#grIEF THAT THEY EVEN /DARED/ to think about the unthinkable

[scarletfish]

Andreil Time Travel AU

happy nye I just had the most devastating andreil AU idea while playing Life is Strange-

(cw: canon-typical references to violence, (temporary) suicide mention, this started as a bullet point list that quickly spiraled out of control into 4000k, oops)

***

So Nathaniel grows up a Raven, right? The Perfect Court's #3 striker, the Butcher's son, set to inherit a legacy.

He's also born with the ability to travel backwards for very brief periods in time.

It starts when he joins the Ravens. The first time Nathaniel travels back (ten seconds, during practice) it terrifies him so badly he runs into the goal post and knocks himself out.

He thinks he's hallucinating for a while, cracked under the stress. He never tells anyone. Even once he comes to terms with the fact that it's real, he refuses to try and learn to control it for years. It happens sporadically, out of control, at the worst times times of high emotion. 

When he wins his first game as an official Raven. When Riko loses his temper. When he screws up and ends up under his father's knife.

(That night is what finally gets him to face this "ability" he's been ignoring and avoiding. He can't travel far, 10-15 seconds at most, and he has to concentrate or he'll get stuck in a loop. He's gotten stuck in some... pretty bad loops.)

He locks them away somewhere as cold and dark as his father's basement.

But ‘rewinding,’ as he calls it in his head, isn't all bad. He's hesitant to use it, scared that someone will find out, scared he's actually, truly just insane – but not too scared to squeeze in extra practice time when he can, to replay the exact twist of Kevin's wrist that spirals the ball into the corner of the goal perfectly, or, once, to replay the rare sound of Jean's laugh – loud, a bit shocked, unrestrained. 

Nathaniel spends weeks trying to remember what he said and how to replicate it.

From what he can tell, the only downsides are increased exhaustion, headaches, and the occasional nosebleed if he pushes too hard. Nothing that would draw attention in the Nest. He thinks about it less and less.

Honestly, by the time Nathaniel is approaching his junior year, it's become a natural extension of him, like his Exy racquet. He's close to getting everything he's ever wanted: freedom, autonomy, a contract to play on a pro team when he graduates. Kevin and Jean are going to graduate, and in a year he's going to follow one or both of them across the country, get as far away from this fucking place as he can, and play Exy until it runs him into the ground. He's happy.

Of course that's when tragedy strikes.

Jean doesn't come back to their shared room the night of graduation. In fact, when the Raven’s private medical team arrives on the scene, they confirm Nathaniel’s greatest fear – Jean isn’t coming back at all. 

Shattered over the loss of his closest friend and partner, delirious with grief, Nathaniel impulsively throws himself as far backward in time as he can reach. He only means to rewind a few hours, to find Jean and stop him from doing the unthinkable – he doesn't know how but he'll grab him and hold him all night if he has to, he can't lose him, he can't believe he missed this, he thought they were going to build a life together outside of this hellhole and how dare Jean leave him here alone –

Instead, Nathaniel wakes up somewhere... new.

For one thing, he's traveled further than three hours. It was past midnight in the Nest, but the sun is just barely cresting the horizon now. He knows because he can see it through the window. The fifth story window.

And that's the other thing that becomes clear as Nathaniel scans his new surroundings. If he's traveled to the past, it isn't his past. He's never seen this building before in his life.

Overall, he spends a bewildering thirty minutes in this strange orange-accented building, heart racing, unable to channel the adrenaline of trying to save Jean into the random place and time he's wandered into. 

The first person he runs into is a tall man with a buzzed head who claps him on the shoulder and calls him 'Neil.' He looks betrayed when Nathaniel introduces the overly-familiar guy's gut to his elbow. He’s wearing an obnoxious orange hoodie. Boyd, Palmetto State Foxes. Nathaniel sneers.

There’s no time for this. He’s never traveled to a different location before, only different times. He doesn’t even know where Palmetto is, only has the vaguest idea of Exy’s greatest NCAA embarrassment. The longer he spends here, the less chance he has of saving Jean. Jean is not at Palmetto.

Somehow though, inexplicably, Kevin is. And here’s where Nathaniel realizes something is really wrong, because Kevin is wearing orange and white and lunging to fist his hands in Nathaniel’s hood and shake him and he’s speaking–

“What the fuck are you wearing–”

But all Nathaniel can focus on is the violent white scarring twisting up Kevin’s left hand. 

Wrong, wrong, wrong. Kevin is not a Fox, Kevin is not broken. Jean is broken. Jean is missing, and he doesn’t know these people, and he needs to find Jean before it’s too late. 

He must say some of this out loud because Kevin shakes him hard and asks harshly, fear edging his words, “Too late for what, Neil? What the fuck have you done now?” 

Boyd leans around the corner of the hallway with a defensive arm curled around his stomach to ask, “He’s looking for Jean?” 

At the same time Nathaniel snarls, “Don’t fucking call me that.”

Kevin’s eyes dart to the Fox in the hallway and back to Nathaniel before narrowing. Nathaniel roughly tries to shrug his fingers off, but Kevin digs in, leaning closer. Then he does something insane.

He sniffs Nathaniel’s face. Nathaniel twists away, and the hand Kevin raised to – slap him? Grab him again? Just barely brushes his forehead. Kevin exhales sharply through his nose.

“Are you drunk? Sick? What’s wrong with you?”

Another door pops open about ten feet down the hallway. “Neil’s sick?”

As everyone’s heads turn, Nathaniel lunges in the direction of the nearest stairwell. Except, Kevin is a bastard and has shifted himself directly in Nathaniel’s way, like he was expecting this. He throws an arm out to further block Nathaniel’s escape. 

Fine, if he wants it that way.

Nathaniel pulls out his knife. Chaos erupts.

Boyd shouts in surprise and starts calling for someone to get ‘Andrew.’ 

The messy-haired boy hanging out of his dorm room throws his hands up, hooking a foot around his door and pulling it shut with a firm “Nope, that’s none of my business.”

Kevin is shaking with anger, and he points at Nathaniel’s chest. “Is this some sort of fucked up prank?”

Nathaniel doesn’t understand the question, so he gestures with his knife. “Move. I won’t ask again.”

“After everything they did to you, what are – I don’t…” Maybe anger wasn’t the right emotion. Kevin looks more likely to throw up than throw a punch. 

Coward.

Nathaniel is ready to open the door and shove him down the stairs when the door at the far end of the hall slams open, bouncing off the wall with a bang. It sounds like a gunshot. Yet another Fox has arrived. Kevin breaks off his unintelligible muttering (something that sounded like “what’s going on”) mid-sentence as Neil straightens to assess the new threat.

“Thank god,” Boyd breathes at the sight of the short blonde standing, for all the drama of his entrance, nonchalantly in the doorway. Inexplicably, Nathaniel’s stomach aches. 

Stocky, broad shoulders, black jeans and tee, and a pair of black armbands. One of the Minyard twins, he recalls. The backliner is nothing special, but the goalie, what was his name –

“Andrew,” Kevin snaps, a greeting and a command (though it isn’t clear what he’s asking for). 

Andrew Minyard, sophomore, save percentage of 0.892 in spite of (and no thanks to) his team, 5 shutouts last season, with some of the quickest reflexes Nathaniel has seen on a college team outside of the Ravens–

The stats looping through Nathaniel’s mind on instinct are abruptly cut off when Kevin shoves– actually shoves Nathaniel from behind, right between the shoulder blades, propelling him further away from the safety of the stairwell.

Nathaniel goes to actually stab him this time, but Kevin ducks in a practiced maneuver and slides out of range. He levels a pointed look at Andrew and flicks a hand at a furious Nathaniel. “Take care of that.”

Nathaniel throws his knife and dives for the now unguarded stairwell door.

Kevin screeches, his striker reflexes barely saving him from getting skewered in the neck. The handle shudders and jams under Nathaniel’s grip. Locked. He kicks it for good measure, stubbing his toes with a curse, and then turns back to face the consequences of his actions. 

Kevin clutches his (unharmed) neck with a wounded expression, which is objectively hilarious, but, con, Nathaniel is now disarmed. He expects immediate retaliation from one of the Foxes, but Boyd has discretely slipped away somewhere, while Minyard is still planted in the doorway, eyes pinned to Nathaniel's chest with an unreadable expression.  

“Do I have something on my shirt or what?” Nathaniel asks heatedly. They both ignore him.

“So you didn't have anything to do with this then,” Kevin interjects, gesturing up and down Nathaniel's body. 

Minyard drags his eyes away with visible effort and cocks his head.

“He came back from his run dressed like this,” Kevin answers the nonverbal question, “freaking out over Jean and ranting about how it's ‘too late,’ which is fucking ominous, and then he pulled a knife on me –”

Apparently having heard enough, Minyard shoves roughly past Kevin and moves toward a wary Nathaniel. As he passes Nathaniel’s knife where it’s stuck in the wall, he retrieves it.

He moves slowly, and Nathaniel tracks every smooth, deliberate movement. Nathaniel doesn’t take his eyes off the knife, so he’s taken by surprise when Minyard reaches for him with his other hand. 

Nathaniel bares his teeth. “If you touch me, I will skewer you.” Minyard’s eyes widen slightly and he freezes with his fingers inches from Nathaniel’s neck.

It’s a bold claim for someone who is apparently (and actually) unarmed – Minyard’s eyes trail down Nathaniel’s body for a second time, probably trying to unearth any hidden weapons – but he drops his hand and, maintaining eye contact (a threat?), tucks the retrieved knife into his left armband.

“Neil. Do you know where you are.” His voice is irritatingly familiar – low, and a bit gravelly. Nathaniel realizes with a start that this is the first time he’s heard the goalie speak.

“Surrounded by idiots?” Nathaniel spits. (He has no idea where he is.)

Minyard hums and nods at the small Raven insignia on Nathaniel’s chest. “What is it they say about birds of a feather?” 

“I’m not here to play word games.” Nathaniel crosses his arms.

“No, apparently you’re here for Jean.” Minyard speaks slowly, like he’s speaking to a child or a wild animal. “Moreau is with Abby. You know this.” 

Nathaniel did not know this. “He’s… Abby?”

“Renee got him out of that hellhole. He’s… safe.” Safe. Nathaniel slumps back against the locked door at his back. If this man is telling the truth, then he did it. Jean is alive. He isn’t sure how or when, but the relief is enough to make his legs weak. 

Renee… Nathaniel wracks his memory. Most likely Renee Walker, the Foxes’ other goalie. He’s torn between his need for information and his pride, between his instinctive distrust and the uncomfortable feeling that he would trust the man in front of him with his life. He has to be sure though.

“How did she get him out?” He asks accusingly.

“They’ve been talking for months,” Andrew says slowly. Not condescending, but in a way that makes it clear Nathaniel should have known this already. “She went in and got him when Kengo died.”

Nathaniel’s world tilts on its axis for the second time in the past 24 hours. When Kengo died? Kengo is dead? And then his thoughts aren’t the only things spinning – there’s a metallic taste in his mouth, the door behind him clicks open, and Nathaniel stumbles back, shoving his way around the new arrival and away from Minyard’s reaching hand, nearly falling down the stairs in his haste to get away, get away, get away, before he’s–

******

Nathaniel wakes up in surroundings that are both more and less familiar. 

And here's the thing. Nathaniel realized very quickly that he could take objects with him when he travels. His clothes, his racquet, whatever he's touching travels with him. 

But for the first time, he wishes desperately that he experimented more, that he told someone about this. Kevin would have whipped up a game plan full of exhausting and boring scientific drills within seconds. Maybe he’d have more answers than questions for once. 

