a lot to be done for the imminent wedding. Alexander wanted to get married fast because they would soon go to Sogdiana Rock and everything had to be done as quickly as possible. Knowing that he would soon meet Roxanna filled you with hope and fear. You hoped he would still marry her, as he was supposed to, but you were worried.

You knew Roxanna's story and you knew what she had done to Alexander's other wives. Honestly, you were more nervous about meeting her than marrying Alexander. And if there were children...

You shook your head, it was better not to think about it for now. There was no guarantee that you would get pregnant with him so quickly and you didn't even want to think about it, the idea of getting pregnant filled you with dread, not because having children was a bad thing, but rather the circumstances and who you would be getting pregnant by. It was all very stressful and you felt like you were going to throw up if you kept thinking about it, so it was better not to think about it, no matter how hard it was.

Nor was there a guarantee that he would marry her because history has already been changed and could change again.

Your head throbbed as you thought of the countless possibilities and chaos that your presence here could have caused in the future. But there was no point in thinking about it now, you would leave soon, you were sure, and you would find out for yourself. You just hoped it wasn't too serious.

''Ugh...'' You grumbled and massaged your temples, trying to ease your headache.

There was still a lot of work to be done. Alexander left you in charge of organizing the wedding, along with some servants and slaves, because according to him, it was something women would do better at. You were tempted to throw your shoe at his head, but you didn't.

Too bad.

Honestly, you never thought your marriage would be like this, that is, if you ever got married. You definitely never thought you would marry Alexander the Great.

And you always imagined that you would have your family and friends present at the occasion, that your mother and friends would help you organize everything, it would be with someone you really loved and it would be a happy occasion.

Instead, you were being forced to marry a man who was supposed to be dead a long time ago, in a place in the middle of nowhere? You weren't sure and it was a very sad atmosphere.

The reality was harsh and painful.

You looked at some colorful fabrics left on your cot and regarded them with apprehension and perhaps disgust. Your wedding dress wasn't what you wanted either, it wasn't white lace or those beautiful dresses you only saw in movies or magazines.

You should get married in black at once, to symbolize your mourning.

You took one that was deep red in your hand and stared at it, taking in its details. It wasn't that bad, but it wasn't what you had in mind. It had some gold features, which you knew was real gold, and a very discreet neckline. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all.

Sighing, you prepared to try it out.

Two days passed and everything was ready. It would be a simple but beautiful ceremony, everyone was eager and excited. The atmosphere in the camp changed radically and it was as if everyone had forgotten what had happened to Cleitus and were focused on the wedding and the fact that they would have a Queen and, if the gods permitted, an heir soon.

Alexander was being prepared for the wedding. He had already showered and was putting on the final adjustments, the red tunic he would wear and some jewelry that would complete his appearance. His hair was drying naturally, he wore some kohl on his eye, highlighting his beautiful eyes of different colors, and perfumed. A sweet, soft scent radiated from his clothing.

In general, he was attractive and well dressed. There were no longer any traces of the defeated and drunken man he had been a few days ago, but of a King and a conqueror. And his men were grateful for that.

Hephaestion entered Alexander's tent and smiled to see his friend looking happier and healthier. The image he had of Alexander would still haunt him for the rest of his days.

''You look good, Alexander.'' Hephaestion commented and sat down on a chair and took a jug of water and poured it into a cup, sipping it.

Alexander looked at Hephaestion and his gaze softened and he smiled, ''You look good as well.''

And indeed, Hephaestion was well groomed, as were all the guests. He was dressed in a dark blue tunic with a few ornaments, but enough to make him look more handsome than he already was. His long hair was braided and he also wore kohl, highlighting his blue eyes.

Hephaestion smiled but there was a sadness lurking in his eyes. Alexander noticed and went to his closest friend and placed his hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him. He knew that today was a painful day for him.

Hephaestion touched Alexander's hand with his own and shook his head, ''I'm fine. I just... I still don't know how to deal with this properly, but I'm fine, I promise.''

''I know it can't be easy, but it's something I have to do. As a King and as a man.'' Alexander whispered the last parts, feeling sorry for his friend. It wasn't easy, neither for him nor for Hephaestion.

''You are the King. You must marry and have an heir, I know that.'' Hephaestion smiled and faced Alexander, ''I always knew that. From our days in Mieza to when you became King of Macedonia. I always knew that.''

''Hephaestion...'' Alexander sighed, suddenly feeling melancholy.

''Do not worry about me. I am fine. The wedding will start soon, don't be late for your own wedding.'' Hephaestion stood up and placed the cup on the table and walked towards the exit, ''I'll be fine.''

Alexander smiled sadly, ''I know you will, after all, you are also Alexander.''

Hephaestion's face lit up and his face looked a little red, but he smiled and waved at his friend and turned away. Alexander watched him with regret, feeling guilty for causing his friend pain, but he couldn't shirk his duties.

And his desires. He wanted to marry you, it was a necessity and he couldn't ignore it.

The sun was setting over the war camp, painting the sky with shades of orange and pink, while the gentle breeze blew through the olive trees and poplars that surrounded the camp.

There was music and dancing involved. Some musicians played instruments, such as the harp and lyre, and dancers danced and enchanted the audience who watched them.

The bride, (Y/N), looked beautiful. Her clothes highlighted her beauty even more, a heavy red and gold tunic draped over her body, with jewelry adorning her and a red veil hid her hair, her face was clean and her natural beauty was highlighted. Her soft, wistful eye was alluring, with the kohl highlighting her color.

The ceremony began with a colorful procession, led by flutists and dancers. (Y/N), draped in a magnificent red robe, gracefully paraded through the camp, crowned with jewels. Her radiant face and eyes sparkled with joy or sadness. Alexander, dressed in a deep red robe, waited anxiously on the table, surrounded by his generals and soldiers watching from a distance.

The priest, a man of great wisdom and a white beard, led the ceremony. With the blessing of the gods, they exchanged vows of eternal fidelity and deep love. As the flame of the eternal candle burned before them, symbolizing the eternity of their commitment, the couple exchanged gold rings, a promise of love that would never lose its luster.

The wedding celebration took place under a starry sky, with long tables filled with Greek delicacies - olives, feta cheese, bread and red wine. Everyone danced to traditional music, celebrating the union of (Y/N) and Alexander. It was a night of joy and communion, where generals, friends and soldiers shared stories, laughter and wishes for eternal happiness.

This was a time of great joy and promise. The promise of an heir and the joy of a marriage that would be talked about for centuries to come.

As the night came to an end, the most awaited hour would arrive. Finally, the consummation would be made and if the gods bless the newlyweds, a child would come from their union.

Only the gods, the children born and the bride would know how cursed this union would be.

