#wish that people would understand about us

[1-800-local-slut]

Space Girl

She's out of this world and in his bed! Meet SuperNova, a humanoid alien who loves everything Earth has to offer. And she loves Mark just as much

Mark Grayson x Black! Alien! Reader

Warning: reader and mark break up and get back together, mentions of smut, it's kind of a long one, but all that aside I hope you enjoy and consider sending requests, leaving comments and likes! <3

Note: you're from a planet called Aurelix, it's a peaceful planet but its people are warriors with a gentle temperament. All the people from this planet have glowing eyes, it can be hidden with contacts. It's basically Earth with way better technology and everyone has powers. Also, you can fly and create burst of energy, your powers are cosmic control due to a genetic experiment and yeah that's it, that's all! Eve and Mark don't have feelings for each other here, man stealing is never the move guys

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺

For as often as he does it, Mark sometimes felt shame for flying. He felt shame for soaring through the air on a regular basis even though it was part of his genetic makeup. Biologically, he should fly. Logically, he should fly with no guilt. He trained to fly, he likes flying. It's more natural to him than walking sometimes. Yet he can never forget why he can fly. Why his body gave him the strength to destroy lives just as easily as he can save them.

At the end of each day, Mark was a Viltrumite. From a race of brutes who use that same flight to take over worlds and murder anyone who objects. No matter how human he was, Mark would always have something evil inside him. A cancer that no amount of treatment could cure.

That shame keeps him human, as much as he wished he didn't feel it. Others from different planet's didn't get it. Full humans definitely wouldn't get it. And you? You didn't even come close to understanding. Not without trying though.

Mark could never forget when he first saw you. It was warm out, nice and airy with just the right amount of breeze flowing. The house next door received new occupants and settled in quickly it seemed. From his bedroom window, which faced your backyard, he saw you.

Flying in a game of tag with your mother and father, chasing each other with water guns. None of that mattered. The sun caught your skin, which seemed to glow under the light and your curly hair was tied into a gorgeous bundle of mini twist that was then wrapped into a ponytail. Pieces escaped on your face, the rest moved behind you with each turn and twist you made against the backdrop of the cotton candy clouds.

Mark wasn't exactly super-duper careful about who saw him flying but he also wasn't flying around in circles with his dad in the backyard. Anyone could've seen but you didn't care. Infact, you laughed as your mother sprayed you in the face with water and you sprayed her back in response. Flying around care free without an ounce of shame or fear for doing something so natural to you. And for a split second he felt a hint of jealousy. You probably weren't from a race of blood thirsty killers.

As your mother and father grew tired, they floated gently back to the ground, and you made your way to the Earth. But not before you glanced his way. Glowing green eyes glanced into his bedroom window, and you smiled curtly before you landed on your feet and skipped inside with your mother and father gleefully chatting about dinner.

That was the first time Mark saw the good in being an alien in a while. He saw the good in flying about carefree, in feeling no shame about being what he is.

The next time he saw you, it was ringing his front doorbell.

It was a relatively quiet day. Mark went for a run, came home, took a nap, even had time to take a shit. His mother called him to get the door from where she was in the house, then he made his way down the steps.

Opening the door, he saw you. You, floating just a bit off the ground with your car keys in hand. You didn't know him. How would you feel if you knew? Knew he was a Viltrumite, knew what atrocities his "people" had committed. Of course you knew, if you were from space. Had they destroyed your home, that's why you came to Earth? Had-

"Hi! Driveway-uh. Your car..." You searched for the next words, still clearly attempting to get a grasp on English. Glancing out behind you, he looked. His mom accidentally blocked you into the driveway.

"Your car is...blocking? Blocking. My car." Despite how you struggled to get the words out, you still beamed with pride at how you were able to get the words out.

"Oh...sorry." He smiled at you, your dark hair made you look like a cherub. No longer in twist but instead manipulated into curls that framed your face and highlighted your beauty. By Earth and space features you were no doubt beautiful.

Awkward silence settled in between you two and you stopped smiling. Tilting your head you floated closer to him and before he knew it your hand was on his shoulder.

"You are sad?" His first instinct was to lie. It was to say no but... What could be the harm in being honest anyways?

"...Just a bit." Looking down at the ground he shrugged and ran his hand over the back of his neck.

"Why?" What, was your planet just filled with nosy Nancy's? But something in his heart pulled. You were from space. You didn't understand the intricacies of humans keeping to themselves yet. And maybe he just needed a listening ear.

"My dad. He did-...he died."

"You lie?"

"What?"

Just then, a woman down the street called your name, followed by speech in a different language. Anyone else would assume it was just a different language from Earth, but Mark knew better. It was of an entirely different language from an entirely different planet. Turning your head, you looked back to your house.

"Goodbye! Oh," You pointed behind you at the driveway and held up your keys. Should you even be driving on Earth?

"Car." You emphasized, shaking at your keys.

"I'll move it." He responded, finishing the thought for you. You smiled, dipped your head like a nod and flew off back to your house.

'You lie?' Your voice replayed in his head. There was no malice, no judging. You just knew. He lied. Someone knew he lied. And as uneasy as it should've made him feel, instead little waves of relief overtook him.

Before long, your English had improved by heaps and bounds. You were fully integrated into human society it seemed, except for your same blunt forward communication but it did little to stop you. For someone so new to Earth, you got hang of a social life pretty easy. Once you started wearing the dark brown contacts gifted to you by your aunt (who Mark later learned had moved to Earth years earlier) and stopped fighting your parents about them every day they finally let you masquerade as a normal girl from Earth.

By your second week at school, you were all anyone talked about. Well, you and...you. More specifically the appearance of the new hero SuperNova. Who was quickly taking over as Chicago's favorite alien superhero.

'Did you see her boots?'

'I need SuperNova to drop her curl routine.'

'She's cute or whatever.'

Flooded the hallways. Unlike most gossip though you flooded his brain. He typically didn't mind gossip. His parents taught him well enough to mind the business that pays him, but you were stuck in his brain. It didn't help that you two were teamed up together so often. And it didn't help that you and Eve were superhero besties. Or that you lived next door to one another, or that your mom and his mom were fast growing friends.

You were a great friend too. You understood him, but part of him was...uncomfortable. You seemed to just know. Everything in his brain, the tight knot of fears and anxieties in his stomach, you were even able to see the weight on his heart. And it made him so uncomfortable that you were more in touch with his feelings than he was.

So, he took to avoiding having actual conversations with you. Maybe not on purpose, perhaps on purpose he isn't fully sure. He knew virtually nothing about you personally. Not your likes, dislikes, foods you avoid and music you loved. Because if he knew, you'd be in his heart too. Along with all those icky feelings that cover him like a wet blanket you would be trapped in his heart. Those types of conversations could only lead to a deeper connection. A deeper friendship and some days Mark knew himself he would need more than that. It wasn't helpful that you were always stuck in his head, he didn't need you in his heart and soul too.

But you knew. Because you always knew. And your people do not believe in hiding feelings.

"Mark?" It was night, you two were flying home after a disturbance downtown.

"Hm?"

"You are scared that if we become closer friends, your true feelings will overtake you. You do not want to let anyone in because of the inherit shame you feel for who you are from and what you are. You are scared because you cannot hide from me. We do not have to be friends if I make you uncomfortable." With such flippancy you read him. Like it didn't matter, like you didn't unravel him with the efficiency of a well-trained therapist.

He literally felt sick. His palms began to sweat under his costume, and chills ran through his entire body. His stomach grumbled and felt like he swallowed a block of ice that was just sitting in his gut. His nervous system didn't know the difference between dealing with his emotions or being held at gunpoint. You kept flying home until you noticed he stopped behind you.

You stopped and slowly floated back to him. Eyes glowing, empty of hurt or malice but there was an underlying kindness. He had rejected you. He rejected getting to know you the way everyone else had, he rejected your friendship because he was afraid. But your eyes were like a door left open. You hadn't shut that door. It was still open for him; all he had to do was open it the rest of the way.

What, did you think you were saving him? That he was helplessly drowning in his own unnecessary shame that he's refusing to deal with while battling his growing crush on you? That he needed saving? Who did you think you were?

"You are fighting yourself. I bear no intention of 'bettering' you. I am saying what I have observed."

...Fuck, could you just get out of his head for two seconds so he could think? You totally didn't just provide him clarity. Definitely not. So why was he flying in the air completely stiff without saying a word?

"I'm hungry. I'm going to go home and eat. We do not have to be friends Mark. The choice is yours. If you are not comfortable with your feelings, then it must be frustrating for someone to try and help you understand before you are ready." You said, patting him lightly on the shoulder before flying away.

Leaving him alone to float over the city while he tried to shove his stupid feelings back down his throat. He wanted to throw them up. To scream out his frustrations and fears and regrets, and how he thinks you're really nice and smart and fun. But he couldn't. And he still couldn't stop thinking about you either.

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺

How he found himself at your bedroom window he doesn't know. He was in bed one moment, sneaking a glass of wine the next, then floating outside your window watching you slide open the glass and sit on the roof.

Then he was sitting next you on the roof. You were in pajamas, a matching bonnet corresponded with your fluffy robe and was the same color as your pajamas and bed slippers. He sat with you, knees pulled to his chest. The wind ghosted over his exposed feet. Somehow, he felt as if his heart was about to be as naked as his feet considering he didn't put on socks before he flew out of his window like a man possessed.

When would Mark Grayson ever hide from a girl he liked? Not that he only saw you as that. But here you were, kind and accepting. And he was fighting that and holding some fucked up resentment for you in his heart just a bit because he couldn't open up to someone. Not again.

Two aliens sat on the roof of a suburban home on Earth, looking up at the void of space. You were probably looking towards your home planet. Mark was looking for the courage to be honest. Because this wasn't just about you. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he needed to open up to someone. Holding everything in was raising his blood pressure.

You didn't push him to speak. You were just happy he was there, you would've been happy without him. Why did it ease him just a bit to know that you could go on without him? Why was it so nice to not feel like someone is leaning on you with everything they have? More silence until Mark found the courage in one shiny star.

"My dad was actually on Earth in order to conquer it for the Viltrum empire. My entire life I thought Viltrumites were good. But the more I learn, the more I hear about the crimes. The planets they've fucked up, the lives they've destroyed. My dad never even cared about my mom. Since he left it's been up to me to defend Earth. I'm trying to balance everything, and I'm all Earth has left against Viltrum. He destroyed Chicago using my face, and he murdered the Guardians of the Globe, he lied for 20+ years to the entire planet, he tried to get me to join him and I'm just scared that Earth will see me as an extension of him but I'm human and I'm not like him at all I promise, Earth is my home and I just want to keep people safe and I'm not like the other Viltrumites-"

Soft hands covered his. While he talked, he began to spiral and didn't even realize how quickly he was drowning in his own thoughts. Didn't even realize that he was rambling so fast that he hadn't been speaking in sentences but just one long chain of thoughts. You interrupted the long rambling and saved him from sinking down into a dark place in his mind.

"I know."

"What?"

"My planet is not on your peoples list of planets to conquer. It is not possible Mark. We are not scared of Viltrum, we have never hidden or cowered before Viltrum. Our people are long standing enemies by Viltrum's choosing. You do not have to worry about me judging you for what you are. You do not have to explain you are different. I know you are different. If it will ease you, you can continue. But I want to know Mark. Not who you are not."

You did it again. You just swept him clean off his feet also basically just told him Viltrumites weren't shit to you. As if they were so insignificant to your people that Mark being one didn't even matter. Then again there always was a bigger fish.

"How come you aren't ashamed?" It was a genuine question. Mark carries the shame of being a Viltrumite every day that he prefers to keep it to himself. Leaning back on your arms you let out a chuckle and Mark buried his face in his arms that still rested on his knees.

"I have nothing to feel shame for. No matter my race, no matter how people view my species, I am me. I can't change that. I am who I am, I came from where I come from. I know me. And there is beauty in what I am."

A man and woman walked past kissing and giggling while a little girl hopped in front of them playing imaginary hopscotch, and a dog yipped excitedly between them.

You peered over the edge and motioned for Mark to come with you. Together two aliens watched three humans, and a dog partake in what to them was a small unimportant moment, but that little girl may remember this until she dies. In a thousand years would Mark even remember this conversation?

"Humans have such beautiful but short lives. And to them it isn't short, but to us it is. But we are all the same. I like TV, humans like TV. I like living, they like living. I make the most of my life, they make the most of theirs. Do they have time to spend worrying about what those before them of done? Or do they instead live for each day, focusing on what they can do with themselves now? Or do they focus on what they can do with their future knowing they cannot change the past?" Who told you to be so smart.

"A lot of us worry about the past."