Still, nothing Nathaniel’s done could have prepared him to come to in his ten-year old body. 

It takes him a moment to realize. The cool, dark tones of the Nest loosen something in his chest, and he’s relieved to be home, even if he’s somehow ended up closer to the court than his room (apparently he’s going to have to get used to traveling through space AND time). 

Then he reaches to scratch his elbow absentmindedly and realizes how badly he’s fucked up.

His limbs look alien – too thin, too gangly, none of the painstakingly built muscle or calluses from years of Exy and all its related triumphs and punishments. 

His eyes catch on his palm. The skin is smooth, even though he remembers sitting on the floor of he and Jean’s shared room, prying open a can of stolen peaches with a knife. They were so hungry that they didn’t notice right away when Nathaniel sliced his hand on the jagged metal lid. 

To see physical evidence of his partner erased like this is…. jarring. 

He’s not going to figure anything out from the storage closet, so he pushes his way out of the small room and into a familiar nightmare. 

Noises from the nearby court echo down the hallway, shoes squeaking, children shouting out plays and passes, travel bags littering the hall. 

He remembers this. He couldn’t forget this day if he tried. A knot of dread pulls tight in his gut, squeezing until he’s trembling. No matter how many times he tells himself he’s had worse days, much worse days, that this day was the beginning of the rest of his life and the day he learned he might be able to earn his freedom, no matter what he tells himself – his hands still shake.

Is this real, or a dream? A memory? Is he dead? 

The sounds of Exy are like a siren call drawing him through the locker room. Nathaniel walks like he’s going to meet his executioner. His vision tunnels. He slips unnoticed past the teenagers at their lockers, following the familiar path to Evermore’s court. 

Sticking his head out around the doorframe feels like sticking his neck on a guillotine. Kids are paired off for warm-up drills, rotating through tests of agility, strength, and precision.

At center court are two young boys, scrawny and sweaty, not particularly unique in the crowd of scrawny and sweaty children save for their black uniforms. But the other kids orbit them like planets around a sun, sneaking glances and showing off for the princes of Exy.

Kevin Day and Riko Moriyama. And if they’re on court… Neil squints until he can make out three figures through the plexiglass, seated a few rows back near the center. It’s the only time he’s seen Ichirou out of his luxury box seats, leaning forward to listen as Tetsuji whispers something in his ear. 

Though he knows it’s coming, Nathaniel’s limbs lock up and his throat closes as he recognizes the third man sitting with them. It’s the only time he’s ever seen his father in the stands.

That, if nothing else, cements his location in time. This is the day Nathaniel first met Kevin and Riko. This was his first bloody trip to Castle Evermore, the day he found that there was something worth living for. The day his mother tried to run and cost herself her life and Nathaniel his freedom. 

Frying pan, fire.

Jean isn’t even here yet. He’s still in France. He has no idea what’s in store for him.

Nathaniel ducks back into the locker room before anyone sees him and curls up in the tight space between the last locker and the wall that he hasn’t fit in since he hit his growth spurt at fourteen. 

Obviously his last jump was a fluke. In what messed up world would Kevin end up playing with the Foxes? Something had to have gone majorly wrong. But then, Jean was alive… Nathaniel clutches his head, tugging at his hair. How is he supposed to save Jean if he isn’t even here yet? 

He’s distracted by something warm slipping down his face and over his lips. He swipes absently at his nose and his fingers come away red. Blood. There’s a tugging at his center, pulsing in time with a dull ache in his head. This trip has been strange, but Nathaniel knows what that means. He doesn’t have much time left. Either this is going to kill him, or he’s going to get pulled back to the present.

“Nate, what the – oh my god, is that blood?” 

Nathaniel scrubs at his nose with the hem of his black shirt before glancing up at the distraught boy in front of him. A messy “2” is scrawled on his cheekbone in Sharpie, stark against a face which is even paler than usual. Kevin never could handle blood.

“I’m fine, it’s just–”

“Damn Wesninski, picking fights already?” And wherever Kevin went, Riko was never far behind. Or maybe it was the other way around. Nathaniel’s head swims. He rises, giving his face one last swipe.

“You’re just smearing it around,” Kevin mutters. 

Riko slings an arm around Nathaniel’s shoulder and tugs. “Whatever, it looks badass. Let’s go scare those West Coast kids!”  

Kevin clears his throat tentatively. “I think Nate’s father is looking for y–”

“Oh, right! Your father sent us to get you, he’s with Onii-sama now in one of his meeting rooms. I can show you where to go, he doesn’t like people wandering around his offices.” Riko huffs. “You should probably clean that off your face too, then.”

“Right,” Nathaniel croaks, cold to his core. He nods at the sinks. “I’ll just – I’ll meet you in the hall, give me a minute.”

“Hurry up,” Riko calls over his shoulder, bounding out without looking back. Kevin pauses, eyes searching, but then he leaves as well. 

As soon as they round the corner, Nathaniel lunges for the corner locker that he stashed his duffel bag in. It’s got a broken lock, so no one uses it, but he knows how to jimmy it open from the right angle. He rifles around for his notebook.

It isn’t a foolproof plan, or even a necessarily good one, but it’s all he’s got. He can’t help smearing blood across the cover and the first few pages as he flips to an empty space and writes in large block letters, “RENEE WALKER, RECRUIT, GOALIE.” He doesn’t know where she is or how to find her, doesn’t even know if his actions now have an impact on his future, but he has to try. 

She saved Jean in that other world where everything was upside down. Maybe she can do what Nathaniel couldn’t and save him this time, too.

Folding the book, he shoves it to the bottom of his bag beneath his clothes, wedges the locker door shut, and hurriedly wets a wad of paper towels to clean his face off. 

Then he goes to face his father. He doesn’t travel back to the present for another 56 minutes. 

*****

Nathaniel very nearly gets away with it. 

It’s strange, living with these new overlapping memories – like the opposite of losing a tooth and poking around at the gap with your tongue. Renee’s appearance fills a gap Nathaniel didn’t know existed, but she neatly folds into their lives as if she was always there (which, Nathaniel guesses, in this new reality, she was).

He remembers writing her name in his notebook in a desperate bid to change reality, and he also remembers finding her name the next day, scrawled among water marks and blood stains.

He was transported directly back to the present about an hour after Riko took him to meet his father and Ichirou – he didn’t relive his entire childhood – but the new memories are slowly rising to the surface while his old memories sink and fade.

When the Ravens started looking for a new goalie Kevin's freshman year, Nathaniel put Renee’s name forward. Riko was hardly impressed with her high school performance, but Kevin owes Nathaniel a favor. Nathaniel ensures Jean goes along to extend the recruitment offer.

Nathaniel doesn’t like Renee – initially because of the way Riko treated them, the assumptions he made about why Nathaniel pushed so heavily to recruit her. Then he gets to know her, and he likes her even less. She tucks her cool and calculated persona behind a calm, Christian facade, and Nathaniel trusts her about as far as he can throw her. (She’s taller than he is, but light, so maybe five feet?)

No, he doesn’t like Renee. But he needs her. Because when he comes to graduation night with blood spattered across the lower half of his face and a sharp stabbing at the back of his head, Jean is the one kneeling beside him, and nothing else matters.

It would be a lie to say he never thinks of the strange jump between his past and his present – the awkward sideways step into a nonsensical world where Kevin wasn’t a Raven and the worst Exy team in the NCAA called him ‘Neil’ with a horrible fondness.

Anyway. He very nearly gets away with it.

Except a couple weeks later, Nathaniel opens his locker and a boy with auburn hair and fury in his blue eyes tumbles out, using his momentum to slam them back into the opposite row of lockers, knife pointed at Nathaniel’s throat.

“Give him back,” he growls.

For all intents and purposes, Nathaniel is looking at himself. 

“What.” It’s like looking in a mirror if your reflection was trying to kill you. This is what he gets for messing around with time. He should’ve known Jean’s life wasn’t free. Nothing in their lives is fucking free, or fair, but he’ll be damned if this freak shows up out of nowhere wearing his face and tries to undo one of the only good things he’s ever done.

“You know what I’m talking about,” Other Nathaniel snarls, “I remember you. Whatever you did, undo it. Give Andrew back,” he snarls, “And Renee too, while you’re fucking at it.”

*****

might go back and extend/polish and drop it on ao3 if people are interested? 

shoutout to my sister who suggested Raven!Renee when I was brainstorming what kind of change Nathaniel could make that might save Jean’s life while fucking up Andrew’s. I have not known a moment of peace since but I’m torn between dropping tiny unconnected snippets here and committing to a full multi-chapter fic 

#this is so chaotic someone should have stopped me from playing LIS directly after both oxenfree games #the foxhole court #aftg #foxhole court au #jean moreau #neil josten #nathaniel wesninski #tw suicide reference #time loop brain rot #this was meant to be a brief summary :') #kevin day #sav writes #aftg fic #raven!neil

[itsevanffs]

I wanna ask about so many but the one that really caught my eye is doll fic

doll fic is arguably my most wholesome fic, which it doesn't sound like from the title, but it really is. no incest, no underage, no abuse, nothing!! unthinkable >:( you really chose The Only One, huh <3 (amanda likes it tho)

the premise is harry finds a wooden doll under his bed (voldemort in all his snakey glory) and keeps it as clean and loved as he can manage - and slowly the doll morphs from a terrifying monster into the handsome visage of our beloved tom m riddle (though he keeps the name voldemort). one day the doll disappears, however, and harry is beyond himself with grief - until a very familiar man shows up at his door and offers him a home.

When Harry is seven years old, he finds a wooden doll below his bed of a snake-man. The man's positively frightening, with little slit pupils carved into his narrowed eyes, no nose- just slits, and a thin, lipless mouth curled in a sneer, dressed in a dark dress, like what monks wear. But Harry found it, and it was below his bed; so he keeps it, despite being scared of its visage, and he shoulders through the nightmares that plague his nights of evil red eyes and bright green lights and desperate screaming, because this doll is his, and he wants to have something for himself for once in his life, without the Dursleys or the school or the old ladies down the road or even God ruining it for him. And he curls up in his ratty blanket, and strokes the head of the doll with care, and whispers words of soothing to it without sound, and clutches it close to his chest, and keeps it safe despite his every instinct in him screaming at him to throw it away, to burn it, to never look back at the danger it poses. Because of his stunted growing up, he doesn't know how to listen to instinct, where every day is a danger and he's expected to love those who hurt and neglect him. And he does. The doll hurts him, it bites into his skin and its claws leave scratches on his cheek, but he keeps it close, tucking it under his shirt at school, hiding it under his bed with bated breath whenever he hears footsteps stomping down the stairs above his head. One day he wakes up after a nightmare, and he checks the doll in the faint morning light that creeps in through the bottom of his cupboard door. In the new light, he thinks its eyes are less narrowed, that its pupils are a little rounder, its sneer a little less intense. He thinks nothing much of it, but he notices after a few months of having the doll that it's definitely changing. Its claws have dulled, and its features softened, and its face rounded, and there's the vague outline of hair, the touch of thin lips instead of only the line that was there before, and the slits are beginning to look more and more like a human nose. And Harry... He doesn't think he minds. Weird things happen around him all the time, why should this be any different? So he keeps it close, and he cares for it, and he realises it's become something of another family member in his life. A father, maybe- a better one than the alcoholic that killed his mother and gave him his scar. more scary looking, certainly. Harry fantasises about the man taking him to school, standing tall above all the other parents, and then, whenever the bullies say that their fathers are policemen, Harry could say that his father is a snake man who would send their fathers running. It brings a smile to his face, and it warms his chest- so he only dares to think it at night, when the Dursleys can't see him.

ask me more about my wips!

#tomarry #ask #send me asks :D #doll fic

[ufonaut]

WELCOME TO OUR THIRD ANNUAL COMIX OF THE YEAR SHOWCASE!

Boy, what a year it’s been for comics! I’ve read 126 completed series this year (with a grand total of 313 series over all, and that’s not counting single issues or currently ongoing series!) and I’ve come to actually own 558 physical single issues!

If last year I talked about falling deeper in love with the medium, then this year I’ve dedicated myself to learning its history by getting into books & magazines about comics -- the (presently available) entirety of Alter Ego, Back Issue!, Comic Book Creator/Artist, All-Star Companion Vol. 1-3, The Golden Age of Comic Fandom and Our Artists at War have been some of my favourite things to read this year and they haven’t made this list solely because I’m talking comics and only comics, but please know they’ve meant a great deal to me and have already influenced me deeply and contributed to the kind of reader/fan I’ve become and would like to continue being. Hell, I’ve even gotten to experience the once-unthinkable honour of writing for Back Issue! and interviewing some of my heroes!

And speaking of once-unthinkable things, the fact that we’ve gotten a total of three JSA books complete with an ongoing this year? I don’t even have words for what that means to me! Suffice to say, it’s been THE year of comics as far as I’m concerned. So, without further ado, here’s our winners:

The New Golden Age (2022) It’s a one-shot but my god, what a one-shot it is! This book is what every longtime fan of the original Justice Society of America has dreamed of for decades, eager to acknowledge the team’s entire history across the years and its significance along with adding something new and exciting to the old and revered. I cried reading this, which is admittedly true for most things I love, but it’s a book like this that illustrates perfectly what the Overstreet Comic Book Price Guide had meant in 1995 when they’d called the creation of the team second only to the invention of the superhero. I can’t think of a more beautiful way to announce the coming of a new JSA era!

Doomsday Clock (2017) A very take-it-or-leave-it kinda book, I know, and the intensity with which I came to love Doomsday Clock was a surprise even to myself but I genuinely believe it’s the series of the past decade. End of. It takes a special kind of fan to love what it says and does and means but a story about grief and love and legacy, a story that’s in effect about comic book history, that puts the JSA -- Alan Scott, specifically -- at its centre? You know I’m gonna be there. The ending in particular made me sob like no comic ever has before and when Jon understood Superman’s true purpose, I finally did too. “The rocket arrives. A child is loved. Superman is made.” That changed it all for me. I think Doomsday is also one of those rare books where a happy ending is a legitimately daring narrative choice, and the risk is more than worth it. One last stray thought to finish up this section: I’ve legitimately never found a more frighteningly real, deliciously well-written gay story in comics like Carver Colman’s entire arc here.

Before Watchmen: Minutemen (2012) Minutemen’s a book that likes to linger in its hurt, like pressing on a bruise for the hell of it and sitting with the ache. We know the outcome from the very first page, and Darwyn Cooke’s art is as melancholy as his writing. I’ve come back to this one again and again, sometimes just to look at it. As a Golden Age of Comics lover and enjoyer, the tragedy (the shipwreck!) of the Minutemen is precisely what I’ve always understood as implicit to the JSA and to see it all spelled out made it an absolute favourite in an instant.

Watchmen (1986) Hey, this list’s already dominated by Watchmen-adjacent books so, why not the original? My first thought upon finishing it was that the hype had been real this whole time and I couldn’t believe I’d lived my life blissfully unaware of everything this book has to offer. It’s still timeless, it still hits hard and it’s still a testament to the kind of love for comics that Alan Moore will never again show (and that Geoff Johns followed up perfectly in Doomsday Clock despite what you might’ve heard, after all at the core of Watchmen lies a truly encyclopedic knowledge of comic books and that’s a thing born out of love alone). All that being said, it ranks where it does because what’s always interested me in Watchmen has been the shadow of the story underneath the story, that of the Minutemen.

Nathaniel Dusk (1984)/Nathaniel Dusk II (1985) The quintessential film noir, in comic book form. Gene Colan’s art makes the miniseries but Dusk is a truly unique outing no matter how you look at it, and its status as ostensibly set in the real world makes it all that more fascinating. Nathaniel Dusk is a hardboiled detective whose career is marred by too-personal tragedy, and the book’s custom-made for anybody’s who’s as big on character studies and character-driven pieces as I am.

Manhunter (1973) There’s a lot that’s special about Archie Goodwin and Walt Simonson’s most enduring creation, there’s no doubt about that, but I loved Manhunter so much it gave way to something within me that I’ve genuinely never experienced before: the day after I finished reading it I went out and bought the hardcover, the week after that I got the action figure, and by now I’ve bought every single special or trade these Detective Comics (1937) #437-443 backups have ever been collected or appeared in. It’s a story that begs to be interacted with in some real tangible way, that’s all I can say! James Robinson spoke once about what a phenomenon this had been when it’d first came out -- with its then-novel use of ninjas, violence like something out of an exploitation film, the very serious matter of a man killing to regain his identity (his soul!) and ultimately dying having done so -- but there’s no denying the impact hasn’t lessened any. Among the comics of any era, Manhunter is a stark outlier and a necessary breath of fresh air.

Flashpoint Beyond (2022) This little series somehow manages to outshine the event of the summer and just about all that’s followed it. Ostensibly a tie-in to Dark Crisis and theoretically bridging the gap between Doomsday Clock and The New Golden Age (year of Geoff Johns anyone?), what Flashpoint Beyond really is beyond all the pretexts is a deep-dive into a deeply traumatized man’s psyche. The book’s primary conflict is man vs. narrative as Flashpoint Thomas fights and fights against the very story he’s in until he can’t anymore. He refuses to play the hero the inhabitants of the Flashpoint world expect him to be but his rallying cry of ‘nothing matters’ because he’s seen his life destroyed twice over is ignored even by the story insisting him on placing him in the ill-fitting role of Batman, and the construction of this book is certainly something to see.

Cinder & Ashe (1988) I’m a great big fan of character-driven pieces, as we already know, and an even bigger fan of standalone miniseries that you simply can’t put down, throw in Jose Luis Garcia-Lopez’s art in the mix and I’m unlikely to ever stop thinking about it. At its heart, Cinder & Ashe is a story about the Vietnam war but it’s also a harrowing mystery thriller set in New Orleans and an exploration of racism, the military complex, and two lives consumed by grief. There’s very little I can say that won’t spoil the story but it’s here for a reason and I’d be willing to call it a legitimate all-time favourite by now.

The Night Force (1982) This is a real gem of DC’s horror/supernatural line and most certainly Marv Wolfman’s best work despite his decades in the business. A thoroughly entertaining and wildly compelling book, Night Force accomplishes the incredible feat of successfully balancing a main character that’s a complete enigma with a supporting cast of fallible all-too-human, all-too-real characters. If Baron Winters’ entry into the DC Universe at large is its most lasting impact, then Jack Gold is its true protagonist. As far as I’m concerned, there’s few sequences as sincerely terrifying and viscerally uncomfortable as the climax in issue #7 as Jack lies to save his life -- to save the world -- and the narration goes something like “He must spend a lifetime with this woman he does not care about. He does not love her, yet… yet there is that thing deep within Vanessa, that darkness that may again rise forth if she ever learned the truth. And Jack Gold cries. The horror is all his, the horror is all his.” I think about this so much and so often! For the obvious reasons, it’s quite possibly my favourite -- and one of the earliest -- gaycoded character arcs I’ve ever read.

Scribbly (1948) I’m a humor book aficionado, I’m practically Keith Giffen’s #1 fan, I read Ambush Bug (& Son) every time I’m feeling down, I like to think I know my stuff from Sugar & Spike to Bizarro Comics and whatever else you’ve got but-- Shelly Mayer’s Scribbly is a revelation. The grandfather of all humor comics and first published in 1936 by Dell Comics ‘till his move to All-American and then the above solo at National Comics (a man of the world!), the eponymous boy cartoonist is Mayer’s autobiographical creation and makes for one of the most startlingly clever, laugh-out-loud funny books I’ve read in my entire life. Scribbly isn’t just a fascinating case study in where the majority of gags we now take of granted originated or likely the world’s first autobiographical comic strip, it’s also sincerely creative, shockingly modern and firmly in a class of its own!

SPECIAL MENTION

JSA: The Liberty File (2000)/JSA: The Unholy Three (2003)

Catwoman: Lonely City (2021)

Enemy Ace/Balloon Buster (assorted)

Vigilante: City Lights, Prairie Justice (1995)

Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow (2021)

Human Target (2003)

Justice Society of America (2022)

Green Arrow (1983)

Adam Strange (1990)

Martian Manhunter: American Secrets (1992)

#THERES A LOT. AND I MEAN A /LOT/ THAT I LOVED AND DIDNT MAKE IT. BUT I TRIED TO LEAVE IT FOR A BEST OF THE BEST SORT OF DEAL #personal #comix of the year #dc #dc comics #u can rb

[team-heavenly]

Chapter 15

...I can still hear their voice...

...Oh this title choice is just CRUEL. Randomizer, how dare you.

Again, there are many shots that might have a white light/brightness glare because... white bodies against a dark background... I think it’s somewhat better than Chapter 14? But there’s also only so much I can do about it, so...  my apologies once again, and I appreciate your understanding. (Also, this chapter unexpectedly contains trans rights!)

Even after image consolidation, this is the longest chapter to date. (I feel like I keep saying that.) Buckle in and secure the lap bar firmly.

Click here for Part 2!

Click here for Part 3!

CLICK HERE FOR PART 4!! (Yes, I know x.x)

1) Prosperous Bog is a hilariously interesting name

2) Yup, still censoring the ‘mon behind Primal Dialga. No worries, the owner will become clear in time!

Oh...? Is that a hanging ‘C’ I see...?  Place your bets now, folks!

Andrea has a hard time swallowing the news.

Ah, so like a fail safe!

So, uh. One thing I’ve noticed with this playthrough. Something that never stuck out to me before during all my casual plays.

Your partner repeats things just said to you. A lot. (Presumably because it’s a kid’s game...? But what, do they really think 10 year olds have the short-term memory of a goldfish?)

The only reason I included the shot above is because without it, the transition to the next one (below) is kinda funky.

The Great Gulpin... The GG... oh, it cannot be!

It’s... incredible to think that, even after everything, Andrea struggles to believe the truth. Heck, later on, the GUILD is so mired in the persona of Dusknoir Gulpin, they low-key gaslight you about what happened. And they were a crowd of witnesses, watching him YANK you two into the future! That’s how good he was with his presentation!!

Then Andrea, drowning in denial and grief, almost does the unthinkable.

What a King! 💪😔💖

Oho? Magneton is our Celebi replacement?! I guess magnets can travel through time now.

I’ve always loved that the Hero is a pillar for the both of them in the future <3

Meanwhile...

Onwards to Part 2!

#pokemon mystery dungeon #pmd explorers #randomizer #chapter 15

[umbralsound-xiv]

...I do not know how long i had been out for.

But unconciousness was a mercy.

Unthinking. Unfeeling.

I... I did not... Have to... Think about it...

...What i heard...

Neoma Eltanin sat and hummed softly on a melody in her cell. She glanced at Eir, who had yet to stir. She had attempted to call out to him earlier, but he was out cold. He was breathing at least. "The sun, the sun, you bring us colorful light.. you beautify the lovely flower of our soul..."

Eir Fellfrost knits his brow. The sound of singing is a muffle, before it dances in his ears. His first waking breath is a shaky one. "H-hello?" He calls; voice hoarse and broken. He sounded even more afraid than he already was.

...I knew the voice. Or... I felt i did. People sound different when singing.

...If it was not for the stagnant air and the damp cold of the floor, i could have been back in Thavnair...

Neoma Eltanin: "..! Eir! You're awake?" She shifted, moving closer to the fence to get a better look at him. Worry was evident in her eyes. "How are you?"

Neoma Eltanin expresses her worry with you.

Eir Fellfrost: "I..." His eyes open staring blankly ahead. They quickly fill with tears, as the memories of that sun came flooding back. Tension crawled up his throat, fighting for his words. "...I am not... D-doing okay." He manages. Slowly, he peels himself from the floor, sitting upwards. He is visibly shaking.

Neoma Eltanin was even more worried seeing the state of him. She scooted even closer to the fence, careful not to touch it. "Eir... what did they do?"

...I could not bear to think about it.

What they did.

What i... Heard...

But... I... Had to tell her.

Eir Fellfrost: "They... Th-they..." He slumps against the wall. "I... I broke the fence. I...I think. In another cell. S-so they took me away. And... Sayuri... S-she..." He reaches his hand up to touch his cheek, before his face is buried in his hands with a wail. "...I---I heard her scream, and--- And... Then... I..." He fights to leave the more brutal imagery out of his mind. "She... She did not... Talk back, after t-the... Noises. Sh-she..."

Neoma Eltanin was surprised to hear Eir had broken the fence. Herself, she could not touch it without feeling like she touched hot iron. She knitted her brow in a concerned frown, eyes full of pity seeing Eir in such distress. "... Did they hurt her?"

Your eyes begin to well up.

Eir Fellfrost: "....I... I heard her say my n-name. It was... It was the last thing. The last... U-until they..." His arms slowly curl around his torso, to his shoulders. "N-neoma?"

Eir Fellfrost: "I-- I think th-they..."

Eir Fellfrost: "I think... S-she is..."

Eir Fellfrost dare not finish the sentence. He just stares on with the haunted expression on his face that seems to have no intentions of moving.

...Oh, Sayuri...

I could not bear the thought of...

Perhaps my blindness is a blessing for one small moment, in that i need only suffer the sounds and not the sights of their brutality.

Neoma Eltanin: "..." Neoma's eyes fell to the ground for a moment. She looked sad, before closing her eyes, then looking at Eir again. "Eir... me and Sayuri thought you were gone, and you were not. We.. cannot trust everything we see here. They.. they're trying to hurt us. But.. I don't think they would.. just to get back at you for breaking the fence."

Neoma Eltanin: "... Are you absolutely sure she is..?"

Eir Fellfrost: "I..." Eir hesitates, uncomfortably. "...Do... N-not know. It felt s-so... Real." Quiet again, then. His voice is a whisper of what it was, still tinged with grief. "...I heard her bones break. I... H-heard her bleed."

...If it...

...

...If this was... Of their working, and she yet lives, i...

I fear for what else they can do without so much as spilling a drop of blood.

...I do not know if i am convinced. It sounds... Like such a hollow hope to hold onto.

...Perhaps the effect this place simply has on people.

...Maybe that is what they want.

Neoma Eltanin: "... Don't give up hope, Eir. They.. would not kill her for something like that. They've.. spent too much energy getting some.. use out of her to do that." She did not feel good describing Sayuri in such a way, but thinking back to the fact she had been treated like a battery... "They.. might just be trying to scare you..."

Eir Fellfrost: "They d-do not need to try to scare m-me." Eir curls in on himself, head in his arms. "...I have not seen her since i arrived here." A pause. "...I am worried."

Neoma Eltanin: "... Me too. But.. from hearing all the.. hallucinations Sayuri had to endure herself... I fear we cannot trust anything we see here. At the end of it all... they want something from us, and they are spending.. a lot of energy trying to get it." She glanced up at the camera. "... I do not believe they would.. kill us so willingly."

Eir Fellfrost: "...I hope you are right." Eir responds, but it is clear he is not filled with hope. "...Th-they killed Wind. What... Would stop them from... Doing the same to us?"

Neoma Eltanin fell silent, hesitating about what to respond. She frowned, looking down at the floor. "... Wicked Ripple claims his death was an accident. It.. confuses me. With how.. elaborate this organization seem to be in keeping check of their prisoners, you'd think they... would be better prepared." Her hands clutched in her lap. "... I don't understand what their leader is thinking."

Eir Fellfrost: "...I do not know. I...." Eir trails, shaking his head. "...Perhaps there is no rhyme or reason to any of this.  I do not know what to believe." Eir manages to steel himself for a moment, but it does not last. "How... H-how do you do it? Keep such... Optimism in times like this?"

Neoma Eltanin was not prepared for the question. It took her a while to respond. "... I have seen despair, many times. And I have felt it. It... is hard. But.. I can not allow myself to give up." She lifted her hand, looking at it, as if she was studying the lines of her palm. "... Were I to give up, I would not be able to help those who still need it. I always try to think of.. the future. And I can't let this be our end."

...I have seen despair so many times.

Seen so many close to me die.

...I have not given up yet. Even if i had often thought of doing so.

But Neoma always makes it look so... Effortless.

Eir Fellfrost sighs, head rocked back. His nose wrinkles. "...I am s-so... Tired of it." He laces his fingers together, to curl his hands into a ball. "I... I was married once. I had a child. I.. I have outlived both of them." Eir pauses, sighing as his eyes closed. "...F-friends, too. I... I am the only one left." His lips tremble a little. "A-and now... This. I..." He trails. "...D-do not know how much more i can take."

Neoma Eltanin looked sorrowful as she observed Eir. "... You have lived a longer life than me, Eir. Experienced much more. I.. understand you are tired. And... undoubtedly this feels like a.. nightmare." She shifted, pulling her legs close to her chest. "... But life isn't all about suffering. I won't let it be so. You shouldn't either. There.. is good to be found in life. You cannot give up in a place like this."

Eir Fellfrost sighs quietly after a few long moments, shaking his head. His brow knits as his thoughts fill with the sounds of screams again. "...I h-have found so much good. In the company more than i have in cycles..."

Eir Fellfrost: "...There is joy to be had, b-but... What if..." Eir hesitates for a moment. "...Do...D-do you... Truly think her to be alive? Sayuri?"

Neoma Eltanin: "To many, the company is a home. To me, to Bexy.. to Sayuri. You have friends there. And as long as you are alive, the memories of your friends and family live in you."

Neoma Eltanin met Eir's eyes, her own determined but kind. "... I think she is alive. I refuse to think otherwise. It.. doesn't make sense to.. bring her back only to do.. what you saw. They must have other plans. Don't let them get into your head, Eir. Be wary of what you see and hear."

Neoma is right. Why... Why would they...?

It does not make sense.

She has to be alive. Despite... What i heard. What... I felt, i...

I... Have to believe what makes the most sense...

Or try to.

Eir Fellfrost nods quietly. "...Then i will... Choose to believe she lives. O-or... Try to." He swallows a lump in his throat. "...So long as i am a-alive, hm? I... I do not know how much longer that will be..."

Neoma Eltanin: "... Much longer, Eir. I will keep believing that. So should you. You're stronger and more important than you think. I know you doubt what I am saying, but I will keep saying it. I'm not giving up on you, and you shouldn't give up on yourself. Or on Sayuri."

Eir Fellfrost: "...What i would not do to h-hold her hand again." Eir rests his head on his shoulder, mournfully. "...Or even hear her voice. I..." He shakes his head. "...E-even if she is alive, I... I do not think i will... Survive m-much longer on this ship." He turns his head a little, silvery eyes gazing to Neoma, if not looking straight through her. "...I w-will try, regardless."

I barely survived my first stay here in this terrible place.

If things are only fixed to worsen, i...

...

I will try.

But that does not mean i will succeed.

Neoma Eltanin: "Eir, you will survive. You will get off this ship. Please, you must keep that goal in your mind, whatever it takes. This isn't your end."

Eir Fellfrost: "...I can only promise to try." Eir responds, hand curling into a ball, running his thumb over the back of his knuckles. He gives a long pause, seemingly considering something.

Eir Fellfrost: "...What will... You do, when you next leave the boat, Neoma?"

Neoma Eltanin thought for a moment. She had not admitted she wasn't certain if she would get off the boat again or not. "... Reveal whatever I can find out to the company. I.. unfortunately haven't learned much yet. I haven't seen many of them. But I will keep trying to speak with them. For now that.. is all I can do."

Eir Fellfrost: "N-no, i mean... Nice things. Things... Away from all of this." Eir pauses. "...I had hoped to read, but... Well."

Neoma Eltanin blinked. "O-oh, that... I.. have been so caught up with solving this, I haven't..." She fell silent for a moment, thinking. "... When we got back last time, I tended to the greenhouse. It.. was nice. The feeling of petals in my hands, the scent of the flowers... Only when I was back in that room did I realize how much I missed it. These hard walls... I had almost gotten used to them."

Neoma Eltanin reached one hand to stroke over the metal floor. "... I will water the flowers, when I get back. I'm glad Auro'usk takes good care of them while I'm here."

Eir Fellfrost: "...I hope my plants do not suffer too terribly. I managed to gather the energy to water them, the sun before we came here." He lowers his head. "...Though i... Suppose i could always get more." He manages the faintest little smile. "...The... greenhouse. I do not think i have ever seen it."

Neoma Eltanin returned a soft smile. "You should go there when you get back. It is quite a nice place. Anyone is allowed to use it to grow whatever they wish in there." She closed her eyes. "... I feel at peace when I am there. You feel like you are in your own little world. Like.. a small paradise."

Neoma Eltanin closes her eyes for you.

Eir Fellfrost: "...Perhaps, then. If...--When i return."

Eir Fellfrost: "....Sayuri and i. We... We spoke about going to the East..."

Neoma Eltanin looked curious, still smiling. "You are? How nice! To see Monzen?" Her smile faded a bit. "Ah.. what is left of Monzen, at least. I never saw the town during its glory, unfortunately."

Eir Fellfrost: "...It.... Is no longer?" Eir asks, brow knit. "...Every place i have called home lies in ruin. But... She assures me there is still so much beauty in the East. I have never been, even for all my cycles and travels within them."

Neoma Eltanin: "Oh.. Monzen was destroyed after the rebellion against the Garlean Empire failed." Neoma looked down in her hands. "... I saw the after effects. It was.. a turbulent time." She looked up at Eir again. "But now, Doma is free. Now more than ever, there is so much beauty to behold, to feel, to hear. I think you will like it there."

Neoma Eltanin smiles weakly at you.

...I know the Garleans destroyed much of it. As they do with everything they touch.

I have seen their destruction first hand.

I have...

...Been the one to have a hand in doing it, too.

Eir Fellfrost: "I... Heard much of it." Eir turns his head away, and down, brow knit. "...It is something to look forward to. To... To hold onto hope." Eir opens his mouth as though he would continue, and... Doesn't. "..."

Neoma Eltanin noticed the shift in his behavior and got concerned. "... Eir.. even if Monzen is no more, the lands and its people have recovered. The tragedy may yet linger in memory, but it is in the past. The people are looking towards a brighter future now."

Eir Fellfrost: "I... I know. It was some time ago. It... It was not that. It..." Eir trails. "...Going... To the East with Sayuri is... I do not know if she knows... How.. Much it means to me."

Neoma Eltanin smiled softly. "I think it means much for her too. The East is part of her past. Lots of memories, both good.. and bad. I think she would be glad to show you her homeland, and have you by her side."

Eir Fellfrost: "Y-you... Think so?" Eir seems to brighten a little, before the worry creeps back in.

Neoma Eltanin: "Of course, you mean a lot to her, Eir. That she wants to bring you there says as much."

Neoma Eltanin smiles weakly at you.

Eir Fellfrost smiles faintly, before his brow knits. "I... I had not considered that was the reason. I..." Eir trails for a long moment. "...She... She means a lot to me, too."

...I had not thought of it that way. That... She wants to go with me because...

...Because i am... Important to her. Even if just a little.

...It is enough.

Neoma Eltanin smiled a little wider, glad to see Eir seemed to be on other thoughts. "I can tell you two have grown close since you came to the company. I'm glad."

Eir Fellfrost: "...She... She is a great comfort to me. A good... Friend." Eir hesitates. "Before we returned, i..." Eir's brows knit, as though listening for something. "---Wanted to tell her---"

The door opens with a bang.

...I wanted to tell her so much.

I wanted to confide in Neoma. I am... Terrible at talking, and...

...Again.

There is never enough time.

Neoma Eltanin jumped in surprise at the sound, immediately becoming wary. "... Someone's coming." She lowered her voice a touch. "Eir, whatever happens, you will get out of here. You will get to see the East. Don't lose hope."

Tiny footsteps make their way into the room, a pleased hum as she stood before the fence. "Hello!" Little Bird calls out. She'd wave, were her hands not encumbered with a folded pile of clothing. "All good today, i hope?"

Neoma Eltanin was surprised to see Little Bird, out of all people. She took note of the fact she seemed to be holding clothes, which confused her. "... We're doing alright."

Eir Fellfrost tenses up a little, back to the wall. "...I have been better."

Little Bird: "Well, that's a shame. Anyway! Things are about to get better! Well, at least for you!" She settles the clothes beneath the door as it lifts slightly. "Go on, get dressed! You can't go out looking like that!"

...Go out?

Outside?

...

What... What do... They have planned for me, out there...?

Neoma Eltanin raised her eyebrows, staring surprised at the open door, then at Eir, then at Little Bird. "... You are releasing him? How come? It is.. sooner than last time."

Eir Fellfrost takes the clothes with a puzzled expression, holding them to his chest. He seems a little uneasy, opting to keep his quiet.

Little Bird: "Oh, it is sooner! Much sooner! Mind you, it does tend to be the second time around, but hey! Even without a trial! Lucky you!" Little Bird chips. "Come on! Off with those, and on with the rest! I'm a very busy woman!"

Eir Fellfrost hesitantly takes his clothes, unfolding them to check which way around they were, and what had been returned. "..." He says nothing, still, and moves to the corner of the room, hesitantly removing his shirt, the majority of his scars on show.

I am being... Released?

...Surely this is a trick.

Why... Would they do this?

Neoma Eltanin looked further confused, and a little suspicious. "He is truly being released? ... No foul tricks..? How come?" Neoma catched a glimpse of the scars on his body before quickly turning to look at Little Bird again.

Little Bird: "Yup! At least, until he comes back next time. As for why? Well... That'd be telling. I'm not really at liberty to say, sorry! But rest assured that it's not part of any test, trial, or anything else!"

...I do not understand... I...

Eir Fellfrost knits his brow, pulling on his shirt, and poking his legs through the trousers he now held in his hands, bringing them up to his waist. He seems almost... Stunned, but the way his ears bent back displayed the fear he still carried. "...I... Still have to return, then?"

Neoma Eltanin: "So.. Eir is not going to be put through a trial?" She rose to her feet, walking a little closer to Little Bird. "Why can't you say why he is being released? It makes no sense. What will you gain from this?"

Little Bird: "Yup. Still gotta come back when you start feeling all terrible-- Maybe don't leave it so long next time? It's not nice, seeing you all like that."

Little Bird frowns. "And not this time, no! We... Haven't actually really had this happen before, so it's something of an anomaly. I figure he'll probably get a trial next time he's here, though!"

Little Bird: "Can't say for the rest! Not my place, not allowed, you know."

...I...

...

I have not even... Heard her since setting foot back here. We...

We arrived together. We...

...

Eir Fellfrost slips on his shoes, after finding which way around they go, fumbling with his gloves... Hesitating. "...What if... I do not want to leave?"

Neoma Eltanin frowned softly to Little Bird's response. "... I see." She studied Little Bird for a second, contemplating the opportunity. "... What is your role here, really.. Little Bird?" Eir's question caught her by surprise, and she got concerned about what he was currently thinking.

Little Bird: "Oh, just housekeeping things, you know! I watch the monitors, mend your things, sometimes knit, crochet, cook, clean, embroidery, paperwork... The list goes on!" Her head tilts to Eir. "You don't want to leave? Well, i'm flattered! ... But you have to. No choice in it, really. It's how it goes."

Neoma Eltanin picked up a bit more on a few of the things she said. "... You watch the monitors? ... The ones surveying the cells?"

Little Bird: "Mhm! -- Well, not now, obviously. I don't sleep, so i'm the perfect candidate, really!"

...She told me to leave. I do not have the choice, even if i wished to stay.

She told me if...

...If i have the chance to leave, i...

I should take it.

Besides. Even if i did stay. Realistically...

What help would i be?

I am not... Strong, like the rest.

Eir Fellfrost stares, a little rigid and awkward from the interaction, and unexpectedness of the circumstance. "I... I am ready." He hestitates.

Neoma Eltanin looked a bit confused by the response. "You.. don't sleep?" She then glanced at Eir, figuring the time had run out for her to ask questions.

Little Bird: "Nope! Not since... Well. This." She gestures to herself with a flourish. "Gives me lots of time to do other things, though, so i don't really mind!" She looks Eir up and down. "---Ready, not quite! Injection here for you.... Unless you want to be back here earlier than you might like?"

Eir Fellfrost simply sticks his arm through the railing with a sigh.

Neoma Eltanin gave Eir a reassuring look. "... It's going to be okay, Eir."

Eir Fellfrost: "...I will try my best to believe that." Eir responds, as the injection is administered.

Little Bird: "Okay, -now- we're ready! Got everything you need? Missing anything?"

Eir Fellfrost keeps his quiet, turning his head away with a sharp frown. "...No." He responds, even if the obvious was painfully true.

...My hands felt awfully empty.

...They are not... So full as they were, when i arrived.

Those which i missed i doubt much would have been given to me if i were to even ask, regardless.

Neoma Eltanin looked worried at Eir for a moment before turning to Little Bird. "... It is the same as before, then? Same.. amount of time, before our bodies crave the injections again?"

Little Bird: "Mmm-hm! About a moon, give or take."

Neoma Eltanin: "... Eir.. you.. will return when the time comes.. right?"

...

I know that if i am to return here, i will surely die.

If... If she is gone... Then...

...

I am so... Tired of fighting.

But if there is something yet still worth fighting for, i...

...

I do not... Know...

Eir Fellfrost hangs his head, staring at the floor. "I... I do not know." He admits. "... I am sorry."

Little Bird opens the door, to walk towards Eir. "Reeeeady?"

Neoma Eltanin expresses her worry with you.

Neoma Eltanin: "... You must, Eir. Please. Don't.. don't let it kill you."

Eir Fellfrost knits his brow. He has clearly heard Neoma, but does not respond to her.

...

It depended on too many things that i did not know. I did not want the parting reminder of our friendship to be an argument.

Little Bird looks between them, and after a few moments, offers a shrug. "Well, time to go!" She chimes -- And disspiates into a flurry of feathers.

Neoma Eltanin watched them as they disappeared, lingering where she stood for a moment before going to sit down by the wall again. She pulled her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and hid her face against her knees. She mumbled, quietly. "... It will be okay. It will be okay."

#Muse: [Eir] #Chapter: [Unseen Whispers] #[His Beloved Children] #FFXIV #IC #Screenshot #Writing #Textlog

[fandomvariousness]

Finally

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x reader

Warnings: angst, mentions of violence & death, nsfw content

Summary: reader finally sees her lover Eren after the team retrieves him to the airship, yet he’s not the same. Will she bring him back?

Word count: 3.2k

A/N: Forgive me if some details are inaccurate, this is my rendering of the situation, so some things may not add up!

Finally.

Finally, the day you’re going to see Eren again.

You shivered with anticipation, thinking about the letters that were going sparse, until there were none. You’ve been inseparable, supporting each other every step of the way, but Eren had to deal with unthinkable, horrible things along the same steps too, and you couldn’t take all of it away – the burning hatred seeped into his brain, numbing his senses and compassion.

He offered no explanation in letters as to why he’d stopped writing so often, and you didn’t ask for one – he’s in enemy’s land, surely he has his reasons, but deep down you knew he was pushing you away.

What were you going to say to him? Will you hug him? Will he hug you? You had no idea, and it was killing you.

Your adrenaline was over the roof. Everything around you was destroyed, splintered, ground to pieces – Eren did that.

It seemed that you lost it when you realized that Eren had transformed without the care of hurting innocent civilians – his sense of revenge was stronger than anything else. You haven’t been able to approach him yet, to look into his mesmerizing jade eyes. You suspected Captain Levi has positioned you away from him on purpose – who knows how you and Eren would’ve reacted to each other’s presence after so long.

You felt the insides of your stomach turn as you hooked your cables on the airship and zipped-lined towards it. Just a minute ago you saw how Mikasa made it inside, dragging Eren along. You heard a commotion above you – Captain Levi was cussing Eren out. The casual.

You felt how everyone stopped whatever they were doing as you were climbing on board – secretly, they all wanted to know what will happen once you two meet again. That’s how powerful you two are. Were.

Out of breath, you stood up, regaining your posture, your rifle still in hands as you finally looked at him: if not for the emerald sheen of his eyes, you wouldn’t have recognized this ragged, miserable man with a chestnut resembling that of a lion.

You stared into each other, the unbearable grief that consumed you rendering you immobile. Quickly, your vision worsened, tears blurring your eyes as you realized there’s nothing behind those of Eren. He looks at you, yet doesn’t say anything, doesn’t feel anything.

“Move,” Captain Levi muttered and lightly pushed you aside.

You tore your gaze away from Eren, breathing shallow breaths as you stumbled towards the wall, leaning on it.

And then you heard the shot.

~

It was unbearable. One fleeting moment, one slightest miscalculation, and she’s gone. Sasha is gone.

You kneeled beside her tomb with your head hanging down, hot teardrops sinking into the pale stone. Everything was always shit, but now… now it’s pure hell. You sobbed and raised your head to look at the cloudy sky, cutting off the air flow, trying to pull yourself together.

“Hey,” Jean approached you, Connie not far behind. “Come here.”

He crouched down to your level and placed his palms on your shoulders reassuringly, helping you stand up.

Eren was nowhere to be seen. He kept to himself in his quarters, but Captain Levi forbid anyone to properly visit him anyway. He thought Eren’s unstable.

But you thought the opposite. Eren’s perfectly stable – the deadly precision, calculation and determination fueled his conscious, revenge-fueled decisions, and frankly, you were afraid. He wasn’t thrashing around like he would years ago, screaming and tearing everything apart, consumed by fury – he knew what he was doing now.

The last time you laid eyes on him was during Sasha’s funeral, but it seemed that he wasn’t even there. His body was, of course, but his mind was fleeting somewhere else, somewhere where he could continue plotting the utter extermination of every last one of his enemies.

It’s going to be hard, bringing him back. Hell, you didn’t even know if it’s possible – he truly looked like a goner. But you were going to try, because there isn’t any other living being in the world you love more than Eren Jaeger.

~

You sat on your bed, facing the one that belonged to Sasha. She would tell you to stand up and go straight to Eren and whoop his ass for ignoring you.

You sank your teeth in your lower lip as you stood up and made your way towards Captain Levi’s office.

“Come in,” his low voice muttered after you knocked. He rolled his eyes when he saw it’s you.

“What is it?” he asked, his desk already stuffed with a bunch of paperwork.

“I need to visit Eren.” you realized how selfish your request sounds in the midst of everything, but you couldn’t help it.

“No.” he answered after a few seconds of regarding you, without any care in the world. “You’ll just wind him up.”

Your heart skipped a beat – if Captain Levi thought that Eren still feels something for you, then maybe it’s true.

“Please, Captain, I –”

“Stop whining, brat.” he hissed, silencing you.

There was a wall of miscommunication between the two of you as you stared at each other, trying to convince one another silently.

He put down his pen after a few moments and leaned back in his chair as he sighed slowly. “You’re gonna do it anyway, aren’t you?”

You shrugged ever so slightly as you stared at nothing in particular.

Some more silence passed. “I’ve not yet decided on giving you week’s-worth punishment for insubordination, but go. Get out.”

“Thank you, Captain.” you bowed your head to him quickly, suppressing your smile as you basically ran away.

Levi rubbed his forehead. “Stupid brats.”

~

As you approached the door of Eren’s room, your heart pounded against your ribs so hard, you truly thought they’re going to crack. Yet here you were, standing within a step from the door, eyeing the little crack of light that emits from within – it’s not completely closed.

You lifted your trembling arm and knocked softly, then once again, harder this time, thinking he may not have heard it.

“Eren?” you whispered weakly after you got no reply once again.

You gulped and pushed the door further, stepping in – empty. He’s not here.

You released a breath you didn’t realize you were holding as you stepped further, looking around. The whole room looked almost untouched if not for the sack of a few items he brought from his old room. Your eyes flicked towards a stack of letters on the desk – your letters.

Your lower lip quivered as you approached them, picking one up – not even opened.

Pain and anger spun like a vortex inside you, bringing hot tears to your eyes. How important must’ve been the reason that he denied you the slightest explanation?

The letter dropped back to the desk as you flinched, hearing the door shut behind you.

Gasping quietly, you turned around, seeing him clearly for the first time since a couple of days ago. He stood there in all his cool, newfound glory: hair long enough to be messily gathered in a bun, naked torso adorned with chiseled abs, V line protruding from his waistline, and pants that hugged his muscular legs.

He had a toweled hanging over his shoulder – that’s where he’s been, in the showers.

You didn’t know what was the exact reason for the hot blush that crept to your face in a second – the fact that Eren is even more attractive than you remember, or that you stood there like a mute, with your jaw basically on the floor.

His own gaze was unreadable – he watched you like a hawk as he approached the chair and draped the towel over its back, stuffing his hands in his pockets afterwards.

You snapped awake, glancing at the letters behind you, and then back at him. “You never opened them.”

“You need to forget me,” he spoke, staring directly in your eyes. “I’ve only have a few years left anyway, if I’m lucky.”

It hurt you how assured of his words he was as you turned your body from him, desperately trying to calm down. He stood there just the same when you dared to look at him again.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, failing to conceal the tremble that laced your voice. “I’ve told you countless times, I’m with you until the end, and even then.”

“That’s exactly why.” he raised his voice just a bit, reminding of the old Eren you used to know. “I can’t bear the fact that you’re okay with… all this.”

You covered your face with your palms momentarily before stepping a couple of steps closer to him. “Did you honestly think I’ll go down with this scheme of yours?”

“I’m determined to make it happen.”

“Eren, don’t be stupid!” you couldn’t control yourself anymore. “I’m not some… weak maiden in need of constant attention! I’m your partner!”

“You want to be partner of the monster that I am?” he asked, a faint hint of disappointment in his voice.

You sighed, closing your eyes. “Eren…”

“I’m a murderer.” he said as he lessened the space between you a little more, trying to impose his truth on you – you could almost feel his breath on your skin, what made another shiver run down your spine.

You opened your eyes abruptly, because you knew he expected that you won’t be able to even look at him after what he’s done. His jade eyes were the same as before as you drowned in them.

You couldn’t help as you placed your dainty palms on his ripped upper arms, the tips of your fingers jolting with electricity. Eren felt that too, for you heard him draw in a sharp breath.

You were going to say something, but right now you couldn’t focus on anything other than your skins touching again, after all this time. You gulped as you gathered courage to lightly stroke down to his forearms.

“You’re not a monster.” you spoke again. “You’re just a hurt boy who can’t help but hurt others.”

He stayed silent, because he knew it’s true. You always did this to him – always had one last argument that made him shut up. His eyes became glassy as he looked down in shame, gripping your own forearms in his calloused palms.

“Come here,” you mumbled as you wound your arms around his neck, cradling him, as his own arms snaked around your waist, head buried in the crook of your neck.

You were only hugging, but it felt ecstatic. You gripped him tightly, swearing to yourself never to let go again. You felt a few wet drops run down your shoulder, yet Eren didn’t release a sound – you knew he was holding back.

“I’m sorry for everything.” he whispered. “You don’t deserve this.”

“Eren, you’re never getting rid of me.” you whispered into his hair before planting a tender kiss on his head.

He released a breathy laugh, tickling your neck. You nuzzled into each other more, and then you felt his lips on your neck, pecking it lightly, immediately blazing flames in your lower region.

You arched your neck back, providing him with an easier access to your skin. You couldn’t suppress a small gasp as his hot breath trailed up to your jaw, along with his longing-filled kisses.

“I missed you.” he whispered against your jaw, before pecking just below the corner of your lips.

Your mind was already in shambles. “Believe me, I missed you more.”

Your lips finally collided: desperate, needy, hungry. His fingers dug into your hips, aligning your centers as your palms slid down to the either side of his neck. You moaned into his lips between the famished, open-mouthed kisses as he gripped your behind, trying to savor it all.

Your palms were running down his chest on their own, exploring every crevice and scar, some old and some new, still unexplored. You felt his hand slide under the hem of your shirt up to your ribs, leaving a scalding-hot trail in its wake.

You rutted your hips against his automatically, getting needier with every passing second, your hands hooked around his neck again, holding on for dear life.

Your jaw slacked as he sneaked his hand under your bra, his fingers coming in contact with your hardened nipple. He drew back a little so that he could see your flushed face and hazy eyes, a light sheen of saliva reflecting from your slightly lolled out tongue.

“More, you say? Just how much?” he teased, his eyes darting from your eyes to your lips repeatedly, the corners of his lips upturned ever so slightly.

“Really, really much,” you whimpered before he discarded you of your shirt and bra, his hands roaming down your sides as he sucked on your jugular, your hands buried in his hair, ruining his bun.

“Jump.” he said between the wet kisses as you felt his hands under your thighs.

He made his way towards the bed before gently dropping you down on it, feeling the tent in his pants become unbearable, almost painful. How could it not, when you lay sprawled out under him, hair messy around your head like a halo, all the while needy breaths escaping your lips?

You knew exactly what you were doing to him, but you wanted to drive him crazy, to make up for all the painful time you’ve spent apart. You started wriggling out of your leggings, your gaze never leaving his eyes. He unbuttoned his own pants before they slid to the ground, revealing a formed tent under his boxers.

Suddenly, he grabbed you by your calves and yanked you closer, forcing a yelp from you. Second after his lips crashed on yours again, making their way down, passing your neck, collarbones, stomach, until they reached their destination.

You found it hard to breathe as he kissed your inner tight, getting closer and closer to where you needed him most.

“Eren,” you whimpered, your eyes closed, hands gripping the sheets. “Please…”

You felt him smile against your thigh before his tongue flicked against your clothed clit lightly, coaxing another high-pitched moan from you.

You put the back of your hand against your mouth quickly, embarrassed at the sudden reaction. You felt the bed shift before you opened your eyes and saw him parallel with your own body again.

“Don’t,” he asked as he removed your arm from your face. “I want to hear every little sound you make.”

He kissed you once before making his way back, hooking his fingers on your panties and sliding them down painfully slowly. The cold air on your skin peppered it with goosebumps, yet when you felt Eren’s face lower to your center, your body ignited once again.

A moan got stuck in your throat as you felt Eren’s slick tongue go all the way from your entrance to your clit, circling it, literally driving you crazy.

“Eren,” you moaned, the back of your head buried into the mattress as you wound your hands through his hair, completely ruining the bun, his chestnut hair falling to the sides and framing his face.

His fingers dug into your thighs as he pleasured you with his tongue, awakening the passion in you that was dormant during his absence.

Eren loved the taste of you on his tongue as he sucked on you, holding down your squirming hips. He knew you were close; he remembers everything your body language tells him.

“E-Eren, I’m gonna—” you choked out, confirming his observations.

You felt cold air hit your slick folds as Eren drew back, quickly discarding himself of his last piece of clothing before he leaned down, planting a sloppy kiss on your lips.

“Ready?” he breathed into your lips, receiving a nod.

The burning sensation followed his dick breaching your entrance, stretching it out after so long.

“Fuck,” he groaned against your mouth, having forgotten just how good your pussy feels.

You choked out a groan as you wound your legs around his waist, urging him to plunge deeper, despite the slight pain that strains you.

“This good?” he asks between his heavy breathing as he makes his way deeper into you.

“Yeah, yeah,” you nod quickly, your voice out of tune.

He finally hits your cervix, staying like that for a few moments, allowing you to adjust, peppering your neck with kisses as your chest rises and falls heavily.

You kiss his lips as you place a hand against his buttocks, urging him to go on. He goes back to the point of pulling out before hitting you deep again, building up his pace as he does so.

Your mind is getting hazier with each thrust – it seemed that the room turned into a sauna as you could almost see the huffs of air that escaped both of your mouths.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he groaned against your ear as he pinned your hand above to your head, intertwining his fingers with yours.

He was barely controlling himself as your pussy clenched around him – he probably never had to restrain himself with you as he does now, regarding the absence of your touch for such a long amount of time. You’ve never been apart that long, and he hoped you’ll never be again.

“Eren!” you screamed, sensing your release fast approaching as you wound your hands around his neck.

He pounded into you hard, bringing some steamy memories of your times before for a moment.

Finally, you fell, arching your back, your stomach gliding against his, as every nerve of your brain exploded. Eren continued thrusting into you until a few moments after you felt his own release spilling inside you.

He moaned against the crook of your neck, planting a few kisses. He rolled to your side and faced the ceiling with his eyes closed, until they snapped open again, hearing you sniffle.

Guilt washed over him like a tempest as he leaned on his side, gently gripping your waist as you covered your eyes with the back of your forearm. “Did I hurt you??”

“No!” you yelped and removed your arm from your face, placing your palm on his cheek instead. For a moment you were so frightened he would blame himself for something he didn’t even do.

“No,” you repeated, more softly. “I’m just really happy you’re here.”

He leaned his forehead to yours, worry leaving his body almost visibly. He sighed as he brought you closer.

You tucked a few of his locks behind his ear, making him look a couple years younger. “I love your hair.”

Eren chuckled, his eyes still closed in the afterglow bliss. “Captain hates it. He said –”

Then it dawned on him. “Wait, how did you get here?” he leaned on his forearm as he looked at you, genuinely interested, amusement threatening to widen his smile any moment.

“I simply asked Captain.”

Eren raised an eyebrow. “And he let you?? Just like that?”

“Well,” you trailed off. “He did mention something about a punishment for insubordination…”

“Unbelievable,” Eren whispered, as he sunk back into the mattress, quiet laughs emanating from his chest, as you drew shapes on it with a stupid smile on your face. “And you still came.”

“I’ll be fine if you visit me at least twice while I’m behind bars?”

You two laughed even harder, and this moment, this tiny moment in the vast space surrounding everything, was perfect.

#attack on titan eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger #attack on titan eren jaeger imagine #attack on titan eren yeager x reader #attack on titan eren yeager imagine #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan imagine #attack on titan eren jaeger #attack on titan eren yeager #attack on titan #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren jaeger imagine #eren yeager imagine #eren yeager #imagine #shingeki no kyojin eren jaeger x reader #shingeki no kyojin eren yeager x reader #shingeki no kyojin eren jaeger imagine #shingeki no kyojin eren yeager imagine #shingeki no kyojin x reader #shingeki no kyojin imagine #shingeki no kyojin eren jaeger #shingeki no kyojin eren yeager #shingeki no kyojin #eren #jaeger #yeager #attack titan

[kikis-writing-world]

The Reason

The Reason

Summary: You can’t sleep as you near Moff Gideon’s ship, but neither can Din. He wants to tell you about what happened on Morak.

Pairing: Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Rating/Warnings: SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 15!!!! Other than the spoilers, it’s all fluff and no editing lol. But seriously, if you’re avoiding finding out what happens in Season 2, Episode 7 / Chapter 15 of The Mandalorian, don’t read this yet. It takes place after, and there’s talk of what happened during the episode.

A/N: It seems like every freaking week I watch the episode and tell myself “don’t write something. Everyone will be writing something, you don’t need to add in your silly fic too.” (Not to say I don’t enjoy reading them, but I just always feel like I won’t be adding anything new.) Well, this week I said fuck it and cranked this little ditty out this morning after the new episode. I hope y’all like it.

Edit: Follow-up drabble here

You sat silently beside Din as the ship - not the Razor Crest that had become your home over the past months, but Boba Fett’s ship Slave I - travelled through space. If the coordinates were right, you were heading into what was sure to be a hard-fought battle but it would be worth it. It was all to get Grogu back.

You willed yourself not to cry as you thought of the little green child you’d come to think of as your own. What he must be feeling right now. Alone and scared while they did unthinkable experiments to him. You’d cried several times since he’d been taken from your care, sick with worry over him. You were sick of crying. Soon would be the time for action, for getting him back.

Fennec and Dune were both sleeping on the opposite side of the bay. You tried to sleep, knowing you’d need your wits about you when you reached Moff Gideon’s ship, but sleep wouldn’t come. Sleep was hard to come by lately.

A whisper to your left surprised you. The low, modulated voice speaking your name. You had thought he was also asleep, reserving his strength for the battle to come. You should have known he’d be struggling to sleep too.

He nodded his head to the side as he unbuckled the harness keeping him secure in the seat. You nodded as you unbuckled your own and followed him to the darkened corner of the hold. You waited for him to sit in the corner, knowing he liked to have his back secured and a view of the room. Instead, he gently led you into the corner and sat with his back to the others. You were too surprised to ask, you followed his lead and slid down the wall to sit on the floor.

He hadn’t said much of what happened on Morak, but you hadn’t been expecting him to. You’d learned long ago he wasn’t one for unnecessary chatter. There were times he tried, for you and the kid, helping to fill the silences as time passed on the ship. Hearing him strain, pushing the boundaries of his usual comforts to ease the minds of you and his foundling, was one of the ways he snuck into your heart.

It wasn’t easy loving The Mandalorian. He was so used to being alone, both physically alone and having few people to trust. It took a while, but you earned that trust. You knew you had. You also knew he cared about you in his own special way. He would take your hand in his larger gloved hand to avoid losing you in a crowd. His hand would squeeze yours when you were visibly anxious. A hand on your shoulder, your back, or your hip as he passed you in tight quarters. Leaning his forehead against yours anytime the two of you parted.

To most these fleeting moments wouldn’t look like much, but you knew the stoic Mandalorian didn’t give these touches lightly. That his keldabe kiss was just as precious as any lip-to-lip contact.

You didn’t fully understand his creed. He answered questions when you asked, but a lot of it didn’t make sense to you, an outsider. Even so, you never pushed him to break it or put him in a position that made him feel like the creed was in danger.

“I know you’re worried,” his voice was quiet. The crackling of the modulator even more prominent as it tried to broadcast his hushed tone. “We’ll get him back.”

“I know.” You nodded, looking down at your crossed legs. If anyone could rescue Grogu, it was the man sitting across from you.

That large gloved hand entered your vision, resting lightly on your knee. A small smile broke through your worry at the man’s attempt at comfort. You placed your hand over his, feeling the warmth of him through the smooth leather.

“I-” He started to speak before stopping himself. While it wasn’t unusual for him to search for his words, he usually did so before starting to speak. By the time he spoke, he was confident and sure in what he had to say. That short, clipped syllable caught your attention in how different it was. He was trying to tell you something, but still wasn’t sure how.

“What is it?” You gently prompted, squeezing his hand with your own.

“On Morak…” He sighed.

“What happened on Morak?” You asked after a beat.

“I did what had to be done.”

His answer confused you. You knew that already of course, but it also sounded like he was trying to convince himself as well as you.

“I know that. You got the coordinates. We’re going to find the kid because of you and Mayfield.” You smiled at him, praising him for the success. It was easy to overlook the triumph when it was just a stepping stone to a much larger problem.

“I had to…” He looked away from you as he once again searched for the words. Your smile dropped a fraction with his unease. “I had to take off the helmet.”

You didn’t know what you were expecting him to reveal, but it hadn’t been that. You knew that he had taken the helmet off months ago, but that had been a life or death situation. No one had been around, just the IG droid who had treated his wounds and saved him. This was a mining refinery full of people. Full of imps.

“Are you okay?” You asked, moving your hand from where it was resting on top of his so you could grip his hand fully. “What happened?”

“I-I had to.” He stuttered. “The terminal had to scan my face to get the coordinates.”

“Mando,” you didn’t dare speak his name - something he had shared with you in confidence - with others around. “Are you okay?”

He nodded once. Relief filled your body. You foremost worry had been for him, and how he would have felt to have broken his life-long creed. You supposed with the explosions, anyone who would have seen his face was likely dead. Unless Mayfield had seen him.

His hand slipped from yours as he brought both of his hands up to the sides of his helmet. He started pushing it up and your eyes widened as a sliver of skin was revealed. You surged forward, covering his hands in your own to stop him.

“What are you doing?”

“I want to. To show you.” He explained. His voice came in this awkward mix of his natural timber through the bottom of his helmet and the modulator still trying to pick up his voice. You could see his chin move as he spoke. Your heart was racing. It was the most you’d ever seen of his face.

“You don’t have to.” You told him firmly.

“I think… I think there are reasons to keep it on, and reasons to take it off.” He spoke slowly, like it was something he had been thinking about. You thought of the Mandalorians on Trask who claimed the creed was outdated. You thought of Boba Fett in the cockpit, who wore his newly-polished armor with the pride of a mandalorian despite being without it for years. Thought about him revealing his face for the information needed to save his foundling.

“I want to show you my face.” He told you, his voice unwavering. It was the surety, the confidence you had grown used to from him. “I want to show who I am to the one I love.”

Your breath caught in your throat at his admission. You knew it in your heart, but he’d never said the words aloud to you before. You bit your lip as you felt the tears welling in your eyes again, this time from happiness instead of grief and worry.

“Okay.” You breathed, barely able to find your voice.

With your hands still on his, he lifted the helmet, revealing his face inch by inch. You held your breath as he was slowly revealed to you.

The scruff covering his jaw. His plush lips. The mustache over his mouth. His aquiline nose. His deep brown eyes. His shaggy dark brown hair. He set his helmet in his lap as your eyes scanned his face.

Wow.

You hadn’t realized you had said that out loud until his eyebrows furrowed. That was new. You were used to guessing his emotions through his body language, his tone of voice. Now you had facial expressions to read. He was waiting for your reaction and you hadn’t given him much to go by.

“You’re gorgeous.” You told him. It was the only way you could think to describe the ridiculously handsome man sitting in front of you. You were almost mad at him for hiding his face away for this long.

His lips quirked up in a lopsided grin, a single dimple appearing in his cheek. Maker, you thought he’d already taken your breath away and then this-

“Come here.” He ordered. His natural voice was deep. Rich. It sent a shiver down your spine.

“Huh?” Your brain wasn’t processing. It was in some kind of overloaded state. Din’s face. Din’s voice. Din’s beautiful brown eyes that you could simply drown in.

His hand was on your cheek, pulling you into him. You gasped, holding your breath as his lips brushed against yours. You had dreamed of this, but not a single one of those dreams lived up to the real thing.

He was hesitant, clumsy even as he kissed you. His lips were chapped against your own, the stubble on his cheeks tickling your skin. He smelt of sweat and blaster fire, of fresh air and leather. Maker, you could melt into the floor of the ship never to be seen again and you would have been happy with the life you had lived.

“I love you.” You whispered against his lips. You felt him smile in response.

You brought your hand up to his cheek. Feeling the lines of his face with your hand, you trailed your hand to his hair. It was damp with sweat but so soft. It felt amazing between your fingers.

“Where’s Mando?” A voice across the bay shocked both of you, the two of you shooting away from each other as if you’d been burned. You felt like a teenager who had been caught making out by your parents. You looked over Din’s shoulder as he pulled the helmet back into place - his strategic placement of the two of you making sense now. Not only did he not want them to see his face, but he trusted you to have his back. That thought made your heart speed up even more than it already was.

You saw Fennec shaking Cara awake. Luckily she hadn’t looked in this direction yet. Had Cara woken first, she likely would have seen the two of you.

“Sorry, we’re over here.” You admitted, trying to calm the heat in your face. It was dim in the hold, hopefully they couldn’t tell. “We were talking, didn’t want to wake you.”

“You should be sleeping.” Fennec told you,  leveling you with a gaze that truly did make you feel like you’d been caught doing something wrong by a parent.

“I should be sleeping.” Cara grumbled, cranky for having been woken up for no reason.

“Come on. We’re all gonna need to be at our best.” Fennec said, ignoring Cara.

“She’s right.” Din admitted, standing up and offering you his hand. You took it, letting him help you to stand. “Let’s try to get some sleep, cyar'ika.”

Tagging: @wickedfrsgrl​ @din-damn-djarin​ @thisisthe-wayson​ @insideafictionaluniverse​

#The Mandalorian spoilers #Din Djarin x Reader #Din Djarin x GN!Reader #The Mandalorian x Reader #Din Djarin drabble #The Mandalorian drabble #Din Djarin imagine #The Mandalorian imagine #Pedro Pascal Character fanfiction #WookieTales

[zealouswerewolfcollector]

Chronicles of Grief

2392 words, T

Warnings: Discussion of character death, grief/mourning

Minor Russingon, though you can easily read it as friendship only

On Ao3

Russandol,

I do not know why I am writing this if I am not going to send it. I will not risk a messenger for a personal letter. Perhaps I will send it with a bird. Perhaps I will keep it in the hope of handing it to you when I see you. In the hope that I will see you…

You must already know what happened. I should have known it the moment I was told he had ridden away. I must have known, but I did not believe it. It is still hard to believe. I am sitting on his throne, his crown on my head, and I cannot believe it.  

How long did it take you to accept that your father was… gone? You see? I cannot even bring myself to say the word. In the letters I have deemed safe to send I wrote lost, fallen, gone, but I cannot bear to write de

I apologize. I should not have mentioned your father. You did not even have time to mourn him. I have become inconsiderate in my grief. Perhaps I will not show you this letter even if I do see you.

---

We had a small ceremony. It felt empty without the body to bury. Afterwards, Lalwen and I sat with Father’s closest friends and told increasingly gruesome war stories to each other to distract ourselves from pain.

I wish I could go to sleep and wake up a decade later. I know it would not change much (if anything, it would make things worse), but I intensely wish for oblivion.

Forgive me for the grim words. I am trying to find something positive in this (I can see you shaking your head at me). I am trying to tell myself that Father will rest in the Halls, that he might return to Mother. I am trying to tell myself that we are strong enough to survive this, to come out stronger from this, but it does not help, Russandol. It does not help at all.

---

I am king now, it seems. How ludicrous. The blame lies with you, you know? Of course, you do. I am king now, and I cannot lock myself in my chamber and reread your letters over and over again as I long to do.

There are so many things I should take care of, so many new responsibilities. I have been the lord of my own keep, but this is entirely different. I wonder if I can do this. I am not my father. I cannot be my father.

Why did he go and left me alone with this? Why could he not wait? I am… I suppose I can tell you. I am so angry, Russandol. Angry with him for doing it, for not thinking about me. Angry with the Enemy, with the Valar, with your father. Angry with myself.

---

I am going to confess something. I feel relieved that I have not seen the body. I know that the Lord of the Eagles would have taken it to somewhere safe, maybe to my brother, and in my heart, I am grateful that it wasn’t me he chose. I would not want to see him like that, not my father. I want to remember him as I last saw him – strong and full of life. Do you think it makes me a coward? Oh, I know your answer. You are not trustworthy when it comes to my flaws.  

---

I keep waiting. Not for him to return, not for this to be a nightmare, but for an end. An end to what – I cannot say. I would welcome any.

All we have built is falling apart, but I cannot bring myself to care. The world could break this very moment, and I would only shrug. No, worse. I would embrace it. I find myself thinking about it, wanting it. No, not wanting. I am not sure I am capable of wanting anything anymore. I would not mind it if it happened, that is all.

Do you see now? Do you see how unfit I am to bear the crown? If not, I will tell you something more horrifying. I hear about all those deaths. So many Elves and Men. Our cousins, my friends, my close friends. Do you know how it feels? Comforting. I feel comforted that I am not the only one going through this pain. Now, at least, can you see? What kind of a king does that make me? What kind of a person does that make me?

I cannot do this, Russandol. I cannot be a good king. I do not even want to try to be one. You are the only one I can admit this to. Please, do not judge too harshly. No. Judge as harshly as I deserve.

---

It is like living in a house with one wall gone. Gone forever, not to be replaced. You are no longer shielded from the wind and rain. Your home is no longer home.  

---

Sometimes I revisit the memories of the moments before I received the news. They are not good memories, full of uncertainty, pain, blood, and my friends dying one by one in front of my eyes. And yet, they bring comfort because at least my father was still alive then, I still had hope, I still had him to rely on even after such heavy losses.

I would give so much to have him back. It frightens me how much I would give.

---

I should have known disaster was going to strike. I had been so happy lately. We had had peace for long years, the Edain had come to their own, and I was free to wander. And if my wanderings often led me to you, I was the happier for it. I should have known it could not last. I had dared to forget we were cursed.

Everything feels different, Russandol. Everything is different. I do not think I will experience joy ever again. My joy will always lack something.

I keep talking about my own pain, but the truth is I do not care about it. Despite my anger, I do not care that he will not be here for me. I only care that he will not be here. Do you understand the difference?

Perhaps there is none, and I am only trying not to appear selfish. It is hard to tell sometimes.

---

I am still so angry. I have surges of violent thoughts. I want to rage against this unfairness, this injustice. I want to break the chairs, I want to sweep off the dishes from the table, I want to scratch the walls. It is so unfair! It should not have happened. He should not have done that.

I go and practice with the sword to let the anger out, but it does not help. I am powerless against the natural order of things, against the unchangeable and cruel finality of it.

---

I was passing by the kitchens the other day, and I heard the cooks sing. It was Snow upon the Taniquetil; my father loved that song. I joined in from afar, and halfway through the song, I noticed that I was trying to imitate my father’s voice. I stopped then. It was a poor imitation. It was not even close.

What am I supposed to do, Russandol? How am I supposed to replace him? His absence is felt so deeply, and not just by me. If only you could see Lalwen… You would not recognize her. The bold and merry aunt we know is gone. She is a shadow of her former self. I have never seen her like that. Not even after Grandfather died.

How can I help her, Russandol? How can I be what my father was for her? I cannot, I know I cannot, no matter how hard I try.

---

Everything reminds me of him. I had never thought about how many of my memories are connected to him. Even something as simple as brushing my hair or riding my horse makes me think of him.

It is only natural, of course; he was my father. And yet, I find myself astonished to discover just how much he has shaped me, how great a role he has played in making me what I am, how entrenched he is in every aspect of my life from my mannerisms to my habits and preferences.

I hear his voice sometimes, I hear his laughter. I go somewhere, say something, and I know for certain how he would respond. I hear it with perfect clarity, and I almost want to reach out and touch him, let myself lean against him as I used to do when I was younger.

I miss him. It is unbearable.

---

My father used to say sometimes that when this was over, he was going to leave the governing to us, youngsters, and go live on the seashore in a small house he would build for himself. I laughed, convinced that he was joking.

The other day I found drawings in his chamber. Drawings of a house. It was truly a small one, but in his nearly illegible handwriting, he had scribbled my name and the names of my siblings over the chambers. He had reserved one for each of us and another for Itarillë.

He never got to have that, Russandol. Isn’t that so terribly unfair? He was kind and strong, and he had tried to be the best father he could be for us. And he did not live to achieve his dream.

---

Time has lost all meaning. Sometimes I remember last summer’s feast my father held or that time just a month before the firefall we rode in Ard-galen with Aunt Lalwen and a small company (Angaráto and Aikanáro came to join us, and we spent a few nights under the stars), and it seems like it has just happened, it seems impossible that most of the people who were there are no more, that my father, larger than life, is gone, all his hopes and dreams are gone. He seems so alive, so present.

When I think back to the first days after his death, I am surprised I survived them. It still seems unthinkable to go on when you have lost someone so important. At times, it seems it happened so long ago that I cannot believe it has been only several months. And yet, I feel that a part of me is still there, locked within those terrible moments, reliving them over and over again. That part of me will always stay there.

---

Sometimes I wonder if I could have done something. If I could have stopped him. If I could have saved him. I wonder what I could have done differently to change the outcome. It is a futile exercise that does nothing but bring me more grief, but I cannot stop.

Sometimes I wish I could have gone back to the moment he rode out and stop him. I would stand before him and beg him to stay. I would scream at him that he was condemning himself to certain death. But he knew that already, didn’t he? He knew. Even if I could have stopped him, something else would go horribly wrong, I am sure of it. We are cursed, after all.

---

I still feel rage at times, but it is calmer, mellower, not the all-consuming fury it used to be. I sit at a council and feel the urge to throw the goblet I hold upon the wall, to see it break. I watch myself doing it, but distantly, as if it is a different person wearing my face, while I am calmly conversing with my court.  

Is this how it is going to be, Russandol? Will I slowly learn to accept it, to live with it? To live without him. It is not what I want. It feels like a betrayal.

I laugh sometimes, I make decisions, I keep on living, and it too seems a betrayal. I am wrong to feel this way, but I cannot help it. I look at his portrait – smiling, he wanted the artist to paint him smiling, so when one day Itarillë came to visit, she (a full-grown woman she already was at the moment the painting was made, mind you) would not be scared – I look at it, and I smile back, and I tear up, and I hear him scold me for these thoughts, and still I cannot help it.

---

Will you believe that I have not cried yet? I cannot do it. There are moments when I feel I will break down, when my eyes fill with tears, and my chest constricts with the wretched pain of loss, but they last seconds, and I get myself under control again.

I try to work myself into exhaustion, so I will fall into a deep sleep and not have to think, but I lie in my bed wide awake and think of him dying alone. It makes me want to scream, but I am afraid that if I start, I will never stop.

Perhaps I could weep if you were here. Perhaps I could break in the safety of your embrace. Perhaps I could afford to be fragile and vulnerable if only you were to see me. Oh, how I wish you could come. I am barely stopping myself from asking you. I know that if I sent this, you would be battling with the same desire, but of course, your good judgment would prevail.

---

I have to end this letter one day, but I have no idea how. I still hurt, I will always hurt, I still think of him every single day. There are days I still feel angry, there are days I still cannot believe it, there are days I feel exhausted and incapable of doing anything. But there are also days I am able to remember him without the accompanying piercing pain.

Maybe there will come a time when those days grow greater in number, and I will be able to smile when my thoughts inevitably turn to him. Until then, I will try to do my best and keep living and hoping to see you safe and sound.

Yours,

Findekáno

#silmarillion #fingon #maedhros and fingolfin aren't actually here #but he's writing to the first about the latter #silm fic #this was extremely difficult to write #but if i didn't write it i wouldn't be able to write anything else #now i can focus solely on my trsb fic #zwc fic

[liaisun]

Hi hope you don’t mind me asking but what is the monster therapy Au? Is it different from the other monster Au? It sounds cool whatever it is!

omg thank u for asking!!!!!! i love talking abt my aus its always welcome<3 when i saw u sent me an ask i got so excited JSJDKF also because i feel like you'd like it 👁️

yes!!! they r 2 different aus. so the monster therapy au is based off of this prompt: "You're a psychologist. Your speciality is monsters, who lack the self-confidence to actually scare anyone." and as soon as i saw it i was like BEE @ KEVIN!!!! it just clicked. honestly it does kinda have monsters inc vibes LOL, but in the sense like monster society values how scary u are.

so kevin is recently turned and undead; he's Tall, he's Intimidating but……. he's not scary. once you get to know him, what's there to be afraid of? HE'S the one who's scared. always. he's terrified. he's a coward—

once i read this thing about vampires going through the 5 stages of grief after theyve been turned and i kinda applied that here!!! even just being turned into a monster, thrust into this world u don't understand, really messes u up. most monsters are just born of the void, some are abstract and incomprehensible to the eye (powerful), some can switch between those forms and more corporeal ones, others are seen in various folklore and/or are human-like, but with other characteristics. then, people can become one after they die, either by being turned by another or being unable to rest, usually due to trauma. humans and monsters Don't coexist, so u lose everything and everyone you've ever known… compound that with some very traumatic experiences leading up to kevin's death and the death itself courtesy of one Ư̵͙̪N̵̺̲̊T̴͎̒̽H̸͎̔̉Í̸͓N̶̝̂́Ǩ̸͇̅Ä̵͕́̍B̸͇͐L̷̻̱̈́É̷̗ ̵͙͈͑̃Ň̶͓A̴̡̼̎M̸͊̊͜Ě̶̹͠ (UNTHINKABLE NAME) and bam. monster therapy time for kevin day

fear is a really big part of the story. it's what kevin tells bee is the defining characteristic of a monster; those who create it (everyone else), and those who feel it (him). ANDREW <3 his friend??? protector? small threatening omnipresent companion no one dares to cross after he devoured 4 higher souls on his first day undead? is someone who kev aspires to be. to him andrew embodies what a monster should be.

when i say kevin is recently turned i lied JSHSJF he was turned a while ago, but he was stuck as a little ball of fright (imagine the soot sprites from spirited away) in the shadows. one day andrew came across him and took him in, kept him safe and eventually…. kevin started changing. (inspired by the invisible children from moomin, kids who turