#and the loosest sense of the pairing

[ivystoryweaver]

Perfect Fit

A Choose-Your-Own-Adventure Story in 2 parts

My Masterlist

Idk, babes The muse has spoken...

Pairing: Nathan Bateman from Ex Machina x f!reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Summary: You are Nathan's employee and are staying at his secluded home for experimental android purposes. Shenanigans ensue. Like - two Nathans shenanigans.

Content: MDNI, NSFW, you are responsible for your reading. (more below the cut) NATHAN BATEMAN SHOULD BE WARNING ENOUGH

Content/Warnings: smut - pwp, oral-m and f rec., p in v, unprotected sex, voyeurism, dacryphilia, degradation AND praise, anal sex, group sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, dub con related to possible gaslighting, sex with AI/androids, language, Nathan is his own warning - he's a narcissist duh, sci-fi nonsense, not beta'd, I'm a Nathan-writing virgin so enter at your own risk

I guess that's all?

✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧

"I have a surprise for you."

Nathan - your boss and temporary roommate, in the loosest sense of the term - breathes on your ear.

"Shit - Nathan!" You gasp, nearly slicing your thumb off with vegetable knife you're using. "You scared the shit out of me."

Whirling around, you find his nose crinkled in mischievous (evil) laughter.

So you smack him with the flat side of the knife's blade.

"Fuck, sweetheart, calm down," he admonishes, trapping your wrist in his strong grip. 'You'll like it, I promise." Thick, dark eyebrows shoot up over wire-rimmed frames. Okay, this asshole is pleased with himself. What else is new?

Maybe you should lighten up about the little jump scares he likes to do. After all, it's the only time you get a laugh out of this narcissistic genius.

Nodding your head toward the countertop full of chopped veggies, you protest. "I'm making soup."

"Come on," he decides for you, pulling the knife from your grip and laying it on the counter. Wrapping his fingers around yours, he drags you out of the kitchen.

So bossy. But hand holding is the sweetest it gets with this man.

So you follow.

In your weeks living with/working with Nathan, you've discovered two things:

Arguing with him is pointless.

His dick is big enough to match the size of his ego.

You promised yourself you would NOT engage in any physical relationship with your reclusive, genius, billionaire boss. Yeah, that lasted about three days before you climbed on top of him.

Since then, business and pleasure mix on the daily. So, wherever he is almost sweetly leading you by the hand - well, it could be work-related, but it's likely...recreational.

Wrong. It's both.

"Here we are," he announces, guiding you into one of his indoor pool areas. This particular pool resembles a lush, tropical paradise. An actual stories-high waterfall cascades down into an artificially warmed pool. White bubbles float all over the surface, foaming at the waterfall's base, and giving off a bubble bath vibe. Greenery surrounds you, along with bright, tropical flowers.

"I remember this pool. You showed it to me on the first day."

Nathan makes a face. He isn't a fan of you (or anyone) stating the obvious.

Still, something has him in a good mood. Like a better than we're-about-to-fuck-in-this-pool good mood.

"Get in," he nods, pulling off his glasses before peeling his soft white shirt over his head.

Soon enough, your slick, naked bodies bob in the water as Nathan lifts your thighs around his waist and licks his way inside your mouth.

His thick beard tickles your face, the tingling sensation a dizzying contrast to the soft caress of his lips as his tongue rolls over yours.

Suspicious that he could be this excited about a quick romp in the water, you decide to enjoy yourself. After all, just him yanking his shirt over his head created a personal waterfall between your legs.

After a salacious make-out, you let out a yelp as he pulls you by the hands through the rushing waterfall.

Cool water dumps over your head, making you squeal at the contrast to the pool's warmth. Once you emerge behind the waterfall, you see it: the cause of Nathan's...chipper mood.

Lying naked and stretched out like a Renaissance work of art, on a large, flat rock, is...Nathan.

Well, not Nathan.

Your Nathan (is he really yours?) smirks, folding his arms over his bare chest with a look of self-satisfaction like you've never seen.

The other Nathan perks up at the sight of you. His eyes instantly fall to your chest, and he wets his lips at the sight of your bare breasts - nipples pebbled from the cool waterfall.

Pushing himself into a sitting position, you notice him...getting hard.

Your Nathan is practically salivating.

"What the hell is this?" You question warily, finding it difficult to tear your eyes away from this Nathan-shaped Other with a Nathan-shaped cock.

"He likes you," Nathan nods toward The Other's erection as if it is scientific proof.

Other Nathan pushes off the rock, his muscles flexing deliciously, into the pool's warmth, half-swimming, half-walking toward you, with...intention.

You instinctively countermove to Your Nathan's side. "What is going on? What does he want?"

"What do you think he wants, sweetheart?" he murmurs lowly against your neck. A shiver zips down your body, straight between your legs.

"He...it's...he's like..."

"Fucking hate it when you stutter," Nathan groans. "You know what he is. You know what's about to happen." Boldly reaching for you, he cups your cunt, swiping his fingertips through your slick folds, his teeth teasing your earlobe. "You want it to happen."

"Nathan, I ..." You gasp out as he rams two fingers inside you, pushing the pad of his thumb roughly over your clit.

The warm water heightens every sensation.

"You'll like him," Nathan assures you, roughly plunging his digits in and out of you as The Other stands directly in front of you. Dark, hungry eyes meet yours before traveling down the curves of your body to watch the Creator finger you.

The Other wets his lips again, reaching to wrap his fist around his cock.

"Oh fuck," you gasp, grinding your hips down on Your Nathan's hand as The Other strokes himself vigorously.

As infuriating as it is to admit, Your Nathan is right. This is doing it for you.

"Look at you, already moaning for us like a whore." As Nathan speaks, his teeth nip at the flesh behind your ear.

Then, without warning, he jerks his fingers out of you, causing you to cry out in frustration and surprise, your body stumbling forward into The Other Nathan...

...who grips your arms, steadying you, his straining erection prodding your abdomen.

"Give me a turn. I won't stop," The Other speaks in exactly Nathan's voice. The sound of it - the feel of his heavy cock against your skin mildly terrifies you - yet you find yourself responding eagerly as he surges forward to kiss you.

You feel Your Nathan's hand on your shoulder, jerking you back. "No fucking kissing." He glares at The Other warningly.

Your head whips around to your boss/fling, your eyes going wide at his one and only, ever display of possession over you.

"Nathan, what - "

"Come here," he interrupts, guiding you to the rock where you found The Other lying a few minutes ago. Your Nathan pulls you back against his broad, muscular chest, running his hands all over you, as if claiming you. The two of you lean against the rock, your bottom halves submerged in the warm, frothy pool.

His hands cup your breasts, kneading the soft flesh as his thumbs rub circles over your nipples. You keen and arch into his touch.

"Eat her out," he commands The Other...who nods once in response and stalks toward you determinedly.

"Wait, Nathan, how can - we're underwater - " Before you can finish your question, The Other eases below the pool's surface, nearly disappearing beneath the bubbles.

A second of silence follows and then you feel his mouth on your cunt.

"He can breathe underwater," Your Nathan almost purrs on your ear, working your breasts seductively while grinding his own erection between your ass cheeks.

"Mmmnnn...fuck," you moan as The Other's lips latch onto your clit, sucking underfuckingwater. His thick beard is always driving you wild and his lookalike is no different.

"You want him to stop, just say the word," Nathan offered. "But I told you - you'll like it."

Your hips involuntarily buck against The Other's mouth, which pulls growl of satisfaction from Your Nathan.

"Use him, babydoll, he can take it," he instructs, thrusting harder against you. "He's your toy. My gift to you. Play with him."

You could swear The Other Nathan smiles against your pussy before plunging his tongue inside you.

"Oh shit...oh my god..." your incoherent moaning makes Your Nathan chuckle in satisfaction. "What a good slut for us. Knew you would spread your legs so fast. Gonna fuck you until our cum is dripping out of every hole you've got, honey."

Nathan reaches for your thighs which he helps you hoist over The Other's shoulders. Taking your hand, Nathan guides you to grip the back of its neck.

"Fuck him, honey. Take what you want. Then I'll slip into that tight ass until you cry for me."

That nearly sends you right over the edge. Your hips buck wildly, sloshing water everywhere as you fuck yourself on The Other's tongue, hands pushing his shaved head against your aching center, yanking him against you with your legs - heels digging into the flesh of his back.

Nathan isn't kidding around. As soon as you start writhing, he pushes your cheeks apart and eases the tip of his cock into your tight hole.

Thankfully, you've done this before, many times, but the sting is still there - the stretch of it - as Nathan works his thick cock into you slowly.

You still your rocking, which seems to infuriate The Other, still underwater. He jerks at your hips to pull you forward, but Nathan is still pushing into your ass.

A slight tug-of-war ensues - but the water soothes and slows things down just enough so that- moments later, you have one Nathan in your ass, breathing on your neck, whispering filthy things in your ear, hands wrapped around your tits. And The Other Nathan underwater, slurping and licking and sucking - worshipping your cunt.

Your body arches violently as you come, your moans embarrassingly loud.

"That's it, honey, squeeze my cock so tight," Nathan grunts right on your ear.

You're still coming down from your high as The Other emerges from the water, eyeing you hungrily. Your Nathan is still inside you, pumping slowly.

"Look at his cock," Nathan instructs. "Do you know how much work it took to replicate this dick for you? Do you see what I made for you?"

"Y-yes," you stammer, admiring the creation before you, still heady and euphoric.

"Good. He's gonna fuck you now, babydoll. We both are. That alright?"

The thought of two huge dicks inside of you sends a bolt of nervous anticipation through you, but Nathan is filling you so good. You don't want to stop.

"Use him," Nathan repeats his command, even as The Other reaches for the swell of your hips. Staring into your eyes, he bends his knees slightly, reaching for his stiff length and sliding the tip through your folds.

Without any more fanfare, he pushes deep inside you and you scream at the intrusion. It's too fucking much - two of Nathan. Two cocks so thick - so fucking heavy, thrusting inside you, using you like a doll.

They set a rhythm, back and forth, over and over, a little faster with each thrust, hands roaming, fondling, caressing your wet skin. The press of two sculpted bodies caging you in already has you close again. Your next orgasm hits you like lightning, your body seizing in mind-altering pleasure as the two men inside you push and plunge harder and faster.

Your Nathan comes with a strangled cry, filling your tight hole with his spend, fascinated by the sight of another him fucking you so good.

Nathan is Nathan's favorite person, so watching himself rail you is the ultimate high. And this surpasses the many other times he's watched himself fuck his androids played back on a screen.

Easing out of your tight hole, he takes a step back in the water, admiring his handiwork.

He's a goddamn genius.

With Your Nathan no longer behind you, The Other pauses just long enough to lay you down on the rock and hoist your legs up around his waist. He leans over you, palms flat on the rock - one arm on either side of your head - and smiles down at you wolfishly.

He winks. "Let's give him a show. Let him see I'm your perfect fit."

Your eyes dart over to Your Nathan for some sort of sign of disapproval, but The Other grips your jaw. "Look at me."

If Nathan hears The Other, he ignores it, seeming content to have come in your ass, and now, to watch a version of himself lay you down and pound his seed into your cunt.

You go a little hazy as your eyes once again find Your Nathan's, holding his gaze while his creation snaps his hips hard and fucks into you faster than Nathan has ever managed.

Nathan is onto something here, because the fact that he is watching pulls moans as loud as the waterfall from your throat. Your body twists and arches violently, giving him quite the display.

"What a good whore," The Other mocks, "fucking yourself on a toy. Because that's all I am, right?" He glares at his maker and comes during this act of defiance.

You're too fucked out to keep up with the conversation at the moment, but Your Nathan darkly chuckles. "Shit," he whistles. "I'm so fucking brilliant, I even gave you my ego."

Then he turns to you. "You alright babydoll?"

You let out a breathless laugh, attempting, but failing to drag yourself up off the rock. Apparently, they are done with you for now

"Pick her up," Nathan instructs The Other, turning to climb out of the pool.

Wait, is he just leaving you to the machine? Asshole.

The Other Nathan complies, offering his hand to help you up. You take it, easing off the rock and back into the water, stumbling into his chest.

"You okay?" It asks you in a hushed whisper, grasping your elbows to steady you.

You assure him you are fine. Taking your hand, The Other leads you back the way you came, through the waterfall, but just before you dunk your heads under the cool rushing water, he pulls you into his arms and stares deeply into your eyes. Then brushes his mouth over yours.

Your Nathan has already passed through the waterfall and left the room for all you know. Still, he'll see this. He always sees everything. It’s a condition of you living here.

Feeling a slight resistance from you, The Other Nathan releases you. "You like kissing," he states, as if discussing data and not pleasure.

"What?" You question, your chest heaving with desire and confusion.

"Don't make me repeat myself." One dark eyebrow shoots up condescendingly. How very Nathan. "He doesn't kiss you as much as you want. I know - all the footage is stored in my memory." He taps one finger to his forehead with that know-it-all Nathan smirk. "He doesn't kiss you enough, but I will. I'll kiss you anytime. Will you kiss me back?"

You're stupefied.

It takes you a moment, but then you remember. Nathan said The Other was for you. Nathan said 'use him.'

Why the hell not?

"I'll kiss you back," you shrug, barely finishing your sentence before The Other pulls you against his chest, melding his lips with yours. He samples each lip before licking his way inside, his hands already sliding down over the swell of your ass to hook under your thighs.

Before you can even think, he pushes his cock inside you again, which is unrealistically hard already, his knees bending just a little as the two of you ease further down into the warm water.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you decide to enjoy this present from Nathan - this Nathan shaped fuck machine. Feels kind of wrong, but fucking hell does his cock feel real plunging in and out of your cunt underwater.

"He told me I would like being alive," The Other whispers, running his hands up the curve of your back to grip your shoulders and pull you down harder into his vigorous thrusts.

"He was right. I do," he rambles on, fucking up into you faster now.

The familiar heat pools in your belly as he fills you so good. So like Nathan. Only...sweeter? Or are they the same?

What the fuck is wrong with you?

"This is what I was made for," he pants against your lips, the rhythm between you making literal waves in the pool. He kisses you again and your back arches in bliss, your cunt squeezing him until he fills you up again.

✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧

Nathan watches on the monitor as his doppelgänger kisses you and brings you to orgasm number three beneath the waterfall. The sound of your moans lets him know how thoroughly he's succeeded. And The Other isn't wrong. You like to be kissed.

Nathan types out some notes before heading to the kitchen to finish dinner.

"Have fun?" He asks you once you find him in the kitchen. You took a shower (alone) before finding your boss.

Best to be honest with Nathan - he knows everything anyway.

"He's amazing," you answer simply. "Unbelievable, really."

Nathan smirks, setting down the knife he found you with earlier. Without another word, he pulls you close and kisses you breathless.

✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧

Life with two Nathans is something else.

The next several days of work are centered around this new android.

That's where you find yourself now - in your bedroom with your shiny new toy. And Nathan.

"Sit down," Your Nathan tells The Other, nodding toward the bed. the three of you are naked, as usual, but the boys seem to be in a bit of a mood today.

They're both hard and ready to fuck you too.

"On your knees, babydoll," Nathan beckons you. You comply, dropping down in front of him, knowing exactly what he wants.

Dark eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment, you feel like his priority instead of his damn other self.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips as Nathan grips your chin. "Such a pretty mouth," he murmurs, squeezing your cheeks together which forces your lips open.

He pushes the tip of his cock inside, shuddering at the absolute heaven that is your velvety mouth. You swirl your tongue along the slit, tasting him before tracing the ridge. Wrapping your lips around him, you hum against his skin, sucking on his tip, giving him a tease before he pushes his way to the back of your throat.

You gag for a moment, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. Breathing through your nose, you swallow the tip of him, laving your tongue along the underside of his shaft.

"So good, honey, just like that."

The Other Nathan grunts out a disapproving sound. Unlike your Nathan, he doesn't seem to be enjoying your mouth stuffed full of his Creator.

Which makes Your Nathan enjoy this even more. He grips your head, thrusting into your mouth like you're a toy. You gag as a drool dribbles from the corners of your mouth. You normally love being used by him, but he's not enjoying you for you at this point. And it's not even about getting his dick wet.

You tap his thigh forcefully, letting him know you need a breather. Normally you like to take what he gives, but is the goal to make an android feel jealousy? You’re distracted by the confusion and you want to enjoy this too.

"What? What is it?" Nathan pulls out of your mouth, his eyes darkening in concern. "You okay?"

Just when you think that maybe you mean nothing to him, he pulls this. He always does. 'You okay?' Those two words and his beautiful brown eyes are your weaknesses.

✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧

You awaken in the night to feel lips hot and wet on your neck and his thick, hard cock pressed against your ass. Someone's hungry. The question is: who?

You've been having so much sex, you can hardly keep track anymore. Truthfully, you start to wonder if you are the personal fuck toy. You spend your days naked and cockdrunk, their spend leaking out of your holes, rug burns on your knees and a sore jaw, and so many back-to-back orgasms, you start to wonder if this some twisted version of heaven.

"Nathan..." you murmur, almost instinctually pushing back against him, grinding into his erection. "'m sleepy."

"I know, honey," he purrs on your ear, sliding one hand across your abdomen as you lay side-by-side. "All you have to do is lie there."

You groan. "Are you Nate or Nathan?"

Nate is the name of The Other. Your Nathan didn't want him to have a different name - ego wouldn’t allow it - but 'Other Nathan' got old fast.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" He teases, pushing his fingertips down between your legs.

Okay, that felt good, but you asked a question.

"Fuck off," you whined, shrugging him off with your shoulder. "Don't touch me unless you tell me who you are."

But he grips you tighter. Right then, red emergency beams dimly light the room, indicating a power outage.

"Listen fast," he urgently whispers on your ear, his hand reaching to cover your mouth. "You can't trust him. You have no idea what he's done. What he's going to do. He can't hear us while the power's out. Tell me you understand."

"Mmmphh!" You struggle to speak, writhing to get away from whoever this is.

"Be still!" He hisses. You feel his biceps flex against your arms as he squeezes you, halting your movement. "We don't have time. You can't trust him. Do you- "

Suddenly, the red emergency lights switch off and power is restored. You had been sleeping, so the room is still mostly dark, but whoever was speaking to you says nothing more. He simply climbs out of bed and stalks out of the room, completely naked.

✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧

From there, things only get stranger. You begin to wonder if this whole Nate experiment is Nathan's attempt to gaslight you into...well, you're not sure what.

What could he possibly hope to accomplish by confusing you?

The answer should be pretty obvious: Nathan likes playing God.

Or is it Nate messing with your mind?

If the object of this experiment is: can Nathan's AI truly pass as a human being? Then he has probably succeeded.

You're between them now, lying on your side, in bed, one of them in each of your tight holes, thrusting in tandem, back and forth. The stretch of two heavy cocks filling you up has you whimpering and biting one of their shoulders, while the other one sucks bruises into your neck.

The sweaty press of skin against skin - your slick arousal creaming his cock, while the other one stretches your tight hole so good you cry for them, just like Your Nathan promised you would.

"Such a good girl, taking both our cocks, crying so pretty for us," the one facing you says, swiping the puddle of tears spilling down your cheeks. His other hand slips between the press of your bodies to strum at your oversensitive clit.

You sob, completely wrung out, but desperate for another release. As his fingertips trace a lazy pattern where you crave it most, your sob devolves into a low moan.

"Nothing but a desperate whore," the one behind you jeers, nipping a little too hard at your ear. "Too cockdrunk to tell who's stretching out your tight hole right now. Gonna fill you up, honey. And when I'm done, I'll fuck my cum right back into you."

The guttural moan that rips out of your lungs surprises even you as your back arches, your body seizing in yet another earth-shattering climax.

They're not done with you. Not yet.

You're too full - too fucked out to figure out who comes first. All you know is that an eternity passes, you've come so many times that your every nerve ending is on fire, only in the best way. And cum is dripping from both your holes.

One of them stalks out of the room, glasses on, cock soft and totally nude.

The other gathers you into his strong arms and carries you to the bathroom. He wraps you in a plush robe while running you a warm bath in the garden tub.

"I'll give you some space," Nathan declares, stripping you out of the robe once the tub is filled with lavender scented water and luxurious bubbles. He takes your hand and helps you step into the tub. "That was a workout," he winks. "You hungry?"

You stare at him, dumbfounded. Your Nathan? You felt so certain he stalked out of the room and Nate carried you to the tub.

"Nathan?" You whisper, your voice cracking - hoarse after crying and moaning so loudly and for so long.

"That's my name," he groans, truly hating obvious questions. "Nate's gotta charge up. You wore him out."

He is too damn pleased with himself to be Nate. Right?

You sink down into the bubbles, feeling a little better somehow.

The he asks the question.

"You okay, honey?" And those gorgeous brown eyes find yours.

✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧

✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧

Miscellaneous Characters Masterlist

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#oscar isaac characters #nathan bateman #nathan bateman smut #nathan bateman x f!reader #ex machina #read the warnings #perfect fit fic

[3d-wifey]

And They'd Find Us In A Week - Chapter 10

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 6.5k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! Tag list: - @melancholicmelanin, @yvy1s, @glomp-me, @honethatty12 A/N: a lot of yall are gonna be mad at me, but let me cook real quick. Trust 🙏🏾

Past (xi) - You

[21 & 22] - DISTRICT ELEVEN

You tighten your coat around you, burrowing into the warmth as you walk. 

To the left of you, dairy cows moo distantly, some grazing the open land while others stay tucked away in their barns. To the right of you, you pass empty victor houses. Once upon a time, District Eleven used to produce an immense number of victors. Certainly not as many as One or Two, but a strong contender right next to Four. It makes sense. Compared to what the citizens here have to face day to day, the arena is a welcome change. And tributes from Eleven develop a skill set that’s meant for survival at a very young age—one step away from being careers in your own right.

Eleven has always been incredibly rebellious. But after the Uprising a few decades back, which the citizens refer to as the First Movement, Eleven lost any good standing with the Capitol. In its place came droves of Peacekeepers and more oppressive rules than there were people. With them came the inability to train children, malnourishment, and conformity. They make sure to teach all about it in school, making sure students know just how far their district fell. Once a powerhouse worthy of rubbing shoulders with the best of them stands one of the most ‘primitive’ and militarized districts in the nation.

The remaining houses are left without any upkeep and are abandoned to fall apart.

As a victor, you're afforded some leniency by the Peacekeepers, but not much. Just enough that they won't find it suspicious that you’re carrying a blanket-covered wicker basket. Regardless, you keep it close to your side and it knocks into your calf with each step. 

Winter is the worst time in Eleven, though it doesn’t last long. It doesn’t snow often, since it’s so far south, but the ice is just as bad—if not worse. Not many people can survive the subzero temperatures, let alone crops. So, though it seems impossible, what little rations they give the people are shortened even further. The only plus is that it isn’t harvest season—there are so many crops to collect that children are pulled out of school for weeks at a time to help.

You remember what it feels like to be hungry. To be forced into the orchards to harvest pears, apricots, and Mandarin oranges—some of the only crops that can weather the cold, small hands stiff and your stomach numb with pain as you endured the freezing winds. You had friends when you were younger, other children that worked alongside you. Very few of them survived through the winter.

They give victors more food and money than they have any right to. So once a month you pack up food that you, Chaff, and Seeder have gathered and journey to the poorest part of the district. You don’t take it all at once, that’s far too risky. You spread out the trips over several days at different times so the Peacekeepers on the clock don’t notice a pattern.

