#which stems from his own guilt of having ‘let them disappear’ on his watch and his innate cleverness and curiosity

[ahalliance]

im watching étoiles valo and i’ll probably be too lazy to vod later but it sounds to me like a tubbo cubito is once again going through the Paranoia Horrors <3 but like that specific paranoia where your seemingly outlandish theories and thoughts actually have a decent amount of truth to them and it’s just the way they manifest/are expressed that is rooted in distrust and fear

[queenof-literature]

To Speak

Hi all this is part 8 of my Hero of Wild series

Also, I have a Discord Server for what I write now! If you're interested the link is: https://discord.gg/UpWvDzKC5R

Just a heads up: This story depicts learning to verbally talk again. As with my other stories, this is based on mine and my peers experiences, as many of us have struggled with similar situations.

Thank you guys, I hope you enjoy <3

“L-” The elongated sound shuttered past his lips. Wild practically growled in frustration deep in the back of his throat.

“L-i. L-l-”

“Let’s take a break.” Sky declared gently, slowly standing up and stretching his limbs. Sky allowed himself to breathe in the crisp air, the vivid colors of the sky reflecting the approaching dusk.

His declaration, however, fell onto deaf ears as the boy sitting across from him continued making rough and garbled sounds, only a ghost of what the syllable should have been. He was doing better earlier, and Sky could tell he was getting tired.

“Wild.” Sky chastised, kneeling down once more to face the boy. “Don’t push yourself.”

“L- l- i-” Wild’s voice only grew quicker and more slurred.

“Wild.” Sky demanded slightly louder, feeling a small pang of guilt at the flinch he saw, but grateful the boy was finally out of his own head.

“You need a break.” This time Sky left no room for argument. Wild shook his head, opening his mouth again.

“Yes, Wild.” Wild had never heard the man’s tone so stern before, and his surprise must have shown, because Sky softened his voice once more. “If you push yourself too hard, you’re going to damage your voice further.” Wild looked down at his hands, clenching them together. He refused to allow himself to snap at the man across from him, who had been so kind and had put up with Wild’s shortcomings. Wild clenched his hands once more before raising his hands to sign an apology.

“If you say sorry I swear to Hylia I will get Legend to tie your hands together.” Sky stated in the most deadpan voice Wild had ever heard from the man. “I know that this is slower than you were expecting.” It was as if Sky could read his mind, and the thought almost made Wild shiver. “I was the same way. It took me months before I could talk to others outside my room. But yesterday you couldn’t even pronounce the L sound, and now you’re making it. It will get smoother everyday, but it won’t if you push yourself over the edge and hurt your voice permanently.”

Wild bit his already abused lip, he hadn’t really thought about that…

“Besides.” Sky’s voice was tinged with more cheer, “There’s no rush! We’re all getting better at sign, and you’re making progress. We’ll just work everyday and keep going.” Wild raised his hands, then lowered them once again. He really wanted to say sorry, sorry that Sky had to baby him as Wild dragged him down. However, Wild didn’t really want to see if Sky’s threat was serious or not…

‘Thank you. So much.’ Wild settled for this instead. Thank you for being so patient, for spending hours with Wild every evening the past few days, for never snapping.

“Of course, Wild. You don’t need to thank me twenty times a day.” Sky chuckled at Wild’s annoyed huff. It was not twenty times a day thank you very much. Sky hummed in thought before speaking once again. “Wild, you know I’m fine with us doing this in secret, I know you don’t want others to know.” Wild could feel his stomach turn inside out. Were the others asking about their lessons? Was Sky going to make Wild tell them? “Time trusts us, and he makes sure the others stay away. He doesn’t know.” Sky reassured at Wild’s panicked expression. “I just told him we needed to work together on some things. He probably thinks we’re sparring.” Wild relaxed.

“But… Wild, maybe it would be better if you told someone?” Wild tilted his head in confusion. What would that help? “This is frustrating for you, and I know you’re getting mad at yourself, I did too. Of course I don’t mind listening, but it may help for someone else to know, in case you want to talk about your frustrations with someone else.” Wild thought about Sky’s idea as the man continued on.

The thought of the others knowing scared the shit out of him, if Wild was being honest. It was already embarrassing, and if they found out how long it was taking Wild to even get halfway through saying his own name? Yeah… that wouldn’t go over well. They would know eventually though, Wild doubted he could just wake up one day and start verbally talking about what’s for breakfast and expect everyone to get on board. Maybe he could convince them his lack of speech was a mass hallucination and that he had been talking the entire time? No… that probably wouldn’t work.

Still, maybe Sky was right. He had never pushed Wild too hard, and he was always there. Even if Wild wasn’t that talkative, even when signing, just having someone know what he was going through helped, even just a little.

But who else? So far Wind and Hyrule didn't seem to mind him. Four seemed nice, Legend didn't glare at him anymore like when he first met them, and Wind told Wild that Warriors was a very good listener. Time was definitely not an option, Wild wasn't proud of it, but he still practically ran away when it came to the two of them being alone. Something about the man just set Wild on edge.

One option stuck in Wild's mind though. Twilight.

The man had been infinitely kind to him. Not that the others had been hurtful or awful to him, but something about Twilight was a comfort, a light Wild began to subconsciously seek out. He drifted towards the older Link without thinking on long walks, and he tended to sit nearest to him at the campfire. Even Wolfie had continued to keep him company, although Wild put in more effort to hide his nightmares after his conversation with the man. Wild didn't want Twilight to feel the need to put his secret at risk just to help Wild with something the boy had been dealing with for years anyway. Twilight was just too kind for his own good.

Still… if Sky thought it was a good idea to tell someone else maybe…

'Twilight can know.' Wild forced himself to sign before he over-thought things further.

"That's good, Wild." The boy felt himself relax at Sky's gentle reassurance. "Do you want me to tell him, or do you want to?" As usual, Sky left as many options as he could up to Wild, which the boy found himself thankful for.

As much as Wild wanted to avoid discussing his lessons to the others for the rest of his existence, if he told Twilight he had control over the conversation.

'I will.' Wild decided. 'Thank you.' Wild signed again as an afterthought.

"Twenty-one." Sky's smile turned more into a smirk, and Wild felt his shoulders lift in silent laughter.

Wild guessed this wasn't so bad.

~

It was only after Wild disappeared into the surrounding treeline that Sky allowed himself to rest his head in his hands, sighing softly. As much as he hoped Wild would tell someone else for the boy’s sake, Sky was secretly hoping he would tell someone just so Sky would have someone to discuss this with.

To say Sky was overwhelmed would be an understatement.

It wasn’t Wild’s fault, the boy was trying his best and Sky didn’t want him to think he was mad at him, it was the exact opposite actually. Sky was mad at himself.

He had vastly underestimated what these lessons would be. Sky didn’t regret offering, not for a minute, especially with the progress Wild was making, no matter how slow it was. Wild was intelligent, Sky could tell that much from the way he jotted down notes of new Hyrules in his notebook. So Sky was sure that as a person who probably picked up new concepts quickly, spending an entire week on sounding out two letters was infuriating.

And Sky couldn’t help, not really. Where Sky’s lack of speech in childhood seemed to stem from a deep rooted mental fear that froze his throat, Wild’s struggles seemed to be parts mental and physical. Sky believed their experiences would be similar enough he could help, but he was wrong. He didn’t understand what Wild had been through, he didn’t understand how the boy’s scars were so old on such a young body, and he didn’t understand how to help him.

He was relying solely on his own experiences. Link was the first word he could say in front of Zelda, so it was the first word he was trying to teach Wild. But would a different word be easier? Did the scars around Wild’s throat prevent him from saying the sounds in his own name? Sky didn’t even know.

Sky had been hoping they would land in a Hyrule that had a marketplace, some sort of bookstore that could give Sky more information. Even if it was about teaching children to speak, maybe it would help, even a little bit. Perhaps the other Links had information, but Wild wanted this to remain a secret and Sky would never betray his trust. Especially not after how hard it was to earn it in the first place. The fact that Wild was even speaking broken sounds in front of Sky spoke volumes about how much trust Sky would be breaking if he went against Wild’s wishes. No, he needed to do this on Wild’s terms. However, if Wild was able to tell Twilight, it’d be nice to have someone else to help the boy.

Sky really hoped Wild told him.

~

Looking around their newest temporary campsite, Wild was especially grateful that restlessness seemed to be a common trait they all shared, whether it be for something to do with their hands, or exploring the surrounding area. Wild let out a small sigh of relief when he spotted Twilight stoking the campfire. Alone.

Sky once joked that if Wild bit his lip anymore in the past week it would probably start to bleed, but Wild couldn’t help it. Slowly, Wild approached the campfire and awkwardly sat opposite of the man shifting the ashes with a stick.

“Hey, Wild.” Twilight greeted, looking up from the growing flames. “Are you and Sky done with, erm, whatever you guys do?” Wild couldn’t help a small smile at that. He was thankful the others didn’t pry, but watching them dance around the subject was always a little entertaining.

‘For today.’ Wild signed. Twilight opened his mouth, before noticing Wild’s hands were still elevated. He had learned that meant the boy was thinking of his next words carefully, and Twilight always tried to let his thoughts run freely without interruptions. ‘Can I…’ Wild trailed off, and Twilight felt worry pool in his chest. ‘Can I tell you something?’ Wild clenched his hands after he finished, which Twilight was pretty sure was a form of self comfort for the teen.

“Yeah, Wild, of course. Anytime. I assume you want this to stay between us?” Twilight assured, noticing Wild was very quick to nod confirmation to the last part.

‘And Sky.’ Wild signed, and Twilight secretly hoped this was about what Wild and Sky had been doing every evening the past week or so. He never pried, none of the others did. Sky made it clear one night that this wasn’t something to worry about, and Twilight trusted the other man, even if all Twilight wanted to do was to help.

And maybe he was curious, so what?

“Is this about what you guys have been… working on the past week?” Twilight prodded after a few minutes of Wild clenching and unclenching his fingers, relieved when Wild responded with a nod.

‘Yes.’ Wild signed, and Twilight’s worry grew at how despondent Wild seemed. He decided that patience would be the best course of action, pushing Wild would most likely only make him shut down.

‘He… I…’ Wild’s hands couldn’t seem to decide what to do.

“Do you want to write it down instead?” Twilight offered. Wild’s hand paused, and he nodded eagerly at the idea, swiftly standing up and racing to his bag where he put the journal Four gave him. He didn’t need to use it as often for communication anymore, able to fingerspell any larger or unknown words, but after Four made it clear he wouldn’t need it back, Wild had taken to writing down random thoughts and facts about the new Hyrules he encountered. Not only did he enjoy it, but he would be able to show Zelda later along with pictures on his slate.

Wild missed Twilight’s relieved smile that his idea stuck. While he was used to comforting and helping the children in his village, Wild was not only older, but was much different from the children in Ordon. So far, Twilight had been relying on a combination of how Time gave him advice, and how Twilight comforted Colin. It had so far seemed to work out well enough.

Wild took his place across the fire, and all of his nerves seemed to return full force, causing Twilight to frown. Whatever Wild wanted to tell him, Twilight wondered why it seemed so bad. If Sky knew, it couldn’t be dangerous, right?

Wild’s hands shook as he wrote out what he wanted to say, and Twilight didn’t push him. When Wild was done, he hesitated, as if this would be his last chance to leave. Twilight really hoped that didn’t happen, he really wanted Wild to trust him. Finally, Wild held out the journal, passing it around the fire.

Twilight had to resist snatching it away before Wild could change his mind. As Twilight grabbed the journal, Wild pulled his hand away as if the pages had burned him. He looked like he was about to flee any second. Twilight steeled himself for whatever his eyes would see on these pages, knowing that any sign of a negative reaction would probably result in a missing Link. After mentally preparing himself, Twilight read the small scrawled sentence in the middle of the page, deciphering the shaky ink.

Sky is teaching me how to speak. Verbally.

That… was not at all what Twilight was expecting. At all. He didn’t really know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. Out of his peripherals, he saw Wild start to attempt an escape. It seemed Twilight took too long for his response.

“Wait, wait.” Twilight held out his hand as if he were trying to talk to a scared animal. “I’m sorry I was just surprised. That’s great, Wild.” Wild slowly settled back into his spot on the ground, both boys had no idea what to say. One worrying thought, however, was stuck in Twilight’s mind.

“Wild, that's amazing, but you know we don’t need you to talk. We’re all fine with you signing. You don’t need to do this for us.”

Twilight watched as Wild’s eyes widened a bit, and the teen raised his hands, trying to convey his thoughts in a way that would be understood.

Wild liked sign, he thought it was pretty and intricate. But Goddess, he wanted to talk so bad. It was his fault, he shouldn’t have let himself get swept up in all his silly fantasies of finally being able to speak out loud.

Swept up in fantasies of chatting with Wind, being able to answer the younger’s questions honestly and in detail, there was so much more he was desperate to say.

Swept up in the fantasies of arriving in Hateno, visiting Zelda once more. Approaching her normally, raising his hands and talking instead. He longed to see her look of shock. He would never again be her stoic knight, but perhaps he could remind her of her good memories.

Fantasies of just… opening his mouth and saying his thoughts. Being able to tell the others about his Hyrule when they walked down its paths again. Telling them about the stable system, and the treasure he finds in caves and ruins, and the different regions his Hyrule held.

‘I want to’. Wild signed, trying to show Twilight that he wasn’t just doing this because he thought the others were shallow and impatient.

He wanted this, he wanted it so bad.

“Well then I’m really proud of ya!” Twilight grinned, apparently seeing Wild’s true determination. “I’m sure it wasn’t easy reaching out.” Wild felt his cheeks burn a bright red.

Proud? Of what? Despite Wild’s inner crisis, Twilight continued on.

“Let me know if you guys need anything. I could try to help or just help keep the others away, just let me know.” Wild didn’t know how to respond to that, so he just signed a heartfelt ‘thank you’ instead.

“How’s it going? The lessons.” Twilight clarified at Wild’s confused look. The question just caused Wild’s shoulder to sag again.

‘Not good.’ Wild signed.

“Why?” Twilight coaxed.

‘I’m not good at it.’ Wild explained, not meeting Twilight’s eyes.

“I doubt it’s that simple.” Twilight realized he would probably have to talk to Sky to find out what was really happening.

‘Can’t even say my name.’ Wild huffed and Twilight winced at how tired the teen sounded, even in that small noise. It was obvious he was trying hard, and felt like he was getting nowhere.

“You only started a week ago, Wild. I’m pretty sure that’s not a lot of time to already be speaking entire words.” Twilight tried his best to assure Wild, but without the full story it was almost impossible. “Hey.” Twilight gently got Wild’s attention, the boy looking up at him again. “I was serious. Anything you or Sky need, and I’ll take care of it. Okay?”

‘Okay’ Wild signed after some hesitance. ‘Thank you’. Twilight opened his mouth to inquire further about the lessons, when a small figure came barreling into camp.

“I forgot my water.” Wind explained at Twilight’s raised eyebrow, racing over to his bag. “Oh! Hi Wild!” Wind greeted enthusiastically, looking up from his bag to see Wild give a small wave back. At Wind’s victorious smile, Twilight got an idea.

Carefully behind the teen’s back, Twilight gestured to Wild, jerking his head to the treeline. Thankfully, Wind seemed to get the message.

“Wild! Do you want to come back with me? Hyrule and I were going to play a game, we haven’t decided which one yet but we got Four and Legend to join too!” Wind offered excitedly, and Twilight bit back a laugh at that image. Four probably joined by his own free will, perhaps feeling a bit restless. Legend, however, was almost certainly dragged. Probably by Hyrule, they all knew the soft spot the older had for the brunette.

Wild glanced back at Twilight, his head tilting in a silent question.

“Go on, sounds fun.” Twilight encouraged, feeling warmth build in his chest when Wild nodded hesitantly and rose from the ground. Wind resisted the urge to drag the older teen behind him, and they both eventually disappeared into the trees. Twilight was glad the others felt they could just play games sometimes. Sure they usually had to do with sparring or training, but it was nice they felt they could relax, even just a bit. Twilight may have even joined them, but he had more pressing matters.

~

Twilight walked in the direction he had seen Sky and Wild travel when they began their lesson. Time knew where the two went for safety reasons, but Twilight didn’t want to involve him if he didn’t have to.

Eventually he noticed a clearing to his left. He carefully approached the break in the trees, still wary of monsters lurking around. Fortunately, there was only a familiar sailcloth. Unfortunately, the man in said sailcloth had his head in his hands, obviously upset.

“Sky?” Twilight called, the man whipped around.

“Oh, hi Twi. Did uh… Did Wild-?” Sky cut off, making a circular motion with his hand.

“Wild told me.” Twilight confirmed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Sky winced at how unconving he sounded. Twilight raised a single eyebrow and the message was clear. Really? You’re gonna try that?

“He’s come far, but he doesn’t feel like it. It hurts to see him struggling so much. I thought I could help, but our situations are so different…” Sky let out a resigned sigh.

“Yeah… he didn’t seem too happy when we talked.” Twilight remembered the tired little huff the boy let escape his damaged vocal chords. Sure the scars on his neck were bad, buit Twilight didn’t realize how bad, not until that night weeks ago anyway.

“He tried to talk to me, the third night he was with us.” Sky’s wide eyes made contact with Twilight’s dark cobalt. “He had a nightmare, tur-” Twilight’s eyes widened, stumbling over the words that were about to pour out of his mouth. He was really about to spill his guts about Wolfie, he wanted to smack himself. “I, uh, I was on watch, and I heard him. He tried to talk after he woke up, I don’t think he knew I was there.” He lied carefully. “He couldn’t even- Hylia he couldn’t even make a syllable. It was just so… garbled.” Twilight didn;t think he’d ever forget the haunted look in the younger’s eyes that night. “Don’t tell him or anyone I said that.” Twilight warned as an afterthought.

“I won’t. Still that’s… I want him to be able to talk if he wants, I want him to have that opportunity. I’m not the right person to teach him I don’t know how.” Sky rushed out.

“And who else will do it?” Twilight questioned, and Sky froze for a moment. “I mean he didn’t seem that close to anyone in his Hyrule. Maybe Zelda, or many he has friends, but we don’t know how long this quest will take. Truth is, I don’t think there is a right person to do this. I think we just have to do it.” Twilight put extra emphasis on the ‘we’ part.

“I’ll tell you the same thing I told Wild.” Twilight let his voice soften. “I don���t know how to help, but I will. He didn’t seem overly opposed to me being here for lessons, or maybe he didn’t listen to that part. Or I could do something else. We’ll figure it out.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I just don’t want to be the reason he gives up altogether.” Sky spoke, although he seemed calmer now.

“Does Wild really seem like the type of person to give up?” Sky cracked a smile at Twilight’s tone.

“Yeah, you all can be stubborn asses.” Sky’s smile grew at Twilight’s offended look.

“You guys? Like you’re not included in that! If anything you’re the most stubborn of us all!”

~

It was that night that Twilight finally understood.

He was ready to support Wild in whatever he wanted to do, whether that meant signing or talking. But it wasn’t until that night around the fire he understood why Wild wanted to talk. Why Wild would be so determined to achieve that goal.

He didn’t get it, until he saw Wind chat animatedly to the others about the game they had made up to help their aim.

He didn’t get it, until he saw the wistful look Wild sent Wind as the boy continued his ramblings.

Twilight understood now, and he’d be damned if he didn’t do everything he could to get that wistful gaze out of the younger’s eyes.

[bluestarscribbler]

Writing Characters With Social Anxiety Disorder (SAD)

Hi everyone! :) How are you doing? 🥰💕 Today I'll be outlining the main do's and don't's of writing characters with SAD, as well the definition and the main symptoms of SAD.

DISCLAIMER: I am not diagnosed with SAD myself; however, all of the following information had been obtained from different posts and sites of people that have first-hand experience with SAD. I will be linking those at the end of today's post, please feel free to check them out.

What I learned from the intense research I did is that nobody has social anxiety the same. Some people feel like they can't breath. Others tend to laugh in awkward moments. Nobody is the same. No character is exactly alike. You can't get it "right," because it's not an exact science. So don't feel too pressured while writing a character with SAD, there's no "one" way to write them. A helpful approach is to think what about how the SAD fits into the story you want to tell because the topic is really as complicated as any other and you can view it from many different angles and go as deep as you want - depending on what this story you're trying to tell calls for. So rather than trying to get an objective view of this complicated topic, focus on the aspects that are relevant to the story.

What is Social Anxiety Disorder?

AKA Social Phobia, SAD describes an intense fear and avoidance of negative public scrutiny, public embarrassment, humiliation or social interaction. This fear can be specified to particular social situations; such as public speaking, or more typically, is experienced in most/all social interactions. Those suffering from SAD will often attempt to avoid the source of their anxiety; this is particularly problematic and in severe cases can lead to complete social isolation.

Symptoms of SAD:

person paces a lot

very fidgety

stops talking mid sentence...a lot

wrings hands

angered by slightest infractions of others

finds fault in others a lot

hard to breathe when focus/attention is shifted to them

sweating profusely

mumbling

shrinking to hide

lack of eye contact/wandering eyes

painfully shy and withdrawn

picking the nails, picking the skin

always the person in the back of the room or in a corner

gravitating toward the first person they recognise and following them everywhere

headaches

finding ways to avoid certain situations

crying before or after social events

feel dizzy and the entire world becomes very far away

feeling like chest was caving in

assuming that everyone is focusing on them

assuming that people are laughing about them

grind their teeth a lot

bite their knuckles

tap out drum patterns with their feet or fingers

nausea and vomiting

muscle weakness

migraines

heart arrhythmia

increasing nervous tics

Keep in mind that social anxiety exists on a spectrum. Not everyone is paralysed at the smallest conversation, but some are. Others feel mild discomfort at certain types of socialising. It’s all relative.

DO'S:

DO write in a lot of internal dialogue. People with SAD say that most of their anxiety is created by their own internal rumination. So, add a lot of overly self-critical internal dialogue and have them think about trivial things that they may or may not have gotten wrong for hours after the fact. People with SAD also tend to avoid initiating with anyone, instead preferring for them (the other person) to initiate — because then they know they're not inconveniencing them (the other person). If a person with SAD does have to interact with people then they tend to plan and rehearse what they're going to say to them. However, once the social interaction has begun, there will be very little internal monologue. In those situations, the character is very much relying on instinct. After the interaction, if the character feels that they messed up (which is likely; be sure to pick up on even the slightest fumbles or awkward pauses), they should keep thinking about how they're an idiot and they want to never have to talk to another person again, because they know it'll end the same way. If they feel like they did a good job, they should express surprise at how well it went, congratulate themselves, and say that they should maybe do this more often — although they probably won't.

DO let them have observational skills. Part of the anxiety stems from not always knowing how to/being good at socialising. Thus an anxious person will watch others closely for clues to their performance and acceptance. While it doesn’t always tell the person how they are doing, it does teach them a lot about the people around them and how they feel about each other. The person in a group with SAD may actually have a better idea of who in the group are friends, enemies, annoyed with the others, think they are better, have crushes, and so on. Having SAD doesn’t mean that a person doesn’t know social cues, it means that they underestimate their ability to use them. Don’t confuse SAD with autism.

DO make it influence all decisions. This is one you can do as the writer and not include every bit of internal dialogue. Just keep in mind that Every decision an anxious person makes is put through the anxiety filter first. Even if they are doing things by themselves, they have to evaluate the chances of meeting people, meeting people they know, having to talk to people when they are done. Keep that in mind when writing these characters in order to keep their personality consistent. That said, in general you can think of someone with SAD feeling physically, mentally and emotionally uncomfortable and "out of place" in ordinary social situations - they want out of it, looking for the door, excuse to leave, cut the interaction short. There could be a sense of shame, guilt and self-loathing about not being "good enough", or that there is something broken and wrong with them (or society).

DO give them other traits. Make sure you give them other traits that influence their decisions and drive their motivations. Someone can have anxiety and also love adventure, want to save all the stray dogs, want to help orphans, want to be a basketball hero, etc. One of the big problems with SAD is that it interferes with a person’s desires to do and be other things. It doesn’t always win though. And sometimes a person may decide that an awkward encounter or two is worth taking part in some other activity they love. Just remember to keep your characters balanced.

DO let them find each other. SAD is probably more common than you’d think. Not everyone has a crippling case. You can have characters share their anxiety with each other and comfort each other and help each other through tough times. SAD can make a person feel isolated but they don’t have to be, and often aren’t as isolated as they think. That observational skill can also help them find the right people to share their feelings with. Not all socialising is terrifying, it can often be cathartic.

DON'T'S:

DON'T make them hate people. Social anxiety does not mean that the person afflicted doesn’t like people or always craves solitude. One of the harshest aspects of SAD is that a person may want companionship and friends but still have uncontrollable discomfort when faced with making friends or spending time with the friends they already have. This constant tug-of-war between wanting friends and feeling the anxiety around people can cause a lot of internal pain and lead to other emotions and conditions such as depression. Someone with SAD can have friends. Even a lot of friends. But certain factors may influence how a person with SAD chooses friends more than they influence others. The level of contact is different for everyone and there will be some friends who can take up more time while not taking up more energy on the part of the anxious person. However, SAD can get so bad that the person with it is unable to leave the house for days at a time, ghosting on all social engagements, not answering their phone and ignoring all texts; but that still doesn't mean they hate people.

DON'T always make them succeed. If you are writing about a person with SAD and they are forced again and again to go outside their comfort zone, make them fail. Have them go to a meeting and then duck down a side corridor at the last minute and disappear. Have them talk to a person and then freeze up in the middle of a conversation, at a loss for words. The longer they go without knowing what to say the stronger the anxiety gets and the harder it is to think. Or have them execute the socialising brilliantly but then go into the bathroom and cry from the overwhelming sense of effort it took to look normal. And just because they have had a few successes doesn’t mean that they will start succeeding every time. Sometimes, the energy it takes, even when the interaction was a success, means that next time they are reluctant or too exhausted to do it again.

DON'T always give them "tells". Anxious people can be very good at hiding it. In the example above of the person who socialises brilliantly and then cries in the bathroom, no one knows how hard it was. They only saw the brilliant “performance.” Keep that in mind. Not all people uncomfortable with socialising are bumbling awkward goofballs. Sometimes they actually appear very cool and collected.

DON'T suddenly make their anxiety disappear when they're at the end of their character arc. This pisses me off, anxiety is a life-long condition. It cannot be "overcome" easily. However, the person with it can learn to live with it. They can visit a psychiatrist, get pills prescribed or change their lifestyle completely to fit around their SAD. A person with anxiety always thinks about their anxiety. Even when they are happily at home reading a book, sometimes they will think about an upcoming engagement, or wish they made friends like the characters in their book. Every time a person with SAD makes plans they have to run through a list of criteria before nailing anything down. Will they have time before and after to prep for and cool down from the experience? Is it something they have done before and feel comfortable doing? Can they back out at the last minute if they feel too overwhelmed that day? These are just a fraction of the things that go through an anxious person’s mind before committing to plans. Again, this isn’t an absolute, but for many people with SAD it is a defining characteristic of who they are. They don’t talk to a single person, even a spouse sometimes, or make a doctor’s appointment without the anxiety affecting how they feel, think, and behave. It is always there. Always.

That's it for today folks! I hope everyone has an absolutely fantastic day! 😊❤

[whitewolfandthefox]

The Black Blade Chapter 5

Summary: One of the hardest things to do is to watch someone you love suffer. It’s even worse when that suffering comes at your own hands. The Witchers have a very difficult decision ahead of them, one that will change the course of the Continent. Series Masterlist Words: 3723 Warnings: Suicide, blood, death, injury. All story warnings. A/N. Holy crap, it’s been almost two years since I’ve updated this story. My apologies for disappearing off the face of the earth. My goal of posting slightly more was an epic fail. I finished my Bachelor of Education as well as got a full time job within months of each other, so I didn’t have time to breath, much less think. I hope to be back on a semi regular basis now! As per usual, huge thanks to my beta @thegodsneverwantedme​

The Blood Moon

They call it the Blood Moon. It’s a month filled with heartbreak, death, and grief; brothers hunting sisters through the wilderness. Each time a Witcher returns to Kaer Morhen, he carries two swords with a medallion wrapped around them, a shroud of grief sitting over him. Funeral pyres become a common sight, the initiates tasked with ensuring there is enough wood available for one at a moment's notice. 

Vesemir disappears into his office every time a hunting party returns, often bloodied and injured, occasionally missing a member. Those evenings are even more somber, two passings being mourned. Tonight is one of such evenings, Geralt joining his mentor with two glasses of ale. 

“There was nothing you could have done, Vesemir,” Geralt says softly, trying to break the man out of his reverie. “We didn’t know that this would happen, and we still don’t know where it stems from.” “I know,” Vesemir sighs, sipping his ale. He looks out the window, not seeing the trees that surround the mountain on which Kaer Morhen is built. “I could have stopped this, right at the beginning.”

Geralt sits up in his chair, frowning at Vesemir. “What do you mean?”

“All those years ago, when they first wanted to try the Trials on Leto, they asked me first,” Vesemir starts. “They asked if I thought she would survive them, if I thought she would be strong enough to be a Witcher.”

He pauses, the silence stretching tight across the room. “I said yes.”

“You couldn’t have known, Vesemir,” Geralt protests. “You had no idea things would turn out this way. We all knew she would be fine, we were so proud of her.”

The silver haired Witcher stands and joins his mentor at the window. “Any of us could have said no, we could have stopped the experiments. But we didn’t. This is on all of us, if you want to place blame that far back.”

Vesemir stays silent, the minutes passing slowly. “She was mine though.”

Geralt shifts, the silence stretching as he waits for the older Witcher to speak.

“I should have protected her, I had a duty to protect her,” Vesemir sighs, running a hand over his face. “I should have known better. Especially once she came out different. She had different magic, her eyes were silver; that should have been the first sign things weren’t the same.”

“How were you to have known?” Geralt asks gently. “The magicians didn’t know, and they were the ones doing all of the experiments and the research. And besides, she was Leto, she was your Wolf, everyone wanted her to succeed. She was- is- all of ours.”

“I know, pup,” Vesemir uses the nickname he normally reserves for new, scared initiates. “But I still can’t help but feel responsible for what’s happened.”

The conversation dies off, Geralt having no response for the guilt that Vesemir shoulders, that they all shoulder. He stands in silence, watching out the window with his mentor as they grieve the loss of their sisters, the loss of their friends.

**~*~*~*~**

“Elliya!” Zane cries, trying to get the Witcher’s attention as she attacks a village. Can’t let her kill anymore than she has. Need to draw her away. He and Illja exchange glances, hardening their faces and their hearts as the woman turns to face them, a snarl on her face.

“Have you come to be enlightened?” Elliya asks, staring down at the two Witchers as she ignores the panicked villagers running away behind her. “Have you finally realized your true calling?”

“Elliya, please. This isn’t you,” Zane pleads, watching as Illja circles to the side to try and cut their sister off. “You’re ill, please let us help you.”

The Witchers are loath to kill their sisters, but realize it may be the only option. Still, they have to try to save them, to know that they are truly irredeemable before they are forced to kill one of their own. They flinch as they hear the maniacal laughter burst from their sister, madness flashing in her eyes.

“Help me?” Elliya asks with a sneer. “Help me? You can’t help me. You’re here to kill me, you’re here to kill my sisters. I’ve heard what you have been doing, Witchers.”

Zane’s heart falls at the words, pain lancing through his chest. “We want to help you,” he whispers. “We don’t know how. We can’t let you keep killing the humans, though. They don’t deserve what you’re doing.” “They’re murderers,” Elliya hisses, eyes alight with madness and rage. “They’re killing the earth, killing everything. They need to be eradicated.” “Why?” Zane pleads, trying to get through to his sister. “Why, though? Some are doing that, yes. But think of the others! Just yesterday, I saw a human helping a bird who had a broken wing.” “The minority,” Elliya scoffs. “The majority are killing this earth and everything on it, they need to die in order for everything else to survive.” She shifts her grip on her sword, prowling closer. “You fail to see the light, and for this, you must die.”

“Elliya, please,” Zane tries one more time, slowly lifting his sword as his sister shifts. “You don’t have to do this.

“I have no other choice,” Elliya’s voice goes flat before she launches herself at Zane and the other Witcher with him, going for the kill strike.

Zane dances backwards, hardening his heart for what he has to do next. Every sister who has come back to themself has begged us to kill them. We’re only doing what we must, there’s no way to help them. I wish there was.

The Witcher falls silent as he throws himself into the deadly dance, Illja trading off with him when they need a break. He cries out in pain as Elliya gets through his defences, a shallow cut along his bicep seeping through his sleeve as he takes a step back while Illja tries to get behind their sister.

Elliya falters as she hears Zane’s cry, guilt flashing through her eyes as her bitter lemon and cedar scent softens. “Zane?” she whispers, staring at the Witcher.

“It’s me,” Zane says softly, lowering his sword somewhat as recognition flashes in Elliya’s eyes. “It’s me, it’s your brother. I’m here.” “I- I- I don’t know what’s happening,” Elliya stammers, bringing a hand to her forehead as she screws her face up in pain. “Zane, what’s happening?” “It’s okay,” Zane soothes, slowly approaching his sister, heart aching as he sees pain on her face. “It’s okay, I’m right here. Let me help you, Elliya.”

Elliya stares at Zane, cocking her head as she seems to listen to something no one else can hear. The male Witcher continues to creep closer, keeping up a soothing stream of reassurance. Right as he gets within arms reach Elliya’s expression changes, her face going dead as rage and madness flares in her eyes. “Liar!” she hisses before gasping as Illja drives his sword through her chest from behind. Her golden eyes clear as he lowers her to the ground, Zane coming forward to cup her cheek.

“I’m so sorry,” Zane whispers brokenly, tears trailing down his cheeks as Illja pulls his sword out and holds Elliya in his lap.

“Sleep, sister,” Illja rumbles sadly, arranging her so she’s laying comfortably as he holds her close. “We’ll stay with you. You can rest now.” “Thank you,” Elliya breathes, slowly going limp in her brother’s arms. “Thank you. Tell the others it’s not- it’s not- we don’t want…”

Zane leans forward, listening carefully to his sister’s words before letting out a sob as her eyes go glassy and she lets out a soft sigh. He bends over her as her head falls limp to the side, Illja curling around her body as he cries.

“We had to,” Zane whispers, holding tight to Illja as they mourn their sister. “We had to. She was suffering, she didn’t want to do this. We had to do this, Illja.” Illja nods, gripping Zane’s shoulder as he takes comfort in the fact that they were able to save Elliya, even though it was through death.

**~*~*~**

Ifera sits in a tree, watching as the Witchers prowl through the forest looking for her. Amateurs. She shakes her head as they bumble around, making all sorts of noise. How did they ever think they were going to catch me, much less a monster, if everyone can hear them coming from miles away?

She jumps down from her perch on the branch, listening to the soft whispers in her mind. I can see now, it’s all become so clear. The humans are a plague, they’re destroying our world. They hunt and kill and destroy, they need to be eradicated. Ifera prowls after the Witchers on silent feet, pulling her swords out as she follows. She follows them into a darker part, listening to the soft, sweet voice that whispers to her.

“Witchers,” she calls sweetly, nearly laughing as they spin to face her while their hands jump to their weapons. “Oh, you poor darlings. Did I sneak up on you and scare you?” “Ifera,” the dark haired Witcher calls to her, a pleading tone in his voice. “Please, let us help-”

Ifera cuts him off with a sharp gesture, shaking her head. “Don’t even start,” she growls softly. “I’ve heard what you’ve all been doing to our sisters. Hunting us down like cattle, killing us one by one. You’re not here to help, you’re here to kill me. Don’t try to pretend.” “It’s not like that,” the other Witcher pleads, blonde hair reflecting the sunlight. “We’re your family, Ifera, we don’t want to do this. But you can’t keep on like this.” “And why not?” Ifera prowls forward, letting her sword drag on the ground. “The humans are killing everything else. You’ve seen how the world has changed since they’ve grown so far.” Kill them all, take them out. Let us run free, where we don’t have to hide. There’s nothing good left in the humans, they destroy everything they touch.

The blonde Witcher falters, clearly at a loss for words from her question. “Ifana-” he starts, but she cuts him off as she leaps at him, sword raised. “Fuck off,” Ifera growls, sword bouncing off the Witcher’s as she pursues him. “You don’t understand, you’ll never understand. I have to do this.” “Why?” The dark haired Witcher demands, darting in to catch her sword when the blonde Witcher trips. She growls in frustration, just wanting to ignore the questions.

“Because,” Ifera cries, swiping randomly at the Witcher, Andrezj, her mind suddenly supplies, to try and get rid of his questions. She falters slightly as the name appears, taking a moment to recover. The whispers increase in intensity, sudden guilt warring with the chaotic rage that's a constant in her chest and she shakes herself, trying to rid the emotions.

Andrezj takes advantage of her momentary distraction, darting forward and landing a blow on her shoulder. Ifera lets out a yell of pain, the scent of copper filling the air as she leaps backwards and lets out a growl.

“You’ll pay for that,” she resumes her circling, switching hands on her sword as pain runs down her arm. “You won’t leave this place alive.” Andrezj and the blonde Witcher exchange glances but stay silent, Ifera letting out a growl of frustration at that. She jumps forwards, throwing herself back into the battle and stepping forward and stabbing at the blonde one's stomach. Her sword is knocked away before Andrezj steps in and she finds herself on the defensive, frustration continuing to grow. She can feel the blood dripping down her arm, the scent of copper mixing with the fear scent of rust in the air. She growls happily at the scent before startling as her heart rate increases, realizing the fear is coming from her. What?

Ifera’s eyes widen at the realization and she stumbles again, fatigue and pain dragging at her limbs. No, I won’t submit. They’re wrong, I’ve seen the light. Humans are a plague. Aren’t they? She gets lost in her thoughts again, the tip of her sword slowly drifting towards the ground. This is the right thing to do. It is. Memories of laughing and playing with her brothers, with Andrezj, suddenly burst into her mind from a long forgotten place, and she raises her eyes to see Andrezj and Viktor in front of her.

“Help,” the whisper falls from her lips, Ifera feeling her legs go out from under her. She doesn’t register the pain that jolts up her legs as she hits the ground, hands flying to her forehead as the whispers war with the memories flooding her mind. “It’s okay, Ifera, we’re both here,” she feels Viktor’s arms go around her, supporting her as she fights with herself. She leans heavily into him, his bright cedar and cinnamon scent filling her nose. My brothers. My brothers are here. They can help me. Oh gods, what have I done? I’m supposed to protect, not kill.

Ifera lets out a sob, looking up at Viktor with terrified eyes as the scent of her fear increases in strength. She clings to him weakly with one hand, feeling Andrezj bracket her other side as his ginger and cedar scent fills her nose.

“Please, kill me,” Ifera begs, feeling Viktor shush her and slowly rock her as he rumbles soothingly. “No, please, you don’t understand. I can’t fight it.” She feels the soothing rumble turn to one of concern, burnt caramel worry mixing with her brothers’ scents. “You can’t fight what, Ifera?”

“The voices, the presence, please,” Ifera can feel herself start to slip, the familiar feeling of darkness taking over. She writhes in Viktor’s arms, clinging to him before ripping herself out of his arms.

Andrezj lets out a startled shout as he’s knocked backwards, surprise turning to concern as Ifera grabs for her sword. She turns her gaze on them, a mixture of apology and madness flitting behind her eyes. She stands with her blade in hand, emotions draining away as she watches her brothers scramble for their swords.

“I’m sorry,” Ifera whispers as she raises her sword before turning the blade on herself, pain blooming as she opens her throat. She feels her knees go out again, the pain quickly turning to cold as she collapses to the ground. She doesn’t hit though, Andrezj catching her and pulling her into his arms as tears slide down his cheeks.

It’s okay. She tries to smile at him, raising a shaky hand to her brothers’ cheeks. She doesn’t notice the bloody fingerprints she leaves on their skin, eyes starting to fall shut as she grows tired. I did it for you. I did it to keep everyone safe. I’m so tired. I’m safe now, I don’t have to listen anymore. I won.

The last thing Ifera feels is a sense of satisfaction as the world starts to grow dark, her brothers’ scents in her nose. A warmth cradles her as she starts to go limp, listening to the soft cries from her Witchers before she feels no more.

**~*~*~**

Issori, Jaka, Iona, Charenthi, Fissa. Alek crosses the names off with a heavy heart, marking each funeral pyre that burns. “There’s so many names,” he whispers, staring at the list. “Too many,” Kamil agrees softly, closing his eyes from where he sits in his chair. “How many are left?” “Not many,” Alek replies, glancing at where Vesemir stands with his back to them, having stood motionless at the window since the council members gathered. “All of the parties are out, they should be back soon. We’ll burn our last pyres within the month, hopefully.” “We still don’t know what’s causing this?” Natan asks, looking around the room at the other senior Witchers. “No,” Kamil shakes his head, sighing softly. “Tissai and I have been over everything we can think of, all we know is that it’s connected to something with their magic. They embody the chaos, rather than harness it. Something happens when they do that, but no one else has used magic the way they do, so we can’t know for sure what is happening.”

“It will be over soon,” Alek nods, running a hand through his hair. “And we won’t put any more girls through the trials.” “We never should have in the first place,” Vesemir’s voice is low when he speaks, the Witcher not turning from the window. “I never should have let this happen.” “Vesemir, you couldn’t have known,” Natan says immediately, shaking his head. “We had no idea they would be any different than us, that this would happen.” “I should have seen it with Leto, when she changed,” Vesemir finally turns away from the window, looking at the other Witchers with pained eyes. “I raised her, I knew her. I knew she was different after the trials, after she learned her powers, and I didn’t intervene.” I never should have let her go through the Trials in the first place. Gods, what was I thinking? Our sisters’ deaths are all on my hands.

“She was following the Path, everyone changes,” Natan says gently. “You’ve seen what Witchers look like when they come back from their first few years, everyone changes regardless of male or female.”

“I knew her though,” Vesemir whispers. “I raised her, she was mine. I knew her better than anyone else, I should have known that something was wrong, more so than just being on the Path.” “No one could have known,” Alek says softly, not sure what else to say to help the guilt that is clear in Vesemir’s frame. “You couldn’t have known.” “It’s too late now,” Vesemir murmurs wearily, turning back to the window. “She’ll face the same fate as her sisters.” “You don’t have to be the one to go,” Natan says, reopening the weeks old debate. “She’s your daughter, Vesemir, you don’t have to do this. One of us will go.” “I trained her myself, it has to be me,” Vesemir shakes his head. “She won’t let anyone else close enough, I taught her too well.”

“At least let someone go with you,” Natan pushes. “Take Geralt, take someone. Don’t go alone.”

“Alright,” Vesemir gives in, knowing that he’ll be followed regardless of his decision. “I’ll take Geralt with me, but no one else. She won’t trust us if there’s others with us.” “Thank you,” Natan says softly, making a note to go speak with Geralt. “It’s better with two. Just in case.” We’ve lost too many already. We need our Chief to lead us through this. “I know,” Vesemir nods, settling his hands at his back as he watches the initiates train below. “I know.” The council takes the dismissal for what it is, slowly filing out of the room. Natan pauses for just a moment, glancing at Vesemir before going to find Geralt. He needs to go. Leto was Vesemir’s pride, it’s going to destroy him to have to kill her.

Natan finds the silver haired Witcher out on the ramparts, where he would often go as an initiate. “Vesemir is going to bring you with him,” he says softly, coming to lean his elbows on the stone as he stands next to the younger Witcher.

“I thought he would take me,” Geralt nods, continuing to look out over the Trail. “He won’t take anyone else.” “He wanted to go by himself initially,” Natan replies softly. “I don’t think he’ll come back if he does.” “He won’t,” Geralt shakes his head. “I’ll bring him back, keep an eye on him.” Natan nods at that, sighing under his breath. “I wish he’d let someone else go.” “Not with her,” Geralt murmurs. “He considers this whole thing his fault, our sisters. Leto was the first.” Still remember when she went through her Trials. We were so proud of our little sister. We all should have said something.

“I know,” Natan says, glancing at Geralt. “It’s not your fault either. No one could have known.” “No, but we’re the ones who didn’t see it sooner,” Geralt looks back at the strategic master, gaze serious. “This is on all of us.” “It is,” Natan nods in agreement, before looking back out at the surrounding area. “You make sure you come back as well. We all know you were close with Leto, almost as much as Vesemir.” Geralt smiles grimly at that, looking down at his scarred hands. “She was my little sister, before she was all of ours,” he murmurs, eyes glazing over with memories. “I remember when Vesemir came home with her, she was just a wee little thing.”

“She was,” Natan agrees softly. “She was little, but fierce. Drove us all up the wall, keeping her out of trouble.” “She got into the weapons room and sent everyone into a panic,” Geralt laughs sadly. “We always knew she would be good at this. She was one of the best.”

“Still is,” Natan murmurs. “Be careful, Geralt, okay. Make sure you both come home.” We can’t afford to lose anyone else.

“I will,” Geralt turns a sober gaze on Natan. “I’ll make sure he gets home.” He won’t be the one to kill her, if I can help it. That would destroy him, having to kill his daughter.

“I trust you,” Natan nods, offering the silver haired Witcher a warrior’s handshake before turning and leaving him in peace before he has to leave.

**~*~*~**

Geralt lashes the last few of his bags onto Roach’s saddle, sighing softly as he goes through his list one more time. He waits patiently for Vesemir, glancing at the gathered Witchers around him. Know they all want to come with us, to not have Vesemir have to do this. Vesemir slowly makes his way out of Kaer Morhen, looking straight ahead as he takes his reins from Geralt.

“Everything is packed?” he asks gruffly, mounting his horse.

“Yes, Chief,” Geralt nods, mounting Roach alongside his mentor. “We can go.” “Good,” Vesemir nods, urging his mount towards the gates and down the Path. I’m coming, Leto. I’m sorry, my Wolf. This is all my fault. He focuses on the journey ahead of him, staying silent as Geralt rides at his side in search of his daughter.

**~*~*~**

Witcher Tag List

@riviawitch3r​ / @scarlettwitcher​ / @ayamenimthiriel​ / @uncoolcloudyhead​ / @secretsthathauntus​ / @vintage-mind-young-body​ / @creamysacrilege / @hina-chans-stuff / @bastardfruitsandbasil​ / @shewritesinthethirdperson​ / @widowvinter​ / @unnamedmaincharacter​​ / @thenocturnalsyren​​ / @loudlycolorfulkryptonite​ / @whatawildone​ / @geraltmrwitcher / @psychosupernatural​ / @chickennooget69​ / @just-antiyou​ / @ronnieissupermegafoxyawesomehot / @onlyhenrys​ / @l-km07​ / @iloveyouyen / @itsemmyb​ / @persephonehemingway​ / @summerartist4life​ / @thedragonsbirthgiver​ / @blackrockshooter780​ / @lamnothome​ / @jade10077​ / @dreaming-about-starfleet / @ginreagann17 / @xmother-mortemx​  / @logan-loves-bullfrogs​ / @sageandberries-png​ / @morelikebyesexual​ / @maan24​ / @winchesterandpie​ / @my-secret-life-1​ / @abbie-hp13​ / @why-is-it-always-raining​ / @poisonous-widow​ / @vanxbi / @luvmeijii​ / @elsasshole​ / @fandomfanatic97​ / @peyton-keating​ / @introvertedmouse​ / @wonderlandfandomkingdom​ / @faewihngs​ / @ashleyl30​ / @oce4ndepths / @heavenlysnowflake​ / @itsbebachan​ / @ab-haya​ / @alwayshave-faith​ / @witty-wallflower​ / @dogslednation / @randomasgardian21​/ @disasteren / @theawkwardpedestrian / @nellaphine​ / @snapessecretdiary​ @circesgirl10​ @kmuir1​ @melemel1 @MHAJinx175 @thatbeautifulreward​ @victoriabauer619 @lightwoodandywifey @a-lil-bit-nuts​ @massivewitchfire @fictionalhooman @black-rose-29​

The Black Blade Tag list: 

@raspberrydreamclouds / @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​  / @wastingmypotential​  / @sweetandspiky​ / @queenxxxsupreme​

[my-bated-breath]

On an Immensely Popular Post

Disclaimer: What I’m writing here may not be completely accurate -- like most works of art, literature, and even STEM tend to be -- and as a new fan of ATLA, a few of the metas I publish may be obsolete or unintentionally insensitive. That being said, I like to believe that I can contribute something valuable to this fandom. In all my (real) metas, I wish to be as objective as possible and not rely on my biases, fanon, or common “knowledge” that may just be misconceptions. If anyone reading this finds something to be false or contrived, I am always welcome to constructive criticism. What I am not welcome to is senseless hate or bashing.

My first experiences with the ATLA fandom begun a long, long time ago, but the most recent and powerful revival of my love for ATLA started with me actually watching the show and soon after, with me falling into the endless abyss of ATLA metas on Tumblr. Sifting through the well-written analyses and the emotion-based rants had taught me a lot about critical thinking and the power of influence, so now I’d like to present a meta that critiques an extremely popular post with over 60,000 notes. And since it’s so popular, this is the part where I must make yet another disclaimer.

Disclaimer: I hold nothing against lesbians4sokka (whose name has now been changed to comradekatara). They have the right to share what they want, but since this particular post has become so influential that it’s still being reblogged regularly to this day, I believe it is within my right to criticize it - emphasis on “criticize,” which is different from “hate.”

Now that that’s out of the way, let us begin:

Lesbians4sokka/comradekatara covers 3 main subjects in their post, which I will quote/summarize below:

(1) Ma/iko: “...the entire foundation of mai and zuko’s relationship was built on how miserable they were together, and how they would just sit there and hate the world together— letting their misery fester as they enabled each other’s depression— and I think that’s really unfortunate because they would work so well as friends if they weren’t trying to make their dumpster fire of a relationship work.”

(2) Zutara: “similarly, what makes zuko and katara’s dynamic so compelling is that they share the same flaws, only as opposed to mai’s apathy and misery, it’s katara’s rage and guilt that zuko identifies with. they both share trauma over having lost their mothers, and both in a similar way (sacrificing themselves for them) and they both cope with their grief through rage, often misplaced… katara and zuko have a deep & profound friendship, but if they were to be in a relationship, they would only bring out the absolute worst in each other thru enabling each other’s rage and emotion-driven decision making.”

(3) Z/uk/ka: this pairing makes for a healthy and wholesome relationship because throughout the boiling rock, we see that “sokka and zuko make an excellent team, as they balance each other perfectly. sokka thinks big picture, and plans ahead, but zuko will charge into situations.” They inspire each other, they trust each other unconditionally, they become more open and supportive of each other, they share a lot of common interests and narrative parallels, and in general, just make each other happy (which could work both platonically and romantically).

As for my response: I’m sure many of you are expecting me to start to save the “best for last.” That assumption would be incorrect because I actually have the least to say about point 3.

I agree that Z/uk/ka can be a good relationship. Their dynamic is funny, playful, supportive, etc. etc. (there are so many positive adjectives I could use to describe their dynamic, the list could go on forever). And they could make a great couple.

…

What, did you expect more from me? That’s it, I’m done.

I’m not here to attack Z/uk/ka as a ship, because while I can never actively ship it (I’m a sad, narrow-minded exclusive shipper, always had been and always will be) I can objectively appreciate them as one. It’s points 1 and 2 I’m more concerned about.

Now, since we’ve already begun working backward, I’ll begin my critiques on point 2: I could write extensively about the parallels between Zuko and Katara, including but not limited to shared pain and a few shared flaws - and just a few, because their weaknesses diverge in many important places. However, since I’m trying to write as objectively as possible and since Zuko-Katara parallels have already been discussed to death, my analysis will focus elsewhere.

However, something from comradekatara’s post that I would first like to address is this-

[Zuko and Katara] both cope with their grief through rage, often misplaced. in the southern raiders, they both act deeply insensitively towards sokka by acting as if his grief over his mother’s death is somehow less valid simply because he is a lot quieter in his coping mechanisms and doesn’t project his rage & guilt onto everyone else.

- or rather, the idea that Zuko and Katara’s shared pain causes them to act insensitively towards Sokka (and though the post does not mention it, Aang as well).

(Note: these points have already been covered by countless metas before mine, so you can skip/skim this section to read a newer argument in the next section.)

Even ignoring the fact that the Southern Raiders had many out of character moments, Katara’s insensitivity towards Sokka is first and foremost a reaction against his insensitivity towards her.

_____

Dialogue from Season 3, Episode 16 “The Southern Raiders”:

Aang: Um ... and what exactly do you think this will accomplish?

Katara: [Shakes her head in dismay.] Ugh, I knew you wouldn't understand. [Begins to walk away.]

Aang: Wait! Stop! I do understand. You're feeling unbelievable pain and rage. How do you think I felt about the sandbenders when they stole Appa? How do you think I felt about the Fire Nation when I found out what happened to my people?

Zuko: She needs this, Aang. This is about getting closure and justice.

Aang: I don't think so. I think it's about getting revenge.

Katara: [Angrily.] Fine, maybe it is! Maybe that's what I need! Maybe that's what he deserves!

Aang: Katara, you sound like Jet.

Katara: It's not the same! Jet attacked the innocent. This man, he's a monster.

Sokka: Katara, she was my mother, too, but I think Aang might be right.

Katara: Then you didn't love her the way I did!

Sokka: [Hurt] Katara!

_____

While I believe that Aang’s principles of forgiveness are morally sound, the way he pushes his beliefs onto Katara undermines much of her grief. At first, Aang tries to relate to Katara’s experiences by comparing them to his own, but there is a forceful connotation to his dialogue that suggests that Aang considers himself to be the moral authority compared to Katara. Hence, Aang judges Katara (“I think it’s about getting revenge”) without trying to reach out and understand her, forgoing the empathetic common ground in favor of taking on the moral high ground.

Thus, when Sokka tells Katara, “she was my mother, too, but I think Aang might be right,” Sokka is not only saying that Katara should choose forgiveness, he is implying that Aang is the ultimate moral authority on this matter and that Katara should accept that. Moreover, similarly to Aang, Sokka’s opening line, “she was my mother, too,” had the potential to establish common ground between himself and Katara, but the added “but…” places Sokka on the moral high ground against her instead. Of course, when we remember that just two lines ago Aang equates Katara to Jet, Sokka agreeing with Aang seems even more thoughtless and unsympathetic.

So when Katara lashes out against Sokka, ostensibly “acting as if his grief over his mother’s death is somehow less valid simply because he is a lot quieter in his coping mechanisms and doesn’t project his rage & guilt onto everyone else,” it is important to note that Sokka undermines Katara’s louder, more visible way of grieving as well (though that discounts that for most of the show, Katara only uses her grief over her mother’s death to sympathize with others).

Moreover, Katara’s line, “then you didn't love her the way I did!” is hurtful, yes, but it is not necessarily equivalent to “you didn’t love her as much as I did.” Katara’s love for her mother is different from Sokka’s because her pain over her death is different -- after Kya’s passing, Katara had to carry the emotional burden of becoming a pseudo-mother to Sokka (see Sokka and Toph’s conversation in “The Runaway”), a burden that did not cease after she joined the GAang (see the entirety of “The Desert”). To Katara, Kya was not only her mother, but the representation of the childhood she lost and the sacrifice made to protect her life. Sokka simply does not have that same relationship with Kya.

I do not mean to say that Sokka and Aang unfairly taking on the moral authority in this situation means that this authority instead belongs to Katara (and Zuko) - “The Southern Raiders” is filled with questionable moments from all parties involved. However, TSR is an episode that delves into Katara (and Zuko)’s relationship with a mother’s sacrifice, so how Zuko and Katara respond to this specific trauma from their past does not dictate how they respond to painful circumstances in the present/future. Let’s see how this is true.

Sozin’s Comet, Part 1: The Phoenix King

No doubt Zuko and Katara felt some form of frustration upon Aang’s disappearance, so let’s see how they “[enabled] each other’s rage and emotion-driven decision making”:

Here, Katara and Zuko make a decision together that turns out to be calm, rational, and not at all emotionally-driven despite their mutual frustration and worry towards Aang.

Sozin’s Comet, Part 2: The Old Masters

Zuko holds immense pain and self-loathing over betraying Iroh, yet Zuko and Katara’s conversation does not enable/exacerbate negativity from any party involved (since Zuko often translates his grief into anger, and Katara was evidently angry at Zuko’s betrayal). Instead, their conversation is open, encouraging, and constructive.

(Note: this is where the review of points made by previous metas ends.)

Hence, to say that “[Zuko and Katara] would only bring out the absolute worst in each other [through] enabling each other’s rage and emotion-driven decision making” -  when we are given in-canon examples of the opposite being true - would be a sweeping and inaccurate generalization.

But for the sake of argument let’s say that, hypothetically, Zuko and Katara’s relationship would fail because they only bring out the worst in each other. And here’s where the argument falls apart for me - Is the argument here that Zuko and Katara have an incredibly meaningful friendship yet somehow this “friendship” causes them to enable each other, thus encouraging each other’s worst flaws and regressing each other’s growth? Is a healthy friendship - much less a “deep and profound” one - not one where two individuals can learn from each other in positive ways and balance each other’s shortcomings?

Or is it something different we’re saying here? Are we saying that two individuals can have a “deep and profound” friendship and yet the moment their relationship shifts from platonic to romantic, they are terrible for each other?

While many significant platonic bonds are stunted when they become romantic, I still believe it to be common sense that some of the best romantic relationships stem from a platonic foundation. But since much of “common sense” on the internet sees that “sense” is nonsensical and “common” is a nicer way to refer to mob mentality, I have done my research to show how Zuko and Katara could have been an excellent case of a friends-to-lovers relationship.

An excerpt from my meta, “Research Shows that Zutara Would Have Been the Ideal Friends to Lovers Dynamic.” (give it a read if you want to see references to relationship-research and an overanalysis on diction/tone)

The reason why Zutara is framed as a “toxic and unhealthy” relationship is that their romance would be a classic example of the enemies-to-lovers trope, a trope which modern media has not been particularly kind to. However, when executed correctly, enemies-to-lovers can produce a healthy and loving relationship, frequently relying on friendship as an intermediate between the “enemy” and “lover” stages in the most well-executed versions of this trope. Meanwhile, the trope of friends-to-lovers is just as popular as enemies-to-lovers, though the specific dynamic required between two individuals to achieve this transition is not well-known. Recognizing this, Laura K. Guerrero and Paul A. Mongeau, both of whom are involved in relationship-related research as professors at Arizona State University, wrote a research paper on how friendships may transition into romantic relationships…

According to Guerrero and Mongeau, “...scholars have argued that intimacy is located in different types of interactions, ranging from sexual activity and physical contact to warm, cozy interactions that can occur between friends, family members, and lovers…” Guerrero and Mongeau then reference a relationship model where the initial stages (i.e. perceiving similarities, achieving rapport, and inducing self-disclosure) reflect platonic/romantic intimacy through communication while the latter stages (i.e. role-taking, achieving interpersonal role fit, and achieving dyadic crystallization) often see both individuals as achieving a higher level of intimacy that involves more self-awareness.

In the rest of my research-based meta I demonstrate how Zuko and Katara’s platonic interactions in the show fit into the stages of communicative intimacy (i.e. perceiving similarities, achieving rapport, and inducing self-disclosure) that Guerrero and Mongeau describe as being mutual between friendships and romances. As such, crossing the line between friends and more-than-friends most likely would not cause a dramatic shift in the Zutara dynamic since much of Zuko and Katara’s platonic intimacy easily translates into romantic intimacy. I’ll end off with another excerpt from my meta.

Excerpt from “Research Shows that Zutara Would Have Been the Ideal Friends to Lovers Dynamic.”

“...it would be remiss to simply dismiss the Zutara dynamic as one that would instantly become toxic should they pursue a romantic relationship.”

With that little thought in mind, let’s move onto point 3: an exploration of friendship, romance, and why toxicity is not exclusive to the latter.

Let’s start with what I agree with:

“The entire foundation of mai and zuko’s relationship was built on how miserable they were together, and how they would just sit there and hate the world together— letting their misery fester as they enabled each other’s depression...”

I’m not sure how necessary it is for me to elaborate on this point given that it’s already been accepted by comradekatara and perhaps 60,000+ other users on Tumblr (a gross exaggeration but this remains unimportant), but in her essay, “Zuko, Mai, and the Nature of True Intimacy,” Araeph contributes more nuance to the concept of Ma/iko and mutual misery, stating that,

Unfortunately for [Zuko and Mai’s] relationship, Mai is and will always be a pessimist—a character trait, not a character flaw, in her. The key difference lies in how Mai and Zuko use their negative feelings. When Zuko sinks into negativity, he gives up on any actions that will materially change his world for the better; Mai, on the other hand, can remain negative even at the height of her character development, and it does not impede her ability to act.

So while Mai enables Zuko’s depression, Zuko does not necessarily do the same for Mai. Nonetheless, throughout their relationship for the first half of season 3, neither of them communicate constructively or push each other to grow as people.

This may be the third disclaimer I’m making, but I first want to say I have nothing against Mai. However, I do have something against the idea that “[Mai and Zuko] would work so well as friends if they weren’t trying to make their dumpster fire of a relationship work.”

Their relationship is a dumpster fire, yes, but will the flames cease simply if the amount of intimacy in the relationship changes?

comradekatara state themselves that their entire romantic relationship is quite depressing - they are only able to connect through empty physical intimacy and mutual hatred of the world. Without that, there is little left for them to bond over. Once Zuko overcomes his conflicting morality and inaction from the first half of season 3, he becomes someone who is strongly guided by his principles and beliefs. However, for the entirety of the series, Mai is characterized by her moral apathy. To cite from Araeph again,

It is moral intimacy that is the last and worst omission for Mai and Zuko… Zuko’s struggle to find and follow his principles is the most central aspect of his character, yet it is a struggle Mai neither understands nor respects…

Lack of moral intimacy (not sharing the same core beliefs) is something that applies to both platonic and romantic bonds. Thus, just as transitioning from a meaningful friendship to a romance does not inherently create toxicity in a relationship, switching from a romance that exacerbates one (or both, depending on how you interpret it) party’s misery does not necessarily erase the preexisting negativity in a relationship - perhaps some of it may subside, sure, but as long both parties continue to fail at communicating and understanding each other, even their friendship seems bleak at best. In this case, Mai and Zuko may work well as conditional friends, or in other words, friends who are only friends when they have something to mutually be miserable over. And this tiptoes the line of speculation, but they could be a formidable political team. But unless the Ma/iko dynamic shifts drastically in the lovers-to-friends transition, I’m not sure if there’s much potential in a friendship between them.

In conclusion, there is a lot I don’t agree with from comradekatara’s post, but if there’s one takeaway I want to impart onto everyone who’s read this far, it’s this: crossing and uncrossing the line between platonic and romantic bonds is not always a transformative experience for the relationship, and the nature of human relationships is a complex spectrum -- not a light switch that can only be set between healthy and unhealthy.

Thank you all for reading!

[pridewhatpride]

omg pls talk more about GX rival shipping once the transfer students come

Dear anon, I love you for asking this of me, but I have to wonder if you want everyone who follows me to start hating me.

Long post coming up? You know it. I apologise to all Johan fans, he's great and I loved him and his deck as a child. Now I'm just salty because he's too perfect. Warning because this is a mess of unrequited feelings and it's an all around bad time if you ship anything in gx. I did mention I do not practice self care in a previous post of mine. Enjoy your pain c:

So here are my bad takes of the day, under the very handy cut!

You see, gx rivalshipping becomes a lot more complicated and angsty when the transfer students arrive. The dynamic changes. If there is a dynamic at all. I mean, imagine yourself in Manjoume's shoes. You've lowkey had a crush on this dumb guy who kind of ruined your life (but actually improved it and freed you from the restraints your family imposed on you), just to watch a handsome scandinavian dude who is a lot more muscular than you are and maybe a little bit nicer, maybe just waltz in and completely captivate said dumb guy's attention. Just when you had managed to admit your own feelings to yourself.

Johan comes in and steals the room, everybody loves him, he's good looking, charismatic, kind and has a magical exclusive shiny sparkling deck at his disposal that he uses as if it was the most natural thing in the world, like he hadn't received approval Pegasus himself on top of the duel spirits. And Judai clearly can't get enough of it, because he's always seeking him out, ever since the duel they had in front of everyone, and Manjoume finds that he's really annoyed by it. He wishes he'd been chosen for the demonstration, deluding himself into believing that if he'd won, Judai would have never started caring so damn much about Johan. But a part of him knows he would have probably lost and that even if he hadn't, Judai would have not cared about the outcome at all. It's nice to think that winning a card game can solve all your problems, but, while Manjoume has only ever experienced how much losing one can mess with your life goals, he isn't stupid enough to think that winning would grant him happiness. Not anymore. No well-thought-out strategy can rid him of his bad temper and his worthless pride.

The thing is, he can't really hate Johan, because nobody can hate Johan. He's just the perfect picture of everything Manjoume isn't and, going by everyone's reaction, the fact that 'everyone is unique in their own way and worthy of love' is absolute bullshit. There clearly is an objective better one of the two and Manjoume is very aware that he isn't it. And he'd probably begrundgingly be cool with it, after all he'd accepted that Jaden was braver than him, that Asuka was emotionally stronger and more resolute, that Daichi was smarter, not to mention how much plain better than him his fomer upperclassmen were. Forget about pros like Edo, whom Judai had stood on equal grounds with. But Judai is clearly playing favourites, too, hell, he hardly even acknowledges Manjoume.

He finds himself forcibly removed from his already shaky position as rival, because now Johan is there to take it up, on top of the titles of 'best friend' and 'emotional support and crutch' and 'maybe something else I'd really rather not know'.

Manjoume just generally hates it all. He might have changed and improved himself, but there is no saving him from the fact that some people were just better. That doesn't stop him from trying. But again he finds himself pitted against Judai, the irony of his fate never giving him a moment to rest. Manipulated and turned into the enemy of those he cares about, again.

A part of him despises how good it feels to learn that Johan has gone missing, but Judai is screaming like his arms have been torn off and while he hates that it's all for Johan, he hates that Judai is in pain even more. Judai had saved him before and it's only right for him to return the favour. So he insists on helping him on his stupidly risky plan to save Johan. And it's all to get the old Judai back.

...The rest, from Manjoume's perspective is a mess. His feelings of anger stem from the hatred he harbours towards himself and the bond between Judai and Johan. He'd been trying to help, he had, he sincerely had, but everything just swirled together and the next thing he knows is that he is shouting at Judai because it suddenly made sense to guilt trip him over the fact that he'd abandoned his friends, he'd abandoned him as soon as someone better had come into the picture. And it was Judai's fault for letting them- him believe that he cared when he didn't, when he couldn't have cared less, because clearly he had one priority only and that was Johan. They had come to help and it still wasn't being appreciated.

Disappearing is a relief, for a moment, but then he finds himself in another hellish place and he can't help but think that it's retribution for being so upset over something that has nothing to do with him. That's right. It's his own fault for making Judai, his only real friend (aside from Fubuki, sorry for breaking the immersion, but I love Fubuki), carry the burden of the stupid hopes that came with his feelings. Judai has no fault. Johan has no fault. It's his own for desiring something that would always be out of reach.

As he is tortured by his own thoughts and regrets in the other dimension, Manjoume silently wishes his words meant nothing to Judai, that he'd be spared the pain of betrayal. He wishes Judai can achieve his goal.

When Shou appears to him, he knows there is no time to waste. If he is alive, the others are, too. Judai would want to know that they are safe. So he asks Shou to carry his message, along with his good luck wish. He hopes it's enough to make up for his mistakes.

Next thing he knows, they are back at DA, Judai is nowhere to be seen. Manjoume mourns the loss of his first and only friend and curses himself for tarnishing that memory. (Judai's return and season 4 would be too much to cover, this was only Manjoume's pov and I might as well just rewrite the entire show at this point.)

So what about Judai?

I personally want to believe that he genuinely does like Manjoume at some point. But as much as it pains me to admit it, season 3 just wrote Manjoume off from the list of main characters and relegated him to 'he's your funny comic relief, nobody really gives a shit about what he thinks or feels, so why should you, the spectator who has grown to love him, care at all? Also here's his sticker that confirms that Judai going after Johan makes him really angry for some reason, make of that what you will c:' (fuck the writing staff, I'm not even sorry).

Judai is so clearly smitten with Johan. It seems to me that his refusal to accept Manjoume's help that one time on the cliff shows that Judai doesn't really understand the way Jun operates. He probably labeled him as just someone else who counted on him to be saved. And sure, Manjoume is saved by Judai in multiple occasions, but he doesn't ever really... ask for it? Or more importantly expect it. He doesn't get himself into situations he can't handle because Judai can save him anyways, the trouble just kind of happens at him and more often than not he's only involved by accident, because he happens to be close to Judai.

The problem still stands, as season 3 starts, Judai is very much burdened by everyone's expectations and Johan is a breath of fresh air and the only one Judai actually considers a friend and an equal. It's heartbreaking that he felt that alone.

They get their gay 'have we met somewhere before moment', they duel gaily, they homoerotically tell eachother how admirable the other is, they shamelessly flirt and whoohoo Judai has an unofficial boyfriend and who can blame him for concentrating on him along with wanting to escape the pressure his former gang unknowingly laid on him.

But yeah, Judai in season 3 has a one track mind and it's hard not to see it as romantic. Does he know it is? Maybe? I honestly don't know. I feel like Johan is the one of the two who is aware of the implications of their interactions. Which also kind of brings me to say... does Johan think that all of Judai's friends are horrible people? Because he never once comments on how Judai distances himself from them once he arrives. He probably thinks they were never good friends in the first place.

Judai probably excuses his attentions towards Johan with the fact that they are alike because they can see spirits, but then he rememebers that so can Manjoume and maybe he feels guilty for a second, but Johan cracks a joke and Judai laughs and thinks to himself that Manjoume is probably happy to have the peace and quiet he so often claimed to want.

Like... I think a part of him would get that tightness in his chest because it's like he's betrayed someone, but he knows he hasn't, because there isn't any actual mutual agreement he's going against. So he lets himself fall deeper into the comfort of Johan's presence. Johan is, to Judai, the ideal person. He is exactly who Judai wants to become. Judai admires him very deeply and strives to be more like him, but he falls gradually into despair as he learns, once Johan is gone, that no, he can't be like him, because Johan is so much better than him, and if he doesn't get him back soon he might even forget what he was like in the first place. Johan can't be erased, can't be forgotten. And Judai feels like he's vanishing already, so he throws himself into a wild interdimensional manhunt to save his hopes for the future.

Turns out that wanting to do good doens't always result in a good outcome. That's what Judai learns when Manjoume lashes out at him just seconds before disappearing. Along with the others, too. Judai doesn't even have the brain power to compute that some people are still there, that he can still save someone, because he realised then that he had focused so much on Johan that he'd completely overlooked the fact that while his friends relied on him a little too much, they hadn't meant any harm. And if he'd just told them, maybe they would have been fine, they could've cooperated- but Manjoume had told him that he was a traitor, that he'd doomed them with his irrational behaviour.

Manjoume's last words to him had been spoken with hatred and Judai realised only then that he had misread him entirely. He lets despair and self hatred take over as he realises that if he had managed to hurt the ones he cared about so easily, discarding them for the new good thing, he could just keep doing that. And it would stop hurting, eventually.

I like to think that Manjoume really does have an impact on the awakening of the Supreme King. Yeah, I know he only turns once Johan's death is mentioned, I know. I just suffer from abandonment issues and can't stand that Manjoume dying in front of him is more impactful to Judai than a guy who literally can't be trusted saying "Joke's on you, the one you're looking for is in another castle already dead."

So yeah. That's the angsty overview.

TL;DR Johan is an Adonis, Judai is smitten and Manjoume is very very heartbroken. But actually so is Judai. Because while being with Johan feels right, there's someone whose absence feels wrong, but he doesn't allow himself to dwell on it and everything goes to shit. All around a bad time for everyone and they'll have a lot of talking to do once they properly reconcile after graduation.

[star-spangledstud]

MIND GAMES - THREE

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: The team goes on a mission. You meet someone who might expose you. 

Warnings: angst, mentions of violence 

Note: Wanna be tagged in future chapters? Shoot me a message :) Sorry for being MIA for so long. I’ve been sad. Blegh. 

SERIES MASTERLIST.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER.

Over the few days that follow, you become increasingly paranoid. It’s your own fault, because you shouldn’t have lied to the people that have welcomed you into their homes with open arms, but lying is a survival skill that you were taught many years ago, and old habits die hard. You become shadowy, avoid team members in the hallways and common areas of the penthouse floor you all share, and stay in your room as much as possible without alarming anyone. Of course Natasha knows something is up, but Steve doesn’t, and he waves off her concern as you simply ‘needing more time to adjust, Nat’. You watch their body language during breakfast – one of two meals a day you simply cannot get out of without causing anyone’s alarm bells to start ringing – and engage in light conversation wherever possible to keep them out of your hair.

Guilt gnaws at your insides when you find yourself wandering the deserted wrap-around balcony at nearly 3 a.m., brain searching for a clue to any bad things that might happen. If any one of them figures out you’re ex-hydra you’re done for, that much you know, but the man with golden hair and twinkling azure eyes might just be your ticket to safety.

The thought alone sickens you, because you vowed never to mess with someone’s feelings to get what you need ever again. It’s a twisted thought, but the vines of its root wrap themselves around the stem of your brain nonetheless.

A month after first moving in, you’ve already figured out their routines. Steve’s the early riser of the bunch, getting up every morning at 6:30 a..m. sharp to go on a run around the city. On rare occasions, he manages to convince Sam to come along with him, but more often than not, he remains in his bed until at least 10 o’clock, when Steve’s already come back to shower and get dressed for the day. Tony and Bruce are in the lab 24/7, both of them constantly bickering about artificial intelligence and microbiology among other matters you can’t even begin to understand. As a result, you don’t see them around too often, a notion you don’t particularly mind. Clint left to be with his family two weeks ago and hasn’t been back since, and Natasha leaves all the time, sometimes for days at a time. You don’t dare to ask anyone where she goes when she disappears, but nobody seems surprised to find her seat at the dining table empty again.

It’s a gloomy day when you wake up to find the entire place void of all life. Not even Steve, who’s adamant about his morning coffee, is there to grace you with his presence when you walk into the kitchen that Saturday morning. The counter is clean, no empty coffee cups, half-eaten bowls of oatmeal or bread crumbs to indicate anyone’s eaten yet, and all of the chairs are still perfectly lined against the table.

Your pulse involuntarily quickens to an uncomfortable pace, and you bite the inside of your cheek until the metallic taste of blood is heavy on your tongue. With quick steps, you walk towards the common room, footsteps loud in your ears when you consider where they might be. As expected, there’s nobody there. The TV is switched off, there are no dents in the heavy fabric of the couch from where Steve usually sits, and again, no empty cups or bowls can be found on the coffee table. You have the jitters when you finally get to the library, which is again void of all life.

Black socks covered in small holes squeak across the wooden floors when you walk around the room. It’s not surprising to see the library vacant. You’re sure Avengers have more pressing matters to tend to than reading books on any given day, but it was your last hope nonetheless. With your head tilted to the side, you focus on scanning the titles that line the walls. You follow every shelf in the room until your eye finally catches something. You take the book with a sigh, flip through its tattered pages, and wonder for a moment which one of the Avengers has read the crap out of Pride and Prejudice. Definitely not Sam, judging by his internal monologue. That guy doesn’t appear to have an ounce of romanticism inside him.  

 “They’re out,” a gentle voice suddenly says behind you, “Steve didn’t want to wake you up this morning to tell you.”

You slap your hand over your heart in surprise, and inhale sharply, “Jesus Christ, doc. You scared the hell out of me.”

Bruce throws his hands up in the air and shrugs his shoulders, “Sorry, it’s just me.”

“Are they on a mission?” you ask, feeling your heart jump in your chest like a skippy ball.

“Yeah, they should be back in a few days. Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You swallow thickly, noticing all of a sudden how your mouth is dry like sandpaper, “you just spooked me, that’s all. What kind of mission is it?”

“Intel gathering, in an out. That’s why I didn’t come. They only bring me when they need the green guy,” he says.

“Oh yeah,” you reply slowly, “how’s he holding up?”

“Asleep,” Bruce smiles, then clears his throat, “for now, anyway. Would you like to get some breakfast?”

You follow Bruce through the rain, which started to gust from the grey sky just as you were getting dressed. You’d rather have said no, but you knew you couldn’t; it wouldn’t be polite to decline his offer. Besides, he’s oblivious, and for whatever reason, he trusts you. When he bites into his chocolate croissant, you know why – Steve’s let you in. This notion once more confirms the thoughts that have been occupying your mind for the last week; Steve is your one-way ticket to inclusivity.

You shudder at the thought and fake a smile before taking a large sip of coffee. The cafe is small, mostly empty, and your seat by the window gives you a perfect view of pedestrians struggling in the howling, icy wind. One year ago, you could never have imagined yourself sitting in a café with a cup of coffee clutched between your fingers, chatting with someone who you could potentially call a friend. The idea alone of being able to enjoy a warm mug filled with freshly brewed coffee would’ve sounded preposterous to you.

There was no warmth with HYDRA. Only cold.

It takes the team three days to return from their mission. Three long days, during which you spend most of your time with Bruce in his lab, perched on a desk-chair with a book in your hands while he works on – actually, you have no idea what he’s working on. You quickly grow to become fond of him, because he doesn’t feel the need to constantly fill the silence between you with empty words. His thoughts are coherent, focused on his project, and the lingo is too advanced for you to understand, which makes it easy to drown out. His inner monologue is quiet, except for a few angry words from the Hulk when Bruce becomes frustrated with his work, but that only happened on day two, and only for ten minutes.

Steve smells like gun powder and sweat when he hugs you softly against his chest after exiting the Quinjet. Natasha waves at you, and the smile that dons her dirt-caked face surprises you, but you return it nonetheless. Sam even ruffles your hair, causes a sound to escape your throat that you haven’t heard yourself make in over a decade; a strange combination of a snort and a chuckle that sounds like music to your own ears. Your heart pounds again, but in a good way this time, because for a small moment in time, you’ve managed to put the guilt on the back-burner. The roaring engine behind you falls silent at last, and nobody else visibly exits the plane before you make it inside.  

“You held up okay?” Steve asks as he follows you back inside the building.

You nod in response and shove your hands deep inside the pockets of your hoodie, “I’ve been helping Bruce with his research.”

“Oh, did you? How’s it coming?” he asks.

His eyes sparkle like two tiny stars even through the exhaustion that nearly forces them shut every time he blinks. He’s exhausted, you can tell, and you have to bite your tongue before you make a comment about the state he’s in.

“I mostly sat there while he did all the thinking. Turns out computer science isn’t really my thing after all.”

Steve fights a yawn that threatens to overcome him, and nods, “yeah, I feel you. I can barely get the damn things to start. I’ve given up on technology.”

He turns back to face you when he’s come to a halt in front of his room.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you where I went,” he tells you, meaning it as he says it, “we kinda left in a hurry, and you were still sleeping.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you reply, “I understand.”

He quickly retreats after that, leaving you once again with nothing to do. You go back to your room to grab the worn copy of Pride and Prejudice from your nightstand and, after plopping down on your bed, flip to the page where you last left off. You read for a while, before the idea to make some tea with warm milk and honey pops into your head, and you skip along the hallway to the kitchen with the book securely wrapped in your arms.

You’re surprised to hear Steve’s voice when you enter the common area, and a smile appears on his face the second his eyes fall on you. You raise one arm to wave at him, but a loud gasp and a large thud followed by the sound of breaking glass have you freezing on the spot before you can open your mouth to greet him at all.

Your head snaps towards the source of the sound, causing your neck to twist and crack painfully. Red, glowing eyes meet your large ones when you dare to look up at whoever made the noise, and the book in your hands falls to the ground with a loud bang that startles everyone in the room. You stumble backwards when you can feel the woman standing before you deep inside of your head, and you nearly trip over the rug when you instinctly try to get away from her. Frantically, you scramble to stop her from seeing more than she’s already seen. Still, by the time you manage to build up a mental barrier to keep her out of your head, it’s already too late.

You haven’t seen her before, and you can’t remember for the life of you if the image of her has popped up in any of the Avengers’ heads. Your brain is mushy, images hazy as you try to focus on keeping the woman from digging around deeper. You can see distant memories of your time with HYDRA flash before her eyes, and the images blur with the present in a spasm that makes your eyes water.

Wanda Maximoff lets out a shrill, piercing shriek, one that chills everyone to the bone. Thor, who you didn’t even know was there, is by her side before she can collapse onto the cold, hard floor, and Steve jumps up from his chair before you have time to register his movements. He grabs your arm and drags you out of the kitchen, fingers digging painfully in your tender flesh when he pulls you away from the scene. Sympathy fills Sam’s dark brown eyes when you turn back around to look at him, and guilt roils in your stomach when the redhead sinks to her knees with tears streaming down her face.

Your arms hang limply to your side when you watch Steve pace back and forth around his room. You’re waiting for him to yell at you, to tell you to get the fuck out of the compound and never return, but he remains awfully quiet. His silence confuses and unnerves you simultaneously.

His eyes, swimming with unimaginable depth, find your face while the scent of his cologne and pure testosterone invades your nostrils. Pressure clamps down on your chest, and the intensity of his gaze causes you to shiver. Never in your entire life have you wanted to read someone’s mind more. 

“Are you alright?” your head cocks to the side, mouth twitching while you try to find words. 

You nearly gave that woman an aneurysm, and he’s asking you if you’re okay?

“Yes,” you stammer, “I’m so sorry.” 

“Wanda is telepathic,” Steve says, “she has trouble controlling what she sees sometimes.” 

“Like I said, I’m so so-” 

A soft exhale leaves your lips when Steve’s hands find their way to your shoulders, and your voice dies down in your throat when he bends down slightly to meet your eyes. Calloused fingertips penetrate the thin material of your t-shirt, and the warmth of his hands creates a buzzing sensation just beneath your skin. 

“She was in Europe, scouting the location of the mission with Rhodey. She’s been in Eastern Europe for a while, that’s why you haven’t seen her. I should’ve told you about her.”

“Will she be okay?” you ask. You hardly recognize your own voice. 

“Sam’s got her. She’s stronger than she looks. Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t look so good.” 

You don’t know how to respond. You crave a cigarette all of a sudden, even though you don’t smoke. Alcohol then, maybe, to numb down the prickling sensation of firing synapses and goosebumps that line your bare arms. Yeah, a good couple of shots of whiskey will do the trick. Not vodka though, you hate that stuff. 

You bite your bow-shaped lips and inhale deeply. Steve is so close that you can feel his breath fanning across your face. It’s wrong, being so near him after what just happened. You’re on thin ice. It won’t be long before the entire team, undoubtedly informed by what Wanda just saw, comes barging into Steve’s room, ready to drag you away to prison or worse, put a bullet through your skull. You deserve it, you think, for what you used to do. For who you used to be. You almost want somebody to call you out on your shit, because then at least you wouldn’t have to hide it anymore. 

But seconds turn into minutes, and nobody comes. It’s quiet, except for the sound of Steve’s breathing and the steady beating of his heart, and you realize when he looks at you with sympathy and sincerity that you hate yourself for lying. It’s an ironic realization, because lying is like second nature to you. HYDRA spent so much time ingraining it into your brain that it’s become almost like a second language, a means of communication that flows so naturally that you don’t even have an accent anymore. It’s brought you many things, and ruined even more people.

Your hands are going numb from how hard you’re clenching them into fists. Steve’s thumbs are rubbing small circles on your shoulders, and it takes all of your effort not to shake them off. You’re disgusted with yourself, bile threatening to rise to the back of your throat while the sensation of his warm fingers on you is the only thing left for you to feel. The world is dark and cold, but the heat radiating from Steve’s hands is just enough to stop you from getting frostbite. The concern is evident on his face, from the deep crease between his brows to the thin line of his lips; he’s worried about you, someone he doesn’t even know. Someone he would kill if he’d met you under any other circumstances.

You want to go home, you think to yourself, but as soon as the thought appears do you smack it down with your fist. You don’t have a home, you scold yourself, just like the doctors would tell you when you cried and screamed on the dingey operating table in the early days, when they didn’t control you yet. When they still wore their special masks to stop you from controlling their minds so they could freely fuck with yours.

It’s an icy reality, one that rattles you to your core every time it makes an appearance. Steve’s eyes are still scanning your face, which is twisted and contorted into a painful scowl before you even realize what’s happening.

An inexplicable panic washes over you, heart jackhammering in your chest while your cheeks turn a sickly shade of pink. A bead of sweat rolls down your back, followed by cold shivers that envelop your skin in ice. The scent of laundry detergent and cologne hits you like a truck, and you have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from gagging.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, his voice melting and morphing into the sound of rain slamming against the window like gunfire.

“My head,” you cry out in a desperate whimper, “it hurts.”

Steve forces your body down onto his bed, and while you begin to writhe in pain that causes white spots to dance in front of your eyes, he closes the curtains to keep the light from coming in. His mother had head aches all the time, and she’d be in bed for days on end if they got bad enough. He remembers her clear as day, lying in bed with an empty bucket next to her on the floor in the dark, because the light hurt so bad it would make her vomit sometimes. He’d tiptoe around the house because the sound of his feet creaking across the floorboards would pain her. He recognizes her in you, lying on his bed with your hands clutching the sides of your head.

“I’ll get you some aspirin,” he says, quieting his voice, the incident with Wanda long forgotten as instinct takes over.  

Tears blur your vision at this point, and it takes every ounce of focus that you have left to keep yourself from screaming out in pain. Aspirin won’t help, but you don’t possess the capability to tell him not to bother. You’ve experienced this type of pain before, and have endured it without medicine each time. Many times actually; while you were forced to extract information from the people taken and captured by HYDRA with whatever means necessary. This time however, it’s come as a surprise and it’s caught you completely off-guard, although you suspect Wanda’s poking and prodding has something to do with it.

With all the strength you have left, you manage to pull the covers over your head, engulfing yourself in darkness and warmth to drown out your senses. The sudden darkness is disorienting, but you welcome it with open arms. Steve opens his mouth, but shuts it, and heads for the door without uttering another word.

All you hear when Steve exits the room is the sound of your former victims crying out in despair.

NEXT CHAPTER.

TAGLIST:

@foxyjwls007​ @littlegasps​ @hurricane-abigail​ @idk123906​ @ bubblicious-trashcan @wooya1224

[kweebtrash]

StreamHearts Timestamp 11:59pm

Title: Fuck It, I Love You

Pairing: Camboy!JohnnyxCamgirlOC (Rem)

Word Count: 3.1k

Genre: Smut/Fluff

Features: established relationship not a perfect sex life, heavy size kink, soft-ish dom johnny, petnames, teasing, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie.

Synopsis:

Though Rem is a smart business woman she hides behind a computer screen all day designing websites for large companies. However, when her day is done she’s still behind a computer screen but now showing the world how hard she can cum. She never wanted to be a camgirl but when financial duties called she took it upon herself to make it. The spotlight (and money) got to her and she expanded to showcasing her nerdy side; livestreams, lewd cosplay photoshoots, let’s plays, subscriptions, review, vlogs, tutorials, you name it. Her streams catches the attention of a fellow cammer, Johnny, who on a whim decided to message her. Both aren’t the sexed up dolls they pretend to be in the online life and instead ease their way into a relationship with not so perfect sex, mistakes, and total confusion.

A/N: This used to be on my Kofi which im closing down and just putting everything up on here. This isnt continuing.

Masterlist     Johnny Only Masterlist

~~

“I just want to tease the fuck out of you.” The words came out as as sultry whisper poured into my ear. His tongue trailed against the cartilage, leaving the skin heated and wet similar to the junction of my thighs. Johnny had been kissing me for god knows how long. I had become so lost in him; his words, his touch, his entire being beside me. I was helpless and unable to escape the intoxication though I never wanted to. His words, however, put me in a place of submissiveness where i feared his teasing.

“P-please don’t…” I whined as I chased his lips from a kiss he denied me. “Don’t tease me. I’ve been good.”

“Have you?” His eyes were heavily lidded, pupils dilated with oxytocin and endorphins. The thrill of my eminent destruction only added to the sparks between us yet I was dreading it entirely. “I saw what you were doing in your last stream. You got a bigger dildo, didn’t you?”

My face rushed with color as i averted my gaze. “W-well...i wanted to practice.”

“Practice for who, baby?” He smirked and pushed a few sweat drenched stray hairs away from my face.

“Y-you, of course.” We hadn’t fucked on camera yet. We had come to the consensus not to until we perfected the art of intimacy between us first. Though there was a small problem, or rather a large problem. The first few times Johnny had tried to penetrate me it was futile. The thickness of his head was no match for how small my hole was. No matter how many fingers he could attempt to fit inside me (barely two) to try and stretch me out or how much lube or cum i exerted helped. And so I took it upon myself to cast aside my six and seven inch dildos to try and accommodate for the moment where we would unite.

“Still too much, huh?” He chuckled lowly. I watched as his fingertips barely brushed against my skin as he made a ticklish trail down my stomach to the thin fabric of my panties. They slipped beneath the cotton and i instinctively spread my thighs. His middle finger pushed between my lower lips and circled my entrance languidly. “Why is my perfect princess so tiny?”

“I’m sorry,” I said with a heavy pang of guilt. I had constantly felt like I had ruined moments in our beds because my body wouldnt except him even if my mind and heart were yearning to have him so deep inside me that i could feel him in my stomach.

Johnny pressed a kiss to my forehead and smiled. “Don’t be. I love how fucking tight you are for me.”

I scrunched up my nose and pushed his face away playfully. “Don’t say such things. You make it sound pervy!”

Another chuckle. “I can’t help it sometimes.” He began to move his finger through me, gathering the wetness that had accumulated and spreading it over the most sensitive areas. “You know it turns me on to see how small you are.”

I pressed my lips together in an attempt to hide a mewl. I was lost on what I had wanted to respond with as my brain frizzled. “U-uh, um...I th-think your size kink is s-showing!” My stomach clenched when he dipped his fingertip in, alarming me. He shushed me gently, cooing at me to relax as he placed kisses and nibbles along the column of my neck.

“I got you, baby girl. You know i do.” I wrapped my arms around his torso and pulled him closer together so i could bury my face in his chest. His free arm snaked around me as well, settling on my shoulders as he gauged my reactions to his minuscule thrusts. I bit down on his collarbone as I rushed to rock my hips and let him know that I was able to take more. He pushed into me deeper, curling his finger quickly in an effort to make the sound of my natural lubrication bounce off the bright pink walls of my room. “Did you get all worked up just from me kissing you?”

He was proud of himself. I could always tell in the tonality of his voice. A certain cockiness that anything he did made me wet. It stemmed from the exchange of us watching each other’s streams. I had spent hours consuming video after video of him jerking off, fucking his own ass, and doing other lewd acts that got him tips in seconds. He, on the other hand, told me that he was more captivated by the faces and sounds I made and would prefer to just watch as he fucked me. It sounded silly to say since I had thousands of viewers and I masturbated on camera but I was still a shy person who preferred to metaphorically hide their head in the sand like an ostrich. Johnny intimidated me as many a times my face would be forced towards his and i was commanded to not dare look away. His deep brown eyes would peer into my soul, eating it up like a meal and leaving me an empty husk of a woman once I orgasmed at his hands. “Shut up.” I said through gritted teeth as he halted his vibrant thrusts.

His finger left me and instead disappeared into his mouth. With a slick pop he removed all of my taste from the digit and sighed as he gave me a once over. “Take these off.” He snapped at the band of my panties that he had stripped me down to during our initial makeout session. I hooked my thumbs into the waistband and wiggled them down before flicking them off my foot. Johnny spread my thighs wide, leaving me completely exposed. I went back to hiding in the crook of his neck, hoping he wouldnt notice if i distracted him with some bites. A harsh tap to my clit told me otherwise. I yelped and laid my own defensive slap against his chest. "Jerk!"

"Dont close your legs then." Johnny said sternly. I pouted, puffing out my cheeks as i rolled away from him, my arms across my chest. His large hand grabbed onto my hip and pulled me onto my back again. He didnt particularly like when i protested or became a bit bratty. A submissive princess was where he liked me to be at all times. Though now I wasnt even able to utter a word because he hooked his leg over mine, keeping my thighs separated while one hand grabbed both my wrists and pinned them above my head. His other hand was back to grabbing my face and forcing me to look at him. He'd be damned to hell if he didnt break that habit of mine. "The fuck did i just say?"

I flexed my fingers as i tried (and failed) to release myself from his grasp. "You said…" i looked into his eyes that had honeyed in the yellow glow of my bedside lamp. That was another weakness if mine, as if Johnny as a whole wasnt enough. His eyes in particular always destroyed me. I couldnt expressing the rest of my sentence, which was supposed to be a snarky retort, because of the intense hold he had over me. I was instead stuck nibbling at his bottom lip and whimpering for him to let me go. "I could touch you." I finally said in between small licks. "Youre hard."

"And? I get off on seeing you get off. I also get off on when youre a good girl for me."

"Liar. You love it when i misbehave. You always start moving the toys faster when i do." That was what he used when he really wanted to punish me; small dildos and vibrators in various settings and speeds, making sure i writhed and arched with every thrust.

"And what toy should i used on my babygirl tonight? What would get you all pink and squirmy for me?" He smirked and sucked my lips between his, lapping at the soft skin.

"I dont want a toy. I want you." I admitted.

Johnny sighed and pulled away from me entirely. "You know we cant. We've tried and we cant. I told you im not going to hurt you."

"I know!" I clutched onto his arm. "I know. But this time will be different. Im gonna do it."

He shook his head. "If i force it too much i could tear you. Rem, i'm seriously not going to try right now."

"Please!" I begged and looked up at him with puppy eyes. "Just one try, ok? Just one? You dont know how many times I've dreamt about you fucking me senseless. I just want you inside me so badly. I cant take it anymore."

He rolled his eyes, annoyed at my persistence. "Fine. Just one try. And i mean one."

I gave him a sweet kiss and pulled him on top of me. He settled between my legs which i laid on the outside of his thighs. He stroked the smooth and sensitive skin on my inner thighs as he trailed his thumbs upwards to spread my lower lips apart. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips as he drunk in the sight at my slightly flexed gape. "Are you sure?" He asked.

I pushed my hand between us and gripped the outline of his cock firmly. "Johnny I don't want you, I need you."

He went to say something again but snapped his jaw shut. Quickly, he discarded his boxer briefs and guided his swollen cock towards my entrance. Seeing him throb was another part of my guilt. He would leak and swell as we romped around and yet could only get off by a blowjob or a handjob. Sometimes he would thrust between my thighs or against my ass but I knew it was just barely enough for him. His cum didn't belong splattered across my skin; it belonged inside me, filling me to the brim and keeping me warm. I closed my eyes and let every bit of tension leave my body. If I could just get the head in, it would be smooth sailing from there.

A small push threatened the barricade of my tightness. The tension returned but only for a moment. I kept it shoved aside and focused on taking in the tip. I could feel centimeter by centimeter, gauging how far he could go, and when I found the glans stuffed inside me both of us shuddered hard. I covered my mouth as soon as I let out a sharp gasp. The feeling of being stretched burned and tingled and yet I took in the discomfort with a sense of gratitude. This was the farthest we had gotten and even if this was all he could get inside it was better than nothing.

Johnny's hands were trembling as he bruised my hips in the pattern of his fingers. "J-jesus...babe." He sucked in a harsh breath and swallowed hard. Beads of sweat had gathered at his brow and it was almost like he was losing control already. "God you feel so damn good. How are you even taking me?"

I held one of his hands and brought it to my lips, kissing the back of it. "You said it yourself. You saw me practicing on camera but you didn't see what I did when I was alone." I parted my lips then and ushered in two of his fingers, sucking slowly. I circled my tongue around the tips and swallowed all the way down to the knuckle all while perfecting by bedroom eyed gaze at him. His hips snapped as his body trembled, making me wince around his fingers. He had managed to squeeze in more of his cock and even produced some minuscule thrusts that had him looking like he was already prepped to go over the edge.

He gripped harder at my hip to the point where it hurt but I knew it was a sign of pleasure and that's all I wanted to give him. I mewled around his fingers and nudged my legs a little higher to rest by his waist. The adjustment built up pressure in the pit of my stomach and made my overstretched walls clench harder. Johnny groaned deeply and begged me to ease my hold on him but I couldn't. Even when I got used to the new addition of girth I was still suctioned around him. My face flushed as I heard his groans turn into growls. The muscles in his strong arms bulged as his shoulders caved in and an unexpected heat tsunamied into me.

My eyes widened at the revelation that he had cum inside me-the first time I had ever felt the sensation. It was strange and yet because it was Johnny it also felt...cozy in a way. A warm perfection that symbolized him succumbing to everything I had wanted to give him. Though one thing was for sure, I was surprised at how quickly it happened. I let his hand go and instead held onto my tummy that I swore was bulging slightly. Johnny ran a hand over his face and pushed his hair back but as soon as our eyes caught each other his face burned beet red even to the tips of his ears. "Do you...um, do you always cum that fast when you're in someone?" I tried to ask as politely as possible.

He pulled out of me and ran straight to the bathroom, slamming the door harshly. I frowned, realizing that the small comment had hurt his pride but I had to be honest that I wanted more from him. I sat up slowly and felt a rush of cum flow out of me, thicker than I expected. Him pulling out so swiftly left me sore and on wobbly knees yet I walked over to the bathroom, trying to keep my thighs pressed together so I wouldn't make an even bigger mess. "Johnny?" I asked as I knocked on the door.

"Go away." I heard him mumble.

"Johnny, why'd you run? Was it because of what I said? I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"Go. Away."

I huffed and grabbed a hold of the door. I was prepared to force my way through but it wasn't locked at all. I stumbled as I stepped in and saw Johnny sitting on the toilet cover, head between his knees and arms dangling by his feet. "Johnny." I sunk to my knees in front of him. "Look at me, please."

"No." He replied, muffled.

"Johnny." I repeated, sternly this time. "What's wrong?"

"'M embarrassed." He mumbled.

"Embarrassed? How come?"

"I've never cum that fast before. Ever. I feel like a loser."

I pushed his head up gently and sighed. "Guaranteed I did want it to last longer but this was the first time you were able to thrust inside me. Maybe it was because of all that pent up energy from when you couldn't do it before. Orrrrr," I nudged his arm playfully. "I'm just that damn good."

"I don't need your cockiness now." He pouted cutely.

"It's ok, baby, really. We're still finding each other out. This is the first time anyone has cared about not hurting me. I'd take that over some idiot that would barge in any day. Please don't be embarrassed."

"Easy for you to say."

"You think I want to be this tight? Sure it sounds like a whole fantasy but being tiny sucks. I want to get railed until I can't walk but I cry as soon as something big comes near me."

"You didn't cry this time." He pointed out and I perked up instantly.

"Hey, you're right. I didn't. That's progress!" I smiled and gave him a small kiss in an effort to cheer him up a little. "And you know what this means, right?"

Johnny sat back against the toilet tank and let out an exasperated sigh. "What?"

"We can keep practicing." I rose to my feet and straddled his lap. "I know you like practicing."

Finally a twinge appeared at the corner of his mouth. He couldn't resist the thought of more touching, groping, kissing, and grinding. "Well...I guess you're right."

I peered down at his still mostly hard cock as curiously got the best of me. "You came but you're still hard?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes it takes awhile to go down. Sometimes I can squeeze another one out."

I lifted my hips and slowly sunk down on him, catching him by surprise. He jerked suddenly and held onto me tightly. "Re-Rem!"

"Maybe we can work on me taking all of you this time. And making sure you last longer."

"I-its your fault for fuckin' suffocating me!" He said through grit teeth. "Just like you're doing now!"

I wrapped my arms around his neck and grabbed a handful of his hair. "Don't tell me you cant take it, baby."

He licked his lips and fluttered his eyes shut. "You have no idea what you do to me Rem."

"You're wrong." I wiggled down more on his shaft, now about a quarter of the way down before the tingling started again. "I know exactly how you feel because you drive me crazy too. Especially now."

He buried his face in my neck, splattering kisses here and there. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

I giggled and squeezed him tight. "I love you, Johnny."

A silence fell over the room as that was also a first between us. I was afraid he wouldn't reciprocate the sentiment and felt my heart race. Now I was the embarrassed one yet I felt him smile against my collar bone. "Yeah?"

I nodded. "I-is that okay? To say that? I d-dont want to scare you off."

"I'm not going anywhere. Trust me. I love you too." I pursed my lips together to hide a squeal though I was too giddy to even think straight. I almost didn't notice Johnny standing up, myself now in his arms and our bodies remaining connected. "Can I show you how much I love you?"

"Please."

[anjuschiffer]

Wasn’t Meant For You but For Him

I know I’ve been quiet in terms of updates, but this is what I’ve been working on for the past two days! My first Timari! *squeal*

Thank you Vivi for encouraging me to write this! Also want to thank @eve-valution for beta-ing! 

@-@-@-@-@

P.Tag: @theatreandcomicfreak @damianette-is-life

@-@-@-@-@

Pairing: Timari

Context: This is years after highschool, possibly 5-6 years (I can’t count)? Gabriel isn’t HM here and HM was defeated a year after highschool was done for both Adrien and Mari. Mari isn’t the Guardian, since Fu was never discovered, however Adrien and Mari knew each other’s identities. Mari and Adrien are 24, Tim 25 and Damian is 17…

@-@-@-@-@

AO3

@-@-@-@-@

Richard yawned as he made his way to the kitchen, noticing a dim blue light peer through the crack of the living room, deciding to poke his head into the room.

His eyes laid straight onto Tim, his attention on the television screen, his coffee spilled on the floor, his laptop and documents spread on his table long forgotten and covered by the lone mug.

Wondering what had captured his brother’s attention, Richard decided to look at the television screen, then and there connecting the pieces.

“-and there you have it! Straight from the groom-to-be father’s mouth!”

Richard watched as Tim got up and left the room, giving Richard a nod as he left.

“The wedding of the year! Of possibly the century! The unification of the mysterious designer -MDC- and the face of Agreste - Adrien Agreste!” The tanned skinned reporter with a beauty mark above her eyebrow said. “And you’re saying that MDC will be revealing her actual face at the wedding?”

“She is, without a doubt, along with her actual name.”

“You heard it here first everyone! France’s beloved designer, MDC, will be revealing her face and name at her wedding! So don’t forget to joint down the big-”

Richard turned the television off, a click escaping his mouth as he cleaned up the spilled coffee on the floor and took the mug with him.

-----

“I can’t believe that I’m late for my own wedding!” A woman said, bouncing her leg as she kept looking outside her window to see if the limousine was anywhere near the church, Goliath Cathedral. 

While the cathedral was lovely, it was nothing compared to the Gotham Cathedral. Despite the Cathedral never being restored, its stone gargoyles and rusty bells attracted Marinette to the 800 foot, moss covered building.

It would’ve been wonderful to have the wedding there -no- to even walk inside the cathedral if it were ever restored. It’s lovely interior was filled with history, the unreachable ceiling would’ve enthralled the people when the music started, drawing everyone into an ethereal trance. 

The real trance, however, would start when Mari would step into the monotone room, her pure white dress becoming the centerpiece of adoration. The very dress she had on. An MDC original.

A dress made of tulle and lace, two materials and nothing more. The lace will create the sleeves and cover the bodice, forming an off-the-shoulder top. Tulle will create the skirt, lace once more adorning the hem of the dress and train that would be two meters in length. The veil would also be an MDC original, each crystal in that veil to be sewed on with joy and precision, an emotion that still radiated from Marinette since the day she started sketching her wedding gown.

“-Earth to Marinette!” Alya yelled, causing Marinette to let out a squeak. “About time you snapped from your trance!” Alya said with a giggle. “We’re here.”

“Already!” Marinette said with disbelief, looking outside her window once again, watching how crowded the streets in front of Goliath Cathedral were flooded with people of all ages and races, Marinette feeling something weighing on her. “Mon Dieu.”

“Well, Gabriel did make a huge fuss about your grand day.” Alya reminded her. “As much as I wish that I was the one to comment over your wedding, I couldn’t say no to being your Matron of Honor.” Alya said, really wishing to be the reporter to comment on her BFF’s grand day, but knew this task will always be of greater importance.

Marinette melted at that, throwing herself at her best friend. “Woah there girl! I can’t have you crying before your big dream comes true!”

“I’m sorry! I’m just-”

“You just can’t wait to finally marry Adrien after all these years of-”

“Alya!” Marinette squeaked, squeaking once more when Alya tackled her. 

“You deserve this Marinette.” Alya said, wrapping her arms around her friend. “You deserve this and so much more.” Marinette resisted the urge to cry. “Finally, after defending Paris for so many years and after getting your breakthrough as MDC… you can finally get your happily ever after.” Alya gently pushed Marinette away from her, wiping off the tears that slid down Marinette’s face. “Now! Let’s not be a minute later than what we already are!”

Marinette nodded, pep talking herself as she watched the door be opened for her, emerging out of the limo and stepping into the sea of cameras, smiling and waving as they captured the moments that would lead her to her life as Marinette Agreste.

-----

“He’s not here.”

Marinette felt lightheaded, her heart beating loudly in her ears, her chest tightening and becoming unbearable.

“Get me out of here.” She whispered. When she felt no one come to her, she said it again, not registering how loudly she said it. “GET ME OUT OF HERE!”

She didn’t know who grabbed her, but someone did, leading her back to the limo that was still awaiting for her, or rather for the couple that was supposed to be.  

She heard as cameras clicked and let out a shuttering noise that rang in her ears, she watched as lights went off as they capture her face in that moment,

Marinette kept looking forward, barely hearing Alya yell at the driver to get them somewhere.

Marinette felt as her entire body shaked, looking down at her bouquet of flowers. 

White roses - purity...innocence...

Baby’s breath - everlasting love... 

What a joke…

The limo came to a halt, Marinette looking up to see what stood in their way from getting out of the area.

Her eyes widened upon seeing Adrien step out of his car. 

She didn’t know when she got up and out of the limo, but she finally regained her composure when she heard the words she dreaded to hear on her grand day… their grand day.

“Mari, I’m sorry.”

Three words… that’s all it took.

Walking up to Adrien, feeling her anger shake the flowers in her hand, she lifted them up, connecting it to Adrien’s face, watching as flower petals scattered around them and the road beneath them. “How dare you show your face to me!” 

“Mari, I tried calling you-”

“YOU ALWAYS SAID WE WERE MEANT TO BE!” She hit him again, wondering when the petals were going to stop scattering.

“I’m here now. I-”

“YOU TALKED ABOUT ETERNAL LOVE AND YET LOOK AT US!”

“Mari, I’m-”

“YOU HUMILIATED ME! ME!” Marinette yelled, feeling hot tears trailing down her face, hitting him again and again, never noticing that the petals were already gone and battered, the stems of the bouquet bent and worn.

Seeing Adrien with guilt spelled across his face, Marinette looked him over one last time before running off, never hearing Adrien nor Alya yell out her name as she disappeared into an alley.

-----

Tim let out a sigh, running his hand through his hair, hearing Bruce’s words ringing in his mind.

“You’re not in the right mind. Come back when you’re ready to do your work properly.”

How exactly was he supposed to do that?

MDC’s wedding was today. To-day.

And no, that wasn’t what upsetted him, oh no.

It was the mere fact that she would be revealing herself to the world, something she said that she would never do until she felt comfortable.

So when Tim heard through Gabriel Agreste’s mouth that she would be revealing her face at the wedding -a wedding in which she later commented that she wanted to be private, but later was pressured into making it public- Tim couldn’t help but become upset for her.

Everything that she had worked so hard for, the respect and dignity she had built for herself all crumbled within a few moments… her years worth of effort, gone by marrying her highschool sweetheart.

To make matters worse, Tim felt like Gabriel was the one behind the wedding and not his son. 

Tim sighed as he wondered why he was even letting this all get to him.

Looking up, he didn’t expect to find himself wandering the park.

He also didn’t expect to see a bride-to-be, oddly feeling like he had seen her before. 

He heard sobs escape from her tiny frame, watching her rip the skirt of her gown with no effort, watching as she continued to rip the gown to shreds, the fabric laying at her feet, battered and covered in dirt.

He took a step forward before stopping himself.

Who was he to interfere in her life. Hell, what can he even do to stop her from crying?

He didn’t need to be told when he watched her turn around, Tim finally piecing why her back seemed so familiar, why her ruly midnight hair stunned him and why her dull, puffy bluebell eyes caused his breath to hitch.

He had seen her face before leaving his office. She was the reason why he couldn’t focus at work. It was her…

But why was she here? Wasn’t she-

No…

It couldn’t be…

She didn’t deserve this… 

No…

How could he?!

Tim slowly approached the woman he had secretly admired since he could ever remember. 

Taking the fabric away from her hands, the thing that was once her veil, a fabric that she happily worked on as she streamed her progress on her wedding gown over the course of six months…

Tim could only stand there… wondering what to do next.

“Would you like some coffee?” Tim offered, watching as something returned into MDC’s eyes. She nodded, slowly rising to her feet, collapsing as soon as she got up. Luckily, Tim had caught her in time, the woman now dangerously close to his liking.

Fishing for his phone, Tim called his most trusted family member.

“Hey Alfred… I need your help. Can you make sure there isn’t any type of paparazzi near me? We have a runaway bride that would be grateful to not have any more drama added to her big day.”

------

Adrien walked into the reception hall with his head hung low, too embarrassed to face his friends, feeling eyes pierce through him as he walked towards his former classmates.

He could feel Nathaniel and Marc’s gaze pierce through him, years of working with them allowing him to know who’s gaze was who. He could also feel Juleka’s and Mylene’s, thanking Kwami that Kim and Alix weren’t here. 

They would’ve killed him the minute he walked into the room with Mari by his side. But he didn’t need to hear their disappointment when he could already hear everyone else’s.

He could already hear the murmuring as people noticed the empty space beside him.

Where was the bride?

“What were you thinking, Adrikins?!” Chloe yelled, storming to her childhood friend upon seeing him, Sabrina close behind her. Adrien watched as her black dress with golden trims approached him, wincing upon seeing a name hiddened at the hem of the dress. “How could you do that to Dupain-Cheng?!”

“Marinette didn’t deserve that.” Sabrina added, watching as Rose and Ivan stood in front of him, acting as a wall between the two.

“You guys are being too harsh on him.” Rose stated, glancing towards Ivan, as if pleading him to back her up. “He was just nervous.”

“Rose is right. Give Adrien some space to breath and rethink-”

“Rethink?” Juleka scoffed, everyone turning their heads to see Juleka make her way through the reception doors. “Seriously Ivan? Rethink?” 

“Juleka, calm down.” Rose whispered, not seeing the anger in Juleka’s eyes diminish in the slightest, instead, it grew.

“No Rose!” Juleka making Rose wince. “You’re telling me to forgive this idiot for leaving Mari at the altar?!”

“Juleka, you’re being too harsh-”

“No I’m not Rose and you know that!” Juleka looked at Adrien, her eyes narrowed. “How dare you ruin Marinette’s dreams like that? How dare you mock Marinette’s feelings! How dare you!”

“Juleka!” Another voice shouted, gaining everyone’s attention, but Juleka’s. “That’s enough!”

“Lu-” Adrien could hear the gasps that filled the room as his vision shifted to the side, his face aching and on fire.

“You had one job Agreste.” Luka growled, Adrien not daring to face Luka. 

He knew that Mari meant a lot to Luka. She was like a sister to him, the two were inseparable when they were younger. “You were suppose to make her happy Agreste and yet here you are, not feeling a single shred of shame that-”

“I told her that I was-”

“Sorry?” Luka let out a dry laugh. “Sorry doesn’t cut it buddy. I told you what would happen if you made her cry.” Luka grabbed Adrien’s face, forcing him to look at him. “I swear, if I see you anywhere near Marinette, if you dare to talk to her again, I will find you and I will tear you to shreds Agreste. I don’t care if I have become a villain once more to protect those I love.” Luka let go of Adrien, the ex-groom falling to the ground, shaking.

“Mark my words Adrien Agreste.”

Adrien heard Luka and Juleka walk out, hearing another pair stop before walking in, watching as they crouched to his level. Kagami looked at him with disappointment, a frown on her face.

“Kagami.”

“Seems like Luka beat me to the punch.” She said, her frown curving a bit. “Literally.”

Adrien didn’t utter a word as she rose, helping him get up. “I also came to tell you something else before heading to your father.” Kagami smirked when she saw him tense. “The Tsurugi’s will no longer work with the Gabriel brand. Our relationship is over.” Kagami headed for the door before stopping to take one last look at Adrien. “Seems like Lady Luck is no longer on your side.”

------

Marinette stirred, jolting up when she felt soft comforters covering her and a mattress beneath her. She noticed an elderly gentleman standing near the doorway, letting his shoulders relax when he saw her.

“I see you are awake, Miss...?”

“Marinette.” Marinette started, scanning her area. Where exactly was she?

“Do not worry, Miss Marinette. No camera nor paparazzi knows of your location.” He assured, watching as Marinette let out a sigh of relief. “We also have some attire prepared for you if you so wish to change from your current one.”

Looking down onto herself, Marinette quickly took the offer, slipping into the slightly oversized shirt and a pair of jeans that fit her loosely, also thanking the gentleman for also giving her some comfortable footwear. Sneakers were definitely better to walk in than heels. 

“Thank you,” Marinette said, walking out of the room she was in, her battered wedding gown in hand. “Do you happen to know of a good way to get rid of this?” Marinette motioned to her gown, the gentleman giving her a knowing look.

“Of course Miss Marinette.” He said, motioning her follow him. “The manor is always prepared for anything, especially when it comes to getting rid of unwanted clothing articles.”

“And before I forget,” the gentle said, bowing. “My name is Alfred Pennyworth. Welcome to Wayne Manor.”

-----

Tim sighed as he dragged his hands down his face, settling with trying to rub his temples in a futile attempt to get his mind into the right place.

MDC was in the manor. 

She was finally in front of him, so why was his chest aching instead of fluttering like he thought it would when he imagined the day he got to meet her?

He stared out the window, noticing smoke rise into the air, Tim feeling his heart stop. 

It was coming from the garden. 

Quickly, he made his way to the source of the fire, finding Alfred flipping what seemed to be a white piece of fabric, tossing it into the flames, Tim finally noticing the sigh of relief coming from MDC.

He didn’t dare to speak as he saw her lock eyes with him, her hair a bit more tamed than what it was earlier, the corner of her eyes red and no longer puffy.

“If you do excuse me, Master Tim.” Alfred said, breaking the spell that drew the two into a staring competition, causing said duo to turn away, not wanting to acknowledge the heat that dared to spread across their face. 

“It’s fine Alfred. You are excused.” Tim managed to say without a stutter, watching MDC from the corner of his eye.

He watched as she went back to watching the flame burn the remains of her supposed grand day.

Seconds became minutes and then into an hour, Tim never realizing when the flame had died out. He honestly didn’t care that he was still looking at a dark pit filled with ash. As long as she stood by the makeshift fire pit, he’d stay there to keep her company.

“You know,” MDC spoke, Tim noticing how soft it was, how lifeless it sounded. “I spent six months sewing it, only for it to be destroyed within an hour.”

“I know.” Tim said, not noticing her whip her head towards him, her eyes large with horror. “I remember how you keep doing samples of the lace over and over again, saying how you kept messing up, even though each sample was meticulously done to perfection.” Tim didn’t notice how she backed away from him. “Even though you couldn’t hear me, I keep saying how you’ve improved since the last time and how you kept seeing each one as a failure because you were using new techniques you learned a week prior in comparison to the ones you started out with when you first started your career.”

When Tim decided to look at MDC, he noticed that she was crying again, standing two meters away from him, and yet one step was soon taken closer to her.

“You… you know who I am?” She asked, her hands shaking beside her face.

“Um, yes? You’re MDC.” Tim answered, watching as she shook even more.

Where was Dick when you needed him?

Tim slowly approached her, going to place his hands on her shoulders when he hesitated, his hands hovering over her. “Listen, can I call you Bean?” Tim said, cursing himself for not having Dick nor Jason’s ability to give proper nicknames.

“Bean, I didn’t mean to scare you. If there’s anything I can do to make you forget what happened earlier, please tell me.”

“Nettie.” She whispered, Tim barely catching it. “Call me Nettie.” She lowered her hands as she looked at him.

“If that’s what you want, Nettie.” Tim wondered why he adored the way it fluently rolled off his tongue. “Are you still up for that cup of coffee I offered earlier?”

Nettie gave him a small smile, nodded. “Alfred makes the best coffee.”

-----

Gabriel fumed as another person reported to him that another video of Marientte and Adrien’s dispute went online, the PR having difficulties taking the video down.

“What part of “get rid of it at all costs” don’t you incompetent fools understand!” He yelled, watching as people scattered to fight off the damage Adrien had done to the Gabriel brand.

Gabriel had planned everything to go according to plan, twelve whole months to plan this day to the utmost perfection, to be the most spectacular day for him and his brand, all for Adrien to ruin everything thanks to having cold feet.

Gabriel had taken everything into account, everything that would possibly make Miss Dupain-Cheng to call the wedding off, only for his stupid blood to let him down.

“Sir.” Nathalie said, gaining Gabriel’s attention. “We have a problem.”

“What is it this time?” He dared to say through gritted teeth.

“We’re receiving heavy backlash from-”

“When will anyone-”

“It’s Mr.Drake-Wayne, sir.” Nathalie managed to say, holding her breath as she watched Gabriel ingest what she just told him. “After saying how incompent and embarrassed we should be, he declared taking complete control over MDC’s PR and her entire business.”

“No.” Gabriel whispered, feeling himself get cold. “There is no way-”

“He just announced it sir.” Nathalie said, showing him her tablet screen, Gabriel snatching it to get a closer look. “MDC is now protected by the CEO of Wayne Enterprises and there is nothing we can do.”

-------

Tim pressed something on his screen before tucking his phone away.

“Something happened?” Nettie asked, sipping some more of her coffee. Tim hadn’t lied. Alfred made the best coffee Marinette had ever sipped since she had gotten to Gotham. Maybe in her entire life.

“Some damage control, nothing more.” Tim assured her, watching as she looked into her coffee. 

After drinking their first cup of coffee, Nettie had asked for a favor, something Tim couldn’t say no to. 

She wanted him to deal with her PR, seeing as she wasn’t in the right head to do so. 

After getting her sign of approval and calling a few people, Tim gained control of the rumors and content that surrounded and included anything that mentioned and dared to mention the disaster at the cathedral. 

Under different circumstances, Tim would’ve been over the moon upon having the chance at being in charge of MDC’s PR, but right now, it wasn’t the time to celebrate to his heart's content. 

He had someone else to cheer up. 

“Say Nettie.” Tim started, placing down his mug. “What do you think about staying for dinner?”

Nettie blinked, sipping into her mug. 

“If it means staying indoors and away from the rest of the world, I’m down for it.” Tim smirked. 

“Just gotta warn you, I’m not the only Wayne that lives in this manor.”

——

Marinette only meant to stay at the Manor until things cooled down, but she knew that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

She kept elongating her stay at Wayne Manor, bonding with each family member over the passing days. 

Alfred, she quickly bonded with. After asking for permission to the kitchen to stress bake, Alfred shared some secrets on his cooking, Marinette in turn sharing her secrets in baking. From baking and cooking, the two started to chat more, Marniette adopting him as her third grandfather.

Bruce… she was still trying to get used to him. While they spoke quite a lot when it came to business… Marinette would always run short in talking about other things, usually their conversations ending in comfortable silence. However, Mairinette did manage to find out something to blabber about: grandkids (or rather children in general). Marinette would share her fantasies about having children, Bruce asking if she would ever adopt. Marinette would laugh and comment on how she didn’t want to be a serial adopter like him. That always got a laugh from the man.

Richard, or Dick as he insisted, was a sweetheart, helping her whenever she would wake up from her nightmares of her former life and from that disastrous day. He’d stay up until she felt better and held her hand as she drifted to sleep. He would never mention the incidents, knowing and  respecting Marinette in that manner. She also couldn’t help but respect him for skills, finding something new about herself whenever she would join his gymnastic warm ups.

Jason was… the brother she wished she had. They would banter about what food to have for lunch, always resulting in having to play a game to decide who would choose. When it wasn’t that, it was wrestling each other, Marinette having the upperhand due to her small stature, only to be overpowered by the baberious man. She enjoyed learning new attacks although she hated having to lose to him in the majority of their sparing.

Damian… he was the little brother she’d always wanted. While Tim told her he was the most annoying person to spend time with, Marinette would beg to differ. He just needed some guidance. The two bonded over animals, Damian showing her his favorite part of the mansion. When she walked into the room, she swore she was in a pet store,every wall was filled with dog supplies and toys. Ace and Titus wagging their tails as soon as Damian walked into the room, the dogs immediately taking a liking to Marinette. Even the rather bratty Alfred the Cat had taken to her quicker than with the rest of the family that wasn’t Damian. 

When it wasn’t pampering Ace and Titus, it was sparring, Marinette thanking him for not holding back like Jason and Richard. He’d expose her openings, apologizing as he would hit her. After training, she would teach him to bake, enjoying how he would blame the ingredients for not working and coming to Marinette for help. Mari’s best parts would be when he would lighten up when a pastry would come out perfectly after a few tries. 

Tim… he was… she had mixed feelings about him. Being a fellow coffee addict, Marinette could sympathize with the need to drink more and having to deal with late night work. Sometimes she would stay up with him, pulling a blanket over him, although there were times where she would end up covered by a blanket. She found out he liked her opera cakes; Damian would always request one, only to share it with Tim every now and then. 

He was respectful of her space, always checking up on her in his own odd antics in the form of a mug of coffee for a new tiny plushie. (She now had a wall dedicated to them.) He never once brought up her work as MDC, something she was glad for (she wasn’t ready to go back just yet). He was the one to give her a room, provided her whatever she needed, even a new family… but Marinette knew that he was more than just that…

What exactly was he, she would have to wait to figure that out herself.

------

“What do you mean you can’t find her? That you can’t reach her?” Gabriel seethed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

It’s been two weeks since MDC had gone missing, no one knowing where she was. 

Gabriel had tried to open a line for people to call when they had any clues as to where the rising design was at, only to get an influx of false claims, prompting him to shut it down.

“Mari isn’t answering any of her phones, not even Alya knows where she is at.” Adrien reasoned, really hoping his father wouldn’t make him recall Alya. 

He could still hear screams in his ears, Nino having to answer the phone call before giving him his own two cents on Adrien’s actions towards Marinette.

“Listen Adrien, you have to find her.” Gabriel said soothingly, placing his hands on Adrien’s shoulders, the young adult wincing at the pressure. “If you don’t, let’s just say you can say goodbye to your dream of being forever with your lady.”

------

Titus and Ace were enjoying another day out in the manor garden, laying by Nettie’s side as she meditated to her heart’s content. 

She was practicing this new technique that Damian’s friend Raven had taught her, when a noise caught Titus’ attention. With a single glance towards Ace, Titus went to investigate, quickly finding the source. Without a second to lose, Titus barked a command to Ace before sprinting towards the manor, knowing he had to find Damian, and fast.

Nettie was in danger.

------

Marinette breathed in and then out, focusing on her breathing when it came to a halt when she heard Ace growl and her name being spoken by the one person she never wanted to see again.

“Marinette.” 

Her focus snapped and she felt her entire being freeze. How did he find her? How did he-

“Marinette, I’m so sorry about leaving you there, for leaving you at the steps of the cathedral instead of being by your side like I promised to be. Because you were right. I hurt you and I’m sorry for that. I should’ve kept my promise and should have gathered the courage to push my nerves down.” Adrien continued when Marinette remained silent, her bluebells staring at her with unshed tears. “We were meant to be Marinette.” Adrien said softly. “Will you marry me?”

A wind blew around them, its whistle snapping Marinette back to the present.

“No.” Marinette quietly said, stepping away from Adrien, feeling Ace began to intensify his growl. “I don’t want to marry you Adrien. Not today, not tomorrow, never.”

“But Mari!” Adrien said, grabbing her arm. “We are meant to be.” Ace began barking madly, circling around the two.

“Adrien, let go!” Marinette exclaimed, biting down on her tongue as Adrien clawed his nails into her wrist.

“You’re. Coming. With.Me.” Adrien gritted through his teeth, pulling Mari towards him, only to yelp in pain when Ace bit him. “Damn mutt!” Adrien hissed, attempting to kick Ace, but failing. However, he did manage to grab Marinette again, even if it was by her hair. 

Marinette felt tears escape her eyes, placing her hands over his, lowering herself, twisting to face him and bring herself up, watching as his grasp on her hair loosened. She quickly kicked him on his knee, not turning back as soon as he howled in pain. 

However, she knew it wasn’t enough when he grabbed her again by her hair, causing her to jerk backward, holding in a yell as her entire scalp ached. 

Again, she twisted her shoulder towards him, punching his groin area and striking his back with her elbow and throwing him forward, where his face collided with the ground.

Without giving him a second to react, Marinette stood on his knees, pinning his arms behind him.

But she was a second too late.

He pushed her off of him, pushing her down by her throat.

Marinette pushed him off using her legs and punching his face as he flung off, launching herself at him to punch him again, turning him over and hooking her arms under his own, struggling to put both of her hands at the center of his back.

Establishing her position, Marinette grabbed both of his elbows, her arms still hooked and flipped him over, her body crossing his and holding him into an excruciating pin.

She ignored the yells and cries that escaped him, yelling at Marinette to let him go, to free him before things were going to get worse for her, but she added more force into her hold, screams piercing the garden.

Marinette didn’t know how much pressure she had put into her hold, nor when Adrien passed out nor when all the brothers got to her.

She didn’t know when she was pulled away from the pale Adrien and pulled into Tim’s arms, feeling circles being rubbed against her back as Tim whispered to her that she was alright, that she was safe. 

It wasn’t until she saw Titus and Ace at her side and Damian asking Tim if she was alright that Marinette finally understood that she was okay. That she was going to be alright.

The boys watched as Nettie broke down, her wails and sobs echoing throughout the garden, watching as she gripped Tim’s shirt and cried into it, Tim wrapping his arms around her frame, nuzzling his head against hers, continuing to whisper to her that everything was alright.

-------

“-and I will continue to hold my charges against A-”

Marinette turned off the television, staring at it. 

It was over.

Adrien was behind bars, the Agreste brand tarnished and cancelled, Gabriel now dealing with lawsuits thanks to his son’s actions.

She can finally move on...

A mug appeared before her, Nettie not having to look up to see who had brought it.

She took it, a frown still on her face.

“Do you regret it?” Tim asked, sitting beside her on the floor, laying his legs beneath the coffee table.

“Not one bit.” Nettie said, letting out a sigh. “I’m… actually glad I didn’t marry him.”

“Hmmm..” was all Tim could say, sipping his own cup of coffee. “So, what now?”

“I… don’t know.” Nettie said thoughtfully. “Actually… I do know.” She said, turning to him. Tim blinked as she leaned into him, placing a kiss on his forehead.

A spark ran through Tim, making him balance his reaction between freezing upon being kissed and holding onto the mug he had in his hand. “Thank you… for everything.”

Tim remained silent as Marinette got up and left the room, leaving her mug behind.

He didn’t know how much time had passed, but when he did get up, he ran.

He ran to where she could’ve been, where she used to be, but didn’t find her anywhere within the manor. 

Her room was empty, but her things remained, the plushies she gave still on the wall.

As he got to the foyer, he found Damian, who seeked comfort in Titus.

“Damian. Ha-Have. You. Seen. Nettie?” He asked between pants, getting a frown from him.

“She just left.”

“Where?”

“She said she was heading back to Paris. Something about- hey!” Damian yelled as Tim ruffled his hair and sprinted out the door.

Please let him get to her...

-----

“-passengers for flight 6236 to Paris please go to Terminal 3.”

Marinette let out a sigh as she grabbed her luggage and started to walk towards her gate when the announcement tone rang again.

“-I promise it’s going to be quick!” A voice echoed through the intercom.

“Tim?”

“Ne-Marinette! Please. Don’t go.” His voice said, Marinette feeling her chest ache upon hearing his voice crack. “I know we’ve only known each other for a short amount, but hear me out.” She listened as he took a breath. “I love you.”

Marinette dropped something, but she didn’t know what. It didn’t matter.

“Even before we met in person, I was enthralled by your work, your delicateness when you sewed and when you would bake things.”

Run.

“I remember when you broke down during your video and spent the entire two hours explaining why you were crying, making me want to find out where you lived to tell you that everything was going to be fine and that everything was going to work out.”

Run!

“I remember when you won your first fashion competition for Audrey. I cried when you showed off your winning designs that you worked day in and day out, the days that you spent working on designs you drew with your prickled covered hands and sprained wrist.”

Find him!

“I remember when you eagerly shared with us how you planned to debut, going into details about your launch before you panicked because you let out confidential information, saying how you wanted to remain a mystery to the public. You didn’t want anyone to know who you truly were until you felt comfortable about it.” 

Where was he?

“Then when I met you,” A pause. “Even with your dress tattered and ripped, with your hair ruly and out of it’s crown  and your eyes red to the brim, I was still captivated by your beauty.”

There he was. 

Marinette allowed herself to breath, panting heavily as she walked up to the booth where Tim was, tears running down his face.

“The days we spent… I truly treasured… so please… don’t-”

“I’m not going anywhere.” “I’m not going anywhere.”

Marinette said, hearing her voice echo throughout the airport as she cupped Tim’s face into her hands, wiping his tears with her thumbs with such tenderness.

“I love you too.” “I love you too.”

With those words, she kissed him, soaking in the moment, feeling Tim place his own hands over hers, leaning in to deepen their kiss.

“I love you.”

[ironxkid]

why don't you like endgame or civil war

((hoo buddy, idk what brought this up but salt under the cut!! Like... a lot of salt - specifically regarding Endgame lmao

I’m gonna start off with CACW because it’s a short response lol

I don’t like it simply because I was done with the infighting between the Avengers. The found family crumbs we were given in Endgame was something I really wanted to see, and them just... ripping them apart frustrated me lol

honestly, the movie was... fine? Idk, I found it to be a lil slow for my taste (it felt like it just dragged on when I watched it in theaters), and I just don’t care for it in general  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Also, ngl, I’m really bummed that Captain America: Serpent Society was a joke announcement because that sounds dope as hell and I really wanted to see that before I realized it’d been a joke dfgjhdsfhj

but, yeah, literally just because CACW is specifically an infighting movie annoys me to no end so I just won’t watch it again dgsfjhsfdhj

now, Endgame?

fuck Endgame

I. have a lot of issues with it, all of which are major grievances throughout the fandom. I’m pissed they killed Natasha and didn’t even bother giving her a fucking funeral because, I quote from Joe Russo, “Well, Tony does not have another movie. Tony is done. And Natasha has another film. And Marvel Universe obviously does not have to move forward linearly anymore. But that character still has more screen time coming.” (see here) and that annoys the hell out of me. She’s getting another movie - great! So you killed one of the few characters doing her fucking best to keep everything together at the compound, the one who was taking charge, give her a big role, and then murk her and... give her nothing but a brief mention at the end. Like... what the fuck? Natasha deserved so much better than what she was given. Tony’s funeral could’ve (and, frankly, should’ve) been a funeral for him, Natasha, and Vision because god forbid we see anyone mourn Vision other than Wanda

(actually this post covers how Endgame fucked over the MCU women perfectly, though Wanda’s not mentioned :c )

plus... Tony’s not done lol - he’s still a massive figure in the films/shows despite RDJ not acting in them, so his character has left shockwaves that aren’t dying any time soon. Natasha... basically disappeared, and I believe she would’ve been dropped completely if it wasn’t for the fact she does have a film coming out soon. Which, frankly, seems awesome and all, but it’s a film that goes back to post-CACW pre-IW and... frankly doesn’t give me any reason to understand why that means she didn’t get a funeral. She’s not coming back in future movies/shows that are in present MCU timeline - her movie is set in the past. She could’ve gotten a decent sendoff 

now, Clint’s arc as Ronin rubs me the wrong way. I know it’s a huge thing in the comics, and it’s not him taking a different mantle that I have an issue with. It’s the fact he, a white man, went around murdering people and got off scot-free. Yes, he was targeting genuinely bad people, but... to show that, they specifically singled out Mexican cartels and the yakuza (Japanese mafia, essentially) - so, in other words, the bad guys were people of color! I feel like I don’t need to explain how fucked up that is. And, to clarify, I love Clint! Clint is honestly one of my favorite characters, and the whole thing was just handled... poorly in the film

Tony’s arc genuinely hurts. This is a man who has suffered for years and has tried to make things right, and finally got a chance to settle down. He finally retired from the Avengers, finally settled down, and had a fucking life he could enjoy despite his ghosts, and yet... His arc ends with a message of “tortured soul finally gets rest by dying”. Because, y’know, it’s great seeing yet another long-suffering character only reaching peace through death, because god forbid they let characters heal! He could’ve still caused the second Snap, and he could’ve survived. He could’ve finally been able to step away for good and focus on his family, focus on recovering, and be truly happy. What’s so wrong with letting him stay alive so he can rest and be with his family? What’s so wrong with letting a long-suffering character finally find peace after one last bang? 

plus it pisses me off that they’re now using him as a reasoning as to why bad things are still happening. Why is this person the bad guy? Because Tony Stark somehow may or may not have done something that hurt them! Even though most of that really stems from Howard or Obadiah. Tony just ends up getting the blame in their place. He’s just an easy target to use, much like the tesseract seems to be the go-to answer for why things go wrong. But this is a different train of thought

Steve’s ending pisses me off just as much as the next person lmao. You take a character who has acknowledged he no longer belongs in the past (which, funnily enough, was written by the Russos), aaaaaaand have him go back to the past while ignoring two important people in his life that were still right there. He got Bucky and Sam back, and he leaves them. His arc is ruined within a matter of minutes, and it paints a hella bad picture of him in the process. He goes back in time to stay with Peggy (which ultimately destroys her own arc, and the fact she’s a person outside of her relationship (or lack thereof) with him because, y’know, why have her be able to move on and be her own person?), and we’re supposed to believe he’s fine with everything he knows from the future? Fine with knowing Bucky’s trapped with HYDRA and is suffering as the Winter Soldier? Fine with knowing HYDRA has infested SHIELD from day one? Fine with knowing Howard and Maria are going to die? Fine with royally fucking up the timelines? We’re supposed to believe he sat back and did nothing with all of that? They could’ve had him still hand the shield over to Sam - they could’ve let Steve stay an Avenger without the mantle

also the fact the Russos said he didn’t recognize Red Skull when he returned to Vormir to return the soul stone? Like... what the fuck?? Not to mention he literally returns the stone to Vormir, which “soul for a soul”, and they didn’t bring Nat back that way??

and now onto Thor. Thor... holy fuck is this hitting something personal for me. Thor was ridden with guilt - he was furious with himself, hated himself, and blamed himself for failing to stop the Snap. He fell into a massive depression, and... was promptly danced around as laughing stock. Like, “oh! look at Thor! he’s fat and drunk because he’s depressed haha!” - like fuck off. It’s not funny in any form. His suffering was made into a joke and it pisses me off because I suffer from depression. A lot of people suffer from depression. It’s not funny. It’s fucking terrifying at times. I wasted a shit ton of money on a stupid online sim game because it was a distraction - it gave me... god, I wouldn’t even say temporary happiness, but it gave me something to temporarily help, and I still hate myself for doing it. It was a poor decision on my part, and I wish I could change it. And, during that time, I was scared because I couldn’t see myself pulling out of it. I thought I was gonna feel that way forever. I called out of work multiple times because there were days I couldn’t stop crying (something I still feel horrible for doing), I couldn’t get myself to contact any of my friends for months, and it was all because the medication I was on at the time... stopped working. Thankfully, my depression doesn’t work in a way that makes me a danger to myself, so that wasn’t an issue, but it still fucking sucked. And to see a character that I could relate to on such a personal level treated as laughing stock fucking hurt. I’m not sharing this for sympathy - I’m sharing this because it Thor’s arc hit home and it’s literally the main reason why I will not watch Endgame again

this is more of a nitpick than anything else, but... I didn’t really care for Carol in it tbh? Which is unfortunately because Captain Marvel is one of my absolute favorite movies! And I’m well aware she was introduced in Endgame while CM was being drafted, but that in itself is annoying?? Because Carol was originally going to be introduced in AoU, but was cut because it wasn’t going to introduce her character properly. And yet they decide to introduce her character in a clusterfuck of a movie before her movie is in the final stages, and proceed to release her movie first and then give a complete different characterization in her following appearance

honestly I just wanna cover this now to clarify some things regarding Carter and her backstory: the only reason I keep Endgame as is is because it felt easier for me to do so for the purpose of bending canon for specific threads. I wanted to stay as true to the given plots as possible to help with fudging of both the movies and her background, and also because I didn’t want anyone to feel like I was trying to force my own headcanons onto them, y’know? 

I’m just gonna plug this here because fuck it lol, but I did start a fix-it fic regarding Endgame that you can read here! I... probably won’t finish it tbh, and I haven’t gone over it in a hot minute so it might be riddled with errors ahah - plus I’m not sure about how I wrote the characters! I get nervous when writing canon characters because I feel like I’ll miss their characterization completely, which is actually why I,,, rarely rp canon characters dgfjhgsfdhj

also the image in the doc was created by @/archervale!! 

[tanakavox]

"Rose luck, help me out for once...”

Zwei quietly muttered the words to himself as he played around with the raffle ticket he currently held in his hand. The number read 925, same as his birthday he couldn’t help but note before he let out an exasperated sigh. He had arrived a couple hours before the raffle actually began, hoping that by getting there early he’d increase his chances of winning by being one of the first people to grab a ticket. Unfortunately, that also meant he had to wait till the raffle draw actually began, and thus left the Corgi Faunus waiting on a nearby bench and utterly bored out of his mind.

‘I should have brought Rosie with me,’ he thought with a sigh. Having her around would not only make for better company than empty air, but also because she had far better luck at these kinds of things than he ever seemed to. From rigged carnie games, to crane games, to even contests and giveaways, Rosemary seemed to have been blessed by Lady Luck herself and was always winning something or other all the time. It was one of the very few things of his best friend and now lover that he had always been envious of, though that had mostly stemmed from his own lack of luck and how he always seemed to get the short end of the stick in regards to chance. Zwei’s inner musings were cut off as the raffle hostess, a dark skinned rabbit Faunus, came out to address the crowd, her voice being amplified by the microphone.

"Ladies, gentlemen, and those in between, we will now begin the raffle call! Three of you will be lucky enough to win a brand new Playstation five, so if your name is called please head to the office to collect your prize,” the hostess announced with a smile on her face, before she walked over to a box and pulled out a slip of paper. 

"First number is… 189!" 

Zwei mentally swore, doing his best to ignore the excited whoop that came from the crowd. He kept his calm, knowing that he still had a chance to win. The rabbit faunus smiled at the enthusiasm of the winer, before she pulled out another slip. 

"Second number is...616!" 

Another whoop emerged from the crowd, and the silver eyed Huntsman's heart began to beat loudly in his chest. His fists were clenched so tight that his knuckles had turned white, and a cold sweat had broken out over his neck.

“Please,” Zwei said to himself in a near whisper, his eyes closing as he sent a prayer to literally anyone who would listen, “Just let my luck hold out for once…”

The hostess let out another pleased smile, before she pulled out the final slip of paper, and thus the final winner.

 "And the third and final number is…925!”

Zwei’s eyes snapped open in disbelief, his jaw dropping at his incredible turn of luck. His shock quickly turned to glee, before he fistpumped and let out a loud, “HELL YEAH!” He quickly made a beeline to the office, eagerly awaiting to get his prize. After a short wait, the hostess came into the office to present the prizes to Zwei and the other two winners(Whom Zwei would later learn where both Huntsmen, but that was a story for another time).

Zwei had the biggest grin on his face as he walked out with a brand new Playstation Five, the elusive console that he had been on the hunt for nearly three days straight. It even came bundled with a copy of the new Spider Man and the Demon Souls Remake, which was an absolute steal!

"Rosie is never gonna believe I won this through a raffle,” Zwei chuckled to himself, imagining the look of disbelief on his lady's face, before he found his musing interrupted when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He looked down in confusion to see who it was, only to look on in annoyance at the women before him. She appeared to be a middle aged woman with an inverted bob cut, expensive winter clothing, and body language that basically screamed “ego.” Zwei knew without doubt that the woman in front of him was a, “Karen,” and that he had a strong inkling as to what she had approached him for.

"Excuse me,” the “Karen,” began, her shrill tone laced with condensation as she addressed the Huntsmen, “Do you think you would be willing to-”

“Nope.”

Zwei’s sudden interruption caught the Karen off guard. She looked shocked at having been so suddenly denied, while Zwei looked down upon her with a bored, almost uninterested look on his face.

“You don’t understand,” She tried again, this time with a more pleading tone, “But my baby-”

"Let me take a wild guess,” Zwei interrupted her in a bored tone, “your baby has some kind of incurable disease? Or maybe they lost a limb in a “tragic,” accident? Or some kind of other inane sob story that you’re trying to use to guilt trip me into giving up my recently acquired Playstation Five in my hands?”

Zwei had appeared to be right on the mark as the Karen’s jaw had practically merged with the floor from her ploy being easily discovered(and just as easily sunk), within a matter of seconds. Zwei couldn't help but scoff at her blatant attempt to try and swindle him out of the console in his hands.

“Yeah, I used to work retail lady, so I’ve heard every single sob story under the sun. So sorry to disappoint your “Baby,” but this thing is going straight under the tree and directly into the hands of my nephew come christmas morning. But uh, nice try though.”

Zwei then brushed past the women, not even bothering to acknowledge her any longer than he needed too as he made his way to the nearest exit. The Karen did not take the dismissive that well, her face flushed and angry red and her mouth contorted into an ugly grimace. She turned around and screamed at the top of her lungs, “IT'S BECAUSE OF PEOPLE LIKE YOU THAT MY SON WON'T BE ABLE TO EXPERIENCE THE JOY OF OPENING A PS5 ON CHRISTMAS DAY!"

"Why don’t you bitch to your whipped husband about it,” Zwei shouted over his shoulder, not even bothering to stop to address screaming women, “he's probably the only one who’s gonna give a shit lady." 

His response had served to antagonize the Karen even more, who began screaming and raving louder till the whole mall was practically echoing with her shrill voice. Zwei simply kept on walking, a smug smile on his face and a feeling of content at having managed to luck out on getting the gift he wanted for his Nephew. He had just exited the mall when he suddenly felt a force impact his head, causing him to stumble forward a little before he managed to keep his balance. He quickly did an about face to see what had caused the impact, before his eyes narrowed upon a relatively large man with an even larger sword on his back who had his hand balled into his fist.

It was obvious that the man sucker punched him, though it did very little to hurt Zwei and was really more of an annoyance. Despite this, Zwei’s training kicked in and he instantly began assessing the threat level of the huntsmen before him. Standing next to the man was the Karen who was screaming at him, who now had a smug smile on her face as if she had pulled out a trump card.

“Still think my baby isn’t worth handing over the console kid?”

“Couldn’t swindle it from me, and now you’re trying to take it by force,” Zwei asked, before giving her a look of mock shame, “tsk, tsk, someone is going on Santa’s naughty list.”

“Hand over the console kid, and I promise not to break too many bones in your body,” his attacker threatened in a booming voice, only causing Zwei to roll his eyes at the overused threat.

“I have a better idea: how about instead of getting into a fight you don’t want to start, you use the remaining two brain cells you have left in your tiny little head of yours to grab your snotty wife and get the hell out of my sight, before I end up shoving a lump of coal straight down your “stocking?”

The man did not take kindly to Zwei’s counter proposal, choosing instead to pull out the sword of his back and readying to attack Zwei. Zwei quickly, but gently, tossed the Playstation Five in his hands to the side, before bringing up one half of Red Daylight to block the oncoming blow. Zwei could feel the aura behind the man’s sword as it impacted upon the flat of his hookblade, but he easily deflected the attack to his side in an almost comical manner. 

Zwei blinked, before he looked over the man again as he lunged at Zwei, who merely side stepped his easily telegraphed attack. Upon further investigation, Zwei noticed that the man’s stance was sloppy and his defense was full of so many holes that even the most novice fighter could have taken him down. His sword strikes lacked fluidity to them, coming off more like the man was swinging a baseball bat around than a heavy sword. And while he clearly had his aura unlocked, he wasn’t properly distributing it throughout his body to make efficient use of it. Zwei deduced this in a manner of seconds, before he came to a sudden conclusion.

“...You’re not a huntsmen,” Zwei stated aloud, “you’re just some scrub that had his Aura unlocked and thought you could use it to bully people into submission!”

The “Scrub,” did not take kindly to Zwei’s revelation, his face contorted into an angry sneer before he made to swipe at Zwei again.

“You shut your damn mouth you filthy animal,” the Srub screamed in rage, “and give me that stupid console!”

Zwei once again merely stepped to the side, watching as his attacker overstepped his swing and ended up falling to the ground.

"Are you serious right now man,” Zwei asked in an incredulous tone, “do you even know how many laws you’re breaking right now from having your Aura unlocked? Let alone that you attacked me and started a fight in a public area full of civilians? Hell, what if I was a civilian?!”

The Scrub had managed to pick himself back up, before he sneered at Zwei’s questions.

"Then you would have died to make my son happy, animal,” the Scrub spat out hatefully, before readied himself for another attack. The Scrub barely had time to blink before he saw Zwei disappear and reappear instantly in front of him, not even having the time to react before the Corgi Faunus violently sunk his fist into the man's stomach. The results were instant: the Scrub dropped his sword as he violently began to retch and wheeze, falling to his knees as he desperately tried to keep himself from vomiting on the spot.

“You know,” Zwei began, “I was wrong about you and your wife. You two don’t don’t belong on Santa’s naughty list…”

Zwei then proceeded to grab the Scrub by his hair, before activating his semblance as he delivered a devastating knee strike to the man's face. His nose broke with a sickening crunch, and his face was practically covered with blood that leaked from his nostrils. 

“...YOU TWO BELONG ON HIS SHIT LIST!!!”

Zwei hooked Red Daylight into the Scrubs collar, before he activated his semblance and began spinning around as fast as he could, before unceremoniously pulling hard enough to tear through the Scrubs collar and sending him flying out into unknown parts of Vale, his landing destination unknown.

-At a familiar dumpster-

“Oh man,” groaned a miserable voice, “how… how long was I out for?”

The voice belonged to the would-be thief that Zwei had taken care of the day before, now finally waking up from his coma induced nap on top of his bed of trash. He groggily managed to push himself up, whimpering the whole time from how much pain his body was in from the beating he received before managing to push the dumpster lid open. He hung the top of his body over the side of the dumpster, doing his best to ignore not only the smell of the garbage around him but from the fact that he had garbage in places that were best not mentioned.

“Worked up the courage to steal that stupid thing, and what do I get for my troubles,” the theif whimpered to himself, “my shit kicked in by a Huntsmen, being bathed in garbage, and I didn’t even steal the right thing!” 

The thief let out another groan, before he looked up at the sky as if to mentally ask the Brother’s what he had done wrong.

“Can this get any worse?”

The man’s question was immediately answered by the sound of screaming getting closer and closer to him, before he felt the impact of an incredibly large man with an even larger sword knocking him back into the dumpster. The thief groaned in agony and tried to move, only to realize that he was now pinned under the large man, who was completely out cold and unmoving. The thief couldn’t do anything now, except blankly stare at the overcast sky.

“...Well, at least I have fresh air.”

The dumpster lid crashed down with a loud “THUMP,” once again trapping the Thief inside his rotten prison, muffling his sobs as he cried about what a rotten Christmas this was turning out to be.

-Back with Zwei-

“Brother’s what an asshole,” Zwei muttered to himself as he sheathed his weapon back with its sister blade. Zwei would have to make sure he made mention of the man to the local authorities, who would no doubt be sending a huntsman to apprehend the Scrub due to his illegally unlocked Aura. The thought of illegally unlocked Aura made Zwei briefly think of his brother in law for a moment, before he let it slip out of his mind.

“I wonder what Jaune got me for christmas this year,” he mused aloud, “Oh damn, maybe he got me Cyberpunk!” 

Zwei smiled at the thought, Jaune typically gifted him games for christmas so there was a good chance that he may very well be shooting gangbangers in Night City soon enough. His smile quickly turned into a smirk, before raising his voice and saying:

“And just where do you think you’re going, Karen?”

The Karen in question was currently in the middle of trying to sneak away with his Playstation Five, before she stopped dead in her tracks from being called out. She visibly flinched when Zwei had suddenly materialized in front of her, his smirk plastered on his face as his confident eyes met her terrified ones.

“How kind of you to hang onto my nephew's gift while I beat the hell out of your husband,” he thanked her in a mock cheerful tone, “and here I was thinking that you were just a rotten woman with no sense of manners whatsoever! Guess you have some christmas spirit in you, huh?”

The Karens face got redder and redder as Zwei kept speaking, before she opened her mouth to scream at him…

“Ahem.”

… before her mouth clicked shut, and she looked around to see that she and Zwei were surrounded by a large crowd of people, including the Raffle Hostess who had presented Zwei his prize. The fight must have caused them to all come to investigate, and judging by their angry looks, they must have seen everything that had occurred. The Karen’s face drained of all color, and she began sweating bullets as the Hostess began to address her

“Ma’am,” she calmly began, “I do believe that device in your hand belongs to this young man, whom I should add, rightfully won the device in the raffle and has the legal paperwork to back up the ownership of it as well.”

The Karen went to say something, only to be interrupted by the Hostess, who now had an ominous look on her face.

“I would highly advise handing said device over to its rightful owner, Ma’am,” the Hostess said curtly, “As I’d hate for the police to have to add stolen goods on top of all the other charges you’re more than likely going to face tonight.”

It was at this point That Karen had finally noticed that there were several police officers waiting nearby, more than likely called in due to the fight, all of them giving The Karen an unimpressed look. Knowing that there was no way out of this, The Karen’s shoulder slumped in defeat, before she turned back Zwei, who was watching The Karen getting a dose of Karma with uncontained glee. Gritting her teeth, she slowly, albeit reluctantly, handed the Playstation Five back to Zwei, who happily took his console, before bowing to her in a mock fashion.

“Thank you so much Karen,” Zwei cheerfully stated, “I’m glad to see that we were able to clear up this little misunderstanding. But now, I think it’s time we both go our separate ways, don’t you think?”

Zwei didn’t even bother to let The Karen speak, before he started walking away, stopping only momentarily to give the Hostess a quick appreciative nod, before he kept on walking. Just as he got near the _edge of the crowd, he paused, before he briefly turned around to see The Karenin the middle of being cuffed by the police.

“Oh, and Karen?”

The Karen looked over to Zwei, face flushed red in embarrassment and her eyes burning with rage as she locked eyes with the smug looking Corgi Faunus.

“Hope you and your baby have a Merry Christmas,” he said smugly, “because it looks like it’s going to be a long one for the both of you!”

That was all it took to send The Karen over the edge, before she once again started screaming and raving and wishing all kinds of unpleasant things upon Zwei, who merely hollered with laughter as he activated his semblance and began making his way back to the Bullhead Docks. Despite running into some bumps along the way, he had achieved his goal of getting his nephew the perfect gift, and now all that was left was to go home.

“Just you wait Xing, you’re about to get one HELL of a gift…”

@thatorigamiguy did the edita for this again. Thanks dude!

[bau-rookie]

a close examination of Hotch and Foyet

in which Hotch’s greatest strength becomes his fatal flaw.

(a/n: super long essay, because i don’t know how else to consume media apparently lol. i’ve been sitting on this since “100″ because it is really sad and I just wanted to make sure I get all my thoughts in order. It is, to my discovery, Aaron Hotchner’s birthday today, so what better way to celebrate than by explaining all the ways the Foyet arc reads like a Greek tragedy and how Hotch is an amazingly well-written character. Sorry the only way I can think about paying tribute is by making myself sad. Oh there’s GIFs too! I made them and that’s neat :D)

I. Ingredients for a Greek tragedy.

Greek tragedies stem from classical plays, usually about the nobility, and is centered around their struggle against the Gods/Fate. The noble character has a hamartia, or a fatal flaw, usually their own arrogance, that brings upon their own downfall.

Technically, Criminal Minds would fall under the category of modern tragedy which focuses more on common people and everyday problems. (Though you could argue that being a BAU profiler isn’t your typical career, which makes our characters noble not by blood, but in spirit.)

In modern tragedy, there is less of an emphasis on the involvement of a higher power or Fate. Every bad thing that happens is of mankind’s own making, and this is something that CM discusses often, that evil isn’t necessarily brought upon by a higher power. It’s brought upon by ordinary people choosing to do terrible things. 

And Foyet is no different. He chose to kill all these people because he wanted to, but his fascination with Hotch and how his plans for him play out, entrap Hotch in a tragedy more Greek in nature.

What Foyet ultimately does is take Hotch’s greatest strength—his stoic resolve to serve justice—and uses it to hold him personally responsible for the death of his ex-wife, all while bending the hand of Fate to his will.

II. Hotch as a noble character.

In “Omnivore” we are introduced to the Reaper and the many ways he tries to exert control and power over his victims. After killing so many times loses its appeal, the Reaper decides to toy with detective Tom Shaunessey by offering him a deal—if you stop hunting me, I will stop hunting them. 

While we sympathize with Shaunessey simply trying to save lives, he does so with the knowledge that he is deliberately letting a serial killer go free. The fear and the guilt eats away at him until his death.

Hotch, on the other hand, quickly establishes himself to be a resolute pursuer of justice. We don’t get to make those decisions. We don’t let them get away with it. He holds onto the idea that they have no right to decide who lives or dies and that the victims that unsubs like the Reaper takes, are not something he, or anyone in his line of work, should feel responsible for. Their sole responsibility is to stop them. 

This isn’t to say that Hotch is unaffected by the increasing number of bodies. When he turns down the deal and the Reaper attacks the bus full of people, he is visibly shaken by this, so much so that we see Hotch cry for the first time. It takes Rossi delivering some tough love to remind him of what’s important.

Look, if you want to end up like Shaunessy, like Gideon, blaming yourself for everything, you go ahead. But that voice in your head—it’s not your conscience. It’s your ego. This isn’t about us, Aaron. It’s about the bad guys. That why we profile them. It’s their fault. We’re just guys doing a job. And when we stop doing it someone else will.

Hotch and the team in general, are faced with constant reminders that they are only human. They are fallible and cannot control every outcome. 

Not everyone can handle the stresses of being a profiler. Despite the horrors, the chance of failing, Hotch’s greatest strength is his stoic resolve. He’s become our beloved Unit Chief, the person on the team who takes on the most pressure, takes it upon himself to, at times, shield the rest of the team from the greater burdens. Personally, he’s arguably also the one who sacrificed the most to have this job, having lost his marriage.

Yet despite the horrors, despite the toll, Hotch shows up for the job anyway. Because he can’t imagine letting the bad guys get away with it.

III. Foyet as a representation of Fate

“The Eye of Providence. A symbol adopted by the U.S. Government with the words: Annuit Coeptis. Latin for “Providence or fate has favored our undertakings.” The Reaper seems to see himself as the personification of Fate.”  — Dr. Spencer Reid, “Omnivore”

From the beginning Foyet is shown to have a flair for theatrics. He leaves markings of the Eye of Providence, writes Fate in blood, calls himself the The Reaper. He has delusions of grandeur and posits himself as a higher power, one who gets to decide the course of other people’s lives. Everyone who has the misfortune of coming into contact with the Reaper, becomes another chess piece in his twisted game of Fate.

In another life, Hotch would never cross paths with Foyet. But because he did, Foyet acts as Fate, bringing down divine intervention in the form of driving Hotch into a tragedy of his own making.

Foyet acting as Fate is, paradoxically, also an argument against the actual existence of Fate. Everything that happens is a result of Foyet’s choices. It is him, a man, and not Fate who is choosing to kill, maim and be cruel.

When it came to Shaunessy, Foyet also emphasized pinning the blame of the death of innocent lives on the failure of law enforcement. It isn’t Fate when there’s something you could do to stop it. Shaunessy took the deal because he felt personally responsible for the possible loss of lives, an outcome that Foyet pretty much predicted, but one that doesn’t really affect him. Shaunessy agrees, he gets off on controlling the police. If he doesn’t, well, he can just keep on killing.

Foyet repeats the deal with Hotch. Offers him the deal, which Hotch refuses then immediately murders 7 people on the bus, setting a chain of cause and effect that makes it seems like Hotch’s actions led to this gruesome outcome. Again, placing the blame personally, on Hotch. And Hotch does blame himself, if momentarily.

Later, once Foyet escapes and corners Hotch in his own apartment, he makes it clear, you should have made a deal. Foyet acts as a vessel for Fate, a vehicle through which the consequences of Hotch’s actions are served. 

Foyet takes it a step further, when he puts Haley and Jack in witness protection. Left all the usual clues, to simply say your wife and child are in danger because you never took the deal. I hold all the cards here, your fate will come for you eventually.

Then Foyet disappears, and waits. Leaving Hotch filled with guilt over endangering his ex-wife and child, at the mercy of Foyet’s arbitration of Fate.

IV. Dominoes and fatal flaws

By the time “100″ rolls around, you’re so captivated by the action happening on screen that it’s easy to overlook how we got there. When I first watched this season, I had assumed that Foyet would be put on the back burner until the end of the season. His quicker-than-expected return seems to be happenstance, the writers behind-the-scenes doing some plot magic, but if you reexamine the events that lead up to “100″ we see Foyet’s greater machinations at play.

On the surface, the preceding episode “Outfoxed” seems to be a straight forward throwback to an earlier case. Faced with a family annihilator, Hotch and Emily visit the original Fox in prison, believing the current unsub might be a copycat. The episode seems to be about the mental toll being a profiler brings, with Emily contending with a sense of disgust at having to get intimate with a serial killer (post-”Lauren” this reads very differently, but I digress). Until right at the end, when they reveal the admirer letters were actually from Foyet, and the one being outfoxed is Hotch.

When the events of “100″ go down, we hear Foyet repeatedly blame Hotch for what happens with Haley, calls out what we see as a noble resolve to instead be Hotch’s fatal flaw. It was the same thing that led Haley to leave him, a failing borne from Hotch’s own ego, the part of him that insists that it be him who catches the bad guys, that it be him who risks it all. And Foyet uses that to his advantage, uses Hotch’s resolve to trick him into thinking that maybe he did cause all of this tragedy to happen.

One small detail that caught my attention, and set me on this Greek tragedy path, is when they try to track down Foyet in “100″, Garcia notes that he had set an internet search alert for the name “Peter Rhea.”

At this point, Foyet was ready to go after Haley and Jack. He already had pictures and surveillance of the U.S. Marshall in charge of them. He could’ve gone and killed them anytime, but that’s not how Foyet operates. He needs Hotch to feel personally responsible for things ending badly. He set the bait with the letters and simply had to wait for Hotch and the team to get close enough, to find Peter Rhea. This is, of course, incredibly risky. The team could catch him before Foyet gets anywhere close to Haley and Jack, but Foyet is sure of himself and is an extensive planner. He made sure he was always two steps ahead.

The irony is that Foyet would never have gone after Haley and Jack if Hotch and the team didn’t get close to tracking him down. There’s an added layer of Spencer figuring out Foyet’s alias using his genius anagram deciphering brain and Garcia’s expert tech analyst skills. Foyet managed to hurt Hotch because this specific BAU team are just too damn good at their jobs.

Foyet set up dominoes that only Aaron Hotchner could tip to fall. He does it so well it almost feels like Fate.

V. The inevitability of fate

“Men heap together the mistakes of their lives and create a monster called destiny.”  — John Hobbes, “Omnivore” closing quote.

A key aspect of Greek tragedy, is that Fate is often the result of divine intervention. They cause certain events to happen in certain ways so as to result in the most tragic outcome, usually death. It’s designed so that the audience is aware of what’s to come, and can see no other way for the story to end. The tragedy is supposed to feel inevitable.

One could argue, that there is no such thing as Fate. Life is simply a sequence of random happenstance, but our need to prescribe meaning to the chaos cobbles up stories of predetermined destinies. Especially when the idea of owning up to our mistakes and their consequences is too much.

All of this was the result of one sick man, George Foyet, choosing to be so cruel. And Hotch was simply a victim of circumstance because if Foyet wasn’t going after Hotch, he’d be going after someone else.

But what are the odds that Hotch’s first case as lead profiler happens to be The Boston Reaper? It was from that moment that Hotch’s fate was really sealed, he and Foyet would be forever intertwined. 

Hotch, being who he is, had inadvertently, made the Reaper personal. Even when his BAU team was sent away, his resolve wouldn’t let the Reaper simply disappear. It led him to build his profile, alone and over many years. Any other person might’ve just let the case go, but not Hotch.

So when Shaunessy died and the Reaper resurfaced, the only person in the world who knows enough about the Reaper to track him down, is Hotch. It’s what leads him to George Foyet, a victim at first glance, and Hotch comes to him unaware that he is promising The Reaper a new, worthy adversary, one a decade in the making. And everything, from his prison escape, to his attack on Hotch in his apartment, plays out exactly as Foyet expects it to, because as much as Hotch can read him, Foyet can read his behavior too.

At the end of 5x03, “Reckoner”, Rossi talks about what could have been when it comes to his childhood sweetheart to Hotch. About how he was too obsessed with his job, with the hunt that he gave up his chance of having a family. Rossi warns Hotch, don’t make my mistakes, kid.

You have a family. When all this is over, what are you gonna do to make sure you’re not a lonely guy wondering why you let the purest thing in your life get away?

My initial reaction was that they were setting up for Hotch to leave the BAU for good. The man who hung on to the job so much that it cost him his marriage, for the first time, actually considers leaving it all behind him. Because what Rossi says to him, driven by the circumstances that Foyet has created, is too profound for him to ignore. Foyet is too big of a thing to just move on from once its over.

Of course, my hopes of Hotch riding off into sunset to live a quieter life and watch his son grow up were optimistic at best. It’s a fantasy that purposely ignores the reality of who Hotch is, simply because I want the alternative to be possible. By the time Haley is buried, and Strauss offers Hotch retirement, we already know what his answer is going to be. Because everything we know about this man can only lead us to one conclusion.

Aaron Hotchner is the man who goes after the bad guys, the man who doesn’t let them get away with it. No matter how much I yell at my screen about how Hotch should just retire and spend all his time with Jack, deep down I knew that was never going to happen. Him losing Haley and still going back to work, seems like the only logical outcome. It’s almost feels inevitable.

VI. Catharsis

The point of tragedy is, according to Aristotle, to achieve catharsis. The purging of emotion through the telling of another person’s suffering. And that’s what “100″ does (unless your heart is made of stone and you somehow did not tear up even once).

Others would say that tragedy is meant to teach us a lesson. Meant to teach us the limits of our mortal abilities, to warn against hubris and arrogance; to remind us that they are higher powers and unseen forces beyond our understanding or control.

Criminal Minds doesn’t try to give us that lesson. Like in so many previous cases, the premise of a crime procedural is really a way of examining human nature. Why do people do bad things? More often than not, though our profilers can figure out how an unsub goes from doing thing A to thing B, they don’t have a satisfying answer for why. 

In Foyet’s case, he does all of this to Hotch because he can, because he enjoys making him suffer. It is evil, unnecessarily cruel. There is no sense to be found in what happened.

But “100″ does not deliver pure tragedy. It ended in the death of Haley but it also provided hope in the survival of Jack. Hotch finally rids the world of Foyet, though the way it went down, you can’t help but wonder about the price of justice, if the cost is too much for this one man to pay. But then the show reminds the audience, that this one man isn’t bearing that cost alone.

Aaron Hotchner has his team, his family, and with their support, a chance to recover from the tragedy that Foyet wrought.

I used to think that, despite being dead, George Foyet still won. He set out to hurt Hotch, and that’s exactly what he did. We’ve only seen Hotch openly cry twice at this point, and they both were directly caused by Foyet. And I suppose that’s still partly true. It’s hard to really tell with our stone-faced unit chief, but it’s hard to see how Foyet wouldn’t linger.

But that victory isn’t absolute. Foyet is gone, and he loses every time Jack gets to spend another day happy and alive. Foyet loses, every time Hotch shows up for the job and doesn’t let another unsub like him get away with it.

And maybe that’s the lesson. That though good doesn’t always triumph over evil, there is a way to move past tragedy. And that path lies not in solitude, in carrying the burden alone, but in the solace of our friends and family who can bear witness to all that we must face.

For all all my waxing poetic about how Hotch is a noble hero, this entire ordeal just shows how human he is. Yet despite his flaws and the tragedy, the core unassailable truth of who he is, the values he represents, remain unchanged.

He is Aaron Hotchner. The guy who hunts down guys like Foyet. The guy who doesn’t let the bad guys get away with it. The guy who, despite everything, managed to save his son. The guy who will keep his promise to the woman he was once married to, to teach their son that love is the most important thing. The guy who makes sure that his son knows that good people do exist.

Aaron Hotchner is the guy who, despite all the hurt, the pain and the loss, chooses to be the hero. And that’s the farthest thing from tragic.

[uraharasandals]

How about a fluffy (or perhaps smutty) scenario where the reader comforts Akutagawa in regards to the shit Dazai put him through? I want my edge Lord to realize that he doesn't need Dazai's praise because he is amazing and beautiful on his own. Make our boy feel loved 💜

Uhhh, so this kinda got out of hand at the end, but I hope you like it! I have a terrible grasp of Akutagawa's personality AND how his fluff would manifest with a partner but somehow I appear to write fluff with him the best? Anyways enjoy! 

   Lazy July afternoons were the epitome of bliss. It was a brief window of time in which the world wandered by without a care, in which, as the sun sets and tendrils of sunlight trickled through the window, the summer heat gets into everyone's head and frankly, no one has the energy to do anything except take a nap. 

   And that was precisely what you ended up doing. Cocooned in a nest of blankets and nestled in a warm bed with the air conditioning on full blast, there was no other place you would like to be right now. Add to the fact that Akutagawa's body temperature was a default freezing, it was a nice past-time for a summer afternoon; it was as if you had no care in the world. 

    Shifting across the blankets to find a cooler spot, you were about to fall back into dreamland when you heard a wince from Akutagawa. Normally you would have ignored it and went back to sleep, but the moment there was a tight grip on your arm draped across his abdomen you knew something was wrong; Akutagawa may be hostile to touches from time to time, but he had never stopped you in the middle of something. 

   "Are you okay?" Alertness started coming to your brain, though it was still slow; there was still a hint of sleepiness coating your tone as you sat up, taking care not to brush against him, lest you trigger something else. You weren't sure what had happened, but you guessed it may have something to do with the scars blooming all over his body. He had willingly exposed himself to you once, when you dressed a flesh wound on his chest, and noticed the network of criss-cross scars, as well as what looked like small punctures on his skin (quick research made you realise that those were bullet marks, and you were shocked at that). Experience taught you that scars tend to leave ghost trails of pain even long after the wounds have closed, and judging from the extent of injuries Akutagawa suffered from, your accidental brushes might have forced a dizzying wave of pain back into his system. 

  "Fine." Despite his words, you could see the flash of pain that went across his face, and you sighed. "I'll go get some painkillers; wait here." As you prepared to - unwillingly - get out of bed, Akutagawa caught at your hand, managing to hold onto your little finger, giving a small tug; this was a clear sign he wanted you to stay, so you did, though kicking the blankets away to watch over him properly. 

   A quick glance at Akutagawa's face made you realise that it was no longer contorted in pain anymore, and he was just lying there, as if contemplating something. You raised your eyebrows at this, but said nothing, letting the silence be broken by occasional splutters of the air conditioner and the spilling of sunset into your bedroom; the sunlight fell short on his face, but illuminated his cheekbones and eyelashes, startling you with the seeming display of youth. 

  Had Akutagawa really been this young? His mannerisms and speech frequently persuaded you otherwise, but after you reasoned that there was no way you would've chosen someone notably more mature than you, you realised that he was. His time in the mafia had hardened him; his mentions of his superior, a man named 'Dazai', reflected to you a certain degree of hardship and torture he was subject to in the organization, which would likely have forced him to grow up as well.

  For that moment, you found yourself bearing hate for a man you haven't even met, much less having a grasp of his personality. 

  "What's wrong?" You were the first to break the silence, as always; the words escaped from your mouth quietly, as if you didn't want to break the sudden tranquility in the mood. The singular moment that took your eyes to meet his was enough to catch you off guard, and another insistent tug made you fall back onto the bedsheets with a small groan. Before you knew it, his eyes were inches away, the tip of his nose - cold - brushing against yours, in a distance close enough to kiss. Heat crept up your cheeks, but you forced yourself to maintain eye contact with the man in front of you. Then, he opened his mouth and a single statement tumbled out, "You're too fragile." 

  "Says you?" Eyebrows raised, you ran the pad of your thumb lightly down the hidden scar on the column of his neck. Immediately, he gave a small wince. "Since when did strong and tough mafiaso get triggered by scars, I wonder." You shouldn't tease him like this, cruel words with a sarcastic edge, especially not about his scars, but you couldn't help it; the more you thought about who inflicted those on him, and how he still suffers from them, the more you feel anger rising within you -- and somehow you had decided to take it out on him. 

   The effect told hold -- too well, you thought bitterly -- and his eyes narrowed at you, the fire kindled within them again. Just as you were bracing yourself for the onslaught of Rashomon, he suddenly deflated, and guilt crossed his face. "You were right." 

    "I - I am?"

    "Yes. If only I was as strong as Dazai-san - " 

     His words were immediately cut off. Akutagawa's lips were still freezing beneath yours, which sent a shiver down your spine, but it was worth the surprised - or what passed for surprised - look on his face as you pulled away. "What was that for, _________?" 

     "You're already strong enough, Ryunosuke." You probably shouldn't, after a narrow escape from the tiger's fangs, but you reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck, where another criss-cross patch of scars sat. Luckily, he only stiffened under your hold. "Remember? Otherwise I would've died." Untangling an arm, you pulled down a corner of your shirt to reveal the thin strip of white skin tissue running across your shoulder, shivering slightly from the sudden exposure.

      His face was hidden from view, but you could feel his icy fingers fluttering above the wound hesitantly. "The bullet...." One of Port Mafia's enemies had decided to take down Akutagawa - their so-called 'trump card' -- sometime ago by kidnapping you, his dearest person, holding you hostage, and intending to kill him as soon as he showed up. Little did they underestimate their power, and he had wiped them out in a matter of seconds, though one last brave attempt by the sole survivor had left you a souvenir dangerously near your neck; a true shot that missed thanks to Akutagawa. "Does it...still hurt?" 

      "A little." You admitted, and was about to pull away from him when you felt a pair of -- still freezing -- lips press onto the wound. An embarrassing gasp escaped from you as your hands tightened around his neck, which turned into a moan as he diligently worked his way up the column of your neck, ending with a sharp nip right behind your ear. "R-Ryunosuke!" 

      "And aren't you just like me, __________." You thought he was mad, but a look at his face revealed the beginnings of a smirk tugging at his mouth. "At least I wasn't the one attempting to be strong," You huffed, sitting up. "I, unlike a certain someone, know my boundaries." 

      "Do you?" 

      Akutagawa, magically, lost the staring contest. 

      "Anyways, I was serious about what I was saying earlier, Ryunosuke." You leaned back against the headboard, shifting a little to let him have some sitting room next to you. The fading sunset traced out a line of sunlight right across his shoulder, which ran across the scar on your still exposed shoulder. "You don't have to compare yourself against anyone else because you're already strong enough." Reaching over, you clasped his hand, feeling your warmth bleed into his. When he attempted to open his mouth -- no doubt the beginnings of an argument -- you immediately cut in. "Especially not against Dazai-san. I don't care how good he might be, he'll never be you, Ryunosuke." 

       "Me." There was a hint of bitterness underneath. "What about me?" 

       "You're amazing." You shifted closer to him, and began to pick your next words carefully. "You were able to survive his training. I don't think anyone else would've been able to do that so well. You also have proof to show for it, see?" Bringing his hand up, you started tracing his scars. "The fruits of your success." Turned over; the star-shaped paleness inside his wrist. "The proof of your hardship." One jagged line running up his arm and disappearing into his shirt. "The - " 

       "Was that the prelude to your testing my resolve?" Somehow, you found yourself pinned underneath him, his knees holding your legs firmly in place; his ankle dug sharply into yours, but the suddenness somehow made your brain register only the proximity of his face from yours, allowing for a tiny 'oh' escaping from your mouth. 

        "I didn't - " A small voice at the back of your mind was reminded vaguely that this scenario had played out only seconds ago, but they soon faded into nothing as his tongue worked roughly against yours, forcing its way into your mouth and effectively cutting off the stem of words you were about to say. "If that was a test of strength, I would say I passed it successfully, no?" Mind still spiralling into a whirlpool of confusion, you barely registered his words and the fact that his fingers tilted your head so that your eyes bore into his, which had turned dark. 

       "Or do you need more proof of my so-called power*?" 

         Brief note: Because the word for 'power' and 'strength' in Japanese can be used interchangeably, Aku could also have said 'strength', which may have another meaning ;) 

[tokutenshi]

Well whooooops, my dumb self couldn’t keep track of the days.

Though the Darkness Comes Upon Me part 1 “I Shall Embrace the Light”, chapter 16: “Blame”

If the past year had taught Cullen anything, it was that he was a terrible judge of character. His original irritation at not pursuing the claims against Ser Varnell further escalated to near self-loathing since reading that damn report. Mother Petrice had played a much larger part in the plot against the Qunari than he'd realized and carried on with it – albeit less brazenly – after Varnell's death. Until last night.

Cullen had failed to see her corruption, had trusted her simply because she was a mother of the Chantry, and now another mob of misguided zealots were dead. Petrice was dead. The Viscount's son, Saemus, was dead. The Chantry was stained with their blood because of a plot he could have discovered months ago if he'd only been willing to see. If he hadn't been so trusting and acted in the real, then Hawke wouldn't have had to swoop in and clean up yet another mess.

That's how she described it, too. A swoop, and a mess.

Mia's letters were providing little comfort this time, even the newest addition which he had yet to reply to failed to pull him away from the man he was now. His sister had been his biggest supporter growing up and not only encouraged his dream of being a templar, but rallied Branson and Rosalie to help him reach it. She still wrote him like he was the thirteen-year-old idealistic twerp who left Honnleath, and he tried to not let too much of his true self slip out in his responses, as few and far between as they were. He was so much not the brother she knew and he didn't have the heart to break hers by telling her as much.

“Knight-Captain?”

Cullen lifted his gaze to the doorway, not nearly as surprised as he should have been to see the source of his other lapse in judgment – Ebrisa. She was in mage robes, but wore a simple smock over them to keep clean with a wooden bucket hanging on one arm and a large, canvas bundle in the other. Her hair was pulled back, braided and looped into a secure bun at the base of her neck, a much more elaborate style than she usually sported, likely due to the extra free time she had now.

When he made no move to leave or speak, only acknowledging her with his quick visual assessment of her appearance, Ebrisa entered the yard and knelt down by the flowerbed furthest from him. She removed the bucket from her arm and rolled out the bundle of fabric, revealing her gardening tools and several sheets of burlap. Cullen made no indication that he wanted to be alone, but he hadn't started a conversation either and after the awkward way she had ended their last one, Ebrisa was hesitant to initiate.

She worked as quietly as possible, carefully digging around the base of the dying plants to reach their web of roots and shaking loose as much dirt as she could before setting the sprouted bulb on the burlap. Cullen watched her as she worked, eying the sharp spade in her hand and the gentle way she moved it through the ground, knowing it could easily slip between the gaps in his armor if she rushed him. He scrutinized her familiarity with the small pruning knife as she pressed its edge through the withered stem, exerting just enough pressure to cut the plant and not her thumb, wondering if she would use the same tender grip slashing the blade across his throat.

Anything – everything – could be a weapon, which is why tools of all kinds were so closely guarded. This one mage was the exception to that rule, approved by Meredith to not only use the sharp instruments whenever she wished, but to do so without supervision. Looking at it objectively, it was a ridiculous and dangerous liberty. What was to stop this mage from using her knife on others? From slicing her own flesh and summoning a terrible creature with blood magic?

Mages were dangerous and had to be watched.

Just like how Chantry clerics were incapable of deception and murder.

Cullen nearly snorted at the generalizations, knowing full well that neither Ebrisa nor Petrice fit them. He thought back to the first time he had caught Ebrisa break a rule and used a pair of pruning sheers simply because she had wanted to be useful and make the yards look nicer. Even then, she had shown no fear of him. Oh, she stuttered and stumbled over herself, but that had been purely for her own mistakes and she made no protest to whatever punishment she would receive. He should have punished her, but he didn't. Cullen was unsure if it was because she had been so new to the Gallows or because she genuinely seemed to be remorseful, but he'd helped her complete her task.

Ebrisa had earned Meredith's trust over the years, and it was more or less Cullen's doing. If he'd simply taken the sheers and left instead of returning with someone to supervise her, then Ebrisa would have ended her gardening endeavor before it really began and the Knight-Commander wouldn't have granted her any special treatment – possibly never even interacting with her directly. It was almost too easy to visualize – Ebrisa quietly going through her apprenticeship with no conflicts with templars and being too reserved to protest any issues with her peers. Completely disappearing into the background as just another mage and having no cause to ever leave the Circle or speak directly to Meredith. She'd still go to service in the chapel of course, but would she have been able to inspire others to do the same?

As Ebrisa moved to the other flowerbed and settled down only a few feet from where Cullen sat on the bench, he was struck with the sudden realization that he wouldn't have noticed her in the background. She'd just be a name that popped up in quarterly reports he'd struggle to associate a face to. Maybe he would remember the young girl escorted to the Gallows by Aveline with two small children or the horrified expression on her face as she hit him with a small branch, but those were in her first year. They gave a glimpse of her character, but not enough to leave a lasting impression on their own and she'd slip away into obscurity.

Maybe she'd still fall under whatever sickness had claimed Feynriel, but Meredith would not have granted her leave to the Chantry... Ebrisa likely wouldn't have even felt confident enough to ask. She'd suffer the guilt quietly, but if she never went to the Chantry, Quentin never would have known about her... Cullen couldn't help but think that – though her life would have been much different – Ebrisa may have been better off if he'd treated her like a normal mage from the beginning.

“Blaming yourself again?”

Cullen straightened and finally looked at something besides the mage. He tried to speak, but found his mouth oddly dry.

“I heard from Sister Anabel at service this morning,” Ebrisa continued softly as she gathered the iris bulbs. “Mother Petrice fooled many people – even the Grand Cleric could not see what was happening until it already came to a head. They spent every day together, worked beside each other, and Revered Mother Elthina could see the danger no more than you.” She dared a sympathetic look over her shoulder, but Cullen would not meet it.

The Grand Cleric was supposed to see the best in people and have faith in their good nature, he was supposed to know better.

“Knight-Captain, your part in this tragedy is so minute it may as well not exist.” Ebrisa turned around fully on the pave stones to better address the man. “Months ago you were investigating rumors about someone who didn't even work with Mother Petrice anymore. She was a small character reference and, by all accounts, not directly involved for some time. There was no reason to suspect her.”

Cullen leaned back on the bench, looking up at the grey sky and briefly noting it was much too dark for still being so early in the day. He had heard some of Petrice's sermons – her detest for the Qunari was evident – and he should have realized what that meant. He should have known she was hiding something. When Cullen directed his attention back to the mage, he was a little startled to see her frowning at him disapprovingly.

“Knight-Captain,” she said with a tone Cullen could only classify as scolding. “Despite whatever unrealistic standards you hold yourself to, there is only one truly omniscient individual, and He is currently absent.”

Cullen could feel the smirk trying to break free the longer he looked at the mage, so he returned his gaze to Mia's letters and hid behind the sheets before he cracked. Ebrisa just seemed to have an answer for everything, so long as it wasn't her own problem. He wondered briefly how that could be possible, how she could encourage others but deny herself the same courtesy.

She turned back to her work, taking the hint that the one-sided conversation was over, and continued to clear the soil. Cullen stole a glance at her from time to time as he pretended to read, and went back to his earlier pondering. Yes, Ebrisa's life would have been different if he had not interfered, but his own would have been, too. He would have been deprived her little pep talks, reduced to seeking comfort from only the letters his siblings sent, and he would have been robbed of the levity and warmth she so easily brought him.

Ebrisa may have been better off and spared quite a bit of hardship, but Cullen knew he was definitely in a better place now that she was in his life, despite the negative implications of that admission.

[certifiedskywalker]

Dating Klaus Hargreeves Would Include...

Here’s some more Hargreeve sibling dating headcanons! Klaus edition this time around!

Klaus would be the first one to admit that he is selfish

His drug use stems out of his own need, his own cowardice and, to mask the guilt of that fact, he uses more drugs.

Soon, he is so numb that he doesn’t even feel when his feet hit the cold pavement, chilled due to the Autumn weather that had taken root in the city.

His bare feet slapped against the sidewalk until he found himself in a park under a dark sky littered with stars.

Klaus didn’t know why he left.

Klaus didn’t know if it was because he was high or if it was because he was coming down.

The sight of junkies, all too similar to himself, leaning against walls frightened him.

They had been crumpled, arms crooked with needles in their elbows or smoke drifting lazily from their lips.

Some looked dead.

Klaus didn’t want to risk seeing their spirits.

That’s why he left.

He wanted to find peace and quiet, even if it didn’t last long.

What Klaus wasn't expecting to find was….you.

You didn’t really know why you were out at such an hour either.

You surmised it was stress, anxiety that had been eating at you for a while now.

Life had a way at getting you down and sudden, unplanned walks were a good way at curbing that feeling.

However, you had never seen the man sitting at the bench you normally sat at during this nightly adventures.

He was with shoes, hair messy, with mismatched clothes.

A frown was plastered on his features, his eyes alarmingly distant even as you made your way to him.

“Hey, you alright?”

“Hmm? What?”

When he turned to face you, your breath caught at the sight of his glossy green eyes.

“You seem….lost...maybe?” You ask, shifting your weight on your feet as you stood before him. “It’s really late, most people are hitting bars or heading home.”

“I guess we’re not most people then, are we?” Klaus counters before scooting on the bench to make room for you.

You sit beside him and agree.

“”I guess we aren’t,” you sigh, sitting beside him.

“So why are you out at during the witching hour?” He teases and he smiled softly at you.

It is the brightest smile you have ever seen and the dejected expression he once wore has seemed to disappear.

“I uh, I’m here to conjure spirits.”

“Funny, I’m here avoiding them.”

You cocked your head at the man and he stared at your confusion with humor lining his lips.

It was then you noticed the red rimming his eyes and the unmistakable umbrella tattoo inked on his inner wrist.

He followed the path of your eyes and let out a sigh before extending a shaking hand to you.

“I’m Klaus Hargreeves, by the way.”

“I’m Y/N, Y/N L/N.”

And thus a strange little courtship began.

Neither of you were looking for a companion that night, but it turned out it was what you both seemed to need.

Klaus couldn’t help but be taken by your outright kindness to him, a stranger until moments ago.

And you couldn’t help but be totally infatuated with the patch work of a man sitting beside you.

The night was spent exchanging thoughts on city life, the people, the best places to eat and drink.

“The bar I just came from has fantastic Sex On The Beach. Very smooth, if you can get past the smoke.”

“I’ll have to give a try sometime.”

“I mean, it’s still open now,” Klaus suggested, momentarily forgetting why he had left the bar in the first place.

“Then why aren’t you there?”

Klaus opened his mouth to speak but closed it hastily, eyes never leaving yours as he thought of what to say.

“I wanted more...lively company,” he said finally.

That company continued as you and Klaus exchanged phone numbers.

You didn’t dare call Klaus first, fearing that you might scare him off.

So when Klaus called you, because he really doesn’t care, you were relieved.

“Hey, Y/N?”

“Yeah, Klaus right?”

“No, it’s Jesus.”

“I have a bone to pick with you.”

“Wanna talk about it over drinks?”

His voice is higher pitched when he asks, as if Klaus is nervous about your response.

If you could see him on the other end of the line, your suspicions would be solidified.

Klaus had worried his bottom lip between his teeth, his fingers working at the phone cord like a lifeline.

He didn’t know why he was so nervous.

Klaus was never nervous when it came to momentary romance, timeless flings.

Klaus could call a list of lovers and not shake once.

Something about you made him tremble….

….with fear or excitement….both…

“I would love that, Klaus.”

“Good, how about that place I mentioned. The one on 5th?”

“I’ll meet you there.”

The place was packed when you arrived and the pounding music didn’t help anything.

Your heart was beating so fast that you fear it might explode in your chest at any given moment.

But then your eyes lock with Klaus’ when he turns away from the bar, two very colorful drinks in hand.

“There you are,” he says and you’re instantly at ease.

Many more of these ‘date-but-not-a-date’ dates occurred.

You always made time for Klaus, even calling him before bed.

“How was your day, my love?” Klaus asks one time.

The term of endearment slipped from his lips without thinking.

He flushes on his end of the phone, waiting for your replied with bated breath.

“It was okay, boring though.”

“I could make it more exciting,” he teases, his worry smoothed over by the sound of your voice.

Even before you actually ‘get together’ you two flirt a lot

To the point where your friends and Klaus’ friends think you’re already dating.

Neither of you mind it.

You two were seemingly made for each other.

It was an unspoken manner in which Klaus soothed your, seemingly, every anxiety.

Something about his honeyed voice as he chatted with you over drinks or in the way he laughed at your terrible jokes.

It was an unspoken manner in which it pained you to watch Klaus destroy himself too.

Little ticks and behaviors here and there hinted his struggle at you.

The bloodshot eyes and hand tremors that you had first thought were quirks were now telltale signs in your mind.

“Klaus, you’re shaking,” you say one day. You’re both on the park bench where you met, chatting until you noticed his trembling hand.

“Y-Yeah, it’s no biggie really, just uh…”

He stops when you grab his hands in yours, soothing your thumb over his skin.

“How long has it been?”

“What?”

“Since you last used?”

Klaus didn’t ask how you knew.

Klaus only felt shame, something he had evaded for a long time.

He felt guilty for not telling you himself and being the cause of the pain written across your face.

He lets you help him get better, even though he’s scared.

You enlist him in support groups and even visit rehab centers with him to see if he wants to give it a try.

Going to some support meetings here and there to give him even more of a boost.

One meeting, you’re listening to an older woman talk about how heroin addiction drove her to lose her home, her family, her husband.

Klaus grabs your hand when she finishes and you send him a look of concern.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Klaus sniffles, hoping you believe him.

You don’t.

You decide to spend the night after the meeting at the crappy apartment Klaus had rented out.

The two of you just talk and snack.

You tell him about your childhood and Klaus spares you the more gruesome details of his own.

He tells you more about the specifics of his powers.

“The drugs….it keeps the ghosts away,” he explains, “they get awfully chatty at night.”

“You can call me,” you suggest, “whenever they’re too loud.”

“Well, I won’t have to tonight,” Klaus teases.

He realizes he exposed too much in his flirtatious tone and feels shy suddenly.

You lean a little closer to him, ready to flirt back despite the wild pounding of your heart when Klaus stands up.

“I’m going to try to sleep. You want the couch or the bed?”

With a heavy heart you get ready for bed, mentally kicking yourself for not making a move when you had the chance.

But then you feel angry with yourself because Klaus is in a sensitive spot right now and you don’t what to seem like you’re manipulating him.

So fighting the urge to tell Klaus how you truly feel about him, you settle into the couch in Klaus’ living room.

You nearly dead asleep when you hear Klaus start yelling.

You’re about to stumble off of the couch when Klaus is suddenly standing at your side.

Tears trail down his cheeks and your heart breaks when he speaks.

“C-Can...can I stay with you?”

Rather than answer him verbally, your hands find Klaus’ and pull him down on the couch by your side.

Limbs tangle together, you arms thrown over Klaus’ shoulders as he holds your waist tight like a lifeline.

His face is pressed to your chest and you feel the heat of his body melting into your own.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he whispers as your busy your fingers in the trendrils of his soft hair, “for being here.”

“No place I would rather be, Klaus.”

When you wake the next morning, Klaus’ face is pressed in the crook of your neck with his nose brushing against your jaw.

His arm is tucked over your waist and holding you close to his chest.

Klaus is all soft when you take in his still sleeping form.

Eyelashes fanned out on his cheeks, plush lips parted for shallow breaths.

Then his green eyes peel open to hold your haze and you swear you’ve fallen in love with him.

You didn’t mean to, it just happened.

“I hope I didn’t drool on you,” he murmurs and you smile at him.

“I don’t think you did.”

You both just lay there for a while, with Klaus tracing his fingers over a patch of exposed skin.

“When are you going to kiss me?”

He’s serious when he asks you, not timid, but quiet, very unlike Klaus.

“When you want me to,” you reply softly, not wanting to push it too far.

Klaus shifts then, resting his weight slightly on top of you so his face is looming over yours.

He is all you see

And you are all he’s ever wanted

“Then why are you waiting?”

With that, you lift your hands to Klaus’ face and pull his lips down to yours.

Slightly chapped and dry, his lips meld against your own as if he were half of your whole.

Not much gets done that day, but somehow you find yourselves some semblance of a breakfast.

In an unspoken way, you and Klaus fall into place together.

Klaus often spends time at your place, sleeping over as he hates to be alone with the spirits.

He’s been sober for a while now, thanks to his work hard and your support.

He reminds you about how much you helped him dig himself out.

He reminds you when he wakes you up with kisses.

“Good morning my love, my darling, my-”

“Klaus, this is sweet but I have to piss.”

He reminds you when he tries to cook.

“So how does breakfast for dinner sound?”

“The salmon didn’t work out?”

“I don’t know how to cook fish, but I do know how to scramble eggs and burn bacon.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t sass me.”

Klaus loves it when you both mix up your clothes.

He’ll wear one of your sweaters and you’ll be in a pair of his pants.

“We really need to do the wash together to tell the difference.”

“Do we? I quite like seeing you in my clothes.”

Dancing around your apartment to old records Klaus took from his family home.

“You don’t talk about your family much…”

“Because I don’t want to,” he chuckles, but you can hear the pain behind the laugh.

You don’t press it.

You don’t have to because, eventually, Klaus tells you everything.

He needs you kindness and your support more than he cares to admit.

And you need his love more than you’re willing to say.

He’s a little spoon most of the time but he’ll spoon you after a particularly rough day on your end.

He loves to play with your hands and fingers.

They’re like his own fidget toy.

You’ll just be sitting on the subway with him and he’ll play with your fingers.

He loves to kiss the tops of your hands.

“Well, I guess chivalry isn’t dead after all.”

“For you, my love, anything.”

Anything indeed.

[blooms-of-ice]

[ RP LOG ]

Lin pays Wyda a visit in jail.

Aislinn Like these things tend to go, the ship ride over seemed to drag on for much longer than Aislinn ever remembered the trip taking. By the time they made berth, she was ready, the first one down the plank and she made her way to the Aleport gaol with purposeful strides. She spied the guard, though the sight hardly slowed her steps. Instead, she approached and with little preamble let go a Maelstrom salute that walked the fine line between the cynicism of a veteran and the eagerness of a recruit. "Til sea swallows all." she said by way of greeting. It certainly couldn't hurt to start off by flex her credentials a bit. To let him know she had served under the Maelstrom.

The guard blinked in surprise as Lin approached. He could sense the determination radiating off of her, but for what purpose, he had no clue. It worried him somewhat. The guard returned the salute, and then sat back down in his chair. “Til sea swallows all. What can I do for you?”

Aislinn "Here to see one of your prisoners. Aiswyda." she replied, her tone clipped and efficient, her gaze steady on the man.

Ah, right. He had been told by the other guards to expect more visitors for that one. The guard flipped open a book and turned it towards Lin. “Alright, alright, but hold your horsebirds just a second. You gotta check in first. Sign here and mark today’s date in the box next to it.”

Aislinn Her shoulders relaxed somewhat. That was easier than she expected but she certainly wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. With a single nod, she leaned forward and signed and dated the book, a small tremble in her script the only outward sign that she might not be as self-possessed at the moment as she projected.

“Mhm. ‘ppreciate it. Follow me now.” The guard got up from his chair with a mighty stretch. Several, loud pops could be heard as he bent from side to side. How long had he been sitting?!

After some searching he eventually fished out a ring of metal keys from his pockets. With a nod of his head, he beckoned for Lin to follow, as he made his way deeper into the Aleport jails.

Aislinn stepped back to let the guard move past her before falling into his shadow as he led the way into the jail. Unlike those who had never stepped foot inside, she knew better than to gawk, to cast her gaze around like her head sat on a bleeding swivel. Instead, she seemed intent on something else entirely, her hands clasped together in front of her.

Some inmates bothered to open their mouths and heckle them as the pair moved past. Others didn’t notice them at all, preferring to sleep on the cold floor or simply stare at the stone wall ilms from their face. The guard grunted. “Feh, the new ones are always so fiery. Just takes a few moons to shut ‘em up. Anyway, here’s your stop. Ye got until me shifts up.” He motioned to a cell, and then took a spot against the wall not too far away.

Aiswyda was again staring out the window, intensely focused on how the clouds slowly moved into and out of her view. At the sound of the two stopping by her cell, she turned around. The sight of Lin filled her drained body with an echo of her usual spunk. She jolted up to greet her. “Ah! Lin! It’s so good to --- !!” There was a loud bonking sound. Wyda had hit her head on the jail cell bars. “Oww..”

Aislinn As she silently followed the guard, Lin seemed immune to the catcalls and abuse hurled their way. In reality she was too focused on discretely palming the smallest of her gemstone bracelets from her wrists into her hand. If Heartwood's report had been correct, she wasn't going to like what she saw when she met Wyda. As the guard came to a stop, she nodded and passed him a look of thanks as he went and took up a spot further down the wall...

Aislinn All that self-possessed efficiency went out the window as Wyda seemed to come to life, rushing to the front of the cell and colliding with the iron bars. Aislinn winced, hurrying to meet her, the bracelet flat in one hand's grip as she held the bars. "Wyda." she breathed out in a rush, her eyes scanning over the woman's face in concern. "I only just heard. How're you holding up? They treating you okay?"

Aiswyda: “Er, well. Um.” Wyda eyed the guard who stood nearby, watching for any reaction. “To put it lightly, staying here makes the Heartwood company housing feel like a five star resort.”

Aiswyda rubbed at where her head had made contact with the bars. As she lifted her arm, her sleeve fell slightly, exposing a constellation of bruises and half healed cuts that dotted her arms. Wyda quickly lowered it back down and pulled the cloth down, self conscious. “How've you been?”

Aislinn And there it was, that flare of anger at the sight of the injuries. Like a red hot blade drawn from a forge. She had never had the temper Barengar had, she spent most of their childhood talking him down from doing something stupid, but seeing people she cared about mistreated was one surefire way to stoke the coals. She breathed out, slowly. Nothing good could come from her being angry right now. Nor was it what Aiswyda needed. Another breath until her temper had cooled into something sharper. "Nevermind that." she said with a shake of her head. "All the same. The Company's working to get you out of here as soon as we can."

Aiswyda felt a wave of emotions wash over her. Gratitude, but also guilt. She was so glad that Lin had come to visit, and that the company as a whole was working towards getting her free. But did she deserve all that effort? If only she hadn’t gotten thrown in jail to begin with! If only she could free herself on her own. She hated being a burden on others. It stung like sea salt on an open wound.

Aiswyda: “Ahh, yeah! I hope it’s not too big of a bother. I can’t wait til we can all look back at this moment and laugh...Or forget about it. Both would be fine.” Wyda cracked a small smile, but even that motion seemed to give her trouble. She rubbed her temples afterwards.

Aislinn "What're you talking about, bother?" Aislinn said, almost wanting to laugh but somehow the sound wouldn't come out of her throat. "You think any of us would just let  you sit here for something you didn't do?" her lips compressed as she watched Aiswyda's obvious discomfort. She tapped the bars with both forefingers and glanced meaningfully at her hands in a subtle attempt to get the woman to grip the bars as she was doing. "Not sure when you'd have the time to go off and do some pirating without any of us knowing about it, after all."

Aiswyda: “Haha, anyone who ‘pirates’ as a hobby would get my respect. It’s more of a full time commitment, from what I hear.” She managed a dry laugh at the idea. A pirate in the Black Shroud? It sounded more like the beginning of a bad romance novel.

Aiswyda noticed Lin tap the bars of the cell. Her eyes quickly glanced up at the guard, who was still staring intently at the two of them. But he couldn’t see through Lin’s back, right? Wyda wrapped her hands around the bars...somewhere that was blocked from the guard’s view.

Aislinn "Piss poor pirate, otherwise." She leaned closer to the bars and shifted, her body hopefully blocking the guard's view of one hand. Slipping her hands over the Seawolf's own as any concerned friend would do, deft fingers tucked the bracelet snug between one of Wyda's palms and the iron bars as she continued talking, her voice never wavering or speeding up out of nervousness. As if she had done this kind of thing before. Maybe not *exactly* this, but something like it. ...

Aislinn "The report said someone by the name of Momori Mori's been round to see you. That she's going to help us track the Red Argos down. What's she like?" She tried to communicate with a level gaze, willing Wyda to understand about the gemstones. To remember how Aislinn managed her aether manipulation. To follow her lead and not give the little bit of sleight of hand away.

(Aiswyda) oh ho! :O )) (Aiswyda) these are like, the aether filled bracelets right? )) (Aislinn) ((Yup! The backup batteries she uses ^_^))

Aiswyda ‘s eyes widened as the other woman slipped her a gemstone bracelet. She was unsure what to do with it, and that anxiety manifested with her completely clamming up. Her hand tightened around it as her mind raced. Think, Wyda, think! Okay, so she had seen the other woman use it while healing. Perhaps she could use it to heal herself?

Aiswyda: “GHf. Momo? Oh! Yes, the weird lalafell.” Wyda fidgeted with the bracelet. “Err, she’s kind of weird. Very focused. Really odd sense of humor. But I guess overall, she seems...professional?” If by some freak accident, Wyda began to tap into the bracelets power, aether draining from them with alarming speed. The aether seemed to just...get sucked into her.

Aislinn As Aiswyda spoke, Aislinn nodded, her attention rapt on Wyda's face but one finger of her grip continually moved along the back of the Seawolf's hand. To any casual observer it would look like nothing more than the nervous tics of a worried friend. But in reality Aislinn was slowly but surely writing out an arcane formula that would draw aether from the gemstones to lessen or block some of the pain stemming from the Aiswyda's injuries. However, she felt the sudden aetherical tug ....

Aislinn as the bracelet began to release the stored aether much sooner than she anticipated. Her calculations ceased. What had happened? The stored aether just seemed to drain away. Her brow furrowed. A hiccup in her plan. "Weird." she repeated, though she might not have been referring to Momori. Quickly, she recovered. "But she's willing to help, which is a plus for her in my book." She didn't dare try to tap into her own aether, suddenly recalling the one time she had tried to teach Wyda some magic. She passed the woman an apologetic look.

Aiswyda - Though the cuts and bruises remained, Wyda found that her headache had mostly disappeared. She desperately wanted to ask Lin about the bracelet, and if she had used it right. Honestly, the Seawolf hadn’t intended to use it at all. Whatever just happened, just sort of happened. Naturally.

Aiswyda: “Yeah, she is. But not as. Weird as. Those nifty bangles I see you wearing, eh? Magic. How the heck does that work?” Her voice was turned up a notch higher, as she tried to word her question in the least suspicious way possible.

(Aiswyda) wyda: NOTHING TO SEE HERE!!! :) :)  )) (Aislinn) ((Aislinn: oh no)) (Aiswyda) Random! 957 (Aiswyda) oh well thats good )) (Aislinn) ((Lol!))

The guard doesn’t pay Wyda’s ramblings any mind. He yawns, in fact.

Aislinn did her best not to startle but it was a good thing the guard couldn't see Aislinn's face. She stared wide-eyed at Aiswyda as if to say 'By the Twelve, Wyda, you can't just ASK people how they do magic'. But with the oddness of the rapidly drained aether, she could guess what the Seawolf was getting at. With practiced calm, she pushed up her sleeve to show the woman a better view of her bracelets. "Well, sure. You know. Remember how I told you there were different schools....

Aislinn "Some use their personal aether, some use aether stored in other ways. Those grimoires you see the bookish type toting around. They're written with enchanted ink. Made from rubies or other...*stones*" she said pointedly as she brushed her sleeve back. "Some have to do some tedious calculations to make it work...others just seem to pull aether from the air or...what have you. Quickly."

(Aislinn) ((Annnd that's my first ever 'Mean Girls' reference in RP ^_^)) (Aiswyda) pff I love it ))

Aiswyda nods along. The jail isn’t exactly bursting with aether - a measure that the Maelstrom probably put in place to keep mages from simply blasting their way out. But the bracelet is. Or was, at least. With more purpose this time, she tries to draw aether from the drained bracelet, and nothing conclusive happens. With a sigh, Wyda covertly slips it back to Lin.

Aiswyda: “It’s a bit hard to learn conjury on the fly. I MEAN. You know, theoretically speaking? Haha!” Wyda gives the guard another worried glance. And then, in a hushed whisper: “Thanks anyway.”

Aislinn she nods, slipping her hands back to the bars. "I don't know. Some people pick it up quick. With conjury, say, a person really isn't limited to their own aether or some book. Technically speaking everything alive has aether." she hurriedly adds. "Plants." trying to make it clear she's not advocating Wyda tap into another person's aether.

Aiswyda: “Plants. Right.” Wyda looked at her mostly bare cell. Stone walls, a stool, a small window. Really not much to write home about. “A bit out of luck in that department then.”

Aiswyda - In terms of living things, there were only the guards and other inmates to draw on. Though perhaps if a gull flew close enough by the window... Wyda shook her head. Just idle thoughts.

Aislinn bit her lower lip as she followed Aiswyda's gaze around the small, cramped cell. "Insects." she added lamely. She heard the guard shift behind her. She knew what that meant. Time was almost up. She let go a troubled breath. "Listen Wyda, I've been where you are. Except I didn't have anyone. You have Heartwood. We're gonna get you out of here. Bet on it."

Aiswyda: “You’ve been where I...?” Wyda frowned, displeased by the sudden news. Though neither the time nor place, she reached out and gave Lin’s hand a squeeze. “That’s awful! If you ever need someone to talk to...”

Aiswyda - The guard cleared his throat, and Wyda jolted slightly. “Take care of yourself Lin. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.”

Aislinn gives something approaching a smile. Leave it to Wyda to be concerned on someone else's behalf no matter how dire her own situation. "I will worry. And I'll be back to visit again tomorrow. I'll be here every day until that Momori has something for us to do about this."

Aislinn taps the bars once and then drops her hands. "Stay strong."