"And if that is how you chose to live your lives then that is beautiful! But you do not have to let what other Viltrumites have done define you. You cannot change the past. But you can take steps to better your future. You can take steps to better your people. Or instead, better yourself but you are Mark. You are an...," You search for the word, eyes glancing up to the sky while you searched your brain

"individual! You are an individual and can make whatever choice you want. You can be the Viltrumite who changes things, or you can just be you. But you will be Mark for the next thousands of years you will be living. You do not want to carry shame for something you cannot change." It was like you just flipped on a light switch in his brain. Mark was ashamed over something he could not change. It would take time to go away but still. It can go away. That ugly feeling in his heart was finally able to go away and stop haunting him.

You pulled a blanket out from your bedroom window and tossed it over the two of you after a brush of wind ghosted you two. His feet no longer cold, and you covered his heart and eased his mind like the blanket.

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺

Having an alien girlfriend was a bit difficult. Mark has been attempting to adjust being open about his feelings, while he taught you the value of allowing him and others the luxury of not needing to talk through every feeling that comes through their heads.

After a few months though, something switched. And while Mark Grayson was flawed, he did know how to be a good boyfriend. But you had made things so easy by making it very clear how you felt at all times.

He knew when you were happy, when you were sad, angry, hungry, horny. You usually just told him. But today you flew into Guardians HQ with a proverbial cloud hovering over you and plopped down beside him with an uncharacteristic scowl. Your eyes were glowing so bright from whatever ailed you that it was like a spotlight beaming from your head, and for the life of him he couldn't figure out what was wrong.

Where you hungry? Tired? A headache? Were you perhaps coming down with something? Could you even get sick? Could he even get sick?

When five minutes passed without you even uttering a word to him, instead just scrolling on your phone and quickly sliding past certain post that seemed to increase your foul mood he realized it was probably best to ask.

"Baby?"

"Hm."

Ouch. Had you ever once scowled at him so hard? You've growled at him before; you've even bit him once on your cycle (or your version of it) but you've never made such a face at him. His pride was happy it was just the two of you in HQ after you both returned from separate missions.

You turned away from him on the couch you were seated on and hugged your knees closer to your chest.

"Are you mad at me?" Slowly he put a hand on your balled up form only for it to be shrugged off. You were so pissed you didn't even want him touching you.

More silence. He heard you shuffle then you straightened out and floated off of the couch. His eyes followed you upwards towards the sky. Hands on your hips, your eyes glowing down at him with tears brimming in your eyes.

"Why did you not tell me you wanted to break up?"

"...I don't want to break up!" The moment it sunk in Mark was floating in the air infront of you. You refused to meet his gaze, arms crossed and turning away from him. You went backwards in an attempt to create distance and Mark found himself floating forwards in an attempt to lessen the distance between you two.

"What's going on? Baby?" His nervous system couldn't tell the difference between you saying that and being shot. The air felt cold and heavy and the nerves in his stomach made him have to shit. You were still refusing to look at him as his hands searched for you while you dodged.

"You do not care about me. You do not care about us."

"Of course I care about you. Of course I care about us!"

"You have a very amusing way of showing it." You shoved him back, as if you just noticed how close he had gotten to you despite your avoidance. A streak of light remained as you flew out of one of the open windows. Dammit, why did they always leave windows open for their flying heroes? Although it was helpful Mark, didn't need it when his girlfriend was talking about breaking up with him and using those open windows to escape him.

By the time he flew out of the window to see if he could convince you to talk about this, you were long gone. The telltale streak of color the remains when you fly was even gone from the sky.

By the time he got home, and talked to his mom it was well past dinner time. Usually, you'd be heading home to eat with your family like you always do on a weeknight. Or you'd be flying home together like you often do late at night because that's when evil seems to emerge. Instead, there was no you.

You weren't cuddled beside him; you weren't conversing with him about the first season of Seance Dog that he was trying not to spoil for you, you two weren't holding hands in a comfortable silence, you weren't there for him to playfully tease or for him to excitedly ramble at.

Once again, he found himself at your window. Well actually your front door. Your window was locked, curtains drawn. A message, telling him to piss off, a saying you enjoyed since you learned it. He thinks your love of swearing is adorable, no matter how many times you say 'motherfucker' in a day. But he couldn't just let you think he didn't care. If he didn't care, he'd be at home fast asleep.

He settled for the old fashioned way. He rang your doorbell and waited with baited breath for someone to open the door. Instead, your mother opened the door and stood towering over Mark. Her eyes glowed nowhere near as intense as yours did hours ago. The glowing eyeballs raked him over, as distaste settled over her features.

"Goodnight, I'm sorry to bother you so late but is-"

"My child does not cry easily."

"Uh, excuse me?"

"My child, was the top warrior in her school. She is ranked across the planet for her skills, she could've become the next leader of our entire planet. She is smart. She is kind, she makes good choices. Most of all she is strong. We left our home planet, she had to start the journey to living amongst humans against her will. Not once did she break. She does not cry easily."

Silence as her eyes began to glow a more intense color.

"You made my child cry." Then the door shut. But for a moment, he saw you. Laying on the couch, your father patted your hooded head. Covered in Mark's hoodie that he gifted you and you hugged yourself close.

He stood there on your porch; through the door he heard your parents comforting you in your own language and he recognized the few words you taught him.

'Mama, what do I do?'

Fuck, what did he even do?

He never realized how much he would miss your honesty. Mark knew it was something he loved about you, but sometimes it could be a bit difficult. You were always in his head. You just always knew and after months of dating, he was still a bit freaked out. You knew him better than he knew himself.

After a year-

The porch was dark, Mark had been in the dark all day about what had you so enraged with him. But finally the light turned on in his brain and he never felt so stupid. A wind blew over him, like the truth that revealed itself to him.

Today had been a year since you two had gotten together. Lifting off, he made his way to his own roof and planted his bottom firmly on the spot he so often sat on. And he thought back over the year.

You helped him sort himself out for a year. You planned your six month anniversary. You planned his birthday party. You reminded him when Valentine's Day was approaching. You helped him plan a birthday party for his mother. You made him dinner the best you could when you got the hang of Earth cooking. You saved him from countless battles, you encouraged him to keep his head up. Even after a devastating loss, you encouraged him to keep his head up. He couldn't remember one day.

You even told him it would be nice if he planned something for once. And he couldn't remember one day.

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺

His mom tore him a new one, but it was nothing compared to you. You became more like an Earth girl with each passing day, evident by how you'd been giving him the cold shoulder for four days now. Even gossip articles picked up on it.

'Invincible and SuperNova split?'

'SuperNova snubs Invincible after battle!'

Instagram was clowning him. Evident by the comments William was reading out loud to him as they sat in the car with Amber and Eve during lunch. Also, the meme going around of him edited as Art the Clown. They dubbed him 'Invinciclown"

"Oh man this ones funny, 'bro fumbled a baddie', 'SUPERNOVA ONE CHANCE PLEASE!!!', 'Omniman knocked the game out bro', 'The fumble needs to be studied'. Lesbians have also never been happier since you're out of the picture."

"Honestly the entire LGBT community has been praying for your breakup." Amber chimed from the back, scrolling through edits on her phone.

"Look at this."

"NO WAY SOMEONE MADE A BREAKUP EDIT!" Eve yelled, hands dramatically on her head. The internet decided it was over already.

"We aren't broken up. I'm not out of any picture." Mark sulked, head pressed against the glass.

"What's it like being emo and delusional?" Eve snickered, leaning back.

"That's not hot Mark." William added, making dramatic gestures with his hands.

"You're not Paris Hilton. And we aren't broken up. She's mad at me."

"Okay but why is she mad at you? She's been ducking you for almost a week now. She doesn't even duck fades and she's avoiding you." Always sympathetic Eve brought reason back to the car.

"...I forgot our one year anniversary."

....

"The fumble really does need to be studied."

"One year...yeah man she needs to break up with you, that's ghetto as hell."

"I tried saying sorry, but she doesn't want to talk to me! She fought a Kaiju and Doc Seismic on her own before she chose to speak to me. She almost got eaten and literally chose to handle that before talking to me."

"Well, she's tired of spelling everything out for you. What have you actually planned for her that's important? Answer quickly." Amber responded. When was her foot not on Mark's neck?

He couldn't even answer slowly because you typically spell everything out for him.

"Okay but what do I do?"

"Give up?" Eve suggested.

"Accept defeat?" William offered.

"Die because of how bad you dropped the bag?" Amber added her advice.

"Guys I love this girl; can we be serious?" The words came from the depths of his heart. Then silence filled the car again.

"YOU'RE IN LOVE WITH HER?"

He was in love with you. He was in love with you and was sitting in a car with his friends while you, the woman he loves, was somewhere. You weren't with him at lunch because he pissed you off so bad you didn't even want to try and communicate.

"I gotta go."

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺

"Why are you in my bedroom?" You asked, rolling over in your bed and eyeing the man sitting on your bed.

"You haven't been talking to me." Mark figured out pretty quickly where you were when you didn't return back to school. He spent the rest of lunch looking all over the city for you, saw you didn't show up to your trigonometry class and figured you just blew off the rest of the school day. So, he did the only thing his crazy and stupid heart could think of. Because Mark is crazy over you. Even though it took disgustingly long for him to lock in and act like it.

You pulled your covers back up to your chest and rolled back onto your side.

"I do not need to talk to you. You are my ex boyfriend. I do not need to be friends with my ex boyfriend." Did you just stab him and twist the knife? But he had to push on. Because this was not about him. This wasn't about making him feel better, it was time Mark showed you how much he cared.

It was time to be brave, but this was scarier than any battle he'd ever been in.

"...I'm sorry I forgot our anniversary."

"I am sorry that you think that means anything to me four days later."

Okay you were not having it with him.

"You don't want to be with me anymore?"

You tossed the blanket over and sat up. You looked at him and the back of his brain wondered how long you'd been home. You were in a fitted tank top, pajama pants, makeup gone, contacts removed, and your hair gently placed under your bonnet.

"I want to be with someone who cares for me. You do not want to be with me. You have shown me that you do not care for me the way I care for you. I have my struggles. I have my burdens. I have carried your burdens and mine for the past year. I do not put these on you. I ask that you take care of me the way I attempt to take care of you. I asked one thing of you Mark Grayson. You did not do the one thing I asked of you, Mark Grayson." Then you flopped back down on the sheets as if holding eye contact with him was killing you. He cracked, eyes watering and voice cracking.

"I'm sorry. I am sorry baby, I am. I know you needed someone, and I am that someone for you. I didn't mean to let you down. I was so used to you knowing everything already that I forgot that everyone needs someone. And I need you, I can't live without you." He drew closer to you. Mark was absolutely begging. Because you taught him better than to hide his feelings and hiding them right now would only make things worse.

"Things shouldn't come to this extreme for me to realize that and I'm sorry. I...I love you." And with that you shot straight up in the bed. You were staring at him with curious eyes.

"You...love me?"

Mark swallowed thickly, and he blinked away tears. He took his hands in yours, ignoring the way you raised your eyebrow. You didn't yank your hands away, a good sign?

"I love you. I love you. Not just what you do for me, not just how you look. I love you." He breathed. Your eyes filled with tears, and Mark brung his forehead to yours. His heartbeat slowed; the world stopped spinning for a moment. Your heartbeat matched his.

"It is against my customs to forgive you. On my planet, I would be expected to leave you and never look back. You have made a grave error, you have failed to value you me the way I should’ve been all along.”

He swallowed thickly, eyes trained on his hands holding yours.

"But I am not on my planet. And you are sorry. I see your heart, you intend to improve. And I love you. So, against everything I know, I forgive you Mark." It came out in a whisper.

"You forgive me?" His voice was hoarse, from the crying and disbelief.

"I forgive you." Eyes finally met and he saw tears running down your cheeks.

"You love me?" Your lips drew closer to his and he found his knees weakening.

"I love you."

[nexomy]

Hi! Your intro made me think you're interpreting this as an argument. I'm just having fun spewing theories and headcanons, and I actually LOVE the thoughts you're sharing! I hope it's all good.

With that said, while I understand what you're getting at, that "caring is not an advantage" is the opposite of what John would say, that... Doesn't go against my point. At all. In fact, it very much IS the point. Let me explain:

John's character is one who, intentionally on the writers' part or not, is mainly motivated by one thing and one thing only; self-hate. John hates himself, to his bloody core. His psychosomatic limp seems to be more about survivor's guilt than anything else, and as soon as he's put back in action, as soon as death is still an option, he's fine. Which is INSANE, by the way? That this man fears life more than death? Sherlock certainly isn't like that. He loves the thrill, yeah, but to medicate his ADHD, he prefers to be in some kind of control over the situation. Meanwhile, John genuinely is just along for the ride. All the times he gets most pissed at Sherlock aren't when Sherlock is careless, or drags him along in a dangerous situation. He's upset about lies, and more specifically, when Sherlock shows even a hint of real emotion.