— lady l: and that was it! The wedding night is coming and I promise drama in the next chapter, this one was calmer and based on the wedding. I'm not good at describing weddings, but I did my best! I hope you enjoyed it and wait for the next chapter because it, my readers, promises to be CHAOTIC!! 😈 Hope you have liked and feedbacks are always welcome! ❤️

[on-twd-writing]

Failed to protect you

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Warning: death! angst, the pike scene (S9E15)

Readers pronuns: She/Her

Description: instead of Henry Alpha took the reader and Daryls worst nightmare becomes reality.

Italics is for the flashback. It may not be the correct order of the heads.

Failed to protect you

The wind was strong and cold.

Siddiq words still echoed in Daryl's head, Alphas words as well, and he had a strange feeling in his gut. Something was wrong – something was terribly wrong—and for the first time in years, he felt something like fear. Terrible fear. He couldn’t really grasp it, and Daryl hated it. Not knowing what was going to happen.

The calm before the storm.

Soon the top of the hill came into view, and the further the small group walked, the clearer the picture got. Trees? Stones? No, it was something else – sticks with something secured on top of them. Still, he couldn’t make out what it was exactly.

This place was scary… uncertain… unholy…rotten…

Finally, the picture and the horror got clearer. Especially the horror in front of them. There was no other word to describe the scenario. A line of sticks with heads on top, one after another – ten in total. Daryl could hear Yumiko's cries; he could hear the distraught sounds of Michonne and Siddiq arching in pain. Carol, who was next to him, gasping for air.

Daryl's eyes went along the different heads… Tammy Rose… Rodney, he took a deep breath…

Tara.

Strong Tara, witty Tara – the one who understood him. They had some similarities and a strange understanding of each other. He had liked her; she had been powerful and determined and didn’t take the shit from others. She has endured so much.

As yet she always has followed her heart. "No…" came it from Carol next to him, as she laid eyes their dear, dead friend. The pain in Daryls chest grew with every person he recognized. Every life that has been taken. Erased as if it were nothing. And as if this wasn’t enough, they had secured the head on the sticks to mark the line of territory. A cruel act of violence and power. The archer recognized the young Addy and Enid, who had their lives in front of them. Who still had so many things to experience. They never hurt anyone; they were good people. They were all good people.

And… "No, Daryl, stop!" And now he knew why he had this odd feeling in his gut the whole time. Yet Carol's words didn’t stop him from letting his eyes wander further the line of piked heads. It was too late any way. Next to Enid's cut-off head was another stick. The hair was softly blowing in the cold wind. It was you.

No doubt.

He remembered how he had hugged you before leaving the kingdom earlier that day. He had buried his nose in your hair, which was now softer than while they were on the road. He recalled your words. "Are you sure I shouldn’t come with you?"

You had smiled at him, caressing his cheek. Moments like this were rare, you two weren’t much into PDA, but the situation was different. It felt bizarre to be here, but it felt safe. You were happy and wanted to believe in a good future for the two of you. Despite the horror that was awaiting outside. "Yeah,..ya should enjoy this…little thing here." He was waving his hand around, looking over your shoulder. It felt surreal to have something like a fair after everything that was happening. He didn’t even go to one when he was a child. Merle had called them bullshit, and his parents had other things to do than take care of their children. "This little thing here has been hard work." He chuckled and pressed a kiss on your forehead for a few seconds. His fingers were gently combing your hair, and he could feel the softness at his fingertips.

If he knew he could have saved you by taking you with him… Carol was trying her best to pull Daryl away, who was still staring at your head. Your mouth was slowly opening and closing. There was blood on your face, your eyes pale and stared into nothing. Your head… your head was all that he got… "Let me know when you’re back." He nodded while you smiled. Your lovely smile, the way your eyes would light up when you looked at him. No one ever did this, people used to look at him with disgust, anger, or fear. Gradually, this has changed to friendliness and hope, but you? You always looked at him with bright eyes, like he was someone who was worth something. And now he hasn’t been able to protect you at all. The woman who meant the world for him – who didn’t just mean something to him but everything. He stared at your head, unable to move at all. Suddenly, the world around him went numb. He couldn’t even feel pain anymore, there was…nothing. Nothing at all. You were dead, and he hasn’t been able to protect you like he had promised you a thousand times. He wasn’t with you when you died. He couldn’t be there for you. In his mind the wildest and cruelest scenarios started – how did you die? Did they make you suffer? Has it been fast? Did you scream for him for help, but he never came? Were you alone? Scared?

"She…Y/N…" "It’s …Daryl, don’t…"

Yumiko also appeared in his gaze, and that was when his legs slowly gave in. He sank on the cold floor, and his view got blurry. He didn’t notice the tears in his eyes. He didn’t feel anything at all.

Not a word left his lips—not a single one.

You strolled next to him, closer to the gate. Daryl pushed the bike along beside him. "I miss riding the bike with you." He huffed. "Gonna take ya on a ride soon." You stopped at the gate. "I won’t forget that, Daryl." "It’s a promise, Y/N." He leaned toward you and kissed you again. You couldn't help but grin against his lips, feeling the stubbles of his beard against your skin. It was a lovely kiss. And for this brief moment only the two of you existed.

You took a step back, letting him sit on his bike. You enjoyed the view, and Daryl seemed much more confident on his bike. You remember the countless rides between the different communities. Through the woods. His hair, which was grazing your face now and then… being close to him. You knew you didn’t have to hold on to him that close while riding the bike but you wanted to enjoy those moments. And the archer never complained.

You remember the stops by the lake during the summer. Taking off the boots, walking through the water, splashing each other with water. Like the two of you were getting back the missed time.

The time you have spent in prison. At the sanctuary. The fight against Negan. Losing too many people - Carl, Rick, Sasha, Glenn, Abraham...

Daryl and you missed so much of these blissful moments, together you fought so much and endured so much pain. Maybe this was a happy ending the two of you truly deserved. You've got everything back for this brief moment. You weren't killers. You weren’t the person the world have made you. You were just Daryl Dixon and Y/N Y/L/N and it was alright. Even Daryl allowed himself a moment of freedom. And the freedom was taken. By the whisperer. By your death. He felt trapped in this moment. Now and then Carol's or Yumiko's face would show up in his vision talking to him, yet his eyes were focused on your chopped off head. He died with you in this moment.