It’s not an easy walk by any means. You reside in the wealthy part of Eleven and you use wealthy in the loosest sense of the word. The mayor’s family, doctors, Peacekeepers, landowners, and victors. Your destination is almost on the complete opposite side of the district from the Victor Village. Far away so the rich don’t have to see the harsh reality that the citizens live in.

It’s never been explicitly said that you can’t give out food, but it’s certainly implied. You try not to think about what they’ll do to you if you’re caught.

You wave at the few people you pass and avert your eyes as you walk past the whipping post. There’s only one. The Peacekeepers line up anyone who’s committed an offense and thrash them one by one. Most of the time, the people are innocent. Everyone has to watch, no one can intervene. It’s stationed beside the deck they conduct the hangings on. People avoid the area if they can.

You pass open farmland and empty cotton fields. The further you walk, the more run down the buildings become. Until the houses aren’t much more than shacks guarded only by the hulking trees surrounding them. You relax. The Peacekeepers don’t patrol here. They’re certainly supposed to, but even they can’t stomach the squalor. 

The kids spot you first, they always do. Little heads popping up from behind trees and shouting your arrival. 

“She’s here!”

You laugh as they surround you, jumping up and down and shooting rapid-fire questions your way. You know that more would greet you if they could, but they likely can’t move. Huddled up in their homes and crippled by hunger or the cold, but probably both. The commotion draws adults toward you. An older woman with graying curly hair and sunspots on dark brown skin steps out of the gaunt-looking crowd. Elm, she's the de facto leader here. 

A man, Maple, takes the basket from you with a smile and walks into one of the buildings in the far back to stash the food away. You pull more wrapped food out of the hidden pockets on the inside of your coat and hand them off.

You have a system in place. You’ve been doing these deliveries for a long time. You trust them to distribute the goods to those who need them the most. Everyone here looks out for each other. Even if the kids aren’t theirs, an adult won’t let them go hungry if they can help it. It truly takes a village. You would know. After all, you used to live here.

The Shacktowns mainly exist because there are too many people in the district, having reached overpopulation decades ago. Living here is preferable to having to pay for food, clothing, and a house that’s seen its fair share of price gouging. From what you’ve seen, the clothing in the Shacks is somehow worse than what Districts Ten or Twelve get to wear. It’s all ill-suited for the temperamental cold. So in exchange for working in the fields and forests under horrible conditions, the people get free housing and food. Clearly, both benefits are incredibly lacking.

It’s all the illusion of choice anyway. Only three percent of the population works outside of the fields, that’s including the Peacekeepers. You’d be hard-pressed to find anyone who doesn’t work on a farm, a grove, an orchard, or a plantation.

Elm pulls you into a hug once your hands are free and you lean into her warm embrace. She’s been as old as the dirt on the ground for as long as you’ve known her, but it feels like she’s rapidly declined every time you see her. She’s well and truly sick and she has been for a long time now. No one knows what it is or what effects it’ll have on her. Medicine isn’t readily available here. And you don’t think something that simple can help her anyway. Sadly, she isn’t the only one. You just hope this information doesn’t get out.

If anyone orbiting the elite circles found out just how many people were sick here, they wouldn’t send them to the Capitol to get help. They’d see it as a waste of resources. They’d let them suffer and die or have them put down if they’re feeling benevolent. Again, Eleven is heavily populated. The lives here have very little value outside their abilities to work. If they can’t do that, what purpose do they serve? 

What use is a horse with a broken leg?

She pulls away, hands on your shoulders as she looks you over. “You look good, healthy.”

“I can’t say the same for you.” You raise a brow at her hunched frame. She’s a tall woman with the endurance of a mule. She’s a decade younger than Mags, but she doesn’t look like it. But, as you’ve learned after touring the districts, manual labor ages people. 

“And you,” you lean back as she wags her finger in your face, “inherited that mouth from your daddy. It’s gonna get you in trouble one day.”

‘’You’re getting worse.” You note, ignoring her attempt at diversion. The kids disperse, running back to the forest they were playing in. You know they won’t go far enough to reach the thirty-foot-tall fence, but you still worry. The gate is guarded to the teeth with trigger-happy Peacekeepers who won’t hesitate to shoot on sight.

“I’m fine, honey. Don’t worry about me.” She waves off your concern and you frown, stuffing your hands into your pocket when a breeze comes through.

“My offer still stands, Elm. There’s plenty of room in the house. Me and Mama would love to have you.” She practically raised your dad, and she even made the broom your parents jumped over at their wedding. Hell, when you were born, she was the first person to hold you after your parents. She’s family and it kills you to leave her out here.

She shakes her head and you know this argument is going to end the way it always does. “You know that’s not fair. They need me out here.” She pats your cheek and finishes with no room for argument. She’s stubborn so going in circles about this will get you nowhere. You shift your jaw, agitated.

“And while we’re talking, I think you should skip next month’s delivery,” your jaw drops. “Let me explain before you start assuming. You know we appreciate everything you do for us, but you need to lay low for a while. You’re pushing your luck coming out here as often as you do, and if you get caught, you won’t be any help to anyone .” She states, making a convincing argument and effectively cutting off your protest before you even start. 

You sigh. Seeder and your mom have been telling you the same thing.

“Please? Do it for an old woman’s peace of mind.” She pleads, squeezing your shoulders.

“We can’t afford to just stop coming out here entirely, but I guess it doesn’t always have to be me.” Chaff had offered to start delivering in your place, or to at least switch off who makes the trip each month.

You’re barely able to make ends meet for the people here, and this is only one Shacktown of hundreds.

“Just start looking out for yourself more, alright?” She asks and you agree with a scowl, you refuse to call it a pout though Finnick definitely would.

You don’t stay for long. You need to get back before it starts getting dark out.

On your way back, you stop by the bakery like you always do. It’s a good halfway point between your two destinations—you’ll have something to show for your trip as well as an alibi, just in case you get stopped. 

You order two loaves of seeded rolls, another loaf of sourdough, and a blueberry muffin for your mom. Sage, the worker behind the counter, wraps the baked goods and pauses. “It’s dangerous, what you’re doing.” He murmurs under his breath, so quiet that you wouldn’t have been able to hear him if you two weren’t the only ones here. He hands you your stuff, waving off the tip you attempt to give him. “But it’s good. I don’t think I’d be brave enough to take that kind of chance.” 

“It’s brave enough that you offer me food to give to them.” You say and mean it. What you do is only a secret to the people who aren't supposed to know. It's not just you, Seeder, and Chaff who contribute. Sometimes people give you food, and clothes, to donate—among other things. Sage has spent many nights making extra bread and pastries just so there’ll be enough left over for you to deliver to Shacktown.

Most jobs In Panem are passed down through families. Such as Caesar Flickerman, who took his profession from his father, Julius Flickerman. And Julius inherited it from his father before him, all the way back to Lucky Flickerman. 

Old Mr. and Mrs. Pitsone never had any kids of their own so the mayor allowed them to adopt one of the many orphans running around the fields to train in the art of baking. They picked Sage. 

He’s a meek boy despite his height, skittish and paranoid, but very kind. With light hair and even lighter skin that’s rare to see in Eleven, it’s no wonder he stood out amongst the other kids. He and his parents live above the bakery in a small home, though luxurious by Eleven’s standards. 

You used to have a crush on each other when you were much, much younger. A kiss on the cheek here and there as you worked beside each other. Nothing special, but the most childish you were allowed to be. You were so envious when they took him out of the fields, you all were. He wasn’t one of you anymore, he got to work on the inside. Nobody wanted to be around him, so he was ostracized. You, angry and young, wished it was you. But now, you only wished it had happened sooner. You wished you had kept in touch.

He rings you up and you gather it all in your basket before he stops you. 

“Oh, wait here for a second.” He goes through a door behind him that you know leads to storage. You lean forward and hide a handful of coins on the little shelf under the front counter where you’re sure he won’t find them until it’s time to close. You hear rummaging and boxes moving before he comes out with a wrapped parcel tied with string. “I saved a few chocolate croissants for you. We usually run out of those in the morning, but I know you like them.” He gives you a closed-mouth smile. Small, but real.

You try to picture a world where the two of you ended up together, running the bakery until you’re old and gray—maybe if you hadn’t been reaped. But you can’t imagine a universe where you aren’t in love with Finnick Odair. 

“Thank you, Sage.” The bell above the door jingles as you walk out.

“Be careful!” He calls from behind you.

Walking back is always hard, having to leave them all behind to suffer while you’re allowed to go back to your stupidly big house. With its giant pillars and long, stretching brick walkway framed by old willow trees that curve into each other and make an arched tunnel. And it’s in the middle of this tunnel that you see Peacekeepers guarding either side of your front door.

Your heart stops and then starts again at a runner’s pace.

Did they…find out? You were so careful, how did they—

One of them spots you lingering a few feet away and waves you closer. You walk forward, closing the distance. And then you take hesitant steps up the old stairs, tensing up in preparation for rough hands dragging you to the whipping posts. Instead, one just opens the front door for you. That’s worse. That means your punishment is on the inside . You’d rather take your chances with the whips. 

They shut the door behind you, but don’t follow you. You place the basket of goods on a nearby hallway table and walk into the living room to see your mom sitting on the couch by herself, flanked by three guards, safe.

“There you are, baby.” She tries to smile at you, a play at normality, but it creaks and shakes like a house in a tornado. “We have a very special guest. He’s waiting for you in your study.” She nods to the double doors further down the hall with even more Peacekeepers. You know who’s on the other side before the doors even open and you really would have picked the whipping post over this.

Coriolanus Snow sits in your office. Your office inside your home that’s almost seven hours from the Capitol. Snow traveling that distance? That's nothing to scoff at. 

He sits with his back to you and turns when the doors shut behind you. You feel like you’re a guest in your own home.

Seeing him sitting behind your big mahogany desk is akin to seeing a fox in a chicken coop. It’s dangerous— foreboding. Nothing good can come from it. And for him to be so comfortable in the spot where you write your letters to Finnick makes your skin crawl. It’s wrong. He shouldn’t be here, in the one place that's truly yours.

“President Snow.” You say in greeting. You wrack your brain for any mentions of him coming to visit you and come up empty. Maybe there was a letter you missed, but you doubt it.  

It’s dusk, the setting sun shines through the windows behind him—bathing him in golden lighting that would have made anyone else look angelic. 

“You’re back,” he props his elbows up on your desk, steepling his fingers together. “Your mother said you were off to the bakery. You were gone for an awfully long time. Is it far?” Nothing on Snow’s face gives away his true intentions. If he knows about your little escapade, he’s doing a very good job of hiding it.

“Yes, it’s almost a day's walk,” You reply truthfully. When he does nothing more than hum in return, you’re quick to fill the silence. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”

“Oh, it’s no fault of your own, my dear. I’m sure if you knew I was coming, you’d have postponed your little trip, yes?” You nod like a bobblehead and he leans back, most likely confident that he has your full attention. Again, you can’t tell if he knows about the donations. If he does, he clearly doesn’t care enough to mention it. Surely, he didn’t come all this way just to sleep with you. But what else could he be here for?  

“Your mother was a fantastic host in your absence.” He lifts his teacup in mock cheers to you and you clasp your hands together behind your back, nails digging into thin skin.

“I’ll…be sure to pass along the message.” You smile, pressing your nails deeper into your skin. Had they been any sharper, you would’ve drawn blood. It’s quiet as you silently observe each other. The only sound in the room is the tick of the grandfather clock and a few birds outside the window, happily ignorant of the cyclone forming inside.

He finally breaks and speaks, though break probably isn’t the right word for it. Rather, he allows you to breathe by saying something, “Do you know why I’m here?”

Under the weight of his unrelenting stare, you eventually shake your head no and it feels like admitting defeat. Like you’re not smart enough to catch on to his train of thought and you both know it.

“Of course, you don’t.” He tsks, disappointed. You lower your gaze, embarrassed. He stands and takes poised, measured steps to where your feet are rooted to the floor. He towers over you, literally and figuratively. 

“I am here,” he circles you like a vulture, “to remind you of your standing. Hear me when I say this as there will be no room for misconceptions. You are incredibly privileged.”

You think you do a very good job of refraining from gawking at him like he’s grown a second head even though that’s definitely the reaction he deserves. What privilege could he possibly be talking about? You, who grew up in the poorest part of the most oppressed district. You, who’s been whored out for the safety of the people you love since you were sixteen. You, who’s lucky to see the man you love more than once a month. 

You’re privileged?

"Now, I've allowed you a certain amount of freedom that not many are rewarded. Namely, your relationship with Mr. Odair," he nods to your desk where your letters from Finnick are hidden. Perhaps, not as hidden as you thought. "I’m sure you know communication between the districts is forbidden. You get away with it because I allow it. Because you are obedient, because you don't ask questions when given a task, because you have a value that many like to indulge in." Snow rubs his gloved thumb against your bottom lip. You know better than to flinch away. 

"But you are not irreplaceable." He drops his hand and turns towards the room. Your lungs are cool with the breath you’re finally able to take. You should be used to his presence, and you usually are, but only when you can prepare yourself. He’s completely blindsided you. 

You nod clumsily. “I know.” Really, you do. You knew Snow knew about you and Finnick, but not to what extent. You also wondered how long it would take until the both of you got pushback. You just—weren’t expecting it to happen like this.

He toys with the few picture frames you have set up on your shelf. He glances over the picture of your parents on their wedding day and a framed photo you took of Finnick in the Capitol, beaming a big grin at the person behind the camera—you. Instead, he goes for the magazine you have propped up. The first cover you and Finnick were on together. Life in the Spotlight as Told by Panem's Hottest Victors.

“Do you? It appears to me you believe yourself invincible. I assure you, you are not.” He turns to you, magazine in hand, and taps Finnick’s face on the cover. You bite your tongue so hard you taste blood. “And neither are the people you care about.”

Your throat is dry, tongue fitting uncomfortably in your mouth. You swallow and it goes down rough.

“I don’t think that at all, President Snow. I apologize if my actions came across that way. If there’s anything I can do to remedy that…?” You trail off rather pathetically.

He chuckles and cracks the first smile you’ve seen since he’s been here and it’s almost worse than his scowl. "Always so eager to please. This is not a reprimand, just a reminder. You toe the line, but as long as you do not cross it, we shouldn’t have any problems." The heels of his sensible shoes click against the wooden floor as he comes to stand before you again. "So long as you keep up your streak of good behavior, you’ll be permitted to carry on the way you have.”

“Yes, sir. I…I understand.”  

He hums and goes to walk past, but stops.

"Ah, I almost forgot," he pulls an envelope from a pocket on his waistcoat and you know who it's from by the color alone, the color of sand. "You have mail." He smiles again, sharp and cruel in its kindness. It's still sealed, held between his middle and pointer finger, but you're certain he knows what the letter says already. You take it hesitantly along with the magazine.

He walks out without any farewell. The doors shut behind you. You hear shuffling and steps, but you only untense once you hear the front door open and shut. You wait there for what has to be at least thirty minutes before you even think about opening the letter.

My Star,

At the time that I’m writing this letter, it’s been two months since I’ve last seen you. I think this is the longest we’ve been apart in the past seven years. Only two months and it’s felt like a century. It’s been agonizing. It makes me wonder how I was able to survive without you for sixteen years.

I got the picture you sent me. I worry I’ll wear it thin with how often I touch it. In the absence of having you near me, I trace the slope of your nose, the curve of your lips, the slant of your eyes. I carry you everywhere I go.

My hands should be in yours, fingers laced together. Instead, I use them to write to you now.

I hope I can see you soon. Dreaming of you can only tide me over for so long. 

-With all the love in the world and beyond,

Finnick O.

You lean back and slide down the door. You groan, knocking your head against the wood. You never thought Snow would go as far as to threaten Finnick’s life. Especially with all the popularity he’s cultivated. It doesn’t make any sense.

You lift the letter to your face, tracing his signature. You glance at the magazine. You were both so young here, couldn’t have been more than sixteen and seventeen. Your youth is encapsulated forever on a teen gossip magazine.

You rest your forehead against his, the glossy cover cool on your skin. Your body is still trying to disperse the rush of adrenaline Snow brought with him.

“You and me.” You sigh. You’re going to need all the strength you can get. For him though, it’s all worth it.

Past (xi) - Finnick

[21 & 22] - DISTRICT FOUR

Ocean water burns his eyes as he swims to shore, his muscles strain and burn as he pushes against the current. The hot sand sticks to his wet feet as he walks up the beach and he waves to a few surfers that call out to him. It’s getting colder and everyone wants to get in the water while they still can.

Finnick has always believed that good things come to those who wait. And he prides himself on being a pretty patient man. But, and there’s always a but, that patience is as good as dust when it comes to you.

It’s been four months, going on five, since he’s last seen you.

He’s been seeing you less and less over the last two years and at this point, he’d be lucky to catch a whiff of your perfume. He doesn’t get it. It’s not like he’s lost any standing in the Capitol, and based on your letters, you’re still in high demand. 

It’s not like either of you can request to come to the Capitol at the same time.

He drags himself up the stairs to the Victor Village, wood creaking under his weight. When he gets to the top, he turns left instead of right—actually heading back to his beach house for once instead of Mags’s. After taking a shower, he plans on going into town with Annie. She hadn’t asked him to and she’s been doing pretty well, becoming more lucid. Yet, there’s no telling what’ll trigger her—whether it be some kind of commotion that sounds too much like a canon or someone’s outfit that too closely resembles what she wore in the arena. He’d rather be safe than sorry.

Plus, he’s expecting a very important letter any day now.

When he finally gets to the sand road in front of the village, he hears the horn of a ship in the distance. He glances behind him and spots the biggest fishing boat in the district. The Cod Be Ever in Your Favor . He scoffs. That thing’s been around longer than he has and it’s a rite of passage for everyone to go out to sea on her at least once. 

His father was a deckhand and he adored the job like it was his lover. He was rarely ever home—something Finnick was very grateful for. He never inherited that passion for the high seas and he had to learn the hard way that he’s much more adept in the water than above it. He’s crossing his fingers that the old relic capsizes one day. He’s not hoping anyone gets hurt or anything, but he will be celebrating the day that hunk of junk gets turned into scrap metal.

“On your right!” Finnick jumps to the left as a man on a bike zips past him.

Cars aren't driven down here. It’s too close to the ocean and the cars manufactured in Six aren’t built to handle the terrain. But they’re substituted by the electrical bikes fashioned specifically for the coastal towns of Four.

Palm trees sway in the stiff wind before a line of three-story buildings. He has no immediate neighbors, the beach houses on either side of his lay empty and desolate. Tributes from Four aren’t that rare compared to lower districts—the latest victor being Annie. But, with being a wealthier district, comes access to more substances. Morphling overdoses are the leading cause of death for victors in districts one through six. Followed closely by alcohol poisoning and, well, the Capitol itself. Just in the past five years, the population dropped from seven to three.

He remembers them. 

Emilia Killroy, found washed up and bloated on the shore. Rían Hugh, struck by a car further into the city after stumbling into the street. He was so drunk, he wouldn’t have felt it. 

Lottie MacHale and her son, Lukas. Lukas left the games mentally and physically disfigured. His game was a disaster that led to the untimely death of the previous Gamemaker and the implementation of Seneca Crane. A winter tundra that froze two-thirds of the tributes. The frostbite took the entirety of Lukas’s left leg and all the fingers on his right hand. He was found by his mother with a needle in his arm sans a pulse. Truly, it was a wonder he lasted as long as he did. 

It didn't take long for Lottie to follow him. Drowned in her vomit after drowning in her liquor, but everyone always said she died of a broken heart. 

He remembers them all. 

He slams the door shut behind him, eager to take a shower. His swim trunks are laden with water, getting dragged down his hips from the weight. Saltwater drips between his wet feet on the hardwood floor and weighs down his hair. He slicks it back so he can see where he’s going as he walks past the living room. 

He pauses, taking a few steps back to see…President Snow sitting on his couch? Finnick leans to the side to glance down the hallway and yep, Peacekeepers are milling around his back door. He bets as soon as he came in a few sprang out from wherever they were hiding to guard the front door behind him.

“President Snow. This is a surprise.” And far from a pleasant one. Finnick smiles, mask slipping into place, but Snow has unbalanced him. “What’s this all about?” It can’t be anything good. He can’t say he’s ever heard of Snow making a house call.

“I apologize for barging in on you like this, Mr. Odair, but this is an urgent matter.” He crosses his ankle over his knee and Finnick hedges into the room. Cautiously, feeling like a wary animal walking into a trap.

Briefly, he’s reminded of something you told him. You had mentioned off-handedly that you’ve eaten frogs in Eleven. He couldn’t wrap his mind around how you’d get it into the hot water while it was alive and you said you have to trick it. You put the frog in the water while it’s still cool and then slowly you raise the heat without it noticing. Eventually, the water is boiling and the frog is trapped. 

“And what matter is that?” Snow stares at him thoughtfully for a moment and in Finnick’s experience, that’s never good. He hums before speaking and Finnick imagines steam rising around him as Snow cranks the heat up.

“Are you aware of what purpose keeping the districts isolated from each other serves?”

“No, Sir, I don’t.” He lies, but he’s sure Snow will give him his own twisted, convoluted reason. Finnick is well aware that Snow enforces this rule because it keeps the citizens ignorant. Ensuring they only really know about their district means there can be no real unionizing. 

“Panem as a nation runs on a very delicate balance of hope. Too little and the people become despondent. Too much and the people begin to think—the people begin to rebel . For the citizens to see two victors from drastically different districts have such an intimate relationship, that complicates things.”

“...You think we’ll spark a rebellion? Just by being together?”

Snow releases a raspy breath that might have been a laugh once upon a time and the water is getting hotter. “I think it will lead to people envisioning a future where such things are allowed. I know you will cause a rebellion. You see,” he sighs, “the civilians are as subdued as they will ever be. But this will have them questioning their circumstances. It will take them out of the ‘us vs. them’ mentality they have against each other. It will make them wonder just how much they have in common and that leads to them seeing each other as people. It doesn’t help that you are both such influential figures. They will rebel, from One to Twelve, and they will all share the same fate as Thirteen.” 

“Is this…because she’s from Eleven?” He knows, thanks to you, that the people of Eleven are particularly defiant in the face of the Capitol’s oppressive ruling and always have been. Understandably so considering no one feels it more severely than they do. He holds back a scoff. To think he thought Four was rebellious. At most, Four has the privilege of throwing temper tantrums knowing they’ll face no real repercussions. Eleven, on the other hand, riots knowing they’ll be punished grievously.

Snow, again, takes a moment to watch him. “Her being from that particular district does make a rebellion far more likely, yes.” He pulls a forest-green envelope from a pocket inside his blazer. The exact letter he’s been waiting for. He doesn’t acknowledge it, so neither does Finnick.

“Of course, you can continue as you have and I’ll take it upon myself to handle it. Though, I doubt you’ll like the solution I come up with. She's one of my most popular female victors. And I can admit, I've grown rather fond of her." Snow chuckles and Finnick feels sick. He looks down at the envelope clutched in Snow's hand and pictures your arm in its place. He doesn't want to think about what happened behind closed doors to make Snow grow so fond of you. "It would be hard to replace her," Snow nods along to himself, "but not impossible." The room is quiet for a moment before Finnick asks, "What are you saying?" After working so closely with Snow for so long, you learn his language of non-speaking. You hear the silent threats in between the carefully crafted rebuttals. You feel the weight of his deliberate silence. So, Finnick knows exactly what Snow's saying. Snow knows this too, which is why he says, "Don't act daft, Mr. Odair. It doesn't suit you." He's twenty-two years old—a grown man, but, suddenly, he’s fourteen again—sitting in that chair, backed against a wall as Snow forces him to sign his soul away. He’s still that scared kid. He’s never outgrown him, because he never got the chance to grow up. Not if Snow had any say in the matter.

“As I said, this can only end in pain. It’s up to you to decide who will end up bloody. The lives of thousands over the life of one. Surely, you understand that.” He doesn’t. Finnick doesn’t understand it at all. It doesn’t matter what the other option is, he’s picking you every time without fail. He can’t imagine doing otherwise, he doesn’t want to.

“Unless you can think of something else, I don’t see any other way for us to proceed past this.” Snow moves his hand in a sweeping motion, the closest thing to a shrug that he’ll do. Finnick doesn’t understand why he came to him . He clearly favors you, so why threaten your life?

“Why me? Why are you making me choose? Wh-why,” he looks down to the floor, to the space between his feet, “Why not her?” If there was a choice on who would survive between you and him, he wants it to be you. Is that selfish? To wish you were the one given the choice instead of him. It feels unimaginable to live in a world without you, so is that cruel to expect you to do the same? 

To love is to be human. To be human is to be flawed. And there’s no one more flawed than Finnick Odair.

“You’ve been around longer.” He shrugs as if it’s all so simple. “It only seems fair.” Fair. When the hell did he start caring about what’s fair? He didn’t even think that word was in Snow’s vocabulary, and, honestly, it still might not be because he isn’t using it right. There is nothing fair about this situation.

Snow uncrosses his legs and leans forward, a glint in his ghastly eyes. He looks worse every time he sees him and Finnick wishes he could get any satisfaction from it but he just feels as sick as Snow looks.

“It doesn’t,” Finnick shakes his head, “It doesn’t have to come to that. I’ll…I’ll handle it. I–I’ll end it.” The words are out of his mouth before he can even comprehend them, mouth moving faster than his brain and by the time it catches up, it’s too late to snatch the words out of the air. They float between them and they are terrifying .

Snow nods at the idea and…and he realizes it’s over. It’s all over. It was over as soon as Finnick sat down across from him, maybe even before that. 

“See that you do. I trust you’ll take care of this issue without my stepping in.” As Snow stands, he holds the envelope up to his nose and takes a long, obnoxious sniff. "Hmm, it even smells like her." His smile is nauseating, Finnick’s stomach turns at the sight of it. “Spritz of perfume? A nice touch.” His steps are unhurried, taking his time to approach Finnick’s tense form.

“And Finnick?” He pulls away before Finnick can take it from him, playing with him even now. “Go easy on the poor girl. I imagine she’ll be quite torn up over this.” The water is boiling. The water is boiling and it’s too late to get out.

Finnick says nothing, but it seems like Snow isn’t expecting him to. He hands him the letter and walks to the door without a backward glance.

Two Peacekeepers follow him out, the door shutting behind them softly, and that nags at him. How dare they ruin his life and leave like—like this was just a social call? As if this isn’t crumbling his foundations, the same foundations that support the home he’s built with you.

Snow handed him a box of matches and told him to burn that home to the ground.

He looks at the envelope, wet with his fingerprints, and Finnick…

Finnick rushes to the bathroom to vomit.

-

A/N: why'd y'all let me cook 😕😕😕 come yell at me in my inbox!!! damn y'all were Peeta and Katniss b4 Peeta and Katniss 🤭🤭 and sage is such a peeta variant, all these Peeta variants falling in love with you uh, an actual lil author's note moment: when watching Catching Fire, I noticed the people in District Eleven dress like black people did in the 1950s and 60s while incorporating elements from the Antebellum South. Since most of the people that live there are black and indigenous and Eleven is the most oppressed district, it makes sense. It’s interesting what the clothing the people in different districts wear says about the culture there and what kind of culture Suzanne Collins based that district on. The Shacktowns are the District Eleven equivalent to the Seam in District Twelve, but even Katniss was surprised by how badly the people lived. She basically said it made twelve look like a paradise in comparison. When I mention the rich elites in Eleven, imagine them being around the same financial standing as Katniss was before she was reaped. So…not much.

#and they'd find us in a week #hunger games catching fire #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair #hunger games fanfiction #hunger games smut #the hunger games #thg finnick #thg series #thg #the hunger games x reader #finnick odair fanfic #finnick #finnick x you #finnick x reader #finnick imagine #finnick odair smut #angst #the ballad of songbirds and snakes

[hiemaldesirae]

AU where *Vox* is the one who disappears for 7 years, and ALL of Hell suffers for it. The remaining 2 Vees end up with their souls contracted to Alastor, Carmilla and Zestial have to become allies and join forces-most overlords do by the time Vox comes back there ARE no solo Overlords left, except technically Rosie and Alastor but even they are 'allies' in the loosest sense. Everyone else is paired up and it all because of the madness of Radio Demon at the disappearance of his muse. He's shacked up inside of The Vees Tower, taking over Vox's floor as his own, adding a radio tower to the side of it.

And then, 7 years after his disappearance, Vox reappears and joins Charlie Morningstar at her hotel for rehabilitation of sinners of all things, with Angel Dust as her first client, and--

The very foundations of Hell shake.

OHHH this one is fun. yesyesyes im so onboard with this one!!! i think about swap aus very fondly no matter how many times i see premises where vox and al get their storylines swapped ill ALWAYS eat it up.

okay so i do have some questions i want to get over with first. did al and vox breakup before the whole. (waves hands) seven year leave thing. like did they fight before he left because that brings a wholly different dynamic to the table rather than 'oh vox just disappeared one day', which in fairness i can see driving alastor crazy in a much different way, but also if they'd fought beforehand and alastor had expected to see vox back with the vees the day after or something, only to find him missing with no one aware of where he was... hoo boy. and also- does alastor take over the entertainment district here? like, he's got val and velvette as contracted souls, so do they stop running the district because they can no longer hold the respect of those they were once under and just do menial tasks under al's servitude, or is there a completely different dynamic here that ive passed over?

anyway with that over with... (bashes my head into the wall) YES I NEED THIS. ohmuy god. the aus where vox is sponsoring the hazbin hotel because of a deal he made with lucifer or something have been haunting my head for weeks upon end and i cant help but imagine something similar here- i can just imagine how pissed alastor would be to learn of the fact that vox was back and didnt even think to go and SHOW HIMSELF to him first??? vox was HIS. his muse, his rival, his stupid, stupid picture box- and he went off to make a deal with that bright-faced, stupid little princess of hell? instead of going back to alastor? no, no, no, that cant do, absolutely not, VALENTINO, you have to get your oblivious little employee under control before i rip out both your throats-- anyway. i imagine al probably hates intearcting with either of the vees but he does to make sure theyre not dead or trying to kill him (its all for voxs sake. he wouldn't be glad to return and find his friends slaughtered, after all.)

sorry i dont really have any other thoughts to addonto this (theres a reason why i havent written/drawn a swap au with them and its because ive no idea how the story would change given all the different nuances that we dont yet know... so. yeah) except maybe that alastor would probably be pissed as hell at the attention vox gets when he returns- because he was a celebrity figure before he was gone, too, and his return is like the equivalent to a comeback on princess diana's revenge dress level. instead of being pissed that other sinners are paying attention to vox in a 'they should be looking at me' kind of way though he's more pissed in a 'no one should look at him except for me' kind of way which really weirds charlie vaggie and angel out who are kinda just going like... 'are you sure about that guy man' and vox just shrugs like 'well last time i was face to face with him we had a really bitter breakup fight so idek if hes sure about me tbh'

#ran rambles #hazbin hotel #general asks #radiostatic #swap au

[theheirofthesharingan]

"Boruto seems to be more about SS than Boruto himself. There's just too much content on SS (or is it just my Twitter feed being stuffed with it? Idk)" Sorry I know this isn't a Sasuke blog but this is an SSer/S*kura fan issue. Idk what about her triggers this obsession but if you google image search "Naruto", you mainly get naruto or like the show's characters, but if you google "Sasuke" it's mostly SS art or the same 3 moments of the anime where they're in the same frame. Even more annoying for me personally is that you cant go on a tag for any Uchiha character without seeing ship art for them with Sakura (Itachi I think suffers from this the most because not only does he not even acknowledge she exists in canon outside of knowing she's a member of team 7, they fundamentally have nothing in common and arent compatible in even the loosest interpretations of their characters). It's baffling to me, and honestly extremely annoying.

I don't really go to Google for Naruto content, because I know it's going to piss me off one way or the other, so I keep my interaction with the fandom to the absolute minimum, that too on Tumblr and a little bit on Twitter. People on Twitter also said the same that it's her they find the most whenever they look for Sasuke related posts on Twitter and Twitter algorithm seems to recommend her posts to them. I noticed the same on my own feed. And I'd rather have Sasuke, Itachi, Kakashi, Naurto, Akatsuki on my Twitter feed, not her and her happy little family.

The issue with her ships is that she's shallow and the people she's shipped with have depth in them, so the connection never seems genuine. Not with Sasuke, not with Itachi, not with Sasori, or with anyone else. Her pairing with Itachi infuriates me as much as SS does. She would literally have to be a different person for me to remotely like her with any Uchiha or with the Akatsuki members. She isn't a shippable character with her canon personality.

A lot of her fans keep complaining about us loving Itachi over her without realizing we're not loving him because of his morality or because we think of him as an angel, but because he contributes so much to the story without eating up the space someone else deserved. You remove him from the story and majority of the story falls flat. On top of that, he's well-written. Audience will be inclined towards characters like that naturally. He has a likeable personality and his mystery makes you want to know more of him. Why would we not love him?

Half of her fans hate him and the other half ships him with her or sees him as a cheerleader for SS even though - like you said - he never acknowledged she existed other than being a part of Team 7. Maybe it's just self-inserts living their fantasies, because how can you look at her and go "Itachi needs to be shipped with her."

Makes no sense to me.

#itachi #itachi uchiha #anti sakura #anti sakura haruno #ask #anon

[flowerpotmage]

Tight Grip, Broken Dam (12)

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You don’t question it anymore, when Miguel appears in your bed at night. He’s not there for sex, no, you’ve never even kissed—though you would be lying if you said you weren’t open to the idea of kissing him. He’s there for comfort. For rest. If only it could stay so simple.

Pair: Miguel O'Hara & GN!Reader

Notes: for series: slow burn, ambiguous relationship, found family dynamics, reader is in their late 20s. for chapter: sexual tension, injuries and injury aftercare, references and nightmares about 90s comic run canon events

Word Count: 2.4k

Read this chapter on Ao3 here. If you like my work, please consider leaving kudos there as well! You do not need an account to do so.

a/n: deepest apologies for this series' absence! i hope this (only slightly) shorter chapter and the knowledge that i am already working on the next and hope to return to semi-regular updates will tide you over.

Your brief trip across town leaves you more winded than you hoped and less tired than you feared.

Your apartment is empty but for the presence of warm midday sun and green leaves when you return, kicking your shoes off and carefully setting yourself down on the couch, bones heavy with the weight of grief and exhaustion. There’s nothing to do now but rest, and so you don’t resist the warm embrace of sleep when it curls around you like hungry arms.

Brrring brrring!

The ring of your phone wakes you, the light now coming more brightly through your balcony doors.

A disoriented grumble escapes your throat as you shift, lifting yourself back up to lean against the back of the couch and immediately checking your side.

Sore. Sore, mostly dry, and unopened. Good.

Brrring brrring!

You find your phone in your coat pocket, having fallen asleep still fully dressed. Karen’s name lights up the screen. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes and clearing your throat, you answer the call and hold the phone to your ear.

“Karen, hey.”

“Hey!” She chirps through the line. “Matt and Foggy just won a case today, and–”

“Come drink with us!” Comes Foggy’s voice, shouted from somewhere in the room Karen has called from.

“I’m assuming you caught that.” You can hear the bemused expression on her face.

You try to chuckle, and fail, body too tired to force any levity. “I shouldn't tonight,” you say, wrinkling your nose and trying to roll out the stiffness in your neck. “I, uh—sick. Not feeling great.”

“Oh no!” Karen says, sympathetic. “Are you okay?”

You can hear the sudden silence from Foggy.

“Yeah, just uh. Out of it. Probably gonna just rest up for a few days, it’s a little rough.” You wince.

“Do you need anything?” She asks. “I don’t think it’s too far out of our way if you need some food. Some soup?”

You smile, heart warming at her thoughtfulness. “No, no, I’m all set. That’s really sweet though, thank you Karen.”

“Of course,” she says. “Rest up. We’ll see you when you’re feeling better.”

“Take an extra shot for me tonight.”

“Not like Foggy needs the excuse,” Karen laughs.

“What? What don’t I need an excuse for?”

“Wow, nosy,” you joke, smiling. “I’ll see you all next time.”

“Alright. Text if you need anything. I mean it.”

“You’re too nice. And I will, I promise,” you can’t help but smile. “Now go celebrate.”

Farewells are exchanged and the call ends. You drop the phone onto the couch, a heavy breath leaving your lungs. You linger for a moment before finally mustering the will to pull yourself off the couch and trudge into your room to change into your loosest pajamas.

Sleep pulls you back under its currents again.

Something pulls you from your slumber hours later, your cheek stuck to the pillow with dried spit, your vision blurry.

You haven't been this tired or slept so much since the spider bite that changed your life.

Your spider-sense pings and seconds later your bedroom door cracks open, Miguel in the open sliver between door and wall. His eyes meet your own, your head lifted slightly off the pillow from the surprise ping moments before.

“When’d you get here?” You ask, voice muffled and slurred.

“About an hour ago,” he replies, opening the door further. “You needed groceries, and I know you weren't going to be getting them anytime soon.”

You groan, letting your head fall back to the pillow. “You didn't need to do that for me.”

He crosses his arms, leans on the doorframe.

Now, with the door open, the smell of cooking finally reaches you and you rub your eyes. “ And you cooked?”

“I did.” There it is, his disproportionately endearing, pleased little half smile. Miguel crosses the distance from the door to your bed to help you up. “ Vamos, come on.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, when your feet finally find the floor. And again, after you’ve eaten and you sit side by side on the couch, sleep dragging down your eyelids once more: “Thank you, Miguel. For dinner, and… everything.”

“Of course,” he murmurs, and you slip into dreams once more.

The next morning, thankfully, finds you less fatigued. Miguel changes your bandages again, makes you breakfast, again, before leaving to fulfill his self appointed duties.

It continues like this as you heal. When Miguel isn’t at Spider Society HQ he’s in your home, cooking your food and cleaning your dishes and changing your bandages (You try not to go insane from the feeling of his hand on your bare skin). You don't ask, but you’re fairly certain the only sleep he gets is in your bed—a place you have to yourself less often than ever before.

Not that you’re complaining. Neither of you mentions it, of course, that he's visiting more while the skin over your ribs heals. You both seem to immediately accept this new normal and move forward as if it has always been the way things are. For Miguel’s part, he knows you don't have anyone here to take care of you properly—he knows you’ve lost family and more friends than most Spider-People usually had to start with—and so he takes the responsibility of you upon himself, and does so happily.

And mostly things are the same… mostly.

He learns about your favorite color, the watering schedule of your plants, how you miss having a pet but with the life you lead it doesn't feel like the responsible thing to do. He tries not to think about how it feels like learning more about someone you’ve been with for years, because he already knew which spoon was your favorite out of the somewhat mix-and-match selection, already knew about your aunt and your aunt's girlfriend on the force who still checked in on you up until her own death, your personal ASM-97 event.

He starts to feel disconcerted about how little he's shared in return, and tries his best to give something back. He mentions Gabriel in passing when talking about his childhood one day, during lunch.

“Gabriel?” You prompt.

“Ah,” he pauses, lowering his fork. To his plate. “My brother.”

The two of you are sitting on your couch, the balcony doors open wide to let in the fresh afternoon air that meanders through the open glass. Miguel holds his plate in one hand, you rest yours on your lap and your feet on your coffee table.

“I didn't know you had a brother,” you say. You want to rest your arm on the back of the couch, but despite your wound being at less risk of opening and bleeding, you’ve still been advised not to stretch the skin. So you pick at the couch cushion by your thigh with your nail instead, glancing at him.

Miguel nods. “Gabriella was named after him.”

Your heart squeezes. “Is he…?”

“He’s alive and well,” Miguel gives a reassuring, if rueful, smile. “It's just us two now.”

You nod. “Older or younger?”

“Younger,” he says, smiling at you. He rests his plate on his lap now, like you, and rests an arm on the back of the couch to angle towards you.

“Ah, oldest brother,” you raise your eyebrows and nod sagely. “That explains a lot.”

Miguel raises an eyebrow back at you.

You gesture at him vaguely. “I mean. Come on.”

Miguel scoffs, smiling, and then he tells you more about his family. About Tyler Stone and the secret his mother kept, how he’s not a true O’Hara but still carries the name. You sense he’s still keeping some things to himself, but you don’t press the issue, happy enough to even be let in this small amount. You hope that your adoration doesn’t show on your face too much as you watch him talk, lit with warm afternoon light.

Miguel feels lucky when he wakes up and can’t remember his dreams, because the nights that he does…

Flesh torn and shredded under his fingertips as gravity pulls the arm from his grasp, the man attached dangles infinite stories up from the streets and even farther to Downtown. The writhing gasp and scream of a man in pain and Miguel trying to save him and only making it worse. His father, angry and raging and taking it out on his mother. The smell of rotting flesh from his Vulture’s pantry, rotting cadavers stored haphazardly in a dark room in the underbelly of downtown waiting for—

No. Even in dreams it’s too sick to name.

Sometimes the horrors of his early days as Spider-Man blend with his life now. Gabriella’s rotting body in the pile in Vulture’s pantry. Gabriella, caught in an attack on his apartment, or in the crossfire between him and the Public Eye. You, hanging from his desperate grip after the lab explosion that changed him forever, your face twisted in fear and your arm shredded under his finger-pad talons as you slip from his grasp and fall to your death. You, in the pods for the long discontinued Corporate Raider program and killed in a fatal human-animal gene splicing test. You disappearing into the air, turning to less than ashes in his arms, or sometimes worse: You, holding Gabriella and reaching for him and the both of you disappearing when he reaches out, unable to so much as touch either of you one last time.

It’s not every night. Sometimes he dreams nonsense like everyone else, surreal landscapes with changing figures and storylines that mean nothing. Sometimes he dreams of happy memories or past almosts as if they had followed through on their potential. Schooldays with Xina or childhood games with Gabriel, or taking Gabriella to the Spider Society HQ like Peter does with May.

Sometimes he dreams about your skin, and your sheets, and your breath. Those ones always leave him distracted, off kilter and embarrassed through the rest of his day. He wishes he could bury them properly, leave them in his subconscious where they belong. Wishes he could keep himself from wanting to cross that line.

But tonight brings no dreams of pleasant pasts, no surreal landscapes, no ecstatic gasps and tangled sheets. Tonight he dreams of loss and pain.

A sudden jolt uproots you from sleep, dreams turn to evaporated particles in the air. At first you think there might be a threat, that perhaps your spider senses were what woke you, but the shallow and forcefully measured breaths in the bed next to you quickly inform you otherwise.

“Miguel?” Your voice is but a whisper as you prop yourself up, mindful of your ribs, your hand searching for him through the blankets. “Hey, hey, it's okay–”

He starts to say something, his voice dying in his throat before the first letter can even form on his tongue. His hand finds yours, wrapping tightly around palm and fingers alike. You scoot closer, doing your best with one hand now out of commission, and then you're partially hovering over him, your held hand supporting your weight.

“It's okay,” you whisper, and you begin to pet his hair back from his face. “You're okay.”

Even in the dark your eyes find each other. Before you can blink his arm is around you and you're pressed into his chest, his face hidden in your neck. You can feel each thundering beat of his heart through your chest as it slows, still beating too hard to fall into rhythm with your own.

“I’m here,” you whisper.

His arm tightens around your middle at that, a brief squeeze pulling you closer to him. His shuddered breath gusts across your skin where he’s buried his face.

“Bad dream?” you whisper into the hair above his ear, shifting above him to rest on his chest properly and rest one arm on the pillow by his head, the other sliding around his side to hold him in return.

“Sorry,” he whispers, ignoring your question, loosening his grip. “Your ribs-?”

“They’re fine, Miguel,” you say, your arm on the pillow by his head shifting.

As his heart slows, as his breath steadies and you wake fully, you become conscious of your body pressed into his. His face is still buried in your neck, and you feel his ribs expand under your body, raising you into the air.

His head falls back from your neck, resting on the pillow, and you lift your head to look at him in the dark.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

He pauses, eyes flitting between each of yours before he looks away. He pulls his arm back from around you, hand sliding to rest on your waist under your ribs.

“No.”

“Okay.” You prop yourself up further. “I’m here, though.”

He sighs, nods, closes his eyes.

Silence returns to the room, pressing in on your chest, squeezing your ribs like the bandages around your calf. You are too aware of your position nearly atop him, body pressed into the side of his chest with his hand still resting on your side, yours on his and your other bracing you above him on the pillow beside his head. You've been this close before, of course, and held one another much tighter in the dark. But something about this is different. Perhaps it's the way his fingers begin to unconsciously stroke your side and the way you've never gotten to look at him like this, above him, his eyes closed under you—

Your breath catches in your throat, and you lift your hand from his side to touch his face. His brow twitches, his hand tightens and relaxes on your side, and he sighs again as tension slowly drains from his body. You let your hand rest on his cheek more solidly, and his eyes flicker open to meet yours in the dark.

You hope he can’t feel the way your heart skips and then beats just that much harder. You swallow, hold your breath, and let your hand slide into his hair.

His eyes flutter shut, and everything freezes.

“Thank you,” he whispers, and the pressure of the air eases.

“Of course,” you finally say, your mouth dry, stroking your thumb back over his temple into his hair. You shift, settling down into his side.

His arms wrap around you once more. Neither of you speak, and you don't fall back asleep for a long while.

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#miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x gender neutral reader #miguel x you #miguel x y/n #miguel x reader #spiderverse fic

[detectivemarvelingcomics]

Not Your Classic Vigilante [Ch. 10]

Alternate Dimension AU TW: Language, Mentions of Death, Graphic Descriptions of Violence, Body Horror, Monsters be destroying shit, Lots of Gore, Fires, Major Character Injury CW: OC Use, See the OC Guide [Here] Genre: Drama, Action, Angst, Light Comedy Pairing: Batfamily & Batsis!Reader, OC x Reader YN Pronouns: Female (She/Her) Word Count: 4.9K

(10/?) [First] | [Previous] | [Next] [DC Masterlist] | [Not Your Classic Vigilante Masterlist]

Notes: HA I FINISHED IT Bi-annual update fr fr

Disclaimer: This series is originally by @fandom-meanderer who is a close friend of mine, but she has since fallen out of her Tumblr days and asked me to finish a few series for her, hence why I am now in ownership of the Not Your Classic Vigilante series, I hope I can still live up to her writing as I rewrite this series! (I promise not to change too much, hehe)

Taking heavy breaths, you took your time to steady yourself. Your hands were beginning to cramp from how long you’d been holding your rapier, and your uniform had been singed and torn at the edges. You stood your ground, but barely, and before you the daemons were twice your size, maybe even more, but they were mutated so heavily that you couldn’t even tell what they used to be. If one thing was certain, it was that you’d never seen a monster like them before. The casualty count, although you didn’t know it specifically, was immense. Today, regardless of whether or not you made it out alive, is a huge loss for the Guard. 