In THOB, what does John get truly mad at? Being drugged? Nope. Sherlock being mean to Greg? Again, nope. One might say it's the "I don't have friends", but that's not something he usually holds against Sherlock, and it's also not when he starts getting mad. It seems to me that John is upset at Sherlock for being scared in the first place. For having a panic attack.

Often, I see people wonder how John, the soldier with PTSD, didn't see it in Sherlock, when he had a panic attack. But he saw. Of course he saw. But Sherlock having a panic attack isn't reason to comfort him. It's reason to scold him. Why? Not because John doesn't care about Sherlock, or doesn't care to see him happy. Quite the opposite.

When I write a character, I choose their "default emotional response" before almost anything else. This is the thing they fall back on when they're overwhelmed, when they don't know what to do, or how to interpret things. John's default? Anger. It is always anger.

So when he sees Sherlock, this person he idolizes, this person he often uses as a self-harm tool (because I genuinely believe that that is part of the reason why John is a Sherlock addict, he's using him to hurt himself) because of how cold they can be, fall apart, well... John panics, too. A part of him can't accept that Sherlock cares, can't accept that Sherlock is human. That's the same part of him that can't accept that he's deserving of any love, let alone that of a genius. And that part? That part needs to preserve itself, in the face of Sherlock's vulnerability, by antagonizing him.

And with the Fall, the logic is the same, only accentuated. I think there's many conflicting reasons why John is upset, because humans are complex, but one is this: This is how he views their relationship.

I hate myself for not being "normal" => I want to be in pain => Wanting to be in pain isn't normal => Have to find an excuse => Sherlock doesn't care about me => That hurts => He's my friend => It's normal to have a friend, and always forgive him => I get to punish myself and still be normal

It's part of why the gay accusations hurt him so much.

But then, if Sherlock DOES care, the chain breaks. Sherlock can no longer be John's punishment, in fact, quite the opposite. John adores Sherlock, being adored back is better than what he could wish for. He cannot accept it. So the chain CAN'T break, or John would need to accept that he isn't normal, at all.

John scolds Sherlock to be more considerate, not because he wants Sherlock to be more considerate. The scolding itself is the point.

So, BASICALLY:

- If Sherlock did the Fall for selfish reasons and lied to John realizing it would hurt him, the part of John that genuinely sees him for who he is, the human, and that genuinely treasures their friendship, will be betrayed and hurt. "I thought you were more human than that, how could you? Did I waste my love on someone who felt nothing?" Ergo, anger.

- If Sherlock did the Fall for selfish reasons, but DID recognize John's feelings, then Sherlock basically intentionally hurt John for fun. The same part as point 1 will be hurt. Ergo, anger.

- If Sherlock did the Fall for SELFLESS reasons, and suffered from it, it shows genuine care, and breaks the chain beyond repair. That thought is too overwhelming for John's subconscious, ergo, anger.

I could go on. When you said that there's nothing Sherlock can do, you were right. Because John's anger isn't about Sherlock. It's a proxy. The only way for then to heal is for John to heal, and accept that he's not normal. The closest we got to that is "because you chose her". That's why the hug happens. That's the moment that should've changed things. But it didn't, because Moftiss are cruel with Johnlock.

I think John loved Mary, because she was his tether to normalcy. In part, at least. And that's why he's pissed at Sherlock because he killed Mary. It's not a literal death, and it's not literally Mary and Sherlock. It's normalcy and weirdness.

Of course, in my mind, this all happens on a subconscious level, so John would never be able to articulate all of it. But it's the only lense through which I can make sense of his character.

John is always at war with himself. On some level, he knows Sherlock cares. He knows he's not a sociopath. He knows his friend. He loves him. He wants him to find true, genuine happiness.

On another, he has to believe Sherlock doesn't care. Sherlock is the only person he can let himself cling to, the only one that feels real, because he has the benefit of the doubt. Anyone that actually cares must be lying, John isn't worth that. But Sherlock? Well, who knows if he cares or not.

The ambiguity, the constant back and forth, Sherlock's mask, it's a feature, not a bug.

(And a small point I couldn't fit in anywhere else, yeah, John doesn't care that Moriarty had to be stopped. He cared that he had to be ditched. But even that, Sherlock doesn't fully explain, and I get that John had an outburst, but John has handled Sherlock's outbursts more than once. Although I think Sherlock is doing his best, I think you're putting too much of the onus on John to fix things, partly because you understand Sherlock's perspective more than John's, because John's writing is less consistent.)

Sherlock, 4.02 The Lying Detective

[boosnotes]

Circling you

Shadow x reader

Genre: fluff Warnings: none A/n: a little fun one shot, the tag has been feeling dried lately

You were typing on your laptop, searching for that artist you've seen illustrations of many times, but we're just reposts of reposts. Your concentration was at maximum, reversing images, Reddit, and more weren't that useful, just sending you from dead link to dead link; you haven't even gotten the username yet! That is to say, you weren't paying attention to the world around you.

It wasn't an uncommon occurrence to take your laptop to friends' houses; at that moment, in Amy's sleepover, you were the only one awake, or so you thought. You have heard footsteps during the night, but you didn't give any thought; considering you were sharing a roof with a bunch of people, it was expected for them to walk to the bathroom or the kitchen. Oddly enough, those footsteps kept going for way longer than they normally would.

With your curiosity picked, you looked up from your device. Dark red and black fur and those shining amber eyes made you jump on your seat. He walked, going from front, to next, to behind, to your other side, and so on. What was he doing? It felt like an animal hunting its prey while being less serious in some way, you could describe it as a dance maybe. He stared at you and you stared in return, puzzlement in yours and glad in his that you had finally noticed him.

Your eyes creased as you kept him in your eyesight, waiting expectantly for what he was going to do, though it never came, it just kept going and going. You were feeling a little dizzy, your eyes couldn't look away from him, it was hypnotizing. Without noticing, he had closed the gap between you with each circle he completed, just taking a step towards you; yet with enough of them, he was only a couple of steps from entering your personal space; you didn't know if he was lingering for confirmation or basic teasing.

You'd be a fool to turn him down, a part of you always found him appealing, even after he went crazy back then. This was so unexpected, despite having made some moves on him in the past, which he never showed any reciprocity, thus making you drop the attempt to not make him discomfiting. You would've never thought something like this could ever happen, it all felt so surreal as if it was a dream; by luck or not, the numbers were still legible, and the lines on your hands were very much still visible.

You adjusted yourself in the chair, now sitting sideways to have more mobility when standing up in case he did anything. You noticed he was puffing up his chest as his white fur from that zone became more evident, the soft feeling of it becoming alluring, almost causing you to place your hand up and touch it yourself, but you contained it. This was getting too much for nothing really happening, just silence, excluding the breathing becoming a bit heavier than usual and watching each other intensely, curious about what was coming next.

Tired of all this performance, you stood up from the wooden seat, leaving your investigation abandoned for the time being; this was more noteworthy than finding a dumb photo you obsessed over for no reason; the waiting was making you so impatient. After concluding the round he was doing, he finally stood up in front of you, his face a mix of satisfaction and uncertainty, both crashing with his wants and realism. The closeness he had created was evident from the fact that you sensed his light breath on your face; it didn't make you uncomfortable, in fact, you were very welcoming of it, not really wanting him to step away.

You didn't understand what possessed you, maybe it was the chilly night or the strange ritual that just occurred; even so, your brain let you fulfill your wish, brushing your hand in his chest coat. It pushed a pleasing sigh from him, not doing anything else but that, his hands still dangling on his sides. You continued playing with it with the entire care in the world, the smooth texture of it, clearly having been taken good care of, making it seem air-filled, yet each stand screaming they existed between your fingers.

Your eyes concentrated on the fur, the snow-white tone of that part produced a huge contrast against the obsidian color that covered most of his body, making it stand out and capture you in it, losing yourself in this section of his physical being. You didn't notice when he gently yet cautiously touched your shoulders, keeping you in place so you did not lean in; he wanted to see your face, the little reactions you were making. If it wasn't for that, your face would've been deep inside his chest fur, retaining the sensation of your hand in your face instead.

His hands then traveled up as he pulled your face up, the fat on your cheeks gathered around the edge of them, spilling out. His delicate lips pressed against your forehead, an honest representation of his feelings without showing his soul too much, in fear of rejecting even if he knew that wouldn't happen cause it was you; it made you all warm and fuzzy. A big smile appeared on your factions, making you look like a fool hit by Cupid's bow, and that moment you were, he had finally reached him and made you one for the time being. Your loving smile was reciprocated with a shyer one of his, smaller though carrying the same emotions as you. He cut himself off with the gazing, changing it instead for having his fluffy furred forehead against yours, drinking in your presence and this quiet moment.

[oscconfessions]

id really wish for the object show community to quit being hostile over fans/haters of a character, by this i mean when people say "i hate ___ fans," "i hate ___ haters," "dni if you love/hate___," etc. i believe it hinders our ability to get along as a community for a really unnecessary and trivial reason. ive never seen a true instance of in which someone liking/hating a character affects how you must view that person. we should value each other further than up to just our mere opinions on the characters because its a really dumb way we keep getting into conflicts and high-scale arguments.

literally, one of my best friends in the whole universe loves fries from bfdia, while i hate his guts (in that specific season, for clarification). she hates eggy, yet she is one of my favorites. yet we remain friends for years.

i understand that for many neurodivergent people (99% of the osc), its difficult to see past your interests and our interests is how we make friends with people in the first place. i get this, it affects me too. but we cannot keep letting our opinions make us hostile towards one another, especially since someone's opinion on a character is not a gauge of morality. its not. someone enjoying a character who is morrally wrong (or even grey), someone disliking a character who is actually an angel, i just dont get it..............

ooookay okay okay, unfortunately i  have to mention that the only and ONLY exception in my case is pin from bfdi, because we are the exact same person and being /gen. everythingg and anything, whether positive or negative, that is said about her anywhere applies to me as if the people are saying these things about me. so if someone were to refuse to understand pin, treat her harshly and insult her for being herself, all in front of me, well obviously my brain would register that person refusing to understand me and insulting me, so that is why it would be impossible for us to be friends, let alone on good terms. :[

(p.s.: as you would expect, yes my self-esteem skyrocketed after bfdia 18 came out to the point where i organized a very personally healing character analysis video essay on her, but the second i discovered what many others were saying about her my self-esteem plummeted way harder and i felt horrible for a long time. and if anyone mentions the first few minutes of tpot 16 my mind begins to spiral.)

that is it send ask 3/26/2025

.

[thecruellestmonth]

Tom King has built his comics career on bragging about his participation in the Iraq invasion. He has bragged about submitting his comic book scripts to the CIA for approval. His years of this very cushy comic book job have been his reward for participating in the Iraq invasion.

Tom King is a real-life white American man who invaded Iraq to punish Arabs for a crime that they didn't commit and he didn't suffer. You can't make up the impact of this real-life adult man based on your wishful headcanons for his racist, bootlicking superhero comics.

What is "our" cause? How do we help our cause by giving up our basic human dignity? Is our cause to coddle people who hate us? What is your cause? Doesn't it sound like you're the one offering perfomative compassion right now?

Excerpts from the foreword of the recent graphic novel The Flavors of Iraq by Feirat Alani and Léonard Cohen:

Since I got out of the Marine Corps in 2006, I felt I owed a moral debt to Iraqis, and to the city of Fallujah in particular. Though it still stings to admit it, I was part of the assault force that laid siege to Fallujah in late 2004. Over the course of a month, we turned the entire city to rubble and left an estimated 4,000–6,000 civilians dead in our wake. I know the damage can’t be undone, nor the debt repaid. But as an acknowledgment of wrongdoing and a gesture of remorse, I committed myself to campaigning for withdrawal and reparations.

[...] Over the last twenty years, the story of the invasion and occupation has been told almost exclusively from an American perspective that is so full of myth and omission that the entire collection of novels, films, memoirs, and journalistic accounts belongs in the fantasy genre. Not only are they historically inaccurate across the board, but they also share a common narrative form. American soldiers are the protagonists of these stories. To the extent that Iraqis are included at all, it is either as victims or villains; and, in either case, the need for Americans to save the day is implicit. According to this narrative, the invasion is not an act of aggression but an attempted liberation gone wrong.

[...] If Iraq through American eyes seems more the product of wishful thinking than reality, it’s because the framing, omissions, and narrative tropes that have characterized much of the fiction and nonfiction on Iraq have flowed downstream from US military propaganda. One of the lesser-known aspects of Operation Iraqi Freedom is that the way the story was told—the controlled perspective, the characterization of the actors involved, the focus on strategic themes, the tactical use of language—was as much a part of the battle plan as was the use of bombs and infantry. New trends in strategic thinking at the turn of the millennium gave propaganda a more prominent role in American military operations during the global war on terror.