[puracatt]

sorry this isn't smutty :( this is just a repost from my main acc :]

[the catbus - HER MIN]

mpreg!nikto x reader

nikto never gave having children much thought. he thought perhaps sometime in the future when he found somebody safe, he'd be okay with having a child, maybe two.

he's was in the middle of the woods on a mission when he found out. his thick fingers fidgeted with the plastic stick in his pocket as he listened to orders. it was no place to take a pregnancy test, but they passed by a pharmacy and he'd been sick all morning... he just had to know, or it'd eat at him for the duration of his deployment.

like it was yesterday, he can still recall the way his heart fell into his belly, and the chill that rolled down his spine. but it all made sense, there was no denying it.

nikto came crawling to you in the dead of night with the positive stick in a brown, crumpled paper bag. he didn't bother to wait-- he knows that you often forget to lock your bedroom window.

you weren't... displeased by the results, but you weren't exactly happy with them either. you were quick to soothe nikto and stroke his back as he breathed in rapid bursts, the weight of your circumstances now crashing down on him.

you do this night after night, sometimes consoling him through tears or monitoring him while he stares blankly at the ceiling. other times, he likes for you to hold him, and talk about how this will be good and that babies are wonderful.

he works for as long as he can get away with it. but when one of his teammates notes that he's putting on some weight, he's quick to sever his contract and run away with his tail between his legs. you offer him sanctity in your home, promising to take care of him. nikto shouldn't have to worry his poor head, not with a baby on the way.

learning that most maternity clothes consist of jeggings with unique waistbands or dresses wounds him. he wears his regular straight-leg jeans with the button undone and zipper down, then switches to wearing oversized pajama pants everywhere, much to his reluctance.

he's terrified of being seen in public. he feels weak-- every pedestrian must be judging him. what kind of man parades around a swollen stomach? he makes you go in his stead, sending you out with a note shakily scrawled by him about how he needs the tea cakes from the bakery one hour away, not the corner store.

when he's halfway through pregnancy, he's insufferable. nothing seems to be right and everything just makes his skin itch and every room is sweltering.

you fight on what colors to have for the nursery. nikto wants a muted blue, something the baby will enjoy once they're older. but you want a stimulating, bright color that'll make the baby happy while they're young, like lime green or sunshine yellow. should you even have a nursery? maybe you should just put the crib in your bedroom and let them play on the floor.

the two of you decide on white, something high contrast for the baby and generic, with bright posters and decorations all throughout. and nikto wants the crib moved into the bedroom later in the pregnancy because he's suddenly very worried about the baby only.

at the end of his term, he's... calmer. he's certainly fussy because carrying around the weight of an entire baby is troublesome, but it seems like he's friendlier. when you come home from work, he's all over you and asking if your boss gave you any trouble. he doesn't like to stray very far from you when you're cooking dinner. and when it's time for bed, he likes for you to be close. it's hard for him to chase after you when he's lying down with seven or more pounds attached to his body.

how he is during delivery and after is a whole new can of worms.

[netherfeildren]

FEAR OF GOD: Chapter VIII: The Fisher King

Series Masterlist ; Moodboard

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC

Summary: Teach me how to ask for forgiveness, even when I know I don’t deserve it. 

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: angst; PTSD; very brief mention of infertility in the first section, description of injury

A/N: Art is Breach by Keith Perelli (2006-2007)

Word Count: 4.2K

Read on AO3

CHAPTER VII: The Fisher King

But still. Still.

Bless me anyway.

I want more life. I can’t help myself. I do.

I’ve lived through such terrible times, and

There are people who live through much worse, but… You see them living

anyway. When they’re more spirit than body, more sores, than skin, when they’re

burned and in agony, when flies lay eggs in

the corners of the eyes of their children,

they live. Death usually has to take life 

away. I don’t know if that’s just the animal. 

I don’t know if it’s not braver to die. But I 

recognize the habit. The addiction to being 

alive. We live past hope. If I can find hope

anywhere, that’s it, that’s the best I can do.

It’s so much not enough, so inadequate but

…Bless me anyway. I want more life.

-Tony Kushner, Angels in America

“Do you think you’ve been happy, so far?” you ask her one night. 

“I think so, yes. Have you?” Her answer is immediate. She’d never been one for much indecision – that was always your role.

“Yes. At times. I’ve also been very sad.”

“Me too.” You can hear it now, that sadness, in the quietness of her voice.

“I hope we can be happy in the future. That we’ll be together, always.” The two of you are laying under the stars, hidden in the forest, in your old sleeping bags. She says the trees guard you, keep you safe. If you’d had more experience, you’d have felt very close to death in that moment. 

“We will be. Don’t worry about that.”

“I don’t want either of us to die,” and you can hear how young you sound, how naive. Despite all you’ve been through, you’ve not been able to let go of that part of yourself. When you’re older you will think that, perhaps, that was not such a bad thing. 

“We won’t. That won’t happen.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Yes, I can. I have a plan. If we stick to it, we’ll be okay.”

“Alright.” Your trust in her is implicit, after all. 

She is very quiet for a while after that, you think she’s fallen asleep, but then suddenly: “You know, I can’t have children.” 

“How do you know?”

“Things were off – Dad was able to run some tests.” That sadness is there again, echoing in her voice, and it is a very painful thing to hear from someone you love so much – someone you know would want that for themselves. 

“I’m sorry.” For there is nothing else to be said in light of such a tragedy for her. She would make a wonderful mother.

“It makes me really sad.” There’s quiet again, for a long time, but then: “I know it’s a terrible world. Not safe – but still… It makes me very sad.” 

“I’ll have one for the both of us. We can share.”

One of the last times you ever hear her laugh – you should have cherished the sound more – branded it in your memory. “I’d like that.”

Beth is dead two days later. 

-

He sits by your sick bed for days. Shrouded in darkness, he lets his fear, his nightmares swallow him whole – the great gaping maw of a monstrous dream come to fruition. He thinks of Sarah’s mother, his ex-wife, for some reason – can’t understand why she comes to his mind in this moment, honestly. He hasn’t thought about her in decades, that woman he’d known so long ago – can hardly remember her face now. It makes him indescribably sad.

He’s trying to prevent his mind from dissociating. To keep himself present, in case you wake, in case you need him. But the sight of you, small and pale and broken. So still. It fractures his mind in a way he cannot understand. The days of you being lost – of his mad flight to find you, out with teams of hunters, combing the forest for any sign of you, the way he’d screamed at Maria and Tommy and Ellie and anyone else who got too close, spoke too loudly. He’d been extremely close to violence, of the unimaginable sort. That terrible last night, his own destruction, flashing over and over and over in his mind, the things he’d said to you. He could not compare the terror to anything else he’d ever experienced before. The pure horror of that being the last memory you’d ever have of him, of coming across your dead, mangled body, of never seeing your bright, unguarded smile again – in decades filled with fear, day in and day out, he now felt he’d been infected with the most unimaginable of diseases. A stabbing, bone melting pain to his mind, his heart, his flesh, again and again, all of his own making. 

This is his fault. He did this to you. Pushed you away. Made you feel like you needed to flee, escape him. He wants to be angry with you for being so stupid, for going out there without him. But how could he not understand it – for what choice did he give you? That you’d prefer to face the monsters out there, rather than the one inside, the one in front of you – rather than him. He thinks he too would rather face the horrors out there, a thousand infected, than face himself. Face his own guilt, his own shortcomings. 

He still isn’t speaking to Maria – can barely look at her. He’d told her if you were dead it’d fall on her head. That he’d blame her for it forever. It was a viciously unfair, nasty thing to throw at her when he’d been the one to push you away, the one to tell you to leave, when this was really all his fault alone. 

He thinks of Tess – how he’d not been able to keep her safe either, all that time ago. A regret so profound, he’s sure he’ll swim in it for the rest of his miserable life. 

Ellie had said sending you away that night had perhaps been the worst thing he’d ever done. The sight of you in this bed proves that fact, and he is filled with a rage so black, so all consuming, it cripples him, will send him to his grave if you don’t come out of this. 

He hasn’t slept in days. Merely closing his eyes to rest his racing mind a few moments at a time. The baby you’d had with you has been with Maria. Tiny, squealing, rageful thing that she is. She only quiets when Maria brings her into your room, lays her beside your sleeping form. As if she knows already, even now, that the best place in the entire world is at your side. He closes his eyes in the quiet interminable moments of waiting and tries to picture Sarah’s mother in his mind. To remember her face. He cannot. There’s only a flash of dark curls. The sound of her voice, gone to time. All he can conjure with clarity is the image of Sarah’s smiling face that last morning he’d spent with her. His most precious memory. Something he exercises in his mind every morning when he wakes, lest, he too, forget that. He wonders if she’s still alive, what happened to her after the outbreak. He hopes she survived – hopes she lived a life not too full of terrible, painful things. Although, he isn’t entirely sure there exists any other version of this life anymore. He hopes he can find it, if it does, and give it to you, if you’ll let him.

He looks back at your resting form. The welts and scrapes that had marred the side of your face are healing well. The swelling receding into angry bruising. Nancy was worried you’d sustained a head injury, as an explanation for your prolonged unconsciousness, but neither the bones in your face, nor your skull were broken. Perhaps only a mild concussion, she thought. It inclined her to believe this was simply a side effect of the blood loss you’d endured from the wound in your side, the exhaustion and trauma.

Joel thinks he might become a religious man after this. Thinks he might start going to church, prostrating himself at the effigy of the cross to thank whatever higher power there exists for bringing you back to him, keeping you alive, allowing him another chance to see that smile, even if it’s never directed at him again. Because that is something else he is terribly afraid of. That his last words to you that night, will be the only thing you’ll ever be able to remember of him. All you’ll ever be able to see of him, going forward. He is so, so afraid of the consequences of his own terrible actions. Terrified that the moment he cast you away will be the only moment the two of you live in together for the rest of your lives.

And he thinks: Joel Miller, you are a man made up of fears. 

-

The first thing you see when you finally open your eyes again are his hands. They’re scarred. Tiny, faded marks of a life past, marring the lines of a map of all his pain, his history. Your body hurts, one large throbbing bruise. But the fire in your shoulder, the muscles of your back and arm, has abated. You say a silent prayer of thanks that you’d been able to keep from straining it more. Any more damage and you’d have probably lost function of the limb entirely.

His eyes are closed, his temple pressed against his fist on the arm of the chair pulled up to your bedside. The house is entirely silent – dark and peaceful. You stretch your legs under the blankets, no terrible amount of pain, and his eyes spring open immediately at the subtle sound of your shifting. So attuned to you, that the mere rustling of the sheets brings him to wakefulness. You watch the dilation of his pupils, everything else frozen in place. Head still resting against his fist, he stares at you wide eyed and unblinking. You take in his face – his eyes are bloodshot and rimmed in the harsh purple bruising of exhaustion. His too long, messy curls lie limply across his forehead. He looks haggard, wrung dry. The most defeated you’ve ever witnessed him. Neither of you say anything as you study the other. He still hasn’t moved and the look in his eyes – afraid, resigned, like you’re a predator about to come in for the kill strike. 

You feel indescribably sad for him, seeing him like this. Brought down low. It’s wrong. Not an image of the Joel you know that should exist in the world. You’re sure you mustn’t look much better. Broken, the both of you, in this shared moment. You slowly start to slide your palm across the bed towards him, and like a flip bringing him back to life, he melts onto the ground from the chair. Coming to kneel on the floor at the edge of the bed, he grasps your outstretched hand and presses his forehead into your palm, his grasp so, so gentle. His other hand snakes up, under the blankets to grip your bare knee in his warm palm, his thumb slowly sweeps over the bend.

His shoulders begin to jerk, in tiny little gasps. He’s crying.

“I was so afraid.” It is choked and guttural, a confession of the highest order, an admission of weakness, a supplication for mercy, for forgiveness. 

You know that his words are all encompassing. He was afraid that night, when the two of you were attacked, when he told you he loved you, when he sent you away, when he couldn’t find you. He’s been afraid for decades, since the moment he met you, since the moment his daughter died. Your heart cleaves in two at the sight of his defeat. The hot slide of his tears through the spaces between your fingers, pooling in the cup of your palm, the liquid feel of them burns you, incites a violence in your heart to rise up at the sight of his suffering, of his pain. But you say nothing. Too weighed down by your own terror, your own pain. 

By the prospect of having to tell him the truth. The secret you’ve been carrying with you, that you’re pregnant. Terrified of his reaction. Of his possible rejection. For it isn’t just you anymore that would feel the loss of him. There’s two, three, of you now. And you’re terrified of having to ask him to bear this with you. Don’t want to have to ask. And part of you knows, is positive, that he’ll be there for you without you ever having to even ask. That there would be no question of it. No other alternative. That if anything else, the man before you is honorable and good – despite his violence, despite his sins, despite his fear, he is good. He would never abandon you to face this alone. But still, you’re afraid. Just as he is, just as he has been. So you say nothing, simply bring your other hand up to cup the back of his bent head. 

There are no words that could fit in the quiet space of your room in that moment – so swollen is it with all your shared fears, all the things left unsaid. You let him cry. 

-

Ellie finds him sitting on his front porch, guitar in hand, strumming gently – a mug sits by his side. There is no fight to be had now, this she knows. Perhaps no reconciliation, either – not at this moment. But there is much to be said, still, or even perhaps, merely silence to be shared. This is her olive branch. In the days since your disappearance, and then since you’d been found, recovering, she’s had a lot of time to think. To consider her choices. 

“Hey.” The look on his face as he watches her walk up guts her – so full of reluctantly glad surprise. 

“What’re you drinking?”

“Coffee.”

Of course. “Where’d you get that?”

“Uh… those people that came through last week. A little embarrassed as to what I had to trade to get it, but … it’s not bad.”

“Oh,” she’s slightly at a loss for what to say, how to continue. Their once easy banter seems so unreachable with so much laying between them. “You need to stop harassing Jesse about my patrols.”

“Okay,” he says succinctly – like he’s not going to take her incendiary bait. He looks away, considering what he’s about to say next. “Dina. Is she your girlfriend?”

And nope, she sure as fuck hadn’t been expecting that one. “No! She – That was just one kiss. It doesn’t mean anything,” she denies, referring to the kiss he’d accidentally witnessed last night when he was on his way home from trying to see you. “She just… I don’t know why she did that.”