“Captain! The S squadron has arrived!” You heard a voice shout. Reinforcements have just arrived at the nick of time, whilst more beasts wandered out of the woods and towards the ravaged town.

“You see the situation, if you find any living civilians they are your first priority to get to safety, we’ve determined the daemons’ weak points to be their underbellies, aim for that area first! The skin is loosest there,” you commanded. “This place is already razed down, I don’t understand why they keep coming,” you mumbled. An axe lodges on the ground next to you, just barely missing your side. “Nixon! Now’s not the time to get lazy!” You pulled the axe with one hand and flung it back towards him, something he easily caught while blocking off the daemon’s claws.

“Thanks, Cap!” You couldn’t respond, too busy dodging the swings from the daemon in front of you. Its movements were slow and heavy, but they hit hard. You could barely get in a good attack with the equipment you had. Turns out, and maybe you should’ve expected this, rapiers aren’t the best for large opponents. 

“Ugh, this is getting nowhere,” you mumbled just as you ducked below the beast’s arms. You jogged back, keeping your eyes on the monster, and you switched out your rapier for the rifle strapped to your back. You aimed quickly, precisely, and with a deep breath you fired. The bullet pierced the daemon’s skin, but, if anything, you just pissed it off more. “Fuck, well, we’re screwed. Is it just me or are these things getting taller?”

“Not just you, Captain! Not just you!” Evangeline scrambles up from the floor, casting a spell to knock away the hoard. The blonde runs next to her Captain, shaking slightly. Instinctively, you took a defensive stance in front of her while reloading your rifle. “Where are they all coming from?” Hints of French laced her panicked tone.

“No clue, but we’re going to be here for a very long time,” you grimaced. “Take deep breaths, Eve, if you can’t handle it we’ll switch to base-tactics,” you said

“There’s just so many of them,” Eve huffs. “Almost like… like they were waiting for us to get here,” she coughs. That struck a cord, you turned to her for a moment, but hearing the monsters roar, you refocused back on the situation, doing your best to push the daemons back. Could all of this have been an elaborate trap? Who was pulling the strings? Now that you had thought about it, it would make sense for this to be a trap. All of the Guard were here, high ranking military officials, Starspire was even a village well known for their exports, getting rid of this area would disrupt many industries. But the village was also far enough for it to still be somewhat controlled. Everything happening here, surely, had to be part of some elaborate plan.

‘Take a deep breath, (Y/N),’ Alex’s words echoed in your head. You looked around the field.

‘Where the hell did you go, asshole?’

‘Calling for backup. I don’t think we’re dealing with the natural world anymore, there must be some sort of magic involved.’ Despite your efforts, you couldn’t find Alex anywhere. ‘Don’t worry, I’m still as much a part of the fray as everyone else. But if my theory is correct then I know someone who could help us.’

‘Call them in, I’ll take anyone at this point, anyone who can get rid of these monsters,’ you replied.

‘Certainly, Captain, remain vigilant.’ Then, his side went silent while you pushed forward. Two magic circles appeared under Eve’s hands as the field became encased in a bright light. Half of the daemons, that had already been hacked away at, fell at the attack, while others trudged on.

“Gah, Eve, warn us before doing that!” Carter rubs his eyes harshly.

“Ay, if it’s getting more than half of these fuckers, hell, do it again, Eve,” Nixon shouts back.

“I’m sorry!” Eve apologizes despite it.

“Are there any more coming in?” You spoke after tapping your earpiece.

“All clear in the North, Captain,” one voice says.

“None coming in from the West either.”

“The East is clear.” You looked forward.

“The South is clear,” you said. “Focus on the remaining daemons, we’ll reconvene once they’ve all been killed,” you flicked the blood off your rapier. “And someone get me an actual sword.”

“Captain,” Carter addressed you curtly while offering his own sword. Regal in all rights, Carter’s sword, much like yours, was a gift from the Royal family. As was every weapon belonging to the Brigade, granted. However, Carter’s was a marvel to look at. A silver broadsword upon first glance, but to its wielder it becomes their greatest protection. You made the trade quickly and just in time, too, for what happened next was something you would have never expected and something you would’ve never wanted to happen.

The sounds of despair and destruction had been drowned out by an all too familiar cry. Cries, when you first ran into the burning village you heard them everywhere. Men, women, and children alike were screaming for help all around you. That was hours ago. To hear shouts that weren’t from your squadron only spelt trouble. You turned your head towards the voice, and saw a sight that was some sick twist of what you’d grown up fearing. Without any care for yourself, granted you had other things to worry about, you sprinted towards the young boy with the silver of the broadsword reflecting the flames. In a delicately crafted move, you felled the already wounded beast. You held your stance, your left arm blocking the one behind you, and your right arm holding the sword parallel to the ground. Then the beast slumped to the burnt earth, making no attempt at any further attacks, but your split decision move wasn’t without consequence. The sharp pain across your front side was enough to tell you that next time you should think more carefully before doing.

“Captain!” Eve was running towards you in seconds, but her actions were a second thought to you. No, you were more concerned about the boy behind you. The boy wearing a ripped uniform, mask half hanging from his face and half tied around his head, and with slight cuts and bruises to his face and hands. True, this was the least of the wounds you’d see him have, but the knowledge that he’d been here long enough to get those was what scared you the most. Once you were certain the beast was dead, you were quick to turn, pull your gloves off, and cradle your hands around Damian’s face.

“How… How did you get here,” you huffed, wavering slightly. You moved his face around to see if there were any bad cuts, and your thumb traced under a fresh, but shallow, one under his eye.

“(Y/N)…” Damian’s eyes widened. His eyes fall to the three large gashes that stretched across your hips and abdomen. “You’re hurt…”

“We don’t have time to worry about that, how did you get here?” You repeated despite the good many number of daemons on the field. You brushed off the sparks on his shoulders and offered to help him up.

“I was looking for you,” Damian took your hand and stood up slowly, you didn’t yet know if it was from shock or if he was hurt.

“Is that the whole story?” People don’t just drop out of the sky. And to enter this universe is something that should be incredibly hard, if not impossible.

“A man in a lab coat brought me here,” his voice was shaken. You didn’t fault him for that, the young boy was just dropped in the middle of a blazing battlefield with heaps of dead bodies sprawled across the ground. It was a sensory overload with the blinding flames and the heavy stench of iron. Not to mention the fact that you were covered in blood, your own, your comrades, and the monsters’ alike. Now wasn’t the time for answers, and you’d be damned if anything happened to Damian here, so, instead you strengthened your grip around his hand.

“Do not, under any circumstances, let go of my hand,” you said firmly, holding your conjoined hands up so he could see, if he didn’t already feel it, the tight hold you had around him. Damian nods, what else could he do in this situation? With your left hand holding Damian and the right brandishing the sword you charged across the battle field. It might be better to carry him at this rate, but then you’d be more susceptible to attacks. Hard to dodge when there’s more weight on your back or on your front. This would be best, if worse comes to worse, you’re sure Damian would forgive you for throwing him to safety. But if he kept lagging behind, then there might be a problem. “Keep up!”

“I’m trying!” Damian barks. It was now you noticed the way he moved his gaze from you to the ground in rapid succession, no doubt trying to keep his steps in align with yours. “If you want to go faster then just let—”

“No, Damian, if I let go of you it would only be seconds before one of those monsters picks you up and kills you, do you understand?” You stopped only for a brief moment before taking off again, seeing one of the daemons take notice of your little brother. “Shit, they’re everywhere,” you said with grit teeth.

“Is that a kid?!” Nixon shouts. He pulls his axe from the broken ground. Damian first noticed the red stains on his white uniform before the disgust directed at him. “Lose him, Cap! He’s slowing you down! He’s going to get us all killed!” You pulled Damian along before he could shout an argument back. One, you just need one building that’s at least a little intact to stash Damian in for the time being.

“Just stay focused, Nixon!” You deflected a piece of charred wood. Damian’s hand slips for a moment and you react with a vice grip. “Don’t let go, Damian!” You shouldn't have been upset, it wasn’t his fault, it was the blood between your hands that made it all the more slippery.

“Sorry!” Damian is taken aback for a moment before regaining his senses. You looked to the woods and watches more of the monsters emerge. Luckily, if there was any in this situation, they seemed to be smaller monsters compared to the daemons. If anything, they were probably scavenger beasts, the lot of them will turn tail and run once they see the daemons, while the braver ones will venture more inward. Though you had to be realistic. A monster is a monster, and that’s an added problem on your plate.

“Oh fuck me…” You shook your head. Then a small ray of light. Sure, the roof was on the verge of caving in, but a house is a house. “Eve!” You turned back for a second to make sure the blonde was still in ear shot and when she notices you running towards the house, she opened a warp portal next to her and slipped in, immediately appearing at the front door to open it, and allowing for you to run into a building and push Damian inside. You knelt to his level, and with a stern expression, instructed him. “Do not leave this building, I’m going to have Evangeline place a protection charm up, alright? I’ll come pick you up once I resolve this mess, then you have to tell me every single thing that happened to you before you came here.” Though you spoke clearly, you knew when words go through one ear and out the other. You’d have to trust Eve to explain the situation to him, but you didn’t know if Damian would trust her.

“I can help.” That’s definitely the last thing you wanted to hear. Typical of Damian, though, he was still young, and he still thinks he can do anything, still thinks that he has to. But not here, and not now. 

“No. You can’t.” You kept your words curt enough for him to not misinterpret them. “This world is very different than our old one. You’re not in Gotham anymore. Those things out there can crush your skull in less than a second, and I don’t need anymore deaths on my mind right now, let alone the death of my little brother. Got it?”

“Yeah…” Damian looks back to your abdomen. It was still bloody but the wound was gone. “What happened to—” That might be the hardest one to explain to him.

“No questions right now. I have to get back out there before any of my teammates die. You can trust Eve, she’s a good friend of mine. Now, please, stay here.” With that, you ran out, slamming the door behind you. Not a moment later, Evangeline ran in, her white and silver uniform singed around the edges. She closes the door and places her hand on it, a magic circle appearing between the two with words of an ancient language inside of it. She waves her hand in the air and the building is surrounded in a veil of blue. She eyes the singed hole in the roof, but pays no mind to it, instead looking to Damian.

“So you must be Damian Wayne, right?” She smiles through the tired breaths. Damian nods and looks out the window. Eve seats him on the ground and hands him a thermos. “The Captain has told me so much about you. I’m Evangeline Chandler, your sister and I are good friends,” Damian suspiciously eyes the thermos, but takes it anyways.

“Yeah?” He unscrews the top, seeing some kind of soup inside of it. Eve takes the thermos from him, placing the cup in his hands and pouring the soup into it.

“Yes! I owe her a great deal. She asked me to give this to you, it’s actually Nixon’s, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind sharing with you,” Eve grins. “You can trust it, Nixon is actually our resident healer. This soup should fix you right up,” she insists. “If you don’t believe me, I can drink it first,” she continues.

“That wouldn’t matter if you’d grown a tolerance to poison,” he gives her a pointed glance.

“Are you saying that the son of a vigilante and an assassin doesn’t have a well built tolerance?” She fires back.

“… touché,” he takes a tested sip of the soup, the immediate taste of a hearty vegetable broth greeting him. He could feel the warmth circle around his face, his chest, and his stomach.

“You don’t have to mind it, Nixon’s vegetarian too,” she chuckles, kneeling down next to him and dusting off her uniform.

“You know a lot about me,” was Damian’s next statement.

“That Captain tells me a lot about you,” she smiles. “Let’s see… you have a dog named Titus, your best friend’s name is Jon, for your tenth birthday you and the Captain went out to an arcade and ended up staying there for hours so you missed your celebration,” she counts the events on her hands, “oh! And how could I forget my favorite story? Whenever you had nightmares, the first place you’d go is to her—”

“I get it, woman,” Damian clears his throat and, again, Eve could only smile.

“And that is exactly how the Captain described you. She doesn’t talk about her family often, but her expression is always so kind when she does, especially when it comes to her siblings. Of course, this is only after a good number of drinks. Goodness, though, once she starts, she won’t stop, it’s a bit cute,” she rests her cheek on her hand. “I’m glad to see that you match her stories.” Damian could only look out the window as the screams got closer.

“What is going on out there?”

“There are quite a few of you correct?” Eve changes the subject and, with the wave of her hand, the voices deemed to dampen out into mumbles. “Two older brothers and two younger brothers, an older sister and two younger ones as well, if what she told me was right.”

“Yeah,” Damian caught on. She’s trying to distract him from the hell outside.

“Let’s see,” her eyes drift up in thought. “Barbara Gordon, Richard Grayson, Jason Todd, (Y/N) Wayne, Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown, Timothy Drake, and then there’s you,” Eve says.

“That’s all of us, but recently father brought in a new one, Duke Thomas,” Damian explains.

“Ah, yes, the Captain has explained that her father loved to take in children,” Eve crosses her arms. “But, and perhaps I’m biased, I must say that his biological children are just so adorable,” Eve coddles. “Are you still hungry? I always have something on me.” As much as her efforts to divert his attention were somewhat appreciated, she’s wasting her time on him.

“What exactly is your role?” Damian presses. Eve takes a deep breath in before sighing and shaking her head.

“I should’ve known that it would be a lost cause to try to distract you, you’re very much like your sister in that regard, but I’m keen on at least trying to follow orders. Allow me to introduce myself properly then. I’m Evangeline, Evangeline Chandler, and I am from Earth-78, born and raised in Versailles, France. I’m the magic dealer of this team, you can tell because of these silver linings here, see? However, I specialize in support, which is why my uniform is white,” she claps her hands. “Ah, the Captain, your sister, is a damage dealer, she specializes in up-close combat with blade-type weapons. She truly is amazing.”

“I see… I assume this is normal for you.”

“Not in the slightest, no. Oh, well, battle yes, but not these beasts. These monsters just started coming out of nowhere, actually,” Eve scooted away from Damian slightly and, with a few waves of her hand, an image constructed of light appeared between them, “come take a look. These are the variants we’ve been fighting for quite some time,” she invites him to move the image around. The base animal was a kind of wolf, that much was certain, but the creature had mutated the ability to support itself on its hind legs whilst also gaining articulate hands. It was as if it was some gruesome mix of human and wolf, a terror of nature, and a horror of nightmares.

“What are those?” Was all Damian could say.

“In truth… We have no idea.”

~

Alex stumbled behind a building, holding his phone close to his ear.

“Come on… connect, connect…” he plead. Finally, an answer.

“Alexander.”

“Remember when I told you to come tomorrow? Scratch that. We need you now.”

“What in the blazes is going on? Why do I hear fire?”

“Get over here and I’ll still be alive to tell you.”

“You really don’t take no for an answer, alright, hold out for a few more minutes.”

“Will do. I’ll take care of the stragglers, everyone else move inward!” Alex hangs up the phone, waits until everyone was out of earshot, and pivots on his heel, both hands flying out and several magic circles appearing in the ground in front of him. “Sanguis voragine.” In the slight wave of his hands, the circles began to rotate in on themselves before ultimately converging into a larger one. Spilled puddles and splatters of blood began to move in toward the centers of the circle.

‘Alex, don’t do anything you can’t handle,’ your voice had a warning tone.

‘No need to worry, I'd been saving my stamina for this moment,’ he reassures you before walking into the middle of the vortex. 

You, meanwhile, glanced behind you at the fortified safe house. You’d instructed Eve to keep your brother busy, but you didn’t know how long he’d sit still. You’d have to wrap this up quickly now, somehow, at least.

“Okay,” you took a deep breath yourself, steadying the sword in front of you such that you were facing the blade. “Infallible guard,” a magic circle surrounded the sword and, in moments, a clear barrier surrounded you.

‘Perhaps I should’ve said that to you.’

‘See you on the other side.’ You readied your blade for what you hoped to be the final time that night, and charged forth.

~

Eve looked like she’d just seen a ghost. Eyes wide and jaw tensed.

“What’s wrong?” Damian asked quietly, a now empty thermos in his hands. Eve, wordlessly, stumbled to the window and peered outside.

“They’re using artifacts,” she mumbles, she looks back at Damian. Your orders conflicted with her morals.

“What are those? Something bad?”

“Call it a last resort. It should be fine since it’s (Y/N) and Alex but…” her scarred fingertips rose to her mouth habitually and, before she could begin to lightly bite down on them, she answered, “they take a lot of stamina to use, some that I doubt those two still have,” she mutters. She takes a seat with Damian once more.

“Then leave me here, I can fend for myself well enough,” Damian insists.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, young sir,” she replies. “Even if I wanted to, the Captain benched me,” she shakes her head. “I’m unfit for battle at this moment,” she stretches her hands out, the cuts and tears on them, fresh and weeping, were enough to tell Damian all he needed to know. “What good’s an archmage with anxiety?” She laughs pathetically. “Plus, I do enjoy talking with you,” she nudges him softly. “You must be so confused, aren’t you? Scared, maybe, but too stubborn to admit it. I don’t blame you, we all were like that before as well,” Eve clasps her hands together. “You know, I had a brother around your age as well, Felix, I haven’t seen him in so long, he’s back home where he belongs though,” she rests her cheek on her hand.

Curse his sister, it wasn’t Eve on babysitter duty, it was him also.

Damian couldn’t help but glance out the window again, the flames had begun to die down, he could tell from the way the room slowly darkened.

“Your family must be worried,” Eve tries to strike a conversation yet again.

“They don’t care.”

“Or so you think,” she shoots back. Then, when someone bangs on the door, both people stood up in guarded stances. “Being unfit for battle means nothing in war,” she sighs. She picks up her gloves from their spot on the rugged table. Despite the state of herself and her uniform, the gloves were pristine. She slips them on.

“Could be one of your teammates.” The door started to strain against its hinges.

“They would’ve been able to open the door,” a magic circle appears in her palm, “your sister told me to keep you safe at all costs, please respect her wishes.”

“If she’s really my sister then she knows I won’t,” Damian stood next to her, ready.

“She told me that you’d say that too,” the door bursts down, one of the few remaining beasts stood tall at the doorframe. “Divina vocatio,” she chants. Veils of light surround the both of them. “Have faith, Damian, that I will keep you safe,” she says. The beast roars in a way neither of them had heard before. The magic circles in either of Eve’s palms begin to rotate counter to each other as she crosses her wrists in front of her. As soon as she broke the formation, multiple circles appeared in a cross pattern over the beast’s chest, effectively pushing the beast back, but not doing much to detain it, rather, it charged despite it.

What could he do in this situation? Think, Damian. He scanned the shack for anything he could use. The image that Eve showed him, something stood out to him, but he couldn’t quite put where he’d seen it from. Then, kicked under the bed, something gleamed against the dying flames. He dove toward it, holding it up and the beast stopped. Eve chanced a glance back.

“Crucifix…” she holds her hand out and Damian tosses it toward her. “Made of silver,” she weighs it in her palm. The beast takes a step back. It could only work as a repellant, but as a weapon it was hard pressed. Damian looked around again, something made of silver, anything. The cross in Eve’s hand was a likely choice, but he’d rather not chance the karma. Surely there’d be something else?

Well, fuck it. He ran toward Eve, hand outstretched to grab the one silver item in his sight. Then, blood, lots of it. He and Eve turned to the beast, who’d been cut clean in half. Its torso slid to the ground in front of them, while its legs fell backward. Nixon stood at the door, if anyone had never seen him before, they’d think his uniform to be naturally red. Without a word, he falls back, completely passed out.

“This fool,” Eve clicks her tongue. “Help me pull him in here, would you?” She asks.

“Sure,” they both grab one leg each and pull him in, Eve slamming the door shut and placing another charm on it.

“His axe is made of silver,” she says. “And his artifact is an imperial one of strength,” she explains it well enough but Damian still stared blankly at her. “Meaning he’ll be out for a while,” she shakes her head.

~

“Where’s that help you were talking about, Alex?” You shout, stumbling backward and just barely keeping your balance.

“On his way… hopefully,” Alex bumps into you, the magic circle under him flickering weakly.

“After all the damage has been done,” Carter backs against the two of you.

“Well… the good news is that there’s one left,” you handed the sword back to Carter and held your rifle instead.

“And the bad news is that it’s the biggest one,” Carter sighs. You spot your rapier sticking out of it’s shoulder blade.

“Well… your effort is appreciated, Carter,” you nudged him and Carter stumbled further from you. “We’ll need a miracle.” The beast groaned.

“We are called the miraculous trio,” Alex takes a step back, distancing himself from the beast to ready an attack. “Let’s live up to that title,” Alex bends down slowly, tapping the blood puddle beneath him.

“You think we’ll get a raise?” Carter asks.

“Nah,” you aimed your rifle. “Dead Shot,” you said under your breath. A magic circle appeared on the daemon’s body. “There,” you pulled the trigger and Alex focused a ring of magic circles on it. “Carter!” Carter slid in front of you and launched the sword forth, the tip barreling toward the beast before the sword impaled it. The beast staggered back, but it did not fall. Instead, it looked to you, directly at you, in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

“W… W… Wayne,” the beast growled out. You held your hand up, stopping Alex from dealing the last hit. “I… know… you,” it fell forward, but still it’s gaze never wavered. “Do… know… me…?” It asked. You took a step forward.

“Hey,” Carter spoke up.

“It’s fine,” you reloaded your rifle. Soon, you were an arm’s length away from the beast. You spotted a hint of silver on it’s neck and, as if it were calling you, you pulled it out of it’s loose and tattered skin. It was an ID tag, one that every Knight received, hell, yours was around your neck right now. The name was almost entirely worn through, but you could still just barely read it.

Then… realization. You staggered back, suddenly feeling weak in every limb.

“Captain?” Carter’s voice behind you again.

“Oh my god…” You shook your head. You looked around the battlefield, corpses of knights and beasts all around, and then to the one in front of you. You fell onto your knees and you placed your hand on the beast’s head. “You served well, Major Syke,” you said the name on the ID.

“Thank you,” the beast breathed it’s last before stilling. The field was quiet, quiet except for the sound of you pulling your rapier out of the Major’s shoulder. You turned your earpiece on and waited for it to connect.

“The field is clear, report the total number of casualties and damages to me whenever you can, we will regroup in the North delta base,” you turned the comm off and turned around to Carter and Alexander. “Don’t tell anyone this,” you whispered, “but… we’ve been killing people.”

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[butterflydm]

wot reread: a memory of light (chapters 17-23)

spoilers for a memory of light, the final book.

Mat wakes up to find Fortuona listening to a report from one of her guards, still naked, and when he calls her ‘Tuon’, she chastises him under threat of execution if he does not show ~proper respect~. Interesting. I wonder if he'll actually stop calling her "Tuon" or not.

Part of my brain wants to compare the earlier Rand & Aviendha wake-up scene to this one, so I’m going to poke at that for a moment:

Rand & Aviendha have a pre-sex mock-threat scene where the Maidens teasingly threaten Rand before he and Aviendha sleep together; Mat has to deal with actual potential death from Tuon’s slaves (Selucia almost shooting him; the guards subduing him)

Rand & Aviendha and Mat & Fortuona are two extreme ‘culture clash’ relationships (Perrin and Faile are also a fairly extreme culture clash, but they’ve pretty much worked that out by now)

They’re also both ‘enemies to lovers, destined to be together due to a prophecy’ pairings, except Aviendha and Rand were 'enemies-to-lovers' in the loosest possible sense of "Aviendha has taken against Rand but doesn't really have any reason to hate him" while Mat got his compassion surgically removed in CoT so that he wouldn't judge Tuon for being a slaver.