Soft power, it was believed, would allow the military to win the hearts and minds of Iraqis, reducing the need for deadly force. It didn’t actually work out that way. But the fact that our propaganda operations remain a lesser-known aspect of the war speaks to their success in constructing a popular (mis)understanding of the conflict that has been reproduced again and again in American pop culture.

[...] From The Hurt Locker (2008) to American Sniper (2014) and The Yellow Birds (2012), American pop culture has followed the model set by US information operations, pumping out story after story told through the familiar gaze of the American soldier. No matter that the invasion was a war crime. No matter that over a million Iraqis died in the course of the occupation. All ethical questions about the mission are, at most, a secondary plotline. And Iraq and Iraqis are just a setting in these stories about American soldiers and their struggles to heal the wounds of war.

That foreword was written by Ross Caputi, former U.S. marine, current anti-war activist. Not every veteran can do what Caputi does, but every storyteller can choose whether to use his platform for Iraqis, or to use Iraqis as his platform. And the people Caputi hurt still don't owe him forgiveness, or anything else.

Isn't it disturbing how Caputi's position—white, American, and a veteran of invasion—is leveraged to add credibility in a French Iraqi journalist's personal account of his own family's lives in Iraq?

The Flavours of Iraq was adapted into a series of animated shorts, officially uploaded to watch for free in English.

Look, there’s a reason people don’t like Tom King, I get it, but it’s fucking HILARIOUS to be called a ‘racist grandma’ for pointing out Tom King is still reacting to the Iraq War, because it was a enormous deal for him, and he’s probably going to still be reacting to it until the day he dies.

Incredible how some people are quite happy to dress things up in therapy speak, but not willing to give any energy to ‘hey King’s job was very traumatic and he’s still processing that’.

You can not like it, you can not want to read it, but it’s a perfectly reasonable response to his situation and there is a huge cohort of people who understand where he’s coming from.

[andre-and-cal]

PLEASE PLEASE PLSEA ANGSTY ZERO DAY HEADCANONS JUST THE WORST YOUVE GOT I WANT TO HAVE MY ORGANS RIPPED OUT 😭😭

HEHE your wish is my command !! 😌🫶 Another Anon asked for angsty headcanons so hope you like! :]

Zero Day + Caldre Angst HCs

When there are temporary strains affecting Cal and Andre’s relationship, they automatically assume that their previous argument ruined everything they have together. The first time they fought physically, immediately post-brawl, Andre was worried that Calvin would never want to talk to him again as he may have hit him too hard… but Calvin was worried that Andre would loathe him for shoving him down against the floor, which is such a hard surface in his bedroom. Yet, both boys can’t reciprocate a feeling of hatred for one another. They crave each other like two cannibals; they’re drawn to the idea of consuming the other physically, mentally, and emotionally. They’re a pack of dogs who thrive off of eating up the good parts within each other, and thus, they’re left as the soulless beings they’d proved themselves to be during Zero Day. They’re half the men they formerly portrayed themselves as, and with nearly identical viewpoints, they see their peers— especially Brad— as threats, as targets. Specifically those who hurt them in some way.

Andre had received a scholarship for scoring above average on state tests and maintaining his high GPA. Because of this, he had 75% of his tuition covered. Previously apart of the Class of 2001, it likely should have sparked some concern that Andre had little interest in participating in some school activities. He never cared for the senior pranks, special lunches, or field trips. Yet it was only natural that most people let their guard down. Additionally, his parents were ready to see their son grow wings and soar high, to watch him become a successful young man. In the end, he developed these “wings”— but in a wholly different sense.

Calvin used to take his siblings to the community park nearby. He’d watch them play and would monitor their behavior. When they’d start fighting with other children, he wouldn’t engage. Instead, he’d calmly walk up and pull them away, even as they both whined about how, “He started it!”. Cal had never been an instigator when it came to his siblings— he only wanted what was best for them. He believed that they were going to be okay without him without actually telling them this; he had his own “prophecy” that he was going to fulfill. He had his own fate, essentially, which included going down with Andre after carrying out such a harrowing crime.

Andre’s track trophies and science fair awards were tossed into a cardboard box, only to be deposited in a storage unit within the New Stratford area and never to be touched by anyone again. Before its departure, though, Mel kept on sniffing the box, meowing for her brother. Where had her Andre gone, after all?

Before they split, Mr. Gabriel ended up throwing out some of Cal’s band and music performance assessment awards. Mrs. Gabriel wanted to keep some of them, but Mr. Gabriel asked her what she was even going to do with them. She didn’t know.

After Zero Day, after the suicide of both her son and a boy who she practically treated as her own, Calvin’s mother now cannot stand seeing pictures of Calvin— she starts tearing up, breaking down in tears as she remembers what he did. But as Calvin’s little brother and sister grew older, they began to understand the weight of what their deceased big brother did. They no longer ask about him anymore, no longer ask why he died, no longer ask their mother and father about why they were crying; they don’t particularly enjoy watching the color drain from their parents’ faces at the mention of their firstborn. Mr. and Mrs. Gabriel didn’t explain the “Cal situation” willingly; they never do anymore. Calvin Kenneth Gabriel has become an unspeakable topic. He existed at one point, though. He sure did.

Mr. Gabriel suggested getting rid of most photos containing Cal and only keeping the ones of him when he was young, but Mrs. Gabriel refused. Instead, while she took down the several wall-framed photos of him, she keeps each photo of him in a separate box. Later on, the Gabriel parents ended up splitting due to their contrasting views of their late oldest son. Once he got past his anguish, Mr. Gabriel now holds resentment toward Calvin for what he did. He feels like he was a disgrace and truly only sees him as a killer. Following the anger and bewilderment she experienced, however, Ms. Gabriel now feels profuse amounts of sorrow and even accountability. Deep down, she wishes she could’ve done something to help Cal. Anything that would’ve knocked some sense into him. Anything that would’ve prompted him to second think what he was going to do. She also wishes that he and Andre had never been friends. She wishes they’d never even met in the first place. She wishes Cal had never been born, either, as if that could’ve prevented the future teenage murderer from acting on his desires with his “comrade”. But she feels a bit disgusted with herself over these dehumanizing thoughts and feelings.

Andre’s father cannot listen to certain songs or engage in different activities without painfully recalling various memories revolving around himself and Andre. He and Andre sometimes used to go fishing, used to go hunting together. But now, when he goes to try and confront his thoughts by occupying himself in these hobbies, albeit alone, he feels like he’s attempting to reenact special moments that remain lost yet dearly missed. Like he’s trying to fill in the emotional gaps he finds himself containing, as if he wants to act like Andre is still here. Like he never went and did what he did. As a result, he fell into a bit of a depression following Andre’s death. Because now he’s lost 2 sons. Both of his children died in the worst scenarios possible, and it feels as if both of his little boys just slipped through his fingertips.

Occasionally, Mrs. Kriegman visits Andre and Cal’s crosses and leaves flowers and small gifts near them, such as necklaces and other Jewish jewelry. She doesn’t try to talk to their crosses, though, knowing that she’d become hysterical if she even gave herself the chance to speak with both boys in their places of rest. She doesn’t like to picture where they might be now, though. Also, she still talks to Ms. Gabriel. From a mother to a mother, they understand each other and what they’re going through, in a way. But Mrs. Kriegman could not sit through the released footage of the Zero Day tapes, and she wanted to faint when she was shown the photographs of Calvin and Andre’s corpses in court. In the media, Mrs. Kriegman is primarily labeled by a mother who failed, and she mostly believes what news articles discuss about her, villainizing her following the charges she and her husband previously sustained. She thinks they’re in the right for criticizing her, because if it hadn’t been for her and her husband, the Iroquois High School massacre wouldn’t have occurred, right? Yet, she has a difficult time comprehending that Cal and Andre were indeed lost causes. Truly, not much could have torn them away from what they’d planned for months. And nothing… nothing could have certainly prepared the Kriegman and Gabriel families to discover what their children were capable of.

[del0nix-regia]

Since Patch 8 is on the way and there are no hints on Wyll getting any updates by then, I humbly made a semi-comprehensive list of Things They Could Add To Him That Wouldn't Break The Game™

I wish they'd redo the final act of his character quest and I do have a lot of ideas on how they could make something that is actually about him while keeping Ansur's quest its own separate thing, but that is pretty much impossible to happen, and I see a lot of people say there's nothing that can be done since Larian will step back from bg3 after this next patch and it's too little time to add a whole new major quest. So, here's little things that would still add a lot to his story:

Act 1

Fans! He talks so much about being the Blade of Frontiers, and by playable characters' reaction, his name has reached far and wide. You're telling me none of these refugees are giggling because he's staying at the Grove to help them? Not even the little kids that he's literally training? That's like Lady Gaga showing up to give you singing lessons!?

A more extreme transformation if you spare Karlach. It just feels quite silly to me that he's so afraid of the refugees being scared of him when all that differentiates him from your average tiefling is that he has ridges on his face as opposed to just his body (and still, Zevlor has them, so what's the problem exactly?). I know there's a limit to what they could do to his model in a reasonable time frame, but like?? Sharp teeth? Claws? Pointy ears? Tail? Those are things you can easily borrow from a tiefling's model (If life was fair and god loved us all, Wyll would have digitigrade legs and wings, but oh well).

Something of the Duke for you to find in the burning building. Maybe a locket, something sentimental that concretizes in his mind that his father truly was kidnapped, and it can add an extra bit of dialogue if it's an item he remembers from his youth.

An actual, proper romance scene. What do you mean I can only give him a kiss and just let him drink by himself at the corner of the party? Let me sit with him by the beach!!!!

More party banter! I don't know why they got rid of his flirty lines with Lae'zel — I get that it's vestiges of his old rake-ish persona from the beta version, but I think it actually fits quite well with his current characterization. He compliments her eyes so poetically!! That's so Wyll! Also a bit of an early strife with Gale would be funny, considering the whole thing with wizards thinking warlocks took the ‘easy way’ to magic. The sussur blossom dialogue could spark another conversation between them where Gale understands Wyll a bit more (since he never actually wanted infernal powers in the first place), and it'd adds a bit of foreshadowing towards his eventual explanation for his pact in Act 2.

Act 2

Actual autonomy when standing up to Mizora. Why does the PC get to be the one confronting her? Little bits of dialogue before when you first find out about his pact in Act 1 could encourage him to stand up to her when she tells him to rescue a devil in Moonrise Towers. Let Wyll tell her to release him once the mission is complete.

Jaheira and Wyll linkup. Folk heroes that have to endure hearing the most absurd tales being made up about them? Gimme. Immediately.

Small interactions with NPCs in Moonrise Towers, like chiming in if you have him in your party while talking to the prison warden, immediately asking about the Duke's whereabouts.

An actual cutscene when he reveals the context around his pact. We saw Shadowheart and her damn wolf-dad a hundred times over, and it added a lot to her. Simply describing such a key situation in his life with such detail but no visuals is very counterintuitive, and it diminishes the direness of his situation and why he accepted the terms of the pact so willingly.

Some bits of dialogue about his early months of exile after the lore drop. Even with the power of a devil at his side, I doubt a 17-year-old took suddenly living in the wilderness very well at first.

A dialogue regarding Isobel and Ketheric, after you find out she's his daughter. Wyll too had a mother that died too early and a strained relationship with his father, the difference is that Isobel had memories of her mom and no justification for her dad's actions. I think he'd have interesting insight on what she's going through now that she's the last of her family line.

Act 3

Little interactions with key locations, key NPCs, just more for him to react to in general! That's his city, that he hasn't seen in seven years. Let him talk to people, recognize spots he'd go to, retell tales of his childhood misadventures!!

I get that he's a devil now, but having all Flaming Fists he meets immediately just disregarding him is so silly. He has the same damn face, why is no one shocked that Duke Ravengard's son is back after years with a pair of horns on his head and a bunch of weird people by his side?

More about his mother, especially if you save the Duke. Francesca Ravengard I may not know you but I adore you and I'd like to know all about your life, please.

Again, more people recognizing him as the Blade of Frontiers. There has to be at least a single merchant wagon stationed in Rivington that remembers him saving their produce from bandits on the road or something, come on.

Special dialogue while in the House of Hope. Raphael is apparently quite influential in Avernus, I'd like to think he'd have some books and tomes regarding warlock pacts, or even something that might hint to him and Mizora having dealings.

Autonomy!!!!! Let him decide if he wants to sever the pact and risk rescuing his dad on his own or guarantee Ulder's safety and give away his soul forever. I don't say to just take away the ability to sway his opinion at all, but at least make it a persuasion check like you have to do with every. characters'. most. important. decisions.

That's enough of a rant I think. Obviously I'd love for them to actually give his story a well-thought conclusion, but that would have to be made into its own post. Still, I think little bits like these, things that they could realistically add every other patch or so, would add a lot of meat to his character. Wyll has a lot of potential!!! It's just sad that so little is ever done with it.

[lucychanart]

I've never used my account to rant, but I really need to now and maybe some people can understand aka artists.

I'm afraid of the future depending exclusively on my work as an illustrator. Today I saw an AI account with over 200k followers and a Patreon and it makes me sad🥹

Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn't look for something else to do, study or look for a minimally good job. I get scared when I realize that being an illustrator doesn't seem like a stable job and I think about things like my old age being a poor fuck (yes, I'm catastrophic)

I'm really scared and I don't know what to do. Maybe it's just a little exaggeration on my part because I'm emotional XD But I really wish someone would take my hand and give me some light.

That's it, bye🧍🏻‍♀️

[thedorkdionysia]

ok i realize this is a gross oversimplification of the purpose of the epilogues so let me elaborate:

yes, the epilogues specifically are a deconstruction of the metanarrative of what a sequel to homestuck would look like; that's evident from the very beginning of the epilogues, which are formatted like the header for a fanfiction on AO3. the actual story itself is split into two narratives, of course, that represent the different paths the story could potentially take in a continuation; meat is the more real, raw, serious type of story with more action and fighting, and candy is a more wish-fulfilling type of story where a bunch of the characters end up marrying each other and having kids and all that type of stuff, and obviously neither is a satisfactory ending. the story even opens with Rose telling John about the idea of "canon" within the story (which is also the writers of the story, through Rose's position as the Seer of Light, telling us as the audience about the idea of canon within the story through the perspective of John). and again, she specifies that the elements that define canonicity are relevancy, truth, and essentiality.

a lot of people seem to think that this means that the split in decisions in the epilogues means that there is a "good" and "bad" timeline, or a "real" and "fake" timeline in the epilogues. even the MSPA wiki claims that the meat timeline is "treated as the canonical continuation", and the candy one is the "non-canonical" continuation. some people would even go so far as to think that everything after act 7 of homestuck just doesn't count at all, because it all takes place outside of canon, so therefore it isn't technically part of the story.

that's.... really ignoring what's going on here though.

both timelines -- both meat and candy -- are canon. i don't mean that they are both happening *inside* the canon, as Rose herself said there's a distinction between events that take place inside canon, outside canon, and events that are completely non-canon, and meat is the timeline with more events taking place inside canon. what i mean to say, more accurately, is that neither timeline is completely non-canon. candy's canonicity is more dubious, sure -- that's the timeline where John doesn't go back to fight Lord English, after all, which Rose has already said would leave that timeline with a more tenuous relationship to canon and the "dissipation" she mentions; this is also why she is telling John there's an urgency to fighting Lord English, and by the epilogue of candy (where hs^2/hsbc picks up from my understanding) it's been nearly 20 years since that conversation, meaning that the timeline is in danger of dissipating completely, which we also see. that doesn't mean that by the end of the story the timeline is completely non-canon however-- in fact, i think it is a very important detail that candy John feels as though the events taking place around him don't feel real, even though they very much are. it really is just like a TV glow moment, so to speak. like he can no longer use his retcon powers, but i think he still has a much looser connection to canon because of them.

and like. on top of this it's important to recognize that Hussie was still involved in the epilogues. like they were being written before she gave the writing team full creative control over the story (with stipulations). if the candy timeline were completely meaningless to the overall story then it... probably would have been completely separate, right? like pesterquest and hiveswap aren't really canon but they contain canon-relevant content. but this is a storyline that's being told as part of a larger story making a meta commentary ABOUT canon and how it relates to the story. it's still very much relevant to the story.

sorry to whoever is being told this for the first time but the homestuck epilogues and the post-canon stuff are still canon to the homestuck storyline and if you think otherwise then you probably either read John's conversation with Rose and didn't really get what Rose was saying about canonicity and just went "oh so none of this will matter and i can basically count it all as akin to fanfiction, yippee!!!!!", or you just read the wiki and saw that everything post canon was marked as "dubiously canon" and decided it doesn't matter

[avicinda]

I frequently see "they're racist to each other" thrown around as criticism of both Faewish Sprites and Pieceys (albeit usually just against one or the other depending if the person likes one of them more) and why no one should like either one, but frankly it makes them both more interesting.

Neither Giroda nor Raggy were exempt from this worldview due to their limited exposure to the other race prior to the game's story, but no one would call either of them bad people even at that point. It's very subtle because there was so much other story happening during the Abandoned District chapters and Raggy's arc amongst the Pieceys takes precedence, but there was definitely an arc of learning and understanding for both of them there too.

Plus, there was that point of how the Forgotten Pieceys—Raggy included!—actually hold no ill will toward Faewish Sprites due to sitting outside their own race's society, reinforcing how much of this worldview was institutional as Raggy, wanting to become part of the system, had to force himself to dislike Giroda at first.

Both Faewish Sprites and Pieceys are also extremely isolated to their respective home regions. Outside of outliers like Giroda and Avicinda in the story, the furthest we've seen Faewish Sprites from the Wishing Woods is the Stylist's Guild Memorial. Pieceys likewise don't travel outside the Abandoned District frequently, perhaps they go to Stoneville at most, with Ms. Dodobear as the one outlier hanging out in Breezy Meadow. There's that famous Mark Twain quote—"Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness"—and Infinity Nikki seems to fully subscribe to this, because in the Left for Home, Right for Wishes quests we learn about a Piecey who traveled all the way to the Wishing Woods and how that experience changed both them and the Faewish Sprites that interacted with them on a personal level. It's also of course, what happens with Giroda.

I also appreciate the acknowledgement of how something this deeply rooted and so wide reaching is a difficult thing to change on a societal scale, and Giroda becoming Wish Master doesn't solve it overnight, but he can use his sudden position of extreme privilege to take tangible first steps toward improving the relationship between the two—and it's notable to me that part of his new policy is "improving Faewish Sprites' education and critical thinking skills" (paraphrased from memory) as a clear way to address not just the unthinking obedience that happened with Chigda, but also to improve understanding and knowledge of the world beyond.

Hopefully we'll see what's happening on the Pieceys' side at some point too! Raggy makes mention of the peace talks. so far I haven't been able to find Commander Cape Theo anywhere after the story tho that might be a skill issue on my part, but I'm very interested in what he has to say.

Characters who have racism as a trait somewhere in there amongst the rest of their character (and that's the important thing, that they are also full characters together with this) do not and should not only be mustache-twirling villains who have nothing else to say. We would all be poorer for it if every piece of modern media shied away from the matter in its heroes.

[khaire-traveler]

hello! i'm not sure if you received my other ask asking about Lord Apollon worship, so i'll send it again, just to be safe.

my entire family is Catholic, and i can't worship Lord Apollo freely in my home. i have to keep him secret, and i have to pretend I'm still a "good Catholic" whenever i'm with my family, i'm scared of what they could do if they discover i'm worshiping "evil gods" (that's what my parents call them, but i don't believe they're evil at all). i am still forced to do everything a Catholic does, including praying to God.

do you think its ok to still pray to another god against your will if you're worshiping another god by will, like Lord Apollon? I'm not sure if this is ok. i'm still fairly new to this, i made a tiny altar to Apollon like 3 days ago. it's not much, just a candle (a 22 ounce candle btw, its BIG), some earrings that remind me of him, a seashell, two golden rings, and a perfume that I think he would like. as i said, it's not much, i still have to keep him kind of hidden, but I'm trying.

sorry if this was a bit long, i just have a lot to say and i think youre the perfect person to ask. thank you for your help and time!

(also, side note: i believe that Lord Apollon likes frappes because i offered him some of mine and i felt warm the entire day)

Khaire, I did get your other ask, Nonny, but my inbox has been very full, sorry.

There are many, many people who have to keep their worship hidden. For hundreds of years, worshippers of the gods have had to hide their worship away, lest they be persecuted or, worse, killed. This is to say that the gods tend to be very understanding of these things. Unfortunately, this isn't something the gods have no experience with. The gods have adapted themselves, I'm sure, to all forms of worship, and they will continue to do so for the rest of time, I'd imagine.

In my experience, the gods aren't cruel. They don't hold these things against people. Apollon is very kind, benevolent, and understanding. If you haven't made him aware of your situation, I would let him know; maybe he could offer some guidance or assistance as you get through this difficult time. It sounds like you still live at home and are maybe young. Things do get much easier once you're able to move out and start choosing life more for yourself. This is a great step, however, into discovering what things you align more with, outside of your family.

It sounds like you've given meaningful and thoughtful offerings. I'm sure Apollon appreciates them. And your altar sounds lovely, too! It's great that you were able to make one, but just know that if it ever compromised your safety, you could always use a digital altar instead. 🫂

I wish you well, Nonny. It's more than ok to have to keep things hidden. I'm sure it's ok to need to pray to a God you may not even believe for your safety. I would imagine Apollon would want you to be safe, first and foremost. He's not the type of god to value his own pride over the safety of his worshippers, in my experience (if that type of god even exists at all, really). Take care of yourself, and know that you have allies in the community. Welcome to Hellenic Polytheism, friend. You're safe here. 🧡

[arcanewhoosh]

Too Soon (Partners in Crime, Chapter 8)

This chapter will also be posted on AO3 here

4.2k words

Proofread? Y/N

Relevant Tags: Jinx x Reader (But this is a Vi focused chapter), Vi & Reader, Mentions of past drug use, Mentions of abuse, Alcohol

Following the success of the Hex Coil project, Jayce and Viktor present to you an unexpected request: A meeting with Vi.

It's over a celebratory dinner, just the three of you, at one of your usual haunts in Piltover, where you get the inkling that Jayce and Viktor are acting just a tad bit strange.

At first, you think it's just cause they're nervous about the report you'll need to file with the council about the Hex Coil project. Maybe they were running scenarios in their head that the council will want to monopolize its use, and charge people a shit ton just to be able to install it; or worse, a subscription service.

But as you're wolfing down one too many salted egg calamari, it occurs to you that this kind of jumpy behavior is often associated with them needing a big favor from you. Like the time you had to do the company's books, or when they told you that they had volunteered you to look after Poro while Heimerdinger's was away.

"Alright," You start. Jayce stops mid-drink of his beer, Viktor mid-chew of his noodles. "Spit it out."

Viktor immediately slurps more noodles, and shrugs, leaving Jayce to fend for himself. Your eyes flit to Jayce, waiting for him to fill you in on whatever he and Viktor were avoiding.

"Uhm—well." His eyes dart around the restaurant, as if something would swoop in to save him. Viktor, finishes up chewing his noodles, and sighs.

"Violet would like to speak with you. I think it is a horrendous idea, but Jayce thinks you should go see her."

"Oh."

"Woah, hold on a second!" Jayce holds his hands up. "I'm not going to try to talk you into seeing her. That's purely up to you, and whatever you decide, we support."

"But?"

He looks off to the side before back to you. "But, my own personal opinion, she seemed sincere in wanting to speak to you."

"She also told us about what happened between you and Powder." Viktor cuts in, earning him a Hey! from Jayce. He shrugs in response.

You lean back on your chair and cross your arms, eyes darting between the two of them. On the one hand, You couldn't say that you were keen on speaking to her, seeing as she's Jinx's sister and they tell each other everything. Jinx telling her about your shouting match isn't really out of character. On the other hand, you do feel like you owe her for what she did for you at the party.

The more you think about it, the more surprised you were that you aren't completely abhorred by the idea. It looks like the high from a successful Hex Coil test deterred any and all bad mood swings, no matter what they were. Except with Jinx, you were still pissed about that.

"Yeah, okay." You say as you shrug.

"We completely understand—"

"Totally valid—Wait what?"

"I beg your pardon?"

You wish you could pull your phone out and snap a phot of their agape mouths, but you decide to take the high road and answer them first.  "Yeah, okay. I can talk to Vi. When does she want to meet?"

It's Jayce who recovers first. "Really?"

"Yes, Jayce."

"You heard me correctly, didn't you?" Viktor says, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes Viktor. Vi wants to speak with me, I'm willingly agreeing to."

He sits up straight. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Well, do you know why she wants to talk to me? That would help me decide whether it's a good idea or not." They both shake their heads.

A thought occurs to you, and you grin. "You two weren't banking on the Hex Coil working before telling me this, were you?" They shake their heads and quickly try to dispel any notion that they would do that, and you laugh. "Alright, alright. Would you have told me this if it didn't work?"

"Probably not."

"Definitely not."

"Fair enough."

Vi wants to talk, huh? The more the thought sits with you, them more curious you get. What did she even want to talk about? Did Jinx ask her to speak with you? Probably not, you muse. Even though Vi was her closest confidant, Jinx's pride would never let her ask her sister for help in this department.

Your face sours momentarily at the thought of Jinx, but you're able to recover quickly enough, turning your attention back to Jayce and Viktor.

"Well, I guess I'm okay with speaking with her. Besides," You shrug, "I kind of owe her for the whole party thing, might as well hear her out." Viktor sits back in his chair, seemingly gauging whether or not you're being genuine. Jayce is tapping his finger on his beer glass, waiting if you're going to say anything else. The former sighs.

"Well, I guess, if you believe that this isn't for any nefarious reasons, you could go see her."

You stifle a laugh. "Why would you think that she'd have nefarious reasons to speak to me." He shrugs and takes a sip of his wine before muttering You never know.

"So it's settled, then." Jayce says. "I'll let her know that you're okay to talk. She left me her card," He slides over Vi's business card to you. "Said you can text her what time you're available, and she'll adjust."

You take the card, flipping it through your fingers. Detective Sergeant it read, and you whistle at the rank. "Someone's moving up in the world."

"Not as much as you'll be moving up once we get the Hex Coil up and running." You grin at Jayce's words. It looks like the success of the Hex Coil not only boosted your mood, but could immediately make you forget about whatever else you were previously talking about.

"To the fucking—ow! Sorry." You rub the spot Viktor slapped on your shoulder, as he nods towards the customers that turned their heads your way. "—to the Hex Coil." You say, voice a few notches quieter, and raise your glass.

"To the Hex Coil." Your mentors say.

---

"I don't know about this."

"Well you won't be able to tell anything with your eyes closed—ow!"

"You're not helping, Mylo!" Your grip on the tree trunk tightens as Vi continues to scold Mylo. You hazard a look at the squabbling teenagers, all standing on a thick tree root, big enough to hold the weight of several adults, safely; across a huge river crossing, too huge for you to jump over!

"I'm just saying, even Powder made it across." Mylo retorts, gesturing to Powder, who was also trying to coax you to jump.

"I don't think I can make it." You say, turning your head to hide in the trunk. As long as you can't see the river, it can't hurt you.

"You'll be fine! I got you!" Violet calls out. You turn your face away from the trunk, and blink.

---

"I got one chicken, one beef gyro with fries to go for number nineteen!"

You look up from your phone as your order is announced. Despite the long queue of people during the lunch rush, you were hardly deterred from ordering your favorite--cholesterol infused, according to Viktor--lunch items. Despite Viktor's warning faintly echoing in your mind, and the fact that this particular food truck is way too far for you to make it back to the office in time, you don't mind making the walk there. After all, Jayce did give you the option to have the afternoon off, since you had a personal errand to run.

"I had drinks with those?" You tell the server as you hand him your number. A scrawny looking kid with a mop of red hair, can't be older than sixteen, shuffles around the bag and inspects the receipt.

"Oh sorry" He says. A tap on his shoulder prompts him to step to the side as a large burly man comes into view through the window, handing you two sodas.

"Orange and root beer?" The man says to you. You grin as you take the sodas and the bag of food.

"You know me too well, Jericho. Thanks!" Jericho winks at you before waving you off, looking over the new orders that had just come in for the truck. Just as you're about to head off to the side, you hear someone call out your name.

You turn and spot the source of the voice, donned in her Enforcer uniform, with her shiny badge on her waist.

You'll never admit this to Vi, of course, but you spent a good chunk of the week running through how you were going to start this conversation. All the introductions you could make without you looking like a complete idiot. You weren't exactly on good terms with her—you were on terrible terms—before your confinement, and even when your circles intermingled again, neither of you made an effort to seek the other out. Between that, what she did for you back at Jinx's party, and now the invitation to talk—you weren't sure how you were gonna go about the entire ordeal. You decided to play it off how you would meet up with Viktor or Jayce. Whatever that meant.

"I got us food." You raised the bag and two sodas, an offering of peace. Vi eyes the bag, then the food truck, then lets out a small smirk.

"Some things haven't changed, I see." She grabs the sodas from you, freeing up one of your hands. You see through the air of nonchalance; she's following your lead.

You shrug. "Jericho's the best."

"Indeed he is."

A beat of silence passes as neither of you know what to say next. Vi shuffles in place, and you rub the back of your neck.

"The park's still there-"

"You know the park-"

You pipe down at the same time, before you chuckle, the tension around the both of you easing up.

"The park then?" She asks.

"Lead the way detective." You nod to the direction of the park. Eventually falling in step with Vi.

It's a short walk, and there weren't a lot of people around since most were scrambling to finish lunch and get back to work. There's a slight charge to the silence that settles over the both of you as you head to a set of monkey bars and some old seesaws.

You look over to Vi, who shrugs and hands you the sodas, before hoisting herself up on the bars. You hand her your lunch and pull yourself up, settling next to her. She hands you your food and soda, and you both eat in relative silence.

"So, want me to just rip off the band aid?" She says after a while.

To be honest, you thought that was how she was going to start the conversation, but you decide to not comment that, and instead nod your head. "Yeah… I mean, I'm really curious as to why you wanted to talk in the first place."

Vi is sat in front of you, but facing away and staring off at something on the ground. Nevertheless, she lets you know that she's listening by nodding her head.

"Have I angered the fuzz?" She snorts at your question, mid-chew. "You thought I wanted to talk to you cause my sister ran her mouth?"

You shrug. "It's either that or what you did for me last month at the party."

---

"You'll be fine!" Vi shouts at you again. The others have started walking ahead, looking for some place more comfortable to rest.

"What if I won't be? What if I don't make it and fall into the river?" The offending river apparently hears you, and you swear the volume of the water rushing through increases.

"I'll catch you, don't worry about it! Just… Take a breath, and run and jump!" She beckons you over with her arms.

The river is scary. Very, very scary. Too wide to jump for you. But Vi sounds like she's sure about being able to catch you, and it's not like you can find your way back on your own if you turn around.

You look over to the older girl, and she smiles at you, nodding her head over.

"Okay!" You manage.

"Alright! Just…whenever you're ready."

"Okay…" You cling to the tree for a few more seconds.

"…Any time now, bud." You make a face, resigning to the fact that you have to actually jump, and not just agree.

You hesitate for a moment, heart thudding in your chest as you slowly inch your foot forward, little by little. Eventually, you're far enough where you have to let go of the tree. Your hand tries to stay connected to it as long as possible, eventually your fingers being too far to be able to touch.

"Good." Vi moves forward from where she is on the root. "Now just, jump when I count to three."

You nod and let out a breath, steadying yourself for the leap.

"One-"

---

"Hey, you still here?" Vi reaches over and snaps her fingers in front of you. You swat her hand away.

"Yeah, sorry, drifted off there a bit." She holds her gaze at you for a bit before nodding. Now wasn’t the best time to push the subject, not when this was your first chance to actually talk.

"So…why did you want to talk?" She leans back a bit, her legs idly swinging from under her. She looks a bit ridiculous doing it in her enforcer uniform, but you bite your tongue. That's something old chums would say. No sense of familiarity, not between the both of you.

"The party, actually."

"Hm." You purse your lips. You're surprised by your own reaction. Initially, you thought that you'd be okay discussing it, that your curiosity—and the high from the Hex Coil—would be enough of a cushion for your mood. But apparently, there's still a smidgen of bitterness at the thought of it.

Vi looks over to you. "You sure you're okay talking about it?"

"Rip the band aid off, right?" You say, taking another bite.

She nods. "Rip off the band aid…" A sigh, as she sets her food down on her lap and dusts off her hands. "I like to think I saw you at the worst part of your life." Oh wow, she was actually ripping off the band aid. "But the party… I've never seen you so angry."

You stop mid-chew, considering the implied question in her words. No one had ever described you as a violent child. And you weren't an angry teenager, either. Even with your troubling history with substance abuse, you were never violent with anyone. Your first outburst had surprised even you. It earned you a beating from the officers back in the day.

"A lot happened in between, Vi." You take a swig of your soda. "I tried figuring that stuff out with a therapist, she said it was a lot of unregulated emotions that kind of overflowed—which I think is utter bullshit." She snorts at your remark. "Cause we supposedly worked through all of those issues. But clearly the party shows otherwise."

"When did it start? Was it someone messing with you in juvie?"

"I got messed with as much as all the other kids did." You shrug. "I can't tell you how it started, really. It just happened one day, then I was angry all the time."

There's a look in Vi's eyes you know too well. Pity. It was a look that Jayce had thrown at you a lot when he first heard your story, not long after the two of you met. It wasn't his fault he had such a terrible poker face, but you still eventually told him off and stated that you didn't need his pity. Mel had thankfully only looked at you with pity a split second before keeping her face neutral. And Viktor had never looked at you that way at all.

"You know," You start. "I used to think I was angry because I thought you narc'd on me." Her eyebrows furrow at you.

"You thought I narc'd on you and Powder?"

"I did until I remembered that she also got arrested." You take another bite of your food, chewing thoughtfully before continuing. "As much as you hated that we were using, you'd never ruin her future for it."

"And she didn't have some hotshot councilor that saw potential in her and plucked her out." She adds dryly.

"It's not my fault Mel saw potential." You add air quotes as you say it. "Anyway, the bottom line is, I don't know why I got angry, I just know it happens if you bring up mum dying or anything related to it."

"Your birthday." Her remark catches the both of you off guard, and you have to take a breath. "Yup, that too."

A few minutes of silence pass, the both of you quietly eating your food. Vi doesn't follow up with any questions about your time in juvie, and you're thankful for it. The last thing you wanted to talk about was getting beat by discipline officers or getting your head dunked into a toilet.

"I'm sorry." She says finally. You turn to her, and you're surprised by the sincerity in her eyes. "That all of that had to happen to you. And that I cut you off all those years." You scoff at the last part.

Your answer is immediate, straightforward, rehearsed. "I think I would've done the same if—"

"You were a kid." She interjects, but it doesn't really change your sentiments.

Enough time should have already passed for you to not be bothered. You know you shouldn't be bothered, but your jaw still tightens. "I was old enough to know right from wrong."

"Still—"

"I made peace with that part, Vi." You say firmly, more to convince yourself than her. There was no need for any of you to dwell in the past. "Besides, it got me here. So I guess—I guess it worked out in the end."

She holds your gaze, looking for any cracks in your resolve. The moment passes when she sighs deeply, still in obvious disagreement with you. But she doesn't push the subject, and another stretch of silence passes between you two.

"Mylo and Ekko are sorry, too." She settles.

"Really?" You ask sarcastically.

"They are." She insists, turning fully towards you. "I know Jayce and Cait told you to steer clear of them, but it was me who asked them to do that. You know, while I tried to get them to see sense."

"Why are they suddenly so sorry?"

"Because they realized they were being outright dicks? Especially since they haven't seen you in years?"

A snort. "Or you twisted their arms."

She shrugs, a smirk playing on her lips. "Maybe, maybe not. But they're sincere, I swear."

You feel yourself relax a bit, the tension in your shoulders dissipating. "I'm sorry for what I did at the party." Vi purses her lips, before nodding. "You shouldn't have beat the crap out of those two, but you shouldn't be apologizing, either."

The two of you finish off your lunches as a comfortable silence settles over the empty playground. Judging by the lack of people running around the sidewalk, you guess that it's probably well past lunch time, and at some point, you should be heading back to work.

Right on cue, your phone buzzes. A message from Jayce.

Do you need the afternoon off? It's fine if you do.

"Do you need to be getting back?"

A shrug. "I probably should."

Vi nods, jumping off from the monkey bars and dusting herself off. You follow suit, and the both of you are left at an awkward point where you have to say goodbye.

"Listen." She starts. Shuffling around on her feet. "Thank you, for agreeing to meet with me. I know this wasn't easy for you."

"You caught me at a good time, actually." She raises an eyebrow at you. "We had a breakthrough at work, so I was in a really good mood when Jayce and Viktor told me about this."

"Oh. Would you not have met with me if you just had a normal day at work?"

"Maybe? I think still would've. This conversation was kind of long overdue, yeah?"

"Yeah. That and…" She trails off a bit, but you wait patiently as she tries to find her words. She stands up straighter, and looks you straight in the eyes.

"I want to fix things."

She waits for a beat for you to react. Not that you could, the words were still processing in your head. "I know it's been years, and I've also been a complete dick to you in the last few months, but I wanna try and make up for it… For all of it."

You blink, then blink again. The shock on your face must be obvious, because Vi is quick to put her hands up in a placating manner. "Only if you want to. I'm not gonna force us all to go back to how we were when we were kids. I don't know if we can go back to how things were. But I'd really like to try, at least, and the guys would too."

Whatever initial expectations you had prior to meeting with Vi, whatever guess you could've made on why she wanted to meet, this definitely wasn't in any of them. After all the silence—and the minor hostility at times—here was an olive branch; a request to start over.

You like to think that any self-respecting person would turn down her offer. Anyone who's been cut-off then treated poorly should know better. People are only ever in your life for as long as they need to be, and clinging onto old memories and feelings is unneeded, cruel to yourself, even.

---

"I'm sorry I couldn't jump, Vi."

"Don't sweat it, kiddo."

You look over to her, checking to see if she's upset. She was looking forward to this trip, after all. "You're not mad at me?"

"F'course not." She nudges you with her shoulder, mouth half-full of food. "Why would I be mad?"

"Cause I wasn't brave enough to do it?" She scoffs, inhaling the rest of her sandwich. "So you weren't ready to jump over a river, you'll be ready one day. Maybe not tomorrow or a week from now, but one day."

You consider her words as you take a tentative bite from your own sandwich; packed by your mom for the trip there. "What if I'm never ready?"

A shrug. "Then we don't go over this river."

"But what if the others want to jump over?"

"They can jump over, me and you can hike around it."

"Even if you want to jump over?"

"I'd rather all of you safe and having fun."

"Even if you can't jump over this river forever?"

"Even if I can't ever jump over this river forever."

You smile sadly at her, shoulders slumping slightly. "Mum's boyfriend says I'm a sissy sometimes."

"Yeah, well. He's a dick. Don't ever think you have to do something you don't want to." She ruffles you hair and sits back on a tree, before squinting at something in the distance. "There they are. Told you they'd come back for us… or at least for the snacks."

You follow her gaze and spot your friends waving over to you, their loud voices already bouncing off the trees. Vi stands up and starts walking towards them, before turning back to you. "I'll always be there for 'ya kiddo. Alright?"

---

"And Jinx?"

A shrug. "Eh, she's a big girl now. You're issues with each other are yours."

You snort. "Does she know you're doing this?"

"Yeah, duh. She'd kill the both of us if I didn't tell her about it first." "And she's fine with this?"

"She said I could do what I want."

you narrow your eyes slightly. "So what, are you gonna have a family dinner and invite me over, or something?"

"Actually," She takes the bag of wrappers and empty sodas, walking over to a trash bin "I don't know if Jayce told you this yet, but we're all going camping next weekend."

You raise an eyebrow at her. "Camping?"

"Yup, the guys wanted to go, so I invited Cait, Cait asked if she could invite Jayce..." Vi continues to ramble on how Jayce said yes and invited Mel, but that Viktor had turned him down.

Stuck in the middle of the wilderness with people you aren't on the best terms with—sans Jayce and Mel—for an extended period of time, sounds like a terrible idea. Anyone in their right mind would immediately say no, also, your ex—did you two break up? Were you officially dating?—was going to be there. A bad idea, very bad idea.

Almost as bad as jumping over a river.

"I'll... I'll think about it."

Vi stops mid-sentence, eyes wide. The hopeful glint in her eye is evident as she lets out a breath. "Really?"

"That doesn't mean I'm leaning towards a yes, Vi."

"No, yeah, totally, it's fine." The hope fades a bit, but you still see it. "Just... Let Jayce know, yeah? And he'll let me know?"

"Sure, Vi."

She wipes her hands on her pants, a pensive smile on her face. "I'll uh, see you around?"

You mirror the smile she gives you. "I'll see you around."

[darkfluffydragon]

Cookie Run AU Ideas #16: Mirror Mirror On the Wall

The 'corruption' takes on a different form here. A separate being, a different consciousness. It sneaks into the minds of cookies, whispering in their thoughts in the voices of their hosts. It is Darkness, there is a god of the moon, sea, wind, fire, why would there not be some entity of darkness? However, this one is not exactly granted a cookie form. It can take one instead.

It was too late, but the time the virtue of Knowledge realised his thoughts were not his own. That his actions had no longer become choices he truly wanted, and that something else was pulling on the strings. It had snuck into his souljam, it had used him. It turned the spell it forced him to design against him, and trapped him within a mirror, leaving him sealed away while it took his body and his name in order to burn the world to ashes and drown it in shadows and corruption. Meanwhile, he remained trapped, unable to leave or find a way out.

What about his friends? What had happened to them? What about the cookies, the witches? He didn't know, he couldn't leave.

He didn't know how long he had been trapped, a shapeless being, a mirror without a form to reflect. Then she came along. A cookie with white hair, dark fuchsia eyes, a flower adorning her hair. A young cookie with a curious mind. And so it was her form he took, he...didn't exactly remember what he was supposed to look like anymore, anyways.

She asked this 'magic mirror' questions, endless questions in which he answered. It was...fun. He had not spoken to anyone in a very long time. Even if her questions became concerning, became worrisome. Why did she need to know about how cookies were made? Where were her friends, why did she spend so much time speaking to her own reflection?...At least he could learn a bit about what happened outside. Everything seemed...fine. Though there was no mention of what had happened to the imposter, to his friends. Where were they? Why did she hold his friend's souljam?

Then she vanished too. And she returned as someone else, and he could feel its traces within her magic.

When he no longer answered her questions, she grew angry. His mirror was shattered, and though it hurt, he would rather not cause more harm with what she would learn from him. She left and he was alone again. In pieces, this time. He didn't bother trying to keep track of how long it was.

The second was a king. One with a kingdom to lose, one with different eyes and a kind smile. He recognised this cookie, even if his memory had deteriorated during all this time. The first always spoke about him, about her only friend. Even if the king had patched up the mirror to the best of his ability, the mirror was hesitant to help. Hesitant to give answers, and he did not speak about the first to the second. What if the second fell to the darkness, like the first? The first had his souljam, he didn't understand. What happened after that fateful day? Why does no one know?

The second spoke of a war, of an enchantress, of heroes and a battle, and the people he wishes to protect. Reluctantly, the mirror gave the king methods in which to help. Teachings, lessons, knowledge. That which the darkness could not take from him when it stole his body. He taught it to the king.

The king did not return either.

The third was a child. A little wizard, with a cone hat and much potential, though he did not have a teacher to properly cultivate such talent. This shall..be the final one.

[flamingspud]

Grian missed being warm. Or dry, for that matter. He wished he was back home, curled up in a blanket in front of the fire with a steaming mug of hot chocolate in his hands. Instead, he found himself following Scar across the desert, his teeth chattering and his toes very well about to fall off.

After a series of disappearances leaves the small town of Fissig reeling, Grian and Scar decide to flee across the Frozen Plane to avoid meeting that fate. However, it seems fate has other plans for them.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64235227

My fifth work for the @mcyt-soulmate-sweepstakes ! The prompt was Desert!

Fic under the cut

Grian missed being warm. Or dry, for that matter. He wished he was back home, curled up in a blanket in front of the fire with a steaming mug of hot chocolate in his hands.

Instead, he found himself following Scar across the desert, his teeth chattering and his toes very well about to fall off. 

"It's been days," he complained. Were they even going in the right direction?

For miles around all he could see was white, the sunlight's reflection on the snow blinding him if he looked at it wrong.

"That just means we're making progress!" Scar replied cheerfully.

Grian scowled. "How can you be so positive?"

The taller man turned back and grinned at Grian. "Because I'm with my best friend, silly!"

Grian held eye contact for a moment before quickly looking away and letting out a huff. "You don't even know if we'll make it to safety before running out of rations."

It was a valid concern, after all their decision to cross the Frozen Plane was nothing short of impulsive.

Grian caught how Scar's features grew weary out of the corner of his eyes. "I don't."

Grian was startled by Scar's change in demeanour.

"But," Scar continued, "giving up before we die is pointless. Sure, we might get eaten by ice monsters, maybe we'll run out of rations, or we will just drop dead from the cold. But we could also live! We could make it to Tosbaquet, and not worry about getting taken!"

They had decided to flee their hometown after people had started going missing. At first it seemed like a once in a lifetime tragedy, something that their small town would talk about for decades to come as their greatest tragedy.

But then more people started going missing.

Panic spread like wildfire. The most paranoid of the group started locking themselves inside, while many wondered if they'd simply found jobs elsewhere and forgot to tell anyone they were moving. Grian was one of those, thinking that maybe they had braved the desert for a better life in Tosbaquet.

Then Mumbo disappeared. Not only would he never leave Grian without so much as a note, but he loved Fissig. The people, the weather, the misshapen roads, all if it appealed to Mumbo in a way that Grian could never understand.

After that he decided that he'd leave too, not wanting to succumb to the same fate.

Grian raised his eyebrows. "Ice monsters?"

Scar waved him off. "Eh, folktales."

The two continued on, but Grian's thoughts lingered. Where was Mumbo? What happened to him? Whatever it was, Grian hoped it was painless.

"Did you know," Scar said, "that in the rest of the world the word desert is used to describe somewhere hot and sandy?"

"Really?" Grian asked. "That sounds ridiculous."

"It's true!" Scar insisted. "Desert technically means a desolate area with little or no vegetation. The cold isn't required."

"But if it was sunny, wouldn't it just be like a holiday?"

Scar shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe we can go visit one sometime, see for ourselves."

"After this I think I'll need a break from the snow."

From the corner of his eye, Grian saw something move. "Did you see that?"

"See what?" Scar asked, turning around to fully face Grian.

Before Grian could convince himself it was some trick of the light, he saw it move again, a few metres away from them. A small mound of snow moved back and forth, but instead of breaking apart it remained smooth, as if the snow was some sort of blanket, and underneath a creature was struggling to find its way out.

The pair watched with trepidation, and Grian found himself clinging onto Scar's arm.

His jaw fell when the snow rose, forming itself into the form of a giant something- it had a round body, long arms and stumpy legs made from snow and ice.

An ice monster, Grian realised. But they weren't meant to be real, they were just stories.

He was about to state that fact in a lame attempt to make this thing go away when it swung its arm at them.

Scar pulled them to the ground just in time, the snow making their fall relatively painless.

They awkwardly scrambled away as the thing moved to attack them again.

Luckily it wasn't very fast, but Grian and Scar had been walking for days and the snow further slowed them down.

They did their best to run away, but it managed to grab Scar by the torso and hoist him into the air.

"Scar!" Grian didn't know what to do, he didn't have anything that'd be of any use in this kind of fight.

He watched helplessly as the monster dangled Scar in the air, its featureless head turning to face him.

Grian stumbled backwards and fell over. He couldn't do this. Despite their attempts, they were going to die anyway.

All of a sudden, something that looked like it was made of pink light pierced the monster's body, causing it to stop.

It fell apart into an ordinary lump of snow, and Scar dropped to the ground with a thud.

Grian scurried over to him, tripping over the snow as he did. "Scar!"

While he checked Scar for injuries, he noticed a woman with pink hair inspecting something in her hand. "Yup- it's just a golem."

"Who stations a golem all the way out here?" Her companion, a man, asked. He mustn't have had the same amount of dye as the woman, as the green in his hair was only a streak.

"Mysterious, isn't it?" She said dramatically.

The man rolled his eyes. 

She pouted. "It is!"

"I didn't say it wasn't," the man told her, "but we're on a job. We need to focus."

"You're no fun."

"Who are they?" Scar asked, sitting up.

The pair snapped their heads to look at them, either having forgotten about their presence or never having noticed them to begin with.

"Oi," the man called, "did you two summon this golem?"

Grian shook his head. Golem?

The man narrowed his eyes at them.

Grian noticed how their clothes were odd- colourful robes and cloaks that dragged rather than the more practical choice of neutral-coloured coats and trousers that he and Scar wore.

The woman dusted snow from her purple sleeve. "Do you know which way Fissig is?" She asked.

"We just came from there actually!" Scar offered. "It's North from here."

The two strangers looked at each other. 

"You're from Fissig?" The man demanded.

Scar nodded.

"Why do you want to know?" Grian added.

The man huffed. "If you must know we've been sent to investigate. Something weird's going on there and I suggest you stay as far away as possible."

"You mean the disappearances?" Grian asked.

The man rolled his eyes and groaned. "Yes I mean the disappearances."

"Who are you?" Scar asked.

"We," the woman began, making her voice loud and dramatic, "are from the Secret Society of Supernatural Soldiers."

"Doesn't sound so secret if you're announcing it like that," Grian muttered.

"Anyone without express permission forgets about our existence once we make it a certain distance away," she explained, "it allows us to perform magic without worrying about witnesses. Also it means I can tell you things."

With a flick of her wrist a sleigh made of that same pink light from before appeared.

"Well, this has been nice," the man commented, stepping onto the sled, "have fun on your trek."

"Take me with you."

"Grian?" Scar was looking at him like he was some kind of alien.

"Yeah, we don't take normies, sorry," the woman said, not sounding too apologetic.

"But we could help!" Grian insisted, "we're locals, we know the ins and outs- along with the people who went missing!"

The man wasn't interested in his pitch.

"Please," Grian begged, "if there's anything I can do to help my friend, I'll do it."

The man let out an annoyed huff, but the woman was looking at him, really looking at him, like she could see something deeper.

She then turned to Scar. "What do you think?"

Scar looked slowly between Grian and the woman. "If Grian's going back," he decided, "then I am too."

The woman looked at the man with wide eyes. 

"Lizzie, no."

"They could be useful," she insisted, "If they're our guides, we won't need to expose ourselves to anyone else. The locals might be more open to talk about the abnormal activity."

"How do we know they're not behind this?" The man questioned.

Lizzie turned to look at them. "Well, are you?"

Grian furiously shook his head. "I would never hurt Mumbo!"

Lizzie glanced at her companion, who let out a sigh. "Fine, get in."

Grian did not hesitate and soon the four of them were speeding back towards Fissig, the town that Grian had sworn he was leaving behind only a few days before.

Lizzie informed them that her friend's name was Joel, and that the society had chosen to dispatch only her and Joel since Fissig was so out of the way from anything.

In turn, Grian and Scar told her about how, since they barely got newcomers, it was rare for things like this to happen.

Before they'd reached it (which by the way, Lizzie's sleigh only took a few hours rather than days) Grian and Scar lent them some clothes so that they'd be less conspicuous, and then made the last leg of the journey on foot.

When they got back, their neighbours certainly had their questions, but Scar easily told them how Lizzie and Joel were his cousins, and that he and Grian had gone out into the desert to lead them back.

As he brought Lizzie and Joel back to his place, he took in the sights of the village. The boarded up windows of the paranoid, the missing posters, and the misshapen roads.

I will find you, Grian quietly promised, I won't abandon you again.

Little did any of them know what kind of story was about to unfold around them.

[married-to-google-translater]

How would act yandere william,Albert,william(of moriarty the patriot) maleus,riddle roseheart,(twisted neverland)uzui,doma,kokushibo,akaza(demon slayer) with a reader who have a cat and say "i will marry/date you if my cat love you !

Problem number 1:the cat hate the yandere and don't hide it(and he will make many nasty thing like make him drop his stuff, wake him up in the middle of the night with these claws and start stealing their place to ask the reader for hugs)

The cat in front of the yandere:

What the yandere will do in front of this adorable little demon ???? :3

Doing this now for Yandere Douma and Akaza

Yandere Douma

Your cat would cause Douma new emotions.

Mainly anger and frustration…

But hey, new emotions are new emotions :D

Aluski Douma would definitely not pay attention to your cat.

When you decided to join Douma's cult.

This was going well until Douma started showing interest in you.

At this point, the problems set in.

Douma really doesn't understand why your cat's approval is so important to you.

Yeah, Douma really doesn't understand affection for animals.

Your cat would definitely hate Douma and Douma really hates your cat.

If Douma could, he would definitely get rid of your cat.

However, the cat is smart enough to avoid Douma.

Douma usually just gives the cat to his followers so he can spend time with you.

This man would be jealous of the time you spend with your cat.

Douma would definitely use your cat as blackmail material.

You'd better just obey him :3

If you married him, he could ensure a good life for you and your cat.

Yandere Akaza

Okay, well, this would be really weird to say the least.

You weren't worried about him being a demon.

In fact, you didn't seem to care.

Instead, you seemed more interested in how your cat liked him.

Akaza certainly wouldn't complain about this, though.

He would be willing to give your cat a chance…

However, the feeling wouldn't be mutual.

Your cat will definitely smell his yandere tendencies.

Your cat would hiss and bite Akaza whenever possible.

Akaza would be one of the only people who would try to get along with your cat.

Your cat doesn't care what this demon is up to though.

R.I.P Akaza's vest.

Your cat would definitely destroy it many times over.

Akaza wouldn't have much else to own lol.

However, Akaza won't let your cat stop your relationship.

Akaza would try to respect your wishes but he doesn't want to lose you.

After all, you belong only to him.

It would be best for the cat to accept that.

[bubblecat-co]

Fragment Friday

The idea was made by @dragonagegayz

So for Fragment Friday I want to see some fragments of the work you've been working on! Be it arts, writing, gifs, collages, etc! Whatever work you got cooking, let us see! (Can be anything!) Also, highlight/color a fragment that you are particularly proud of!

I wasn't explicitly tagged but @becausedragonage had an open tag SOO. All my stuff is gonna be under the cut

I will be tagging @antivan-sprig @booksncatsworld @a-mumbling-nerd @wardentabriis @ezriell @madrabbit014 and anyone else who wishes to join. Y'all do not have to if you don't want to!

first, I have an edit I've been working on for awhile

Next is a lil thing I've been reworking and redoing for awhile, It's going to have it's own place in my Davrin and Aria fic "everybody but them" It's a Conversation with everyone's favorite Assassin Zevran.

He chuckled at her confusion and motioned for her to sit across from him. She slowly pulled the stool out, taking her seat. “You said that people call you Rook, no? My wife has told me about the one called Rook who is fighting elven gods. I guess it’s strangely fitting that it’s you.”  “I- wife?” he nodded a bright smile on his face as he lifted his hand and wiggled his ring finger. On it was a golden band that glistened in the dim light. “Oh, when? Who? And how does she know?”  “I met her on my contract, you could say it was love at first sight.” he swooned, a playful smile on his lips as he rested his head on his hand. “I tried killing her, she beat me. While covered in other people’s blood and I was on the ground bloody myself. She let me live, I guess it was my charm.”  “You tried killing her?” “I know, a real love story huh.” he chuckled “as for who? She has many names. Warden Commander, Arl of Amaranthe, Hero of Ferelden but to me and you she is Adahla Mahariel. I think that would answer your third question, would it not?” She laughed and she couldn’t help but do so. Her uncle had managed to marry one of his marks and she is one of the most renowned women in all of Thedas. The memory of Weishaupt seemed to slip into her mind, oh maker she was a warden. “Was she at-” “Weishaupt?” Zevran seemed to sit up straighter “Not originally, word got to her about the darkspawn, and you understand self-righteousness. She had to be there.”  “Wardens.” Aria sighed. “Yea, I’m assuming that your friend there is the Warden who slayed the archdemon, no?”  “You heard about that too?” “Txavo, news like that always finds its way around.” Didn’t she know it. Throughout her two months of dealing with these blighted Gods everyone seemed to know the name ‘Rook’ and what she looked like. She hated it, assassin’s weren’t supposed to be known like that even Lucanis’ identity wasn’t truly known, only the name given to him by the Tevinter News sheet. It was off putting to say the least. “Speaking of your friend.” his smile was devious as he leaned closer to her “is he your lover?” “Por Hacedor, Zio!” She could feel her face begin to warm at the mention of Davrin in that way which only caused laughter to erupt from her uncle, amusement flashing in his eyes. “He’s just my colleague. Why would you want to know that? To gossip?” His laughter still hung in the air as he spoke, “I just want to know what my niece has been doing, or who.” he winked at her, his smile only growing on his face as she felt heat flush through to her cheeks. “But my dear, colleagues do not look at each other the way you two look at one another but I will not pry.”  “Thank you.” She was exasperated. He was insane to say something like that, of course they were flirty but neither had crossed that line. ‘The way you two look at one another’ what in maker’s name does that even mean. He barely saw them interact for two seconds, now this was something that’s going to bother her for the rest of the day, possibly for the rest of the week.  “You’re thinking about it.” he hummed, watching her expectantly. He wanted her to reach some conclusion, but she wasn’t sure what conclusion that was. “Do not dwell on it too much Txavo. Wardens always seem to make it clear eventually. "

Speaking of my Aria and Davrin fic "everybody but them" I want to share my rough draft of chapter two. It's from Harding's perspective.

The silence was interrupted by the faint sound of laughter. For a moment Harding thought it was the sound of her friends in distress but as she grew closer it was clear that it was Aria’s laughter filled the space followed by Davrin’s low chuckle. As she grew close, she could see it, Aria running in the snow her weapons on the ground. She held something in her hand. She turned her body away as a thing of snow pelted against her. Harding’s gaze followed where the snow came from and caught on to Davrin who was crouched down desperately trying to pick up some snow. Smiles lit both of their faces. Aria’s pitch-black hair was highlighted with the white of snow from other attacks. Her cheeks were flushed red from the slight cold. Davrin had snow linger in his hair while he clearly got Aria, she also got him. Assan ran in the snow running back and forth between the two elves before he took off in the air to circle them from above. Harding didn’t want to interrupt and bring an end to their enjoyment so for a while she decided to stay back and watch them. She watched for the first time as Aria let loose, a bright smile on her face and her laughter only growing as she ran around trying to stay out of Davrin’s fire. She tossed the ball of snow in her hands hitting him square in the face even as he tried to move so it would hit the back of his head instead. “Oh, come on Warden that the best you got!”  “Tough talk for a crow that’s about to get iced!”  “Your trash talk could use some work!” “So could yours!” he hid behind the mining cart that sat unmoving on the rail tracks. Harding couldn’t help the smile on her face as she watched. Aria seemed to dance in the snow as she moved quickly and quietly to get the upper hand on Davrin. Harding had never seen her so relaxed or seen that big of a smile on her face even her laughter was different. There was no strain, no stress, nothing holding her back she was just her and she seemed to only be like that with Davrin.

This one isn't with my Rook, Shocker I know! This one is instead my Inquisitor, Aelon Lavellan.

“So you are adventuring off without me? I’m hurt.” Aelon couldn’t help the smile that stretched on her lips as she turned to see her closest friend, Dainara. They were around the same age, and many would say they were a lot alike but in truth Aelon was alot like Dainara while Dainara wasn’t anything like her. Everything Aelon did was a mimic of her friend. What she would do in her position and how she would handle situations. It led to a lot of problems but also helped Aelon through them when she didn’t know how to make her way out. “I wouldn’t dream of it, the Dread wolf would have to take me for that to happen.” she retorted back.  “You say that and then he will.” Dainara nudged her. Her choppy red hair lightly danced in the slight breeze that ran past them. “I can help you pack, Maybe I can convince the keeper to allow me to travel with you?” “I doubt she would agree to that.” The two girls began to walk together. Around them everyone of the Clan slowly became more lively. Children ran around chasing one another while also being chased by Aelon's mother and sister, Harhen Ashiril and Dar'Elgara, the children squealed as they tried to move away from the two older elves.  “What will your Mamae say?” Dainara kept her voice low as they Walked past them. Her eyes watch Ashiril wearily before returning back to her friend. “Everyone is aware how she feels about anyone going away from the clan, much less the World of the shems.”  “I will just have to handle it. Come help me pack? And we can try to brainstorm what I will say.” Aelon grabbed her friend's hand. Oh, how she will miss her while she’s away but no matter it shouldn't take her long, a couple months is what she hopes. She would just be there to listen, nothing more. 

Finally, is rough draft of an argument between my Warden, Adahla Mahariel and Alistair.

“Then what do you mean?” she could hear the small hint of sadness in his voice as it slightly cracked. She felt his hand touch her shoulder, a simple and gentle touch one that she wanted to keep, to have as her own but it wasn’t her own. He wasn’t and couldn’t be hers, he was a Human and she was an elf. She dropped her hands into her lap and turned to him. She felt her heart break as she was met with Alistair’s sad expression.  “We can’t…” she mumbled “You are to be king.” “I don’t need to be king, Anora can remain the throne and-” “No, Alistair… you need to be king.” In the moment sadness seemed to completely vanish from Alistair, replaced by frustration and anger as he removed his hand. “What do you mean? I do not want to be king especially if it means that I can’t have-” “Alistair listen..” “No. I’m sick of listening.” he stood up “Everyone tells me what I have to be but I don’t have to be. I don’t need to be king and I don’t want to be king. You seemed to have understood that and now you are throwing whatever we- we have so I can be something I don’t want to be.” “You need to be king!” she stood up, matching his energy. “You are the only one who should be on that throne, Alistair. You want revenge and Loghain to pay for his crimes? You think Anora the current queen and his daughter will rightfully do that? You can help your people and my people on that throne with that power!”  “There’s more to it, isn’t there? Is it Zevran!?”  “What would he have anything to do with this?!”  “I’ve seen you two! I know something is there but if you think he loves you I think you may be strongly mistaken by that idea.” “This isn’t about him!” She closed some of the distance between them. She looked up at him, their faces only a couple of inches apart as anger swirled around them causing the once cool night air to turn warm. Tension passed between them a familiar feeling, she’s had arguments before with Tamlen where they wound up in the same position. Faces only inches apart and a fine line between them kissing or fighting. She had to create space before that line was crossed, she felt her foot begin to take a step back but Alistair’s arm seemed to snake around her waist and pulled her in.