He tilts his head contemplatively, gives her a knowing look. “You do like her.”

“I’m so stupid.”

“Look, I have no idea what that girl’s intentions are, but I do know that she would be lucky to have you.”

And she knows she told herself she didn’t come here to fight, but he’s so damn aggravating and nosy, she can’t help it. “You’re such an asshole!”

“I’m not trying to –”

“Just – just leave it.” She snaps, looking out at the dark road. “Have you been in to see her today?” Veering towards less conflictive ground. 

“Nancy didn’t let me in, said they were both restin’.” He drags his hand tiredly over his face, “Haven’t had much of a chance to talk at all.”

“But before… how’s she been?”

“On the mend – tired, I think. Nance said she’s recovering well. But quiet. She– she doesn’t much want to see me, to be honest …” Maria had said you’d been withdrawn. Not really wanting to see anyone besides Nancy and the baby.

“That was – When we couldn’t find her… Scared the fuck out of me.”

He looks down into his mug of coffee, his jaw shifting side to side, “Yeah… yeah. I– it was–” She knows he can’t discuss it, can’t even voice the terror that gripped him at the thought of losing you. Something about the confirmation of knowing how much he loves you, settles something within Ellie. Reinforces the resolve in her heart. 

“Not just for her though. I was scared for you too.” The look he gives her then – she sees that flicker of desolation she was so scared he’d be lost to forever if you’d not come back – if you’d died. There isn’t much left in Ellie that’s overly sentimental, but she could cry at the relief of knowing you’re okay, the both of you. 

“Kate’s cute as fuck,” she smiles. 

“She is… got those big blue eyes.”

“What are you gonna do? With them?”

“Not much I can do, I guess. ‘Cept take care of ‘em. Keep ‘em alive. If she’ll have me…”

“Love them,” she adds, and he hums in agreement, tilting his head a bit. No point in hiding it, he’s gone soft, everyone knows now, might as well embrace it. Put up a sign. “Well,” she continues, “We both know you’re good at doing that, at least,” her eyes are full of laughter, full of memories. “Taking care of misbehaving girls that can’t ever do what they’re told.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, kiddo. You listened sometimes.”

“Yeah…” she chuckles, “You’re right, there was the rare occasion.” Her grin is roguish.. 

“Guess I’ve got enough practice ‘bout now, don’t I?

She goes suddenly serious, “Do you ever feel ashamed? When you remember what you did?” The question is abrupt, as if she wasn’t expecting herself to ask, but couldn't help it. She could be referring to so many things, so many sins. 

He thinks about the day after Sarah died, when he’d been so ready to follow her to whatever end. His mind shies away from the memory – that is shame –  a wound healed over, but still tender if pressed on too harshly. But he considers it now, in light of her question, how the overwhelming feelings driving that choice had been acceptance in that instant. A readiness to be done with all that continuing in a world without his daughter promised. Fate had granted him the opportunity to flinch, a chance he’d then passed on as a gift to Ellie. No matter how she saw it, he’d given her a chance to flinch. Something perhaps, one couldn’t recognize had they never consciously held that cold gun in their hand, pressed it to the tender nook of their temple and looked their own mortality in the face. But he’d given it to her, and not even an entire life of reliving all he’d endured as of yet, could ever, ever make him regret that choice. A parent did what they could to give their child the gift of choice. That was, in the end, the only thing one could do. The gift of choice, something he now had and so arrogantly squandered. Birdie was his choice. Fate had given him a gift once again, now he had to consciously decide to flinch or not. 

“No. Never.” There is no doubt – no room for doubt. “I told you once, if I ever had the chance to do it again, I’d do it exactly the same.” There was a space where one could exist with their sins and not resent them. Joel knew it well now. There was only one road that had led him to this moment, to this place. He could not regret the decisions that’d brought Ellie to this life of peace and safety. That had brought him to your door. You had never felt like a sin. The sight of you, it made him calm, so free. There had been fear, too much of it, but never regret, never shame alongside your name.

“Do you feel ashamed when you hear my name?” he asks her, and he can see the question takes her aback, a second of shock crossing her face. It’s all the answer he needs – for the thought to never have even entered her mind. She shakes her head, sharp and quick, “No.” She pauses, and then says, “Fuck your fear, Joel. If that’s what’s keeping you from her you have to let it go. It’ll be the thing to kill you in the end. Maybe not dead in the ground, but in a worse way.”

“I know…I know, Ellie.”

And so what if he had been afraid? In a world, a life, overrun with the worst possible outcome playing out in real time, what was one more terror? He realized it wasn’t the fear of loss that held him back. It was the fear of himself. Of his own inadequacy, his own monstrousness. Because he’d already lost you. Could feel the current loss of you, your absence, acutely. Like a gaping, putrid wound. The days you’d been missing, that he’d been so fucking terrified that he’d never see you again, that you were dead, as he searched desperately for you – he was already experiencing that which for so long was the reason for his denial. And he could think of nothing now that could be worse than not having you. Of knowing his little bird was existing out in the world and that he couldn’t touch you, hold you, kiss you. Fuck his fear indeed. 

What did it matter if the world was vast and cruel if, in the end, they had one another?

“I struggled a long time with surviving. And no matter what, you keep finding something to fight for, something to be brave for,” he repeats his long ago words to her.

“You keep going for family… And she’s family.”

“Yeah… she is.”

“All this, it can’t have been for nothing.”

“It’s not. It won’t be.”

Existing in a grave for all those years, only to be violently pulled awake by a forest fire of a little girl – it changed the nature of a man. His nature had been changed irrevocably. And he needed to give this new version of himself to you now, in its entirety. And what struck him most was that despite all this, despite all he’d changed, lost and grown, since the start of all this, since Sarah died – who he was hadn’t entirely been determined yet. There was still possibility within him. There was still hope for more. And you saw that, you’d always seen that. 

In a sudden startling way, he could perceive what he was, what he lacked, what he could be. You shared that perception; your vision of him was another gift. What was it about this sudden acute sense of self perception that was so close to madness, and how was it that suddenly, when you realized you were in love, it was as if you were able to see the world as it really was? Cordyceps had blanketed the earth in a film of death that he now saw in spectrums. There was a spectrum to death as it existed in the world, as what you allowed it to shape itself, and you, as. How did you perceive death – loss? How did you let it affect you when it inevitably touched your life? Was it to overwhelm you – or exist alongside you as simply another phenomena of nature? He could exist on that spectrum set about by nature or he could break free from it. Cordyceps – and all humanities’ basest desires it catered to – could go on existing, could continue to subjugate the world to its will, but he would break free from that subjugation of fear, of death, of failure, he would live his life now as he chose to. He could perceive with such clarity now what was real and what was not. His little bird was real and alive and waiting for him. This was no delusion, no farcical whim; it was a glance down into time – into the realities he’d once known and lived in, a world before calamity and fungus and dead little girls – and it wore the staggeringly beautiful face of you, a glance at the woman he loved. 

“She’s angry with me. I– I hurt her.”

“Hmm… True… but she isn’t like us… she’s good. Kind. She’ll forgive you. She understands you.”

“Perhaps,” he says, but he isn’t sure, is terrified of the alternative, will try and make it up to you for the rest of his life if you need him to. 

“Maybe time’ll be the thing to heal this wound” 

He pauses at that, “It wasn’t time that healed it… remember?” The memory of their past hangs, once again, heavy in the air, but perhaps now, in this moment, a bit lighter than before. 

She shakes her head, gives him a small smile, “I remember.”

 She’s quiet for a moment, pensive. He’d missed her so much. This easy casual nothingness between the two of them. Just being together, talking. And as he takes her in, her chin tipped to the breeze, eyes closed, he thinks: if he could have done it all again, he would have loved her better. Perhaps made better choices. But he could not have loved her more. 

How broken, how small he must have been, just a short time ago, to have found that thought so difficult to confess, even just to himself. 

“Go find her, Joel. Tell her what you need to tell her.”

Chapter IX

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

[katerinaptrv]

AFTERMATH

They are all in the garage for a normal day, finally, Tony has been defeated and they are all safe. 

Alan sees Babe get up slowly leaving a sleeping Charlie on the garage couch. After the confrontation, Charlie and Jeff took Babe to reunite with his father. Babe was shocked to see another loved him he thought dead return, and there are a lot that must be resolved between them for they to have the semblance of the relationship they had before, but they are both open to do the work for it. 

But anyway, Babe's father ratted Charlie out to his son, telling him that the boy needed rest for his body to recover from the accident and the effects from the untested drug he took to fake his death. He also finds out the kid was being a lab experiment to test another untested drug to suppress his powers, but Babe cuts this out very fast telling his father to only approach them about this subject when the drug was tested and safe and they could wait as long as needed for it to be true. 

To say he was not very happy about his findings was the understatement of the year, he was livid about all the risks the kid took, any overprotective tendencies Babe had were tuned now in 100 after the whole faking death ordeal. As a result Charlie was forbidden to train or do any work in the garage for at least a week. 

And damn, the kid was driving them all nuts, he was a very restless kid and did not want to stop for a second. The only advantage they have is if they could get him to lie down for a few seconds he would pass out on his own since his body clearly needed the rest. 

Babe starts approaching him and Jeff. He is pretty sure he knows what this is about. 

He gets in front of them, his friend looks like he aged years in the last few days, but the empty look he had was finally gone and now was filled with hope. 

The scars Tony left along with the ones they gain in their attempt to defeat him would take years to fully heal. Babe seems incapable to let Charlie be away from him more then a few minutes, he seems to have developed some pstd from all the horrible situation they've been through. They all still lived in the same house for the time being and he was sure his friend had frequent nightmares. 

But he tries his best not to show any of his struggles, he didn't want to give Charlie any fuel to flame even more the kid’s clear self worth problems. And Alan really understood him, it was hard to love someone that much and see they had problems loving themselves. Jeff wasn't as bad as his brother in this front but he also had his traumas. 

Babe faces his boyfriend.

- I need to know it all Jeff, you know he is not going to ever tell me the whole thing. Your brother diminishes things and makes them all seem easy or small. 

Jeff sighs looking at his brother sleeping but shakes his head agreeing with him. 

- It all started when I had a vision, I saw one of X-Hunters cars having an accident on the track and dying on the scene. I called Charlie asking him to meet and told him everything, I begged him for us to run to avoid it. But he says he couldn't, he needs to make sure you save P’Babe. 

Alan already knew that whatever Jeff was going to say would not ease his friend's worries at all before his boyfriend even opened his mouth. 

- Phi starts to ask me if I see any future where we defeated Tony. I said to him that I did not see a future where we win and the accident does not happen. For more against it you and me are about his fake death. It was important for us to get here today. Phi’s death shows Kenta how much Tony did not care for his adopted children, made Way scared enough of his father to turn on him and made you agree to work even with someone that betrayed you before. 

Alan reflected on all that Jeff said and saw the truth in his words, Charlie's death affected them all and made the possible risks escalate to all of them. S

- So, phi told me we have to take control of the accident, if we prepared for it the results would be different. So we made a plan.

- Why didn't you try to stop him?

- I did, there was no way to guarantee he would come out alive. But phi is very stubborn, if I wouldn't help him he would try to do it on his own. I was as scared as you at the hospital. I only knew he survived when I went to see his body and it was not there. So I waited for an opportunity and went to see him. 

Hearing these words Alan suddenly remembered something. 

- That day you were missing all afternoon.

- Yes, I went to see phi, he was weak and could barely walk so I stayed to take care of him. I am pretty sure you know what happens from here P’Babe.

Babe signed, sad but resigned, then he gave Jeff a serious look.

- I am going to need your help Jeff, if he's not going to take care of himself we will have to do it for him. 

- You can count on me phi, I have been trying to keep Charlie alive all our lives, it will be good to have some backup.

- You can count with all of us Babe, we called ourselves a family for a reason. 

Babe gives them a weak smile at that, he turns and sees that Charlie was waking up. Man, Alan was seriously considering putting some sleeping pills on this kid's water. 

Babe goes to him and hugs him, kissing him softly, then he smiles at Charlie, a real smile not a fake one. His usually short fuse temper friend did not seem bothered at all by their keep Charlie sleeping battle, he seemed overjoyed to be able to fight it. 

Kim approaches and tells him and Jeff, half joking half serious.

- You know, I can punch him, I am sure that I can put him down for a few hours.

- I would not make this suggestion in Babe's hearing range if I were you - He warned him while Jeff glared at him. 

And that is how Alan knows that they are all going to be OK in the end, definitely not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday, because they were all alive and together and they had all the time in the world to heal. 

He probably should start investing in some company mental health services thought. 

[secrettalem8]

some random important stuff about Springtrap and Emily

These facts you might know and you might not

And maybe I will post part 2 in the future I don't know 😭

Springtrap

•cannot remember his human past, and in fact, he does not remember it to the point that he believes he was never been a human. But Springtrap has one memory stuck in his brain of a little girl who he doesn't remember who she is.

•When Springtrap met Emily, he noticed how much Emily looked like that girl, but he did not pay much attention to it. But when Emily started visiting him and made him her best friend, he felt that Emily was that same girl, He made a promise to himself to protect her at all costs, even if it meant sacrificing himself for it what was important to him was that Emily live a happy and safe life

•After Springtrap began living in Emily's house, he began having nightmares and dreams and seeing more things about his past.

•A group of children ghosts started trying to chase him and scare him, but he was not very bothered by them or even afraid and whenever theyhe appeared he felt sad for them and wanted to help them or make them feel better

Dave?

• Dave work as a shop assistant in a supermarket and he work for late hours there

• Dave didn't want springtrap to stay in their house but when he saw how happy Emily is around springtrap he let him stay

• Dave doesn't trust Springtrap when he broke Springtrap's eye and Springtrap was nice to him after that and apologized and started explaining how it was his fault and not Dave's fault , despite the fact that Dave completely destroyed Springtrap's eye while Springtrap did not hit him, Dave did not even get a scratch, and this made Dave regret what he did to Springtrap

• Dave actually miss his dead wife so bad that he secretly listening to her old video recorders ( this man miss his wife so bad 😭 )

Mari

•While Springtrap has no memory of his past at all, Mari knows Springtrap's past and also knows his human name. She is trying to get his memories back

I will talk about Mari later 😭

[sadsongsandstories]

Along with all the other brilliant differences between their characters, with even more comparisons being clear after reading and watching the wonder that is BOSBAS, it is amazing to see the difference in how Katniss and snow treat their childhood trauma in the war. Because snow was traumatised. It's the entire basis of his character and a brilliant and relevant context bosbas provided. He knows first hand how horrific war can be, and so everything he does, at least on a moral level, is done to ensure that war will never happen again.

Control, chaos, contract

A foot on the throat of the weak to ensure they might never rise up.

And the hunger games, in all their spectacular cruelty, are just another piece in that foot. Part of their purpose, along with whatever metaphorical nonsense snow creates to justify them, is to ensure that the memory of the war, and the blame thereof, stays fresh in the mind of every citizen and even child. Even if none of them were alive when the war truly happened (two generations have passed) Snow deems it necessary for the districts and capitol to never forget, justifying his tyranny indefinitely.

Katniss, however, wants nothing more than to forget. The end of the book is coloured by a desire to rebuild and to grow. Peeta and district 12 are her dandelion, a reminder that there is always hope for a better future. The winter ends, snow falls.

And unlike our dear friend coryo, she wants nothing more than to forget the past, and the trauma it carries. She is more than justified to be vengeful and hateful and tell her children of their enemies in the capitol, but she does not. She is better than that. The subjects of her hate are long dead. And, unlike snow, she wants nothing more than to be free, from power, from fame, and from the games or blame and hate and politics. She's happy with her quiet life with Peeta, her dandelion, in a home that they can build together.

Gale never forgets, and doesn't want to, he is like snow, she is better.

And all of this is symbolised beautifully by the book. The book that they create together, like the life-saving directory of plants. A book full of memories and photos and love, glowing bright with stories and songs. There are no reminders of war, only glimmers of the people who were lost, and all that they gave to the world. It's small, it's beautiful, and it is, in my humble opinion, a far better way to honour those who died. Instead of starting another war.

And one day, when they are old enough, Katniss' children will read the book, and hear the stories. And they won't understand the full weight of the past, but they will know enough. They will be better. Safe and warm, with their two loving parents in their new home. Full of song and freshly baked bread.

[outshinethestars]

Aid and Comfort (Star Wars)

Mava lies in bed awake the night she leaves her baby boy on the refuse dump.  It’s a warm night, and she left him wrapped in the soft blanket she made for him, even though it’s a waste of the yarn.  It’s a warm night, she thinks, he won’t be dead yet, out alone in the dark.  She wonders if that’s a cruelty, his suffering drawn out.  They always said that freezing to death doesn’t hurt.

Seven months.  For seven months she managed to keep him, kept his misshapen foot hidden.  She’s not sure why she did it.  It’s not like she could keep him safe forever, could keep his deformity secret once he was old enough to start learning to walk.  For seven months he’s been a drain on her, a waste of resources, and for what?  

Her sergeant accused her of dodging the draft, and maybe that’s part of  it.  She’s been fighting this war almost half her life.  Mandatory enlistment age was fourteen, back when she started, and it feels so distant, childhood a forgotten dream.  There aren’t any children now, not really.  Even before the ferals left, before they started stealing the littler ones, birth rates had been plummeting for generations.  The higher ups aren’t known for their long-term planning, but even they can see this isn’t sustainable.  The Melida need more kids, or there’ll simply be no more Melida.  So Mava got full leave towards the end of her pregnancy, and she got to stay home and look after her baby, the future of her people.  Only he wasn’t.  He was never going to grow up to be part of the next generation of soldiers her people so desperately needed, and she knew that from the start, but she kept him anyways.

As shameful as it is to admit, a break from the fighting was part of it.  She believes in the cause, she does, but she’s exhausted.  She’s been fighting for almost half her life, and she’s so, so tired of death.  So, that’s part of why she hid her child’s deformity, but it’s not the main reason, not even when he was first born, red and pinched and screaming.  Mava kept him because she wanted to.  Because he was her little one.  Because she loved him for no reason the moment she laid eyes on him.  And she can’t regret it, even now.  He lived for seven months.  Only seven months, and he’ll never grow older, never learn to talk, never learn to call her Bua, never learn to hold a blaster, he’d only barely learned to crawl.  But he’d learned to explore the world, putting everything within reach into his mouth, staring all around him with bright eyes.  He’d learned how to smile, and he’d learned how to laugh, he reached out for her when he needed her, when he wanted her, he’d trusted her.  He’d been happy for the most part, she thinks, for seven months he was happy.

“What’s his name?” A voice says, seemingly materialized out of the dark.

Mava turns.  There’s a blaster pointed at her face.  That’s the only thing she can focus on at first, pulled from the liminal space between sleep and waking.  She’s staring into the eye of a blaster, close enough to be called point blank range, too far for her to easily lunge and grapple it from the small hand holding it steady.

It takes a few seconds, heart pounding, terror still, for her eyes to turn from the blaster, follow the arm up to the rest of the figure.  It’s a girl.  A child.  She’s small and stick thin, a ragged dress hanging off of her awkwardly, collar bone and elbows jutting taught against her skin.  She holds the blaster in her right hand. In a sling across her chest she cradles a baby.  Mava’s baby.

”You’re stealing him,” Mava says, not sure if it’s a statement or a question.

The girl shrugs.  The blaster point wavers slightly with the motion, but not enough to move off target.  The baby sleeps on, oblivious.

”I don’t think it’s stealing if he was already thrown away,” the girl says, “Does he have a name?”

“He’s not useful, he can’t fight,” Mava tells the girl.  She’s not sure why it feels so necessary to explain.  It’s only that it feels wrong somehow, to think of her little boy getting another chance at living, only for it to be taken away again immediately in some dark hole somewhere where the ferals hide.

The girl gives her a look like she’s stupid.

”He’s a baby,” she says, “That’s not the point of him.”

“Your superiors won’t approve,” Mava says, because she remembers a time when she was small and the world was slightly kinder, and she tried to convince her parents to let her bring home animals of all sorts to keep as pets the way that galactics did.  She supposes it would make sense for deformed infants to be the feral version of that childish urge, “They won’t let you keep him, you can’t have the food to spare.”

“Cerasi sent me,” the girl said, ”Cause one of our scouts found out you were going to kill him. We don’t have lots of food ever, but we stole a whole crate of powdered blue milk last month, and water’s no problem now that General Ben knows how to make it safe.  He’s old enough, he’ll be alright with the blue milk and soft rations.  I can’t promise he’ll live, cause it’s real damp in the sewers and we’re all crammed in together, so sometimes sickness comes through bad, and there’s no nothing Medic and Oben can do about it.  But we’ll do our best by him, and it’s better than dying alone anyway.”

The girl seems to be trying to reassure her.  The absurdity catches up to Mava all at once.  The girl is in Mava’s home, with Mava’s baby strapped to her chest, pointing a blaster at her, and trying to reassure her that her baby will be looked after.  As if that’s something anyone would do, simply because they wanted to.  As if his life was worth something simply because he is alive.

”You’re really going to keep him,” Mava says, the possibility sinking into her, “He’ll live.”

”I mean, we’ll do our best,” the girl says again.

Mava is silent a while at that.  The girl lowers the blaster, either trusting Mava won’t hurt her, or her arm growing too tired to hold the position.  Likely both.

”So, about the name?” The girl says when the silence drags out, “I mean, I’m sorry to bother you.  Normally we just take them.  Only I saw you left the blanket, and it’s a nice blanket, you did a really good job.  And I thought that maybe you love him, because there’s no other reason to leave it, I didn’t think.  And I figured if you loved him, he should get to have something that’s yours to keep with him.  Apart from the blanket, I mean.”

Mava finds her throat has closed, tear thick, and she has to clear it to say, “Javon.  His name is Javon Merad.”

“Javeko,” the girl says softly to Mava’s son, holding him close.  She looks up at Mava, and seems less sharp edged somehow, for all her thinness.  “Thank you,” she says, as if it weren’t Mava who is thankful, as if a name was a worthy gift, rather than far too little a thing to provide a child she brought into the world.

The girl starts to go, walking backwards, still cautious, unwilling to turn her back.

“Wait,” Mava says.

The girl pauses in the doorway, tense with wariness as Mava gets up.  Mava isn’t sure what she could do to thank this girl, but she is certain that she must thank her somehow.  Mava has always understood what the ferals are.  They are wild things, more like starved animals than sentients.  They are creatures without honor, without loyalty, without memory.  They are undisciplined and they are murderers and they are vicious, but most of all they are thieves.  They steal munitions and supplies and anything that isn’t pinned down, and always, always, they steal children.  They steal infants from cradles and they steal toddlers from play fields, and they steal cadets on the verge of deployment. So it makes sense, in its way, that they would take even little Javeko from his trash heap, out of ideology or habit.  But for this girl to come to her to ask his name, for her to reassure her that her son will be well looked after, to risk herself and her mission simply for that, that is kindness without any other explanation.  It is a kindness towards a stranger who might kill her tomorrow, and Mava realizes suddenly that she has no idea whether the girl is Melida or Daan, but she must have been one or the other once.  This kindness is incomprehensible to her, as vast as it is childish, but Mava feels that she must, in some small way, try to repay it.

Mava feels the girl’s eyes on her back as she rummages in what passes in her house for a kitchen.  The girl’s awareness is sharp, and Mava’s instincts remind her insistently that the girl is armed, that she is dangerous for all she is so small.  Mava does not care.  She doesn’t have much in the way of food.  The army gave her a bonus to keep her quiet when they took Javeko, but she hadn’t seen the point of trying to haggle for food when she’ll be deploying tomorrow.  She doesn’t think the ferals would have much use for money.  Mava pulls out the basket she keeps under the sink to carry all the food she has left in her house; the quarter loaf of bread she’d saved as a treat for breakfast tomorrow, and about a third cup of flour she had left over from baking it, some salt, three of the large, sour berries that grow by the creek, and one precious can of fruit.  She stands then, and hesitates.  She opens another cupboard and takes out her new blaster. 

Mava’s sergeant had been apologetic, for all he’d been accusatory, when he took Javeko from her.  He had told her that her service was appreciated, that every soldier was necessary at the front, especially ones of her caliber.  He had taken her baby away and left her with a bonus and a new blaster.  The blaster is a real tracer.  It’s Correllian make, less than twenty years old and in near perfect condition, but not so fancy that charge packs would be hard to come by.  There’s something awfully symbolic in it, bold faced.  Sorry about your baby, take this blaster instead.

Handing the girl this blaster is treason.  More so than failing to report her, more so than allowing her to take little Javon.  Giving her the blaster is arming the enemy, Melida lives may well be taken by it, and that blood will be on Mava’s hands.  But Mava finds that she is tired of fighting.  She has, she thinks, been tired for a long time.  But when Javeko was born that tiredness at once found purpose, transmuting itself into love.  She looks at this girl, who is thin and wild, and free, and undeniably desperate, and she does not see viciousness, she does not see cruelty, she does not see inhumanity.  This girl, no doubt, has seen war, has helped to build those gruesome traps the ferals are so fond of, and Mava can see that she knows the blaster she holds intimately, has shot people before.  But in her eyes there is kindness and there is love and protectiveness, not indulged in incidentally, not taken when opportunity presents itself and other duties allow, but reserved as the sole purpose of her being.  This girl loves Mava’s child as Mava does.  More, perhaps, having never forgotten how to love.  And Mava finds that her belief in war, in the Melida, died a long time ago.  She would rather this beautiful blaster of hers be used to protect her son, than to kill the Daan.

Mava is careful to hold the blaster by its barrel, movements slow and clear, and even so, the girl nearly bolts when she adds it to the basket.

“Take this,” Mava says.

The girl eyes the basket warily, like it’s a trap.

“I don’t have anything to give you for it,” the girl says.

”I know,” Mava says,  “It’s a gift.  It’s not much, but it’s all I have to repay you.”

”I’m not doing this for you,” the girl says.

”I know.  But I’m still grateful,” Mava says.

The girl looks at her for a long moment, weighing her sincerity.  Mava is struck, suddenly, by how much taller she is than the child.  The girl looks from Mava’s face to the basket, and back again.  Her gaze falls on the food and the tracer with equal greed and desperation, and the wrongness of that hits Mava with a visceral sense of revulsion.  Not at the feral, not for being feral, but at the fact that someone so small and so young would want either food or weapons so desperately.

The girl comes to her conclusion, and reaches for the basket, but she hesitates again at the last second.

”You won’t get in trouble?” She asks, nodding toward the blaster.

”I have a spare,” Mava says, “No one’s likely to notice.”

The girl looks as though she doesn’t quite believe her, but she takes the basket regardless.

”Thank you,” the girl says again.  And then she and Javon disappear back into the night, small and silent as shadow.