Aviendha has done her best to teach Rand Aiel ways but seems to accept now that he will always be a wetlander at heart vs Fortuona expecting Mat to flip a switch and be a devoted Seanchan slave citizen and telling him that if he fails to conform, she may have him executed.

idk it’s ~interesting.

Tuon does make it clear that Mat is never going to have sex with her in private -- at least one of her guard-slaves will always be present.

2. Rand shows up -- Mat notes that he is dressed down, comparatively-speaking -- “no gold or jewelry, no weapon at all”.

Tuon, who is terrified of Rand, immediately freaks out, calling for damane to come and protect her. This scene is... *sigh* yeah, idk. It’s weirdly balanced, I guess I’d say. The narrative has done such a thorough job in trying to shield Mat from the truth about what the Seanchan have been doing recently, and from his own failures and the deaths that are on his head (he is complicit both in the attack on the White Tower -- because he let Tuon go back to her people to continue her invasion -- and the attack on Caemlyn -- because his mistrust of Aes Sedai meant he was unwilling to read a letter; and yet the narrative has hidden both of these failures from him completely). So it just feels like Mat’s perspective on the events here is so clouded by his ignorance of recent events. And that just makes it a weird scene.

When Mat gets trussed up by the Power, he first assumes that it’s Rand but when Rand tells him that it isn’t, he realizes that, well, he must be missing his medallion if he’s being held by the One Power, and he immediately looks towards Tuon who, yep, has the medallion. Guess you should have kept your dad's advice in mind and braced yourself for your trading partner to try to steal your horses, Mat.

This is that ironic moment that I was thinking of back in ToM -- Mat had wanted to freely give Tuon a medallion to protect her, but she betrayed him and stole it instead (and he didn’t even know that she knew it existed, so this is a double-betrayal -- Tuon betrayed him and so did Setalle Anan)

But this balance here, where Mat thinks that Rand is trapping him and then realizes that Tuon is the one who betrayed him... this is the first moment that probably couldn’t have existed without the reality-warping teleportation trip that Mat took down to Ebou Dar. But there’s immediate payoff from it, at least not that I can see -- one of the most frustrating things about Tuon’s horrible actions in CoT & KoD were that they never had any effect on Mat’s opinion of her, because he had a five-second memory in those two books, so I'm concerned that this will go the same way. Ah, I will remember this moment and see if it affects anything in the future.

3. Also, Mat should still have one of the copies of the medallion in his bag? He had both his original and one of the copies, per Elayne’s PoV earlier in the book, so even though Tuon stole his medallion, he does have the inferior backup.

I guess this “oh I ran away here to escape you, Rand, specifically because of The Fear” is supposed to be our explanation for why Mat changed his motivations between books? lol, what? That's a throwback to TSR/TFoH Mat except that TSR/TFoH Mat never actually ran away; he just talked about it a lot and then always ended up helping out anyway. So I guess that's where a lot of my frustrations with this reunion come from -- the parts that aren't weirdly competitive still feel... weird. (plus we still have never gotten the 'how' explanation for how Mat is in Ebou Dar -- fear alone does not catapult a person hundreds of miles in a single night)

Anyway, Rand’s reactions here really do make a lot more sense when I think about everything that Thom could have potentially told him -- the essence being “Mat accidentally ta’veren-trapped the Empress of the Seanchan into a marriage with him; maybe that will be useful”. He doesn’t really show any fear or worry for himself or for Mat, despite the potentially dire situation (though, you know, if he’s only shielded by a single damane, he can absolutely break free and... I don’t think damane can link together in a circle because they’re already in a forced-link using the a’dam? Or did my brain make that up? It does make sense though).

4. otoh, Mat just feels like he’s... taking all of this so unseriously? I can understand why he’s not truly worried here that Rand might hurt ~his slaver bride~ (because despite his bluster about Rand going mad, he’s shown instinctive trust in Rand when the going gets rough) but given that Tuon is having Rand shielded and her desperate panic the moment that she saw him and all the guards... he could show a bit of concern for Rand!

But Mat is just a wet noodle during this entire scene and it’s so bizarre. His marriage was so useless on every possible level and it feels absolutely pointless that it happened. And it didn’t have to be that way! The Mat & Tuon relationship could have been written in a way that made the readers really believe that Mat HAD to marry her in order to fulfill his destiny and make it so that the Seanchan would fight against the Dark One during the Last Battle. But as it is... Rand could have just shown up in the palace and done this entire scene without Mat, because Mat contributes absolutely nothing useful to the discussion at any point.

5. So, here’s the thing about Rand and Mat’s reunion as a whole: in isolation, it doesn’t bother me. It’s a relatively shallow conversation but that makes sense given that it’s occurring in the Seanchan stronghold -- Rand consistently does not want to show enemies the depth of his feelings about specific people, and Mat did his best throughout both CoT & KoD to keep the knowledge of his friendship with Rand away from Tuon (it was Talmanes who spilled the beans) because he didn’t trust her with that knowledge (which was, like, the one smart thing he did in the entirely of CoT & KoD, so I gotta give him credit for it), so it makes sense for them to underplay things in front of Tuon -- they are communicating information (hey, did you know I cleansed saidin? hey, did you know I saved Moiraine?) without communicating too many emotions. It’s something of a weird conversation for them, because the Rand and Mat friendship has never been particularly competitive, but it’s... okay. In isolation.

But I have to take into account that this is the only reunion scene that Mat and Rand ever get to have after they separate in Lord of Chaos, and that makes this scene an absolute narrative failure, because it is not enough to do their friendship justice.

And Sanderson was well aware of the importance of reunions... for other relationships.  And, specifically, among the three ta’veren boys:

Perrin gets a reunion dinner & a personal goodbye with Mat in ToM.

Perrin gets a reunion dinner & a personal goodbye with Rand in AMoL.

No reunion dinner and personal goodbye for Mat and Rand. Only Perrin gets such things.

All Rand and Mat get is this emotionally-limp dick-measuring contest, despite them spending large chunks of books 1-5 together and their relationship being a foundational emotional element in those five books, even when they are separated. Yet because Sanderson decided to yeet Mat down to Ebou Dar (despite it making no logistical or narrative sense for that to happen), this one meeting is all they get. And that just... sucks. Even back during the first time I read the books, when I did not yet ship Cauthor, I was so deeply disappointed by this reunion. It is such a betrayal of the complicated relationship between Rand and Mat.

Mat has spent every book since he and Rand have been separated having ‘return to Rand’ be his goal in some way or another, and that just gets wiped away between ToM & AMoL.

6. idk. Mat does... sorta try to contribute -- he offers to talk to Tuon on Rand’s behalf (”I’ll get us out of this”) -- but there’s also some real wtf thoughts going on in his brain. Like when Tuon threatens to take Rand back over the ocean to enslave him as her personal Dragon, Mat thinks “she made a good Empress”. lol, she’s literally just making the exact same threat that Elaida tries to get her embassy to carry out on her behalf back in LoC. Was Elaida also good Empress material, Mat? I mean, maybe this version of Mat also would have praised Elaida for the Box, who knows. Maybe post-canon, he’ll free Elaida and fall head-over-heels in love with her now that he’s attracted to petty tyrants who like to throw tantrums. Elaida won’t be interested back, but that could be a good learning experience for him.

On a more serious note, I think this is the beginning of some incredibly bizarre Seanchan-native style thoughts spawning spontaneously in Mat’s brain. It gets real weird at points, from what I remember (we'll see if my memory was correct!).

7. It is so bizarre that Rand does this huge display of power but then he... essentially rolls over for the Seanchan and lets them join the alliance against the Dark One without them needing to give up anything. His first offer is pretty much the rock-bottom “if worst comes to worst” terms that the Merrilor council was willing to give. That’s horrible negotiating! Always start high, Rand! Start off with “release all your slaves and go back over the ocean” and bargain down from there, rather than bargaining down from “you can keep the lands that you have now”. She's intimidated by you! Press your advantage!

Though I really do think that a lot of flaws in this scene stem from having Mat desert the Last Battle and run to Ebou Dar. Because Mat is treating this situation like his parents are getting a nasty divorce and he's trying to get them to kiss and make up rather than the situation being his aggressive/fear-based slaver wife wanting to kidnap and enslave millions of people versus the person who literally is going to save the world. You can't 'both sides are valid' a situation like that.

There is no ‘both sides’ when one of the sides does not respect the humanity of the other side. That’s as true when it comes to the Seanchan as it is when it comes to the Dark One wanting to destroy the universe. Slavery is violence.

8. I will note that Mat is throwing ‘Tuon’ around a lot in this conversation, so he has not yet taken on-board her threat about having him executed.

Rand does try to bargain for the freedom of the damane -- Tuon says no deal if she doesn’t get to keep her slaves. Keeping her slaves matters more to her than preventing the ending of the world. I thought Perrin was bad because he was willing to let the world burn if it meant saving Faile, but Tuon would let the world burn before she would let a single slave slip through her fingers.

Ugh, honestly, comparing her to Elaida does Elaida such a disservice. Tuon is a much worse person than Elaida ever was.

And Mat says nothing to try to sway her. He spoke to her when it came to trusting Rand with the Last Battle (and that one quote, “you can trust Rand al’Thor with the world itself” is a nice one), but he has nothing to say about her expressed desire to enslave every woman who can channel. Which includes his sister. Which includes Elayne and Nynaeve and Egwene. Which includes Moiraine, who he literally just saved from a different kind of captivity.

Nothing to say on their behalf, Mat?

Nothing.

I will remember that in the future. That when you had the chance to say something to try to sway Tuon on the subject of slavery, you stayed silent.

9. I am going to note something very important here, and then explain why it’s important under some spoiler space for the ending of the book. Part of the bargain that Tuon agrees to (and then signs her name to) is this: “Taking any [damane] afterward [meaning after the Last Battle] who are not in your own land will be seen as breaking the treaty and attacking the other nations.” *

And non-spoilerly side note: yeah, apparently this deal does mean that crossing the border into Seanchan territory means that they can hunt you down and enslave you without penalty. Yikes. Hope you weren’t planning on ever seeing your sister Bode again, Mat, because she can’t come visit you (lol, not as if she’d want to, I suppose).

10. So, overall... the bargain that Sanderson made, where he violated both logic and the narrative itself to ship Mat off to Ebou Dar... I do not understand why he thought it was worth it. Again, this scene with Rand, Mat, and the slaver empress isn’t complete trash -- there are some good moments in it -- but actually having Mat finishing out his narrative arcs in Merrilor/Caemlyn would have been so much better. And most of this scene still could have played out similarly if Mat had come here on purpose.

I think probably the worst part of this scene is Mat obediently trailing after Tuon when she leaves. Ugh, it’s so frustrating that Mat ended up being the General of the Slavers rather than the General of the Light -- that he comes to the Last Battle as Tuon’s slave-husband rather than someone who is actually invested in the fight in his own right. He ran away from the battle but now is willing to fight that same battle on behalf of the slavers? Yikes, what an ugly message. There’s a lot of Unfortunate in those Implications. When it was just the Westlands facing the Last Battle, Mat ran like a coward but now that the SLAVERS are involved, Mat will without hesitation dedicate himself to saving the world again? Yikes, yikes, yikes.

But the stupidest part of this is that Mat had already accepted, for books!, that he would need to be at Rand’s side during the Last Battle. He has spent books trying to get back to Rand to give him additional resources for the Last Battle. But now he’s apparently only willing to risk his neck if his wife-owner is involved. I mean, I guess this has to be why the story got changed and Mat teleported to Ebou Dar -- so that Mat would be part of the Seanchan Contribution to the Last Battle rather than being there because “it’s what had to be done” aka the right thing to do aka his previously established character motivations that were in play as recently as the final chapter of Towers of Midnight.

So, yeah, the portion of Mat’s characterization re: Tuon specifically is not awful but, holy shit, everything related to his relationships to every non-Seanchan character got shredded to an unrecognizable mess. I am really hoping that gets better in future chapters but... yeah, yikes.

11. Like Perrin and Elayne, Gawyn has also been fighting for a week as of right now. So a week has passed in the Caemlyn area and the staging area near Shayol Ghul but only a handful of hours passed between when Perrin said Mat was in Ebou Dar (before the fighting began) and when Rand went to visit Mat.

12. As a whole, I'm good with a lot of what Sanderson has been writing in AMoL! But there are definitely a few big issues have been sticking out:

everything with Mat is a logistical nightmare, even if you discount the awful impact it had on his characterization

everyone Just Knows about Rand's three girlfriends now, without ever reacting to the information

which I guess also falls under the banner of: important character moments keep getting skipped

Rand and Elayne avoiding each other at the start of this book is a weird mirror to how Rand and Aviendha were avoiding each other in TGS, aka it doesn't really make sense why they would do that

13. Anyway, I suspect that my posts are going to be able to cover more chapters now, because I never really have a lot to say about battle scenes and we just started this chapter off with one, and I suspect there will be many more in the future. But we'll see!

14. Gawyn makes sure that Egwene is getting enough sleep and not overusing the Power and he realizes that he no longer has any anger when he thinks about Rand al'Thor. Good for him! On both counts. It won't help anyone if Egwene exhausts herself. That being said, I went "yikes" at hearing that Gawyn is barely sleeping and Egwene is "washing away" his exhaustion because I feel like Moiraine says in the first book that that doesn't actually fix your exhaustion, it just masks it and lets you work through it. Let me check.

Oh, boy, yeah, I'm sorta right (It's Lan and not Moiraine who tells them, and specifically he is telling Mat, Rand, and Perrin about it while Egwene is off with Moiraine doing something else):

"They will run at their fastest, if we let them, right up to the second they drop dead from exhaustion they never even felt."

15. Leilwin née Egeanin has some nerve trying to argue with Gawyn that Egwene shouldn't hold the crimes of the Seanchan as a whole against her as an individual when she has owned a damane herself!

"I did not" - yes, you did! Egwene cares about more than just her own skin, so it would matter to her that you de-personed other people and not just if it was herself. I'm glad that you came around and decided to start treating channelers like people but this is absolutely a crime that you own. You owned damane, even after you met Elayne & Nynaeve and saw that marath'damane were not the monsters that your government tries to teach you that they are. You went back to your people and accepted becoming a member of the Blood, giving up an artifact that you had agreed to dispose of (where was your honor then, when your own skin was on the line?), and only left the Seanchan when you realized that one of the Seekers was on your trail and it was only a matter of time before you were discovered anyway. Saving her own skin has been Leilwin née Egeanin's priority for the vast majority of the time that we, the readers, have known her as a character. Not her honor.

I do like Leilwin née Egeanin as a character -- she's the most fully-realized and complex Seanchan character that we've met, I would say. But, yeah, she owns this crime and Egwene is fully in her right to hold it against her.

16. Mmm, we get a reminder here that the Bloodknife ter'angreal are personally handed out by the Empress. More interesting to me is that Leilwin née Egeanin is able to cut off her instinctive "may she live forever" after mentioning the Empress half-way through the words. Gawyn learns here that it is blood that activates the rings, but he convinces himself that he won't need to use them -- he can protect Egwene as a Warder. And she's winning her portion of the battle, so things are going well for them.

17. Rand is remembering seeing Trollocs for the first time, back in the Age of Legends, when they only knew them as "Aginor's experiments". Yeah, that had to be so mind-blowing (in a bad way), the first time that they were seen. Have I mentioned recently that I do really like that we're back in Rand's head for this book? Cutting us off from Rand's PoV was the biggest mis-step of ToM, imo.

After fighting on behalf of Elayne's armies wearing the face of Jur Grady, so that the Forsaken do not know that he's there, he reveals himself briefly with his own face and power level to give a morale boost to the troops, then returns to Merrilor, where Min is waiting to immediately clamp onto his arm.

18. Though Min has been a silent presence in some of the Rand chapters of the book, this is the first time she actually speaks in this book. Page 353 in the hardcover version. "You look sad."

lol, yeah, Sanderson 100% had no clue how to balance the Rand x Min relationship with the Rand x Elayne x Aviendha relationship, to the point that Min had to become a background element for the chapters during which Sanderson focused on Rand & Aviendha and Rand & Elayne.

19. Rand thinks here that he would have fallen "for sure" if Min hadn't been there during those "months of darkness". Bro. Bro. You did fall. That was a thing that absolutely happened on the page. We literally watched it. It was a whole plot point. You almost destroyed time and the universe because of how dark and cold your interior world had gotten, and it wasn't Min who stopped you from doing it; it was reaching inside yourself and finding hope. All of that was literally on the page.

But giving Min credit for things she never did or that never happened is pretty much the main pattern when it comes to Min, so I guess... here's another one of those moments, lol.

20. So, I think I'm parsing the grammar of this correctly and Cadsuane is saying that both Aviendha and Min got jewelry, yes?

"A sword for your father, a ter'angreal for the Queen of Andor, a crown for Lan Mandragoran, jewelry for the Aiel girl, and for this one." She nodded at Min.

Also, wow, "jewelry for the Aiel girl" -- Cadsuane did not even bother getting Aviendha's name. I wonder if she was pissed off when she realized that the horse that she was betting on to influence Rand for her (Min) wasn't the only voice in his ear.

Anyway, Rand is annoyed because she calls him out -- in front of Min -- in basically giving away sentimental "in case I die" gifts.

21. So... Aviendha and Min are both here at Rand's main camp, but there's zero implication that they are getting to know each other the way that Aviendha wanted them to (and like they had the chance to do in TGS, but both of them avoided each other instead).

Stop skipping important emotional moments!

Also, I kind of have to laugh that... Min was apparently here the whole time, but Perrin didn't think to mention her when he was having his big goodbye scene with Rand. Aren't you two supposed to be friends?

22. Cadsuane insults Elayne to try to get a rise out of Rand but he refuses to respond to the bait. Yeah, between "the Aiel girl" and now insulting Elayne, I think Cadsuane was ticked off when the memo went out that the Dragon has three girlfriends and the trump card that she'd thought she'd held by cultivating Min was not as strong as she believed it to be.

Anyway, she tells Rand here that it's best if he doesn't go into the fight believing absolutely that he's going to die and... okay, I'm going to pop an addition to this thought at the end**.

lol Cadsuane tries to fish for a gift for herself and Rand shuts her down with "I'm giving them to those I care about." I really do find their interactions so funny now that Cadsuane can't successfully bully or bait Rand anymore.

23. Aviendha is going to lead those fighting against the Forsaken who will be popping up once Rand goes into Shayol Ghul. Elayne & Aviendha have both grown into such leaders. 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

Rand also makes sure that Alivia is involved in that portion of the battle.

Cadsuane casually drops the news here that the Black Tower has freed itself -- to go back to my earlier Black Tower thoughts, I feel like this would be so much more impactful if Nynaeve were the one delivering this news because she was the one who helped liberate the Black Tower. Because as far as we've seen, the only thing Nynaeve has done in the last eighteen chapters is give Moiraine a hug. She had the time and the motivation to do the Black Tower plotline.

24. I love this scene with Lan, where he realizes that he has hopes for the future now and he wonders if Rand has any idea that he was part of the reason why Lan started looking beyond his own death. Rand and Nynaeve, tearing down his walls without even realizing what they were doing, just by being themselves.

"Rand al'Thor had begun to crack that shell, and then Nynaeve's love had torn it apart completely."

Wouldn't it be neat if this scene had happened right after Nynaeve had returned to Rand and told him that the Black Tower was no longer under Taim's control?

25. Just like the other captain over in Lan's front of the battle did, Bashere also made a bone-headed mistake in his battle planning here. I do feel like we're probably supposed to be picking up at this point that this is no coincidence and not just the captains being over-tired and not thinking clearly. But right now, Elayne is trusting Bashere because of how much trust Rand placed in him, even when Rand was at his most untrusting.

26. In a TAR visit with Amys, Melaine, and Bair, Egwene is told about a blackness that is showing in cracks between rocks, in the places nearest Shayol Ghul, then after a few moments the blackness fades and leaves behind ordinary cracks. The Wise Ones believe it is the Pattern pulling apart and think that it is due to how much balefire is being used during the battle. Egwene says that it is already forbidden to Aes Sedai to use the weave, but she will remind them, and pass word to their other allies. They also tell her goodbye, as soon Rand will go into Shayol Ghul.

27. When Egwene wakes up, it's to meet with Rand -- not as Amyrlin and Dragon, but as childhood friends. His sentimental gift to Egwene is a hair ribbon which she first takes as him implying that she's a child -- which kinda shows how far beyond the Two Rivers that she's gone, because she knows that's not what a hair ribbon means there.

But it's a sweet moment.

So, if Rand had been allowed to give sentimental gifts to Mat... and Perrin too, I guess. What would they have been? This newest version of Mat doesn't really deserve any gifts, lol, so that one is kinda tough. A geode, maybe, or a thunder egg? Mat used to like to collect little treasures.

I saw someone in the tags a while back talking about how refreshing it was that the friendships between women in the books are so vibrant in contrast to the friendships between men and... I also love how great those friendships are, but it really sucks that Jordan (maybe Sanderson too? it's hard to tell) seemed to believe that married men weren't allowed to have close male friends and were only supposed to confide in their spouse. And that's a part of toxic masculinity, the belief that your girlfriend/wife should be your emotional dumping ground while hanging with the bros stays shallow, competitive, and light. And we really saw that a lot with Rand during the darkest books for him -- Min was his emotional dumping ground, there to receive his trauma and not have any of her own (despite going through several traumatic events).

And that part of what's damaged about how the male characters relate to the world never really gets healed. Women can confide in their friends, but male friendships get hollowed out once the men start getting love interests.

(the books kinda lampshade this when they say that Aiel women adopting each other as first-sisters is much more common than men adopting each other as first-brothers -- so there's this implied idea that married men only relate to each other as co-workers or leader-subordinates)

Oh, yeah, and Rand realizes that the seals that Egwene is holding to wait to break for the Last Battle are actually fakes. I feel like nothing really happens with this plotline so I'm not going to get too invested.

28. Mat allows himself be dressed up as a doll for Tuon’s viewing pleasure. This is that other contrast against Elayne that I mentioned back in the post where I talked about Fortuona being a foil to Elayne -- where Tylin and Fortuona order Mat to wear clothes that please them; Mat requested that Elayne pick out someone to help him get better clothes (that were in the style that he would prefer).

Mat is SO MISERABLE in this scene. Why is he forcing himself through all this? Why didn't he leave with Rand?

He hates that the slaves won't look at him; he hates that he's being dressed up like a Seanchan; he hates the idea that everyone is going to be looking at him like this. He hates everything about this. Why is he doing it? If Mat's marriage to Tuon had been what sealed the deal for the treaty, then Mat pushing through even though he's miserable would make sense, but much like the entirety of this whole fucking relationship, Mat is turning his future into a misery for no apparent reason.

29. Of course, now that Mat has been (abruptly, off the page) cut off from all his other emotional connections except for Tuon, he's been locked in. I really do feel like Jordan (and now Sanderson) failed to give Mat enough of a reason to have *waves hands* all of this make sense. The general vibe is "better to stay in the worst marriage in the world than to have no marriage at all" but that is a bizarre storyline to give to someone who never showed any signs of wanting to be married.

But yeah, having servants/slaves undress him so that he can be dressed according to how his owner wants him to look is exactly what Tylin did. Mat thinks here, I won't be owned, but he's not doing a very good job of actually standing his ground. See, the thing is... if this was how Mat's story was going to end up anyway, I feel like Jordan might as well have just had Tylin sell Mat to Tuon back in Winter's Heart? Because that's where we've ended up anyway -- with Mat realizing that Tylin and Tuon are birds of a feather but... for whatever reason... sticking with her anyway, even though it actively makes him unhappy.

I can't think of any reason to have this scene except to remind us of Tylin? (in-world, I imagine that Tuon is having it done to show all the Westlanders that Mat belongs to her now, not to their side, because... she's extremely possessive and jealous -- and also to reassure her own side that she has thoroughly broken her new outlander mate to be loyal to the Empire)

Mat is able to negotiate slightly -- his clothes don't get burned and they're only making a military outfit for him right now -- but he was able to negotiate slightly with Tylin as well. It kinda feels like that's Mat's lot for the foreseeable future -- his life will mostly be a misery, with tiny patches of him being to negotiate a small bit of breathing room. A tiny bit of false freedom in exchange for his loyalty is probably seen as a bargain by Tuon.

30. Yeah, I'm not very happy with Mat's storyline in this book, at least so far. Which sucks because (except for the first chapter of TGS), I've been liking what Sanderson brought to the table for Mat in TGS & ToM. Especially after the trash-fire that was Mat in CoT & KoD (I genuinely dislike Mat as a character in CoT & KoD and it ruins those two books for me).

But it is an interesting illustration of... what parts of a character matter to different individual readers. Some people were never invested in Mat as someone who genuinely cared about doing the right thing even as he called anyone like that foolish, but it was such a vital part of Mat's characterization for me, all the way through Winter's Heart. And it's just gone in CoT & KoD, and losing that part of Mat makes me no longer like Mat as a character. But for some people... that just wasn't an important part of who Mat was to them, and they could shrug off the loss or not even notice it at all.

I've seen something similar with various posts talking about -- "is Rand still Rand if you remove the toxic masculinity portion of his story?" and various other debates about different aspects of his storyline. For some people, Rand being an exploration of toxic masculinity (by embracing Lan's advice) was a huge part of his character and helped them through their own issues with masculinity. For me, it is not that vital part of who Rand is, and if the show doesn't go that way -- if the list isn't gendered, if the focus isn't on "don't let any WOMEN get hurt or killed", I would welcome that change. But for a person who saw Rand's struggle in their own life, that change would feel like a loss.

So it's sad for me that Mat has been locked-into the Prince of Ravens story, particularly in this version of the story where the way they chose to approach the story was to dampen his empathy for the enslaved and shred his emotional connections to his former friends away as if they meant nothing. The parts of Mat that I cared about the most were the parts that were thrown away by the authors as if they were meaningless. And that sucks.

I've caught glimpses in the Sanderson books, of the Mat that I loved in the series from EotW-WH, but so far this version in AMoL feels like half the character that I cared about, with the other half ripped away.

I miss Mat. And it sucks so much more to think that during actual Mat PoV sections than to think it when Mat is missing or gone.

I miss the guy who cared so much about slavery that he risked his own escape plan to free the Windfinders.

I miss the guy who sat quietly with Rand after Rhuidean, exactly the kind of comfort that Rand needed at the time.

His body is still walking around but the part of Mat that I loved... he's not there. He got in the way of the plot, so the authors elided those parts of him out of existence. But those were the parts that I cared about the most.

Yeah. Just makes me sad.

31. Ah, the surprise Sharan army shows up. Why would they hold back until now? The fighting has been going on for a week+ at this point. Hmm... my Doylist (aka author-based, as opposed to in-world) assumption is that the Sharans are showing up now so that it will actually feel like the Seanchan are needed when they show up, so the timing needed to be placed after the treaty with the Seanchan was signed. A whole random huge nation shows up at the fight with tons of channelers -- better throw a different random huge nation with tons of channelers at them! In-world... idk, probably just Demandred being dramatic. They attack on Egwene's part of the battlefield, so now all the fronts are in a bad way.

32. Aviendha is part of the advance group of scouts into the Blasted Lands (before they reach Shayol Ghul). They see Shayol Ghul and the forges where the Fade's blades are made.

I love her scene here with Rand. Aviendha realizes that she and Rand are more alike that she'd ever noticed before, and they stand next to each other, shoulders just barely touching. "He did not own her, and she did not own him. The act of his movement so that they stood facing in the same direction meant far more to her than any other gesture could."

🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

Aviendha says that taking the Dark One gai'shain would be a greater victory than killing him. I love her. So Aviendha votes here for Rand to imprison TDO rather than try to kill him. Rand says that he'd thought them finally being in a proper-type relationship would mean no more lectures on Aiel culture and Aviendha is just... so baffled. 🥰

So the plan is for Ituralde and the Aiel to hold this area right before Shayol Ghul, to give Rand time to go in and deal with the Dark One.

33. With the scouting done, they go back to Rand's camp to prep the forces for the assault, and Rand tells Aviendha that the dagger has been helping him stay hidden from the Shadow during the fight, just as she thought that it would. This knife really does feel like it symbolizes how connected Rand-Elayne-Aviendha are as a triad. Aviendha finds out what it can do and gives it to Elayne to protect her; Elayne gives it to Rand to protect him. Rand says it's going to make it easier for him to get to TDO before he's noticed. He calls the dagger "Artham".

Also: Rand tells Aviendha about the true seals going missing! Communication! Love to see it. He mentions that apart from the two of them, Egwene is the only one who knows that the true seals are gone.

Ituralde will be in charge of the troops during the Shayol Ghul assault but Aviendha will lead the channelers.

34. ...Min really thought there was a chance that she was going to go with Rand to face the Dark One? All she would be is a liability!

Anyway, okay, Rand actually does specifically send Min to Egwene to "watch the Seanchan Empress" so I'll keep that in mind. I'm not sure exactly what Min is supposed to do if things go poorly but keeping an eye on Tuon is part of the reason she was sent. (technically he sent her there to "keep an eye on both factions" but he knows he can trust Egwene, so the implied reason is Tuon & the Seanchan). How convenient that Rand is sending the Seanchan to the front that just got flattened by the Sharans, even though he thinks Egwene is "doing well". I guess that one we can say is ta'veren stuff.

Also, in this scene before Min gets sent on her way, she does not offer any last insight about Callandor. It's Moiraine and Nynaeve who talk to him about the flaw here.

35. I feel like this whole "Logain has grown darker" plotline could have been cut out. Not needed. Just let him lead the Asha'man into the Last Battle; there's plenty of glory in that.

36. Demandred shows up on the battlefield after the Sharans have flattened the Aes Sedai forces to grab one of them (it's Leane) to try to send her off with a message to Rand: it's personal and you better face me yourself or I will ruin everything you love (essentially). Yeah... your dramatic entrance a week into the Last Battle has kinda ruined your chance at Rand, I'm pretty sure. Because he's heading towards Shayol Ghul very soon. Too slow, ~dragonslayer~. Fancy title and no dragon around for you to slay.

37. Lanfear dunks on Perrin for not being able to kill Graendal (when he discovered her in TAR).

"I found [the inability to kill women] charming in Lews Therin at one point, but that doesn't make it any less a weakness."

Why is Lanfear helping Perrin out? I do not remember her goal here, if we ever find it out. But she basically handed him the dreamspike and now she's telling him that it's dumb for him to let Graendal get away just because she's a woman (Gaul also tells Perrin this: "A warrior who will not strike a Maiden is a warrior who refuses her honor"). She also straight-up tells him that Graendal is here to influence people's dreams. And Perrin saw Graendal messing around in war tents with maps.

... he does not put the pieces together at this point.

38. Okay, we get the low-down on the time dilation (thank you, physics researcher Mierin!) -- Shayol Ghul is what is distorting time. The closer you are to it, the more time distorts. "For every day that passes [to those close to Shayol Ghul], three or four might pass to those more distant."

In other words, this does not fix Mat's logistics problem, where he was able to undertake a weeks-long journey on horseback over the course of a single night in order to reach Ebou Dar around the same time Moiraine and Thom reached Merrilor, but then an entire week passed in Merrilor while only a handful of hours passed for Mat in Ebou Dar. Mat's logistics still do not add up.

Oh, Lanfear also tells Perrin that one of the people Graendal was influencing was his wife's dad, aka Bashere aka one of the generals of the battle.

39. Given what a dire situation Gawyn & Egwene are in, Gawyn takes the opportunity while scouting to slip on one of the Bloodknife rings and activate it. They're pinned down and trapped by the Sharan army so it makes sense that he's desperate enough to do this. They certainly have no clue that they're about to get sent an additional army on their own side.

It means that he can scout directly past the various Sharan sentries who are surrounding them (it is an incredibly dire situation). Not only does it let him travel with the shadows but he also notices that it lets him move faster as well.

Given that he already has the rings and what a terrible situation he and Egwene are currently trapped in, it would be pretty foolish of him not to use the rings at this time, tbh.

But it looks like when Leilwin née Egeanin said that the rings would eventually kill you once you'd activated them, Gawyn interpreted that as 'might'. And I think that makes sense -- Gawyn can understand on an intellectual level how disposable (non-Blood) lives are in the Seanchan Empire without being able to take it in emotionally. It's not intuitive for him, because he doesn't use people up and throw them away the way that the Seanchan do.

40. We get another pretty powerful flashback to Egwene's time with the damane, when she is temporarily captured by one of the Sharans while she is making her escape following Gawyn. It's actually pretty clever -- she deliberately is letting go of her Aes Sedai control so that her panic over the idea of being captured will draw Gawyn back so that he can help her.

But, yeah, having this vivid reminder of of Egwene's time as a captive of the Seanchan... it really does make the choices that Jordan & Sanderson decided to make with Mat's storyline so baffling. Mat genuinely cares about Egwene, about Elayne, about Nynaeve, about Moiraine, presumably he cares about his sister but I guess who knows. And yet Jordan has Mat laugh off the idea of Tuon attacking the White Tower (which she then followed through on and actually did and yet he does not know about it) and act like the sul'dam are more oppressed and in more danger than the actual slaves; and Sanderson has Mat run away from the Last Battle until the slavers are involved and then he's apparently willing to risk his life again. In the name of the slavers. Baffling writing choices all around.

Egwene on thinking what it would be like to be captured by the Seanchan again: "She would be nothing. She would have her very self stripped away. She would rather be dead."

41. But Gawyn is still too far away and it ends up being Leilwin née Egeanin who saves Egwene here. Together the three of them escape the camp, reunite with Bayle, and then Egwene is able to Skim them back to the White Tower.

42. Near Shayol Ghul, Aviendha and the channelers that she's leading clear the valley so that Rand will be able to approach. There's a pretty intense battle scene and then Aviendha takes charge of organizing all the channelers so that they will be able to hold the valley for as long as Rand's task takes him.

43. ...Thom and Moirine apparently also got married off the page? When did they have time? Did Mat perform a quick ceremony before he teleported himself on top of Pips' back and then teleported himself to Ebou Dar?

Hmm, I wonder (should we make it that far) if this will be Siuan being the watcher outside Shayol Ghul instead of Thom? It kinda would make more sense for that person to be a channeler anyway.

44. As they enter, Rand's wound from Ishamael begin bleeding. As per the prophecy. His blood on the rocks of Shayol Ghul. He goes into the cavern holding Callandor and linked with Moiraine and Nynaeve.

spoilers through the epilogue

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(* Tuon’s people are violating the terms of the treaty in the epilogue. They comb the battlefield afterwards and are enslaving any channelers “who are not Aes Sedai”. That’s not the deal she made. The deal was they could not take “any who are not in your own land” and none of the fighting for the Last Battle took place in Seanchan-held lands. As of the epilogue, Tuon is already in violation of the agreement. And the sul’dam who takes Moghedien makes it clear that they’re snapping up any channelers that they suspect “won’t be missed”. There are many channelers among Rand’s allies who are not Aes Sedai -- Asha’man, Wise Ones, the Kin, the Windfinders. So, yeah... Rand isn’t getting his “hundred years of peace” because the Seanchan couldn’t last even a single day post-Last Battle without breaking their word.)

(** So... Rand is lying to Cadsuane and the readers in his scene with her, because he IS making plans to potentially survive the Last Battle -- we know that he has Alivia set up a 'post-death' escape plan for him. So this part is more interesting on reread, because Rand has to walk the line of not giving away to Cadsuane that he does hope to live, because part of his 'post-death' plan is retiring into obscurity. I don't have any issue with Rand lying to Cadsuane here, I just wanted to note it)

It remains so weird to me that Sanderson & Team Jordan decided to go the ‘deserter’ route rather than the ‘negotiator’ route with Mat. I’m honestly scratching my head to try to figure out the narrative benefits of doing things this way. Nothing about Mat’s approach into Ebou Dar requires him to skip Merrilor and abandon his people, and many things would make a great deal more sense if Mat had gone to Merrilor: Mat doesn’t seem to want to be here and yet he’s forcing himself to do it every step of the way, so it would make sense if something was actually driving him to take the actions that he’s taking (guilt over Caemlyn). He still could have easily had sex with Fortuona here if he’d been sent by the Merrilor council, so that’s not why we broke the story to get him here without letting him reconnect with his friends.

What could the motivation be? I am unlikely to ever get the chance to interview Sanderson or Harriet or anyone else on Team Jordan, and no one else appears to have ever asked him about any of this, so I am going to have to speculate.

What are the story effects of having Mat desert Team Light & the Band (off the page)?

It means that anything complicated about the Seanchan gets avoided for the first ten chapters and the focus is entirely on the Westlands' feelings and worries.

Mat's emotional connections appear to have been cut off or muted.

What does it gain to simplify and cut off Mat’s Westlands emotional connections?

Is it a case of ‘writing to the epilogue’? If I recall correctly, Mat doesn’t seem to care at all about his Westlands friends or family in the epilogue, so were his emotional bonds destroyed in-between books so that it wouldn’t be jarring that he doesn’t go to his friend’s funeral or that his only concern post-Last Battle appears to be his own skin and appeasing his owner-wife? But why not write that as part of the text? Why not show us the process of Mat disconnecting from his friends?

Is it another instance of Fortuona’s delicate toddler feelings being coddled (not by other characters but by the narrative itself)? If Mat comes to her still having other loyalties, then she definitely would be upset and would probably throw a tantrum, as we’ve seen from her before (she gets pretty close as it is). One of the largest annoyances of how Jordan (& now Sanderson) has written the story around Fortuona is feeling like the narrative itself is tiptoeing around her and bowing to her and trying to kiss her feet (if the narrative played fair with Fortuona & the Seanchan, they would be a lot scarier and a lot less annoying -- like they were all the way through Winter’s Heart, in fact, because Crossroads of Twilight is really when the narrative really started pulling its punches with the Seanchan).

For whatever reason, it remains such a baffling choice. Because all of Mat’s complex (and often ugly) feelings about his marriage and the Seanchan are still there, bubbling under the surface and poking out from time to time, but the heart of his character -- his relationship with any character other than Fortuona -- got strangled off-screen. Such a strange choice.

I do think that it’s likely that the show will do much better with this relationship, if they do decide to commit to it, because the bones of what Mat & Fortuona could have been are really fascinating. But wow, the execution just shits all over any of the better possibilities. What a waste of potential.

#wot #wheel of time #wot reread #wot book spoilers #wot spoilers #wot amol spoilers #wot a memory of light spoilers #mat cauthon #rand al'thor #seanchan warning #egwene al'vere

[roach-works]

hey so I've read After The Storm (... repeatedly) and the Midnight Chicken one, but the next two seemed kinda like PWP one-shots and the porny bits are the ones I was least interested in in AtS so I skipped them (and completely missed the third which seems a bit more plot-like?). Only now I really want to know how Rich got to New York and what he's doing there etc. (I guess that is on me for buying from the erotica section, but it was SUCH good hurt/comfort heavy on the comfort and post-traumatic development and juicy future setting...)

So I guess my real question here is: what's the porn:plot (in the loosest sense which includes fluff and parties and character development and world building stuff) ratio in all of these? Should I get them for the plot or would I end up skimming most of them...?

my co-writers should probably chime in on this one but in my opinion:

-learning the ropes: rich learns more about boundaries and limitations. almost entirely sex scenes with a few pauses for negotiations. like 90% sex.

-the art of boytoy maintenance: a look at rich's near-future recovery and a cozy domestic fic during storm docking. almost entirely sex scenes with breaks for recovery and cuddling, 80% sex.

-cross my heart: mitch gets in on the action. mostly sex scenes with breaks for negotiations and heartfelt confessions and so on. 80% sex.

-a taste of new york: a meetcute fic with very frequent sex scenes, interspersed with tourism, meal breaks, some entertainment and misadventures. 60-70% sex.

the sex in this series isn't ever pwp: we do our best to make it a central, crucial part of the story. it's pretty vital for the development of everyone's feelings and characters, though in the first novel you can skim it and you definitely don't HAVE to read the novellas. but still, this is a romance/erotica series, and the novellas (minus the kiddie adventure one) are extremely steamy by design, and employ sex as the main driver of action and progress.

if you don't care for the sex scenes in after the storm that's perfectly fine and im glad the story stands just fine without them! but most of the novellas aren't likely to be to your tastes. the new york fic is the most likely one to have any story left after you skim all the smut, but i genuinely can't guarantee it would be worth it.

the upcoming mega-sized novels we're working on will have much more non-sex story per story, tho! but you're going to have to be patient because they're like more than 200k each and that takes so much editing.

we also have a few more novellas in the works and in planning, one of which is a road trip with katrina and selkies! that one's likely to be gen. ditto the one with a pair of detroit cult escapees, and there might be another young thena story too. all of these are a long way from publishing tho, and we get stuff done in a pretty random order, so. look forward to those! but very, very far forwards. orz

#sorry dude #we do our best to deliver really high quality and plot-relevant fucking #but boyyyyyyy is there a LOT of fucking #boat boys #we're definitely working on a variety of fics so there will be less porn-centric stories eventually tho!

[contrastparadoxx]

Divine Intervention

Antare belongs to @sunnetrolls, Parome belongs to @asks-n-trolls , All other characters belong to me HUGE shout out to @sasster for all of the help writing this i would not have finished without you

Despite Contra’s liberation from beneath the thumb of her ancestor, to the loosest definition possible anyway, there always had to be some reason or event orchestrated to bring her back under his influence. Maybe to remind her of her place, maybe to make him feel better about the embarrassment that surrounded her being allowed to live planetside in the first place. If she thought about it for long enough, the why doesn’t really matter, it’s just that it is something that is.

This evening’s event was no different, but it was supposed to be. Contra’d orchestrated the whole thing herself — A small party on a ship with the premier of her newest movie set to play when it docked at a private island. She’d rub elbows with other industry giants, entertain them, and possibly secure another handful of roles from this very event. She had it all figured out on her own, too, from catering to drink service.

She’d even been able to pull some strings to have Antare among the service providers. It was not ideal, especially considering who bankrolled the event and as such decided that his attendance and the attendance of actors and producersI from more distinguished- read: empire propaganda films- were of the utmost importance.

At least she had the solace of her moirail being nearby, should she need to decompress after her interactions with the overbearing benefactor.

The Cleanser, Archen Aurela, her father.

Try as she did to forget that fact, the man loomed over the crowd all evening, easily the tallest of all of her guests, micro expressions that only she could detect displaying his disapproval for some of the crowd.

It became clear what he was scouring the crowd for when his eyes fell on hers, she felt like a deer in headlights. He did not need to make a large motion for her to get the picture that he wanted to meet her on the outside portion of the ship, now. It seemed Antare had noticed as well, or at least her reaction to such, because as she started to make her way towards the door outside, he stepped out from behind his little counter.

She did not notice.

Once outside the hostess politely asked the singular, incredibly handsy, pair out there to please head inside, just for now, if that’s alright. No, she is not just being a prude she just needs the space for a moment that’s all! In her attempt to talk sense into the duo, the sound of disturbance behind her was ignored, though when they both froze before scurrying off with an apology at the same time she felt a shadow fall over her, she knew her father had arrived outside.

Neither person in this particular argument was particularly prone to raising their voices. It made the gradually increasing volume all the more intense. 

“Why can’t you just let me live my life how I want to!”

“Because you make mistakes. Over, and over, and over again you’ve proven this. That mutant fire hazard, that pastel bitch, that teal” she flinched with each individual mentioned, fins flat with a mixture of anger and… fear? Frustration? Something else entirely? It did not matter, if he even noticed he paid them no heed and continued on. Just as she had been conditioned to expect. “That rust should learn his place, I suppose the Jade is. Fine.” He laughed, a single cruel bark “you know I only let you date that little gold because it will make when you crush him all the better. Finally prove once and for all who is superior”

“You leave your stupid grudge out of my relationship with Parome! And Antare too, for that matter, my quadrants have no bearing on this conversation!”

The look the fleet general gave his descendant was one of both annoyance, and pity. “You exist to serve me, and further than that, to serve the fleet. And it’s about time you stopped fighting that. Those quadrants of yours only get in the way.” He reached towards her, his size alone making an imposing figure.

She jerked away, attempting to avoid his grip, but in so doing she noticed some uncharacteristic splattering soiling his jacket. When did the Cleanser ever let himself present as anything other than what his title implied?

And why were the stains red?

Realization hit her like a truck, making her stomach drop into her toes.

Antare.

“What did you do” she whispered. His gaze followed hers, but he did not answer immediately.

And then he smiled, an expression that was the opposite of comforting, and ice flooded her veins.

“I did mention that rust needed to learn his place, and you certaintly were not going to do anything about it, so I took the task upon myself” his contempt was palpable, as he nodded slightly in a mockery of graciousness. “You’re welcome.”

Contra didn’t care, couldn’t care, his words just noise in her ears as she turned to go check on her moirail. What had she gotten him into? She was snapped out of her head by a growl.

“You do NOT walk away from me, child” the strength with which he grabbed her arm would certainly leave bruises, and her shoulder would certainly feel sore the next day as he yanked. Contra whirled, a rage so rarely seen painted clearly there. Her fury had born a sneer so pointedly full of warning that for once it was clear she was, in fact, of his blood.

“Let. Me. Go. I have a moirail to attend to” she snarled in return, her anger barely contained and the rapidly dimming moonlight making her eyes almost glow.

Only she was there to witness this, he was sure of it as his eyes darted. The partygoers were all inside still, but still for once he was grateful for the disconnect between his fins and ears that made them unresponsive to most emotions. Quickly, however, he turned that brief moment of uncertainty into fury.

“I will not tolerate this insubordination, especially not over something so insignificant as a lowblood“ he hissed in return, neither willing to give way but one far more physically able to force it. Her nails dug into his hand, to no effect, as he began pulling her out further. “I’ve had more than enough of your play, it’s about time someone put you back where you belong. You’re an adult now, you’re going to spend some time back in your proper room while I prepare my ship, and then we are leaving.” It seemed like his mind was made up, and he’d come to the ingenious plan of heaving the two of them over the rails into the sea, likely counting on the cold water to quickly make Contra too languid to fight him.

What else could she do? The words of her mother began to spill from her lips, words she learned and heard before even hatching, nothing an Alternian would understand, and certainly the vile man that brought the frightful song out of her would be unaffected by it- the rune carved painfully deep into his chest would ensure his safety in that regard- but she could not help it. In the face of danger, she sang.

The clouds that started to form finished their work, dutifully blocking out the moons and the tides took a turn for the tumultuous. Ink black waves rolled against each other and smashed into any surface they could find, even the most expert of swimmers would find it difficult to navigate around their anger. Cleanser scowled at all of it, he briefly wondered where the storm came from, there was no forecast for it.

On the other hand, he considered the whole thing rather poetic. Even the weather knew to suit his whims, molding itself to fit his anger, why could this descendant of his not get the idea?

Disorientation blotted the Cleanser's mind when a particularly large wave came up and swept even him off of his intended course, tossing him carelessly into the depths. With that intrusion, he lost the grip of the wayward girl, muscles twitching with the memory of a tail no longer available to correct his positioning in the waves.

He didn't have the time to even begin to try and figure out where the swirl of waves sent her.

He didn’t need to worry, she wasn’t far away. The water swirled around her curiously, supporting her in ways the air simply never could. A deep chill already started seeping into her bones, quickly making it hard to keep struggling towards the surface, towards Antare.  A dark shape, too vast for her to comprehend fully in that moment, filled her vision, then, and a voice filled her mind. A warmth blossomed and she found herself able to think far better than she could a moment before.

‘You called, child, and I answered.’

The mix of, well, everything left Contra still somewhat confused, so she could be forgiven for the confused “Mom?” That came out. Luckily the entiry seemed to have a sense of humor, for she chuckled, a comforting sound that made the whole world feel alright for a moment.

‘In a way, child, though not the one you’ve know up to now. Now, let’s talk a bit about why it is you summoned me.’

~~~

It took some time for him to find her again, and when he did he seized her by the arm. The magic that protected him from the girl's song sent alarm bells through him, and he knew immediately that something was different. 

Something was wrong.

He hauled her out of the water like she weighed nothing at all, and the newly placid waves allowed him to do so with ease, and shoved her up onto dry ground again with force that sent her stumbling to find her footing.

“What did you do?” he demanded, yanking her effortlessly towards the line of rocks connecting the small sandbar they had landed on and proper land. She tugged back, and when he turned back to look at her, there was no hint of the fear and discomfort that would normally be default around him. No, this time she wore an expression that could only be described as smug. “What did you do‽” 

With a hoarse voice, and still through that smug grin, the girl responded, "I traded it away. No more mindless trolls clinging to my every word, no more zombies hanging off of every note." She was triumphant, it radiated off of her, and though he could hardly hear her over the waves and the crowd of trolls clamoring to come rescue the pair, he could tell she fancied herself the winner. "I traded it all away, for a different sort of control."

There was something in her fathers eyes, a look that told her any troll that had the misfortune of interrupting him right now would meet an extremely violent end. She could never stand the way he treated other trolls when his anger got the best of him, so despite the pain it caused, she opened her mouth and, once again, she sang.

No longer would she stand idle while this man's anger controlled her world.

The song she sang, it was not a good song, not on any metric, but her newfound ability did exactly what the goddess promised it would do. Once again the clouds rushed in and the waves became angry, bubbling up to separate the father-daughter pair and their would-be rescuers.

And all at once the truth was all around him, in the form of the ocean coming to isolate him from the rest of the world. He looked at his daughter with what could only be silent fury, or maybe it was fear that coursed through him, and the words were slow to come.

He selected carefully, words designed to drive directly into her heart. It was the last bit of control he could have over the situation.

“Worthless. You’ve made yourself worthless to me, to the empire. A somewhat pretty face that hides the rot of gentleness.” He spat out like venom, disgust forcing his nose to crinkle up as he addressed her. “You know how I feel about rot. You are no descendant of mine. You are no Aurela.”

Only some of his words found their mark, striking with enough force to cause her to falter and he took that chance to knock her off the feet, an easy enough backhand that sent her tumbling down. Flecks of Violet landed to mix with the red.

“Useless vile creature.”

With that he took advantage of a small break between the waves to leap and disappear within them. He left her stunned, gone within seconds it felt, while she sat there and struggled to decipher if it was sea water or tears stinging her eyes.

#My Writing #Contra Aurela #The Cleanser

[drarryweasley]

HP Rec Fest - Part 1 (Days 1-16)

Boy, has it been a moment since I've gone through my fanfic bookmarks. Thankful that @hprecfest has given me a reason to do so and rediscover some old gems!

Anyways making this list made me realize that I'm a connoisseur of explicit content so most of these are smutty and I'll leave that up to you to decide whether that's good or bad

(These are almost exclusively post-war fics where everyone is an adult, unless otherwise stated!)

1. A favorite fic under 5k: If We Lie Like This by everythingokay

(Harry x Charlie Weasley, rated E, 4.1k)

Harry/Charlie is one of my absolute favorite ships of all time, and this is one of the sweetest pwps I've ever read of them, so you know this had to be my first rec.

2. A comfort fic: Lumos by birdsofshore

(Drarry, rated E, 41.5k)

This is one of my oldest bookmarks, and still one of the best. I love, love, love eighth year fics, in no small part because of this one. The summary really says it all:

"Harry never expected to spend eighth year listening to Draco Malfoy wanking."

3. A podfic

I've truly never listened to a podfic in my life, I just prefer reading I'm sorry

4. A fic with art: What Have You Been Hiding Under Those Robes, Professor Malfoy? by Booktopus

(Drarry, Rated E, 15k - art is NSFW!)

Finding art in my fics is such a rare, exciting surprise, especially because I rarely go looking for them. Now, a GIF? And a smutty gif at that? Of tattooed professor Draco? What. A. Find.

5. A non-AO3 fic: The Lust of Gryffindors by Fearful Porpentine

(Harmione + so many pairings/groupings, rated M, 381.5k, aged-up during canon)

Yeah, I'm pretty much exclusively an AO3 girlie, so I don't have many options for this one. Still, this is a standout as one of my favorite smutty extravaganzas.

6. An unreliable narrator fic: Touch by bixgirl1

(Drarry, Rated E, 45k)

I had this fic on my TBR for so long before I actually read it, and when I finally did, I was KICKING myself for waiting so long! I love touch-starved characters finally getting what they need (is it self-fulfilling? perhaps), and I never thought a sleep-deprived Harry could be so funny.

(I'm aware this is an unreliable narrator in the loosest sense of the word but I'm sticking with it because it NEEDS to be recced)

7. A canon-compliant fic: With the Edges Worn Down by MayatheBee

(Harry x Ron x Hermione, rated E, 13k)

By "canon-compliant," we mean "takes place so far in the future that canon can't disprove it," right?

If so, then here's my pick. After Ginny's death, Ron and Hermione decide to finally act on feelings that have been ignored for their entire friendship. It is so, so sweet and so, so hot.

8. A canon-divergence fic: Safe Word is Devil's Snare by ShayaLonnie

(Neville x Hermione, rated E, 97k)

Hot Neville Agenda? Hot Neville Agenda.

Neville is fast becoming one of my favorite characters in fic (both in reading and writing). I'm a sucker for him growing into his self-confidence after the war while still being the same loveable plant guy we know. And a forced marriage with hyper-competent Hermione? Get ready for the spice, y'all.

9. A rare pair fic: 93 Diagon Alley by Schmem_14

(Harry x George, rated M, 30k)

I'm quickly realizing that most of the fic I consume (outside of drarry) is rare pairs, but this is one of the best. Harry and George leaning on each other through their grief, and realizing what they need to get through said grief is, in fact, each other? Sign me up. I usually avoid stories that feature Fred's death as a significant plot point, but this is too well done to ignore.

10. A fest fic: Beware: Naked People Ahead by SonnenFlower

(Lots of pairings, rated M, 6.6k)

I’m recommending this fic not only because of the absolute hilarity of the premise, but because it is a part of one of the best fests I’ve ever come across — the Hermione’s Nook Naked Weasley Fest! This fic had me laughing the whole way through (and crying when I wasn’t.)

11. A dark fic: Whore by orphan_account

(Harry x Fred x George + noncon, etc, rated E, 141.6k, takes place during canon)

Listen, I don't read dark fics very often. They tend to crush my soul and spin me out. This is my "I want to hurt" fic — SO MIND THE TAGS.

12. A WIP you're following: New Blood by artemisgirl

(Pairings still evolving, rated M, currently 1.3 million words, takes place during canon)

As a general rule, I don't read many in-progress fics (this is a personal fault because I get too impatient and invested). But when I started this fic, it had over 1 million words and didn't seem to be stopping anytime soon, so I took the plunge. It features a Slytherin, overpowered, badass Hermione, deep fae/wix lore, and a unique twist on all our favorite characters!

13. A fic with over 100k words: Finding Sophrosyne by mlfoyskhione

(Drarry, rated T, 136.5k)

An eighth year fic where everyone in Hogwarts falls into an unwakeable sleep...except Draco and Harry. Absolutely delectable.

14. A favorite series: Harry Potter & Seven Years of Chaos by Severitus812

(Harry x Fred + Severitus, unrated, 1+ million words; takes place during canon)

When I started this fic, the first six parts were published and part of the seventh. I DEVOURED them in a week, and I still haven't gotten around to finishing it because I'm positive it's going to break my heart. Still, an absolute beast of a story that is so, so fun to experience!

15. The most recent fic you bookmarked: The Best Laid Plans by Drarrymadhatter

(Drarry, Draco x George, Harry x Fred, rated E, 6.6k)

Okay, I’ve bookmarked entirely too many fics since the start of this fest, so to avoid repeats, I’m recommending the last fic I bookmarked BEFORE then. Based on my url, it couldn’t be more perfect — Draco, George, Harry, AND Fred? Absolute perfection. Sexy, sexy perfection.

16. A fic that made you laugh: I WANNA SEE SOME ARSE by thefrancakes

(NottPott, rated E, 10.5k)

From the title of this fic through the end of it, I was laughing. And where I wasn’t, I was fanning myself because. Hot. Damn. I’d never shipped Harry and Theo Nott until reading this.

So many excellent fics here...and yet I'm even MORE excited about the next set of prompts! Until then!

#hprecfest2023 #drarry #harry potter #draco malfoy #charlie weasley #george weasley #fred weasley #neville longbottom #hermione granger #ron weasley #theodore nott #ao3 #fanfic

[scham-wcan]

“I just feel calmer. When I’m with you.” Feels on brand for WhiteRose almost to the point of being cliche. And it kinda works in either direction? Maybe in a post-training moment where they haven't quite confessed feelings yet.

“I just feel calmer. When I’m with you.”

This got a little long, hope you enjoy it!!

It had been a tedious morning, a stretch of sleep nights in a bed so foreign to her even with weeks now of being precariously balanced beneath a hanging death trap called a ‘bunk bed’ in the loosest sense of the title; and Weiss could feel the debt of sleep weigh on her very bones.

Each walk down the halls of the residency of Beacon Academy felt like a nauseating shore, she had been a night owl for as long as she could remember, so these mornings were growing all the more laborious.

Awake at five am, clean herself the best she could, train personally at five thirty, make self proper again for the morning’s class at seven. It was during the first row with one of the training dummies that her ‘partner’ arrived.

“Weiss!” The sickening scent of sweetness and sugar blasted forth towards the Heiress, all but drowning out her caffeinated morning breath in a wash of red petals. “I thought I’d find you here! You’ve been doing extra work on us!” Ruby beamed with excitement.

Forcing herself to avoid shouting at the wailing yells this early, Weiss forced herself to keep true to her promise. “W-well how else would you expect me to keep being the best teammate you could have??” She muttered in panic, her rapier clinking slightly as it served as a slight lean for her.

Though Ruby, whether she spotted the momentary hesitation or not, whipped quickly to her partner’s words. “Aww, Weiss you don’t need to do extra to do that.” And with those simple words, Weiss seemed flummoxed beyond belief—barely noticing as the hour she had planned of extra work turned to two of just her and Ruby.

There movements and attacks flowing in tandem with perfect violence, Schnee glyph in hand with splashes of petals trouncing the poor dummy target dummy in a tidal wave.

When all was done, the pair were smacked down by the weight of aching legs and gravity in the middle of the sparring mat. Breathing deeply in panted huffs, as their shoulders slumbered against one another; another ounce of energy to move them apart near impossible.

“I think…” Ruby heaved, smiling still through the heaving of her chest. “I think we make a good team, Weiss.”

Swallowing down her earlier coffee, forcibly, Weiss nodded. “I would.. bleh, I would have to agree, Ruby.” Splashes of red dotted her face, she couldn’t quite tell if they were remnant petals, the tire of their exercise, or perhaps something more.

“You know.. Yang always said you fought a little rigid.” Chuckling slightly as she flummoxed with her sleeves, Ruby shook her head. “I honestly can’t see it.”

The weight on her shoulders seemed only to grow as Weiss did not even attempt to fight her lean. “I just feel a little calmer…” Weiss’ head landing on Ruby’s shoulder was enough to silence the heaving breaths from the now completely red reaper, “When I’m… with you…” The final words coming out with an intermingled snore, at worst only laboured, before turning into something cheekily nasally.

“W-Weiss?!” Ruby began to panic, though would dare not move the sleeping beauty. “We’re—crap—We’re going to miss Miss Glynda’s class! Weiss?!”

#trialbtstory #weiss schnee #ruby rose #white rose #whiterose

[whats-k-popping]

92) After a fever dream wakes you up, I roll over and hold you close, your head underneath my chin.

With a Sick Theo and Keeho or Intak taking care of him?

Thanks so much for the request!! I got the idea and it kinda took off on it's own! What could have easily been one scene turned into a whole drabble! I hope you enjoy this sick!Theo content! I hope this satisfies your cravings!

Pairing: Keeho X Theo - platonic intentions, but open interpretation. Briefly ft. Intak.

Words: 1429

Warnings: Fever || Sick Member || Slight Angst || Nongraphic Fever Dream

Taeyang was thrilled to finally be on the way home. What started as just some sniffles morphed into a pounding headache, which developed into whole body aches, and then the body aches became an unshakable chill, and by that point, he'd come to the conclusion he's gotten sick.

His members had also figured it out rather quickly. He had no way of hiding it. His usually balanced complexion was pale, with feverish, sweaty blotches of red. And his striking eyes were glossed over with an obvious haze. Keeho's hand on the eldest's forehead only confirmed what they'd all suspected.

"Why didn't you say you were sick?" Keeho questions as he guides Taeyang into his room. He knows that as the leader, he has to reprimand such reckless behavior. But he wants to do it away from the younger members, to spare his hyung's dignity.

"I didn't know, I thought it was just a small cold." He admitted. "I didn't feel really bad until a few hours ago."

"Then you should have told me a few hours ago." Keeho retorts without missing a beat, "I don't care if we're in the middle of something, or if we have more schedules to get through. If you feel sick, you tell me. Nothing is worth risking your health."

Taeyang nods his head as he sits down on the edge of his bed. As belittling as it is, he knows Keeho is right. And he appreciates having a leader who will always put them first, especially when they struggle to do it themselves.

"Think you can go take a shower? It'll help. I'll get you some dinner and meds for when you get out." Keeho doesn't wait for a response before he's out the door, but Taeyang nods his head anyway, gathering his pajamas and staggering to the bathroom.

Intak is sitting beside the bathroom door, playing a game on his phone. When Taeyang sends him a questioning look, the rapper is quick to reply, "Keeho-hyung told me to sit here." He says defensively, waving his hands in innocence. "He doesn't want you to pass out in the shower or anything."

Taeyang doesn't have the mental capacity to ask any more questions, so he gives Intak a quick nod before stepping into the bathroom and closing the door. He doesn't lock it.

Intak is still seated there when he comes out, dressed in his loosest pajamas and hair still dripping wet. "Hyung," the rapper pockets his phone and jumps to stand across from him. "You need to dry your hair. You're already sick, don't want to make it worse."

"Tired." Taeyang pouts. The cool water of the shower took the last remaining ounce of his energy. He just wants to crawl into bed.

Intak chuckles, resting a hand on his hyungs shoulder. "C'mon. I'll do it for you." He guides the vocalist back into the bathroom and sits him on the closed toilet seat. "I'll be gentle, okay." There's a warmth in Intak's smile that allows Taeyang to relinquish any sense of control. He just lets Intak take over. And it's so comfortable. The soft way he towel dries the dripping ends, and the way his long fingers card through as he blows each strand dry. Taeyang nearly falls asleep sitting down.

It's Keeho's voice that breaks through the soft hum of the blow dryer. "There you are," he crouches down to Taeyang's eye level. "Ready for bed?"

Taeyang nods. The blow dryer turns off, and Intak cards through his now dry hair one last time before he creeps out of the bathroom. But not without wishing his hyung good health first.

"Let's get you to your room," Keeho holds a hand out for Taeyang. The older takes it, but makes no effort to list himself up. So the leader puts his other hand behind Taeyang's back and helps him to stand. Thankfully, Taeyang has enough lingering energy to shuffle back to his room.

The bedding is already turned down. And there's a tray of food sitting beside his bed, which is a charming sentiment because Keeho never allows food in the bedrooms. Taeyang drops himself into the bed and quickly pulls the covers over himself. "Keeho, I really don't feel good."

"I know, hyung. You'll feel better after some sleep." The leader sits on the edge of the bed. "I know you're tired, but you need to eat first."

Taeyang forces himself to eat a few bites just so he can satisfy the leader. He also begrudgingly swallows the fever reducers that Keeho demands he take, along with a handful of other vitamins. Once Taeyang sticks out his tongue as proof that he swallowed them all, Keeho stands off the bed. "Okay, you've showered, eaten, and taken meds." He lets out a relieved breath, "I think you're all ready for bed then."

Keeho keeps talking while he scurries across the room, but Taeyang isn't really listening. He's been teetering the edge of sleep for far too long now. And he's ready for his exhaustion to swallow him whole. "I've told the maknaes to sleep on my room tonight, so you can have the room to yourself." Taeyang's eyes widen at that, his heart races in his chest.

He doesn't want to be alone.

As Keeho arranges the items on the bedside table, Taeyang reaches out to grab the leader's wrist. The sudden contact startles Keeho, who flinches but doesn't immediately pull away. "What's the matter? Is something wrong?" He's immediately on high alert. Taeyang's not exactly the clingy type.

The eldest's heart is pounding in his chest. His lip is quivering and his thoughts are racing. He's never felt shy around Keeho before, especially when it comes to asking for attention. But something about the situation makes him feel extra vulnerable. He looks up at the leader with big, watery, fever-ridden eyes. "Can you stay with me?" He finally asks.

Keeho doesn't tease or joke. He takes Taeyang's hand in his own and gives him a soft smile, "Of course, hyung." He replies, "Scoot over and make some room." Which Taeyang does quickly despite the aching in his body.

Once Keeho settles in, Taeyang is quick to latch himself onto the leader. For warmth of course. "I'm so tired." The elder member speaks into the fabric of Keeho's shirt.

"Then sleep," Keeho whispers, running his palm up and down Teayang's back. "I'll be right here."

It's not long until the two of them are fast asleep under the covers.

Keeho's never realized how much Taeyang moves in his sleep. One minute, all four of his limbs are in some way intertwined with his own. The next, Taeyang is pressed up against the wall. The blankets are constantly shifting between being pulled up and being kicked down to the bottom of the bed. It's an uncomfortable nights sleep, but Keeho finds a way to sleep through it all.

Around 2 AM, Taeyang's tossing and turning is accompanied by whimpers and gasps. He mutters the names of his members and flails his limbs around. One final gasp has the older shooting up in the bed, heart racing, tear tracks running down his cheeks. As he gasps for air, he looks to Keeho, who is still sleeping beside him. His back is turned facing the door, seemingly on the edge of the mattress, allowing Taeyang to take up as much space as he needs.

The sight of his sleeping leader brings him instant comfort. He takes a deep breath before he lays back down, pulling the covers back up to his neck. He's still tired but can't bring himself to sleep, afraid he might have another horribly graphic fever dream. So he stares at the back of Keeho's head, trying to convince himself that he's in a safe place.

Keeho can feel every movement that Taeyang makes. He can hear Taeyang sniffling as he tries to subdue the sadness presumably brought on by whatever nightmare startles him awake. In one swift motion, Keeho turns over and wraps an arm around the older's torso, pulling him close. Taeyang's face fits right into the crook of Keeho's neck. The feverishly warm skin presses against Keeho's chin. He can feel the cold remnants of tears on his neck.

"It was just a bad dream, hyung. Go back to sleep," Keeho slurs when he feels the tickle of Taeyang's eyelashes on his neck as he blinks.

The leader pulls Taeyang impossibly closer and waits until he feels the sick man's eyes flutter closed. There's only sweet dreams after that.

#p1harmony #piwon sickfic #p1h sickfic #p1h canonverse #sick!Theo #sick!Taeyang #caretaker!Keeho #minor Intak #tw fever #tw fever dream #Theo x Keeho #aki writes #aki sickfic #aki requests #aki drabbles #aki prompt fill

[deartouya]

PART I. NARCISSUS: A NEW BEGINNING

✶ next part || series masterlist.

✶ summary: with your kingdom's lack of viable heir to the throne, crumbling alliances, and a war brewing in the south, your father seeks a union with the west, a kingdom rumored to be isolated but strong. despite your reservations, you're determined to make a good impression. to do what's best.

✶ pairing: (kinda)harpy royalty!keigo takami (hawks) x elven royalty!afab!reader (gn pronouns are used for the reader but the concept of the fic is fem coded)

✶ word count: 2.1k

✶ content: mentions of food/eating, arranged marriage but in the loosest sense, my attempt at developing a writing style, me spending too much time focusing on flower meanings that aren't important at all <3 part of @myherokatsuki 's a familiar face collab.

✶ title credit: "peace" by henry vaughan ( link to poem )

YOU HATE THIS. CERTAINTY. Your whole life has been plagued with it. One monotonous day void of choice after the other. You don't know why you expected your marriage to be any different, why you thought your father would grant you that mercy.

“You’ll be needed, today.” You pause at the words, forefinger and thumb pressing painfully into your utensils. It’s the way you’re always addressed—as an order.

“Why?”

It makes him uncomfortable, you notice, his eyes cast pointedly down and turning the ring on his finger, “I want you to meet someone.” 

The potato splits and you can feel yourself tighten—you knew that already. You’d heard the rumours—the union, one the nobles seemed to think warranted a celebration. You just wish he’d call it what it was. 

“You want me to marry someone.” You don’t want to be so resentful, but you can’t help it. The idea of a stranger encroaching on your life, another hand which is sure to force your life on course, angers you.

“The people tire of orders,” your father sighs and you feel him staring past you, “the court finds it in the kingdom's best interest to build a strong alliance with the west. I am… without a proper heir and my death would breed mutiny among the people.” It’s always that, what’s best. “The southern alliance is strong, stronger than we’ll ever be, and it’s in the kingdom's best interest to extend our loyalties.”

You want to scoff, but manage to keep yourself occupied by splitting the rest of your potatoes childishly. The quiet stretches.

“We’ll be hosting him for the season and I expect you to act civilly for the duration of the visit.” You remain silent once again which wrenches another worn sigh from the King, “I really am trying to go about this as amicably as possible, you know. You’ll be without the interruption or input of the court and I’ll be, in turn, visiting the West to make arrangements.” He finds your hand over the table, finding your eyes, “I just ask that you make a decision, one which will foster this alliance.”

That’s not what he means—you think. He means for you to accept the inevitable proposal, one you’re sure will be lackluster and expectant. You can only hope that he’s not unfortunate to look at.

“I understand. Should I be expecting him soon, then?”

You’re to expect him incredibly soon, you learn.

The gardens are beautiful, settled on the cusp of springs and the trees cloying with fruits. You much rather be hidden away between the rose bushes than sitting uncomfortably—incredibly overdressed—to meet the strange you’re expected to marry. You wonder if you’ll be able to pick what you’re wed in, the venue. Probably not.

You hate that you’re just a little bit excited. It’s muted, though, and mostly directed at being back in the summer palace. Your father, who has been exponentially happier than you, thought it best to combine both the prince’s arrival and his own departure.

The King had taken to pacing. He’d walked the floor of the entry hall so many times you’re starting to believe he’s working a whole in the marble. You would’ve thought he’d been awaiting the return of a lover. You wish he was.

You could tell when he arrived easily, your father hurrying to pull you from the plush cushion underneath you. 

It occurs that you have very little expectations of him. No one’d tell you much—his rank and family name—and you have very little to go on. Older, you expect, if he’s been deemed “marriable” and has yet to wed. The thought churns your stomach. 

He’s not.

You can tell he’s had the same learning as you. Your own stiff and purposeful mannerisms echoed on him—shoulders uncomfortably straight and hands practicably placed. His wings, one of the very few things you’d known about him, have suffered the same training. They’re tucked away neatly against his back and you can see the thought it takes to keep them still, crossed and off the floor, in his brow. 

His expression was more unpracticed, though, softer. Warmer. It was like he was always smiling, the ghost of dimples and eyes a little narrowed and you find yourself curious what he’d look like laughing. 

The wings, a notorious staple in his kingdom, were all the more impressive to someone who’d never seen them before. Wide and a deep red. They looked soft—buttery, like the petals of roses—and they glinted under the candles. 

His attendant, you assume, stepped forward with a curt smile, “it’s an honor to introduce his Excellency, Takami Keigo, Prince of the Western Kingdoms.” He, Keigo, squirms halfway through the title, the rich red of his feathers twitching minutely. 

The King smiles, nodding into a bow, “it’s a pleasure to be hosting your Highness.” His eyes cut to you and you follow him into a bow quickly, blood rushing to your ears.

Keigo squirms more, attempting to hide it behind a wide and easy smile, “please, the honor is mine. There’s no need for such formality.” His voice is soft, quieter than you would’ve expected but nice.

Sharp eyes meet your own and his smile softens a little. He approaches you slowly, as if you were something skittish, and offers a hand, “If I may?”

Your own hand slides into his and his thumb rubs over the bumps of your knuckles, “It’s nice to finally meet you.” He seems genuine this close, smile smaller and eyes heavy.

You hum slowly, returning his introduction. He repeats the name against the back of your hand, lips smoothing into a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, too, your highness.” He deflates at the use of his title before he straightens himself before you.

You see very little of Keigo before the ball—purposefully, you assume. He dines with you, keeping himself politely sat an arms-length away and easily carrying conversation with your father. 

It'd be easier if he wasn’t so… him. If he was rude or was unpleasant, it'd give you a reason to hate him. A reason for his disinterest. But he wasn't. He was kind and polite and seemed to get along with everyone in the palace. You hated it.

He joined you in the gardens afterwards. You’d hoped he would, deep down. There was a twisting part of you that wanted him to like you, to find your company pleasing. So you were all the more pleased that he did, “you’re too quiet, unless you were trying to sneak up on me.”

He laughed, warm and bright but still… calculated. “It wasn’t my intention—may I?” He tucks in next to you when you nod. His hands lace together and you notice they’re different, too. His nails are much darker than your own and sharp, thicker you think. “Do you like flowers?” You snort and Keigo’s chin knocks against his collarbones.

“Sorry—yes, I do like flowers.” You could notice a lot about him this close. His hair, duller in the dark, seems sinfully soft and feathery where it’s curled around his ears. The skin of his nose and cheeks, which seemed nearly inhumanly smooth and warm, was dotted in freckles. “Narcissus’ are my favorite.”

His eyes, thickly framed by dark markings and heavy lashes, crinkle into a smile, “they’re lovely, like little trumpets.” 

You think he’s gotten closer since he first joined you, warmth rolling off of him and seeping into your very bones. You shrink back, just a little, and smile, “and what about you?” He makes a soft little hm which sends another wave of warmth through you. “What’s your favorite flower?”

“Oh! Honeysuckle,” he replies, cheeks dimpling into another smile, “simple flowers.” 

He’d insisted on escorting you back inside, as well as insist that you call him, “Keigo—formality makes me itch.”

Your father’s departure was due soon and so the expectation of marriage weighed heavier as the banquet was planned around you. You were glad it would be small, only the King and his advisors, very few nobles you’d have to perform for. 

The dressings you’re expected to wear are laid out for you. Soft and velveteen fabrics covered in little details. They’ve dressed you to match him.

Your only mercy was that the event wasn’t being seen as formal. You wouldn’t need to suffer through each noble's introductions or present yourself. It was for Keigo and your father.

Keigo is, predictably, swarmed when you finally make your way into the hall. The carefulness is back, hands kept tucked away at his sides and a bright smile on his face, coaxing himself through easy laughs. 

Something odd overtakes his face when your eyes meet—something new. The bridge of his nose warms and his eyes round at the corners. It’s strange, like something you’d only ever seen carved in marble or in the portraits lining the corridors. 

You barely have the chance to look over your shoulder, sure he’s staring past you, before he’s in front of you. His hands find your forearms when you jump, smiling widely, “got ya.”

Keigo’s grin only widens when you huff, “you didn’t startle me.”

“Aww, it looked like I did, sweetheart.” You school yourself, refusing to let the earnestness of his voice sway you. But, still you don’t shy away from the hand that finds your chin, “you look good.”

You scoff softly as your own hand curls around his wrist, “you look nice, too.” 

You regret the compliment as he falls into an open smirk, thumb swiping over your cheek as the other clutches the fabric covering his sternum, “aww dove, you flatter me.” 

“I take it back.”

“Too late! You’ve already made me swoon, I’m afraid.” 

Your retaliation is interrupted by the swell of music, warm and slow. Keigo’s eyes brighten before he turns to face you fully. He wants to dance. You scramble for an excuse, something to worm your way out of his grasp so you can hide behind the banquet table and occupy your time with rolls.

But he catches your hands before you can try.

“Do you trust me?” No. Not really, but you let your hand meet his nonetheless. Because you could—trust him. He moves you easily, hands adjusting your wrist before falling to rest, wide and warm, against the small of your back. “You’re the only person I know here, sweetheart.”

You ignore the warmth of the nickname, undeserved, and your brows pinch as you let him guide, feet moving easily to echo his own. He’s concentrating on his feet, letting his wings move minutely behind him. The steps were easy, made even more so by Keigo’s hands. “Not well,” you answer as you let him guide you in a spin. 

Keigo huffs, eyes narrowing minutely, “no, but I’d like to.”

“I mean, you have to,” your voice is airy, teasing, but he knows you meant it. His brows pinch together as another swell of music sends you away from, only the tips of your fingers touching as you rotate. “I imagine my father has pushed for us to ‘know each other’, right?”

Keigo’s quiet and you can see him thinking, turning softly in the circle. He’s pretty, classically so. He’s neater today than he was in the gardens, hair arrayed in more purposeful curls and fingers banded in gold rings which press cooly into your skin. He huffs again, seeming to have found something in your face.

“That’s not what I meant,” he sounds exasperated, taking advantage of the music to pull you into him. “I mean you’re the only one I know here—the only one I hold any loyalties for.” Another spin brings you closer, chest against his own. “We might have to get to know one another, but I’d like to be the place your loyalties lie, as well.” 

You’re separated shortly, then pressed right back against him.

“I don’t want you to force yourself to be around me, I want you to choose to.” His eyes were soft, sickeningly so and focused solely on you. You’re beginning to feel a little like he’d pried open your chest. “I want you to be able to trust me—to want me, if you’re willing.”

He pulls you even closer as the music slows, cheek sliding against your temple and his heart beating against your sternum. You can feel the stutter in his breath, the way his hand twitches nervously against your back.

“Keigo,” he seems to brighten at the use of his name, feathers ruffling behind him, and he tilts himself towards you. “I… I do want to get to know you, without the obligations of my father.”

His wings flutter and the earnestness bleeds from his eyes into his voice, "that's all I ask."

#takami keigo x reader #keigo takami x reader #keigo x reader #hawks x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha oneshot #mha oneshot #bnha reader insert #mha reader insert #✶ writes #✶ writes.bnha #✶ writes.hawks

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

A Higher Power: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.6k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

"There is no refuge from confession but suicide; and suicide is confession." - Daniel Webster

When you get to work, you notice that Hotch isn't with you. You're not sure where he is, but JJ looks like she can't wait for him. She passes out the files to everyone and gets started whether he is absent or not.

"Three months ago, a fire in the shadyside rec center killed fourteen children. Over the past three months, there's been five suicides. All of them lost a child in the fire. The last one was Paul Baleman. He was found electrocuted in his bathtub yesterday. I received a request for our help."

"Why do they need our help? They're suicides," Derek shrugs.

"What evidence do you have to support that?" you ask him.

"All of the suicides were within two weeks of each other. It could be some kind of pattern," Spencer says.

"Detective Ronnie Baleman from the Pittsburgh PD thinks that something's going on."

"Of course he does," Derek says.

"Why do you say that?"

"He's related to that man, isn't he?"

"It's his brother," JJ confirms.

"A cop who doesn't believe his brother committed suicide. Come on, next case."

"Why are you so against this?" you ask. "What if they were murders staged to look like suicides? You can't dismiss the case without knowing all the facts and evidence. Five suicides in the same neighborhood within months is a little suspicious."

"Suicides don't spike after a tragedy," Spencer says. "It's quite the opposite, actually. Following World War I and II, right after Kennedy was shot, and following 9/11, suicides plummeted. Within a society, external threats usually create group integrations."

"So, if there's reason for doubt, which there obviously is, don't those families left behind have a right to know?" Emily backs you up.

"Yes, they do," Rossi nods in agreement.

"Okay, sure, they deserve to know, but let somebody else tell them, like social services."

"Contact detective Baleman. Let him know we're coming," Rossi says despite Derek's disagreements.

"Hotch would never have taken this case," Derek says when you get to the plane, "and I say case in the loosest sense."

"Yeah, well, Hotch isn't here. You're the only one against this, so why don't you spend less time complaining and more time focusing on the facts without bias," you snap.

"What facts, Y/N? Look at us. We don't have a single file."

"Fact one: we don't have a file, but that doesn't mean there isn't one. Fact two: There was one fire that occurred with fourteen deaths, and a result of it, five suicides. Fact three: All suicides were exactly two weeks apart."

"Okay, I get it," Derek sighs.

"Do you? That's a pattern, Derek, and a timeline."

"A lot of people lost their kids in that fire. That's a whole world of grief, and for a few, suicide is their only way out."

"Or someone decided it was," Rossi backs you up. "What if they made it look that way?"

"Then we're looking for one very smart unsub who targets people in grief," Derek sighs.

"What would that make them?"

"An angel of death. Someone who thinks they're putting them out of their misery," you answer and look at Derek. "Not everything is black and white, Derek. Sometimes, things run deeper than that."

The rest of the plane ride is filled with silence. Derek doesn't want to admit that someone is doing this, but you're here to prove him wrong. Someone is doing this, and it's your job to find them and bring them in.

"Agent Jareau?" the detective on the case greets the team. "Hi. I'm Detective Ronnie Baleman."

"Hi. This is SSA Rossi, SSAs Morgan, Prentiss, Y/N and Dr. Reid."

"Thank you all for coming."

"Well, your colleagues don't look all that happy to see us," Derek notices the unhappy faces of the officers inside the station.

"They didn't just lose a brother."

"I'd like to get started on all the files," Spencer says. "We're gonna build what we call psychological autopsies to determine whether the victims killed themselves."

"Everything is in those boxes," Ronnie points to the boxes in an empty conference room.

"We'd also like to take a look at your brother's house," you suggest.

"I'll take you there."

"I think it's better if you stay here."

"It's my case. I brought you here."

"Technically, there is no case. If there was, you wouldn't be on it," Derek says bluntly.

"Ronnie, we need to profile the scene without bias. It's best if you stay here and let us do our jobs," you say gently.

"I could use your help with these files. It looks like there's quite a few," Spencer says, trying to get him to stay here.

"Fine. My brother kept a journal. I found this on the desk in his bedroom. Read the last page. They're not the words of a suicidal man," Ronnie hands over his brother's journal.

You're better off at Ronnie's brother's house, so you leave with Derek, Emily, and Rossi. Ronnie is so sure that there is an unsub here, and if there is, then there could be evidence inside his brother's house about it.

Pam, Paul's wife, is at the house to meet you when you arrive. She is depressed, sad, and it's strong enough to rub off on you. If someone feels something strong enough, you can also drown in their feelings.

"I'm not sure how this happened. He wasn't on antidepressants. He wasn't depressed," Pam sighs sadly.

"Do you mind if my colleagues take a look upstairs?"

"No, I don't mind."

You, Derek, and Emily walk upstairs and to the bathroom where the crime--supposed crime--took place. Emily and Derek go in first, and nothing seems out of the ordinary. When you enter, your eyes immediately drift to the body inside the bathtub. You gasp loudly and jump back from shock, concerning your colleagues.

"What is it?" Emily asks.

"Paul is here. He's in the bathtub," you sigh sadly, "with the space heater."

You approach him and kneel down to get a better look at him. There is only one energy lingering behind, and you don't see any spiritual evidence that an unsub ever came into this bathroom.

It's as if Paul did commit suicide.

"Okay, so the door was locked from the inside and the wife broke the door in, but he could have gotten out that window," Emily speculates.

"It's a good twenty-foot drop. It'd hurt, but you could do it."

"Hey, check this out." You peel your eyes from Paul to the sink where there is an outlet. "It's a one hundred and ten outlet with no GFCI. This is a 1930s house, but it's been remodeled with no ground fault circuit installation."

"Wait, that makes no sense. There is a GFCI unit in the kitchen. I make sure all my properties have them, especially in the bathroom and the kitchen. Any surge of electrical current will shut the power down at the source."

"Properties?" you ask. "How many?"

"Four. Whoever threw the space heater in this tub knew that there was no GFCI."

You three leave the bathroom, and you pause by the door to look at Paul again. This time, he's gone and the space heater is gone with him. With a sigh, you leave the bathroom and join everyone downstairs.

"Mrs. Baleman, what did your husband do for a living?"

"He was a contractor."

If Paul truly committed suicide, then he'd know not to install a GFCI unit in the bathroom. There is no evidence of an unsub ever being inside this house, so maybe he did kill himself. Though, that's the last thing you're going to tell Derek who would gloat about being right.

The only way you're going to know for sure is if there is another crime scene.

Much like you predicted but didn't hope for, another crime has occured. You found out the second you got into the police station the next morning, so there wasn't time to get coffee or anything like that.

The person who died is a woman, Beth, who hung herself while her baby was crying for her in the kitchen. By the time you get there, the body has already been moved, but you can see her hanging where she was found. Her spirit is lingering behind to show you exactly what happened to her.

You and Rossi are outside the house looking into the doorway where she was found while Emily and Derek are on the small porch right outside the front door. They argue, but you can't seem to take your eyes off her.

"Alright, you got a kid, and there's a bad guy in the house. What do you do to protect your child?" Derek asks.

"Fight."

"There wasn't a single defensive wound on her body."

"She didn't climb up there on her own free will," you comment.

"Unless she committed suicide."

"No, this wasn't suicide. She has a baby in the other room crying for her."

"She couldn't cope. She snapped. It happens. It happens every day."

"Not here it didn't."

"Y/N, right now, that's exactly what happened."

"No, it's not because the unsub is right behind you."

Derek turns, but no one is there.

"What happened?" Rossi asks you.

It's as if you're brought back to last night. The street is dark only lit up by dim streetlights. There are a few cars parked on the side of the road, but nothing of import. You're standing at the front of the property on the sidewalk when you see someone pass by you.

It's a man with blonde hair. He's of medium build, but you can't see more than the color of his hair. He walks past you and up to the front door where he knocks. Beth opens it and smiles at him as if she knows him, and then she opens the door to let him inside.

Beth knew her killer, so you have to look at friends, family, and acquaintances of her.

Suddenly, the outside walls of the house disappear so you can see everything that's happening even while standing on the sidewalk. The unsub talked to Beth for a bit before doing something to her that you can't see.

What he does next confirms that these aren't suicides.

She isn't fighting back, and that confuses you, but he's the one who drags her to the front door and puts her head in a noose. If she didn't fight back, then that must mean she was drugged because her kid is in the kitchen crying for her.

Once the unsub is finished, he leaves the scene. When he passes by you, all you see besides blonde hair is striking blue eyes.

"Y/N?" Rossi asks, bringing you back to the present. "What did you see?"

"This was a suicide because the unsub visited her last night. She let him in willingly, so he must be someone she knew. She wasn't scared by his presence at all. He might have drugged her, and then he strung her up like a doll. All I've done is replay the scene over and over again, and all I see is the same thing. I did catch two things about the unsub; blonde hair and blue eyes so that must narrow things down a bit, I hope."

Everyone can see that you believe what you saw, but Derek still has doubts about this. You're going to do everything in your power to prove to him that these aren't suicides. Emily believes an unsub is doing this, so she calls Penelope who waits eagerly for her call.

"Emily, the strange and great, what can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for a drug that would temporarily paralyze or subdue someone, not kill them."

"I always use alcohol. It's less fussy, and way cheaper," Penelope jokes.

"Look for something that wouldn't show up in a toxicology report."

"You got it."

You're so sure this is a murder spree, sand the only way to determine that with hard evidence is to go over the suicide notes that every victim left behind. Spencer is more of an expert in handwriting and languages, so you want to work with him on this.

When Ronnie hears your theory about this, he gets excited and a bit cocky. He won't even consider the possibility that at least one of these is a suicide... and that's his brother. There was no indication that an unsub was ever in the house.

Still, that doesn't cross Ronnie's mind.

"Is there anything to tell us whether these are suicides or not?" you ask Spencer when you get back to the station.

"These are some samples from Diedre Nollard. See, we have an insurance form, a letter she wrote to her neighbor a month ago, a birthday card she wrote to her husband a week ago, and her suicide note as found on her body."

"The suicide note matches, right?" Ronnie asks.

"This is definitely by her own hand, but she's professing regret. 'I'm sorry I let you down. Please forgive me. I disappointed you', and so on. With the handwriting, the forensic analysis is saying the exact opposite."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you see how the handwriting slants uphill? It's a clear sign of optimism. The same with how the spacing is so consistent. These long T-bars indicate an enthusiastic person."

"Not someone who would take a swan dive off a five-story walkup?" Ronnie asks.

"Look, even if we had alerted the media--"

"Now we'll never know," Ronnie interrupts JJ. "Like I said, that's on me. Now we have the proof that these aren't suicides. Those notes, were they coerced?"

"If you were to force someone to write their own suicide note, these are words you generally wouldn't use."

"I'll take that as a no. What about my brother's journal?"

"I haven't... it's extensive," Spencer stutters.

"Another no. Can we inform the media now?"

Ronnie doesn't want to believe his brother committed suicide, but that's what he did. He's kind of annoying you now because he wants so badly to believe his brother wouldn't leave him like that, but he did.

"I already did," JJ sighs.

"I need you all outside," Derek pops his head in.

You leave the conference room, Ron included, and the police station to join your team outside the building. Hotch is here; he must have just come back. You're not sure where he's been or what he's been doing, but you're glad he's back now.

"This is SSA Aaron Hotchner. He's just arrived," Rossi introduces him to Ronnie.

"What have we got?"

"Including extended families, over one hundred individuals within the Pittsburgh area were affected by that fire."

"So, this unsub is targeting grief."

"Grief?" Ronnie asks, confused.

"A single event in this unsub's life led him to end the life of someone he believed had to die. From that moment on, he created his own sense of morality, and he rationalizes what he did by targeting people that he believes can't be saved by anyone other than himself. He decides who lives and who dies, and this gives him an all-consuming sense of power," you explain.

"So, he's not going to stop anytime soon."

"That's assuming there is someone to stop," Derek mutters.

"Derek, I told you, I saw what happened. You always believe me," you say sadly.

"If there is someone, he's on a mission of mercy, and even after he's caught, he'll maintain he did nothing wrong."

"He's a white male, mid to late thirties, and he's polite, forthcoming, and doesn't stand out. We believe his victims, these families, are all letting him in."

"My brother and his wife weren't letting anyone in. If anything, they were closing themselves off," Ronnie says.

"Well, this unsub found a way in, and that's very hard to trace. In every case there was no evidence of a struggle and no attempt at escape. He finds a personal connection and uses it to buy time," you explain.

"My officers need to know this."

"We've found that Angels of Mercy are often people in the medical profession as well as law enforcement, which is why we're meeting out here."

"Now, we're only fishing. We don't want to point a finger," Rossi assures Ronnie.

"Point it. I don't give a damn."

"If that's what it's about, let us figure out where to point it."

"Ronnie, you're too close to this. You're so hell bent on the idea that someone did this that it's making you act irrationally," you explain. "You're going to make mistakes. I know you want to find out who did this to your brother, but if you let my team and I do our jobs, we'll figure that out for you."

Ronnie nods in understanding, but you know he's not actually listening to you.

x

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#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fan fic #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fan fiction #criminal minds fan fic #cm #cm fic #cm fanfiction #cm fanfic #cm fluff #cm fiction #series rewrite #criminal minds series rewrite

[gwynbleiddyn]

halsin romance spoilers below the cut

you know what im actually obsessed w/ how clear and defined halsin is with his non-monogamy rather than leaving it deliberately vague and noncommittal in a way that's more a disservice to the nature of being poly than actually, yk, embracing it

and it's giving me such a refreshing take on dyn's approach to love and relationships. he's such a solitary character who - while he does begrudgingly enjoy the company of others - just fares better by himself, full stop. like there's no argument to be made here, he's very certain of himself as a person and as somebody innately bonded to the land around him, much like halsin is, and he doesn't ever feel incomplete or inadequate in his isolation. he just feels like dyn.

so i have a LOT OF THOUGHTS about halsin and dyn as a 'pairing' in the loosest sense of the word, and the freedom they find in it compared to maybe past lovers or entanglements might be a more appropriate word in almost a literal sense -- there was nothing wrong with those people, but the relationship didn't fulfil what they needed in a way that didn't also overlook a massive part of who they are.

#halsin #bg3 #my skin is clear my crops are thriving etc etc

[balteren]

closed starter with: nell and isra (@bourgeoning) location: isra's chambers time: late night on the second day of the invasion

Nell’s first bath after leaving the dungeons felt like dipping into the River Lethe. The warmth of the water, paired with her deep, unceasing exhaustion, cleared the memories of the previous night from her mind. There wasn’t a sense of relief as the memories lifted, there was only a serene quiet that settled over her mind as she sunk deeper into the tub. But it did not last forever, and as the water began to cool and her fingertips began to wrinkle, the aching returned. She briefly dried her hair with a cloth before putting it in a loose plait, and slipped into her loosest dress and a dark cloak before quietly exiting her room. It was late, and the halls were empty, but this suited Nell’s needs perfectly. She did not want to be seen by anyone, at least not yet. As she neared Isra’s chamber door, she hesitated, fearing she would wake her, but took a deep breath and knocked anyway. The door opened, and Nell lowered the hood of her cloak, revealing her injured cheek. “I was told you were treating the injured. I’m quite worried about my cheek, I believe I may have broken the bone underneath, and I did not want to go to any of the other doctors,” she rambled, speaking quietly. “Please forgive me if I woke you.”

#with nell and isra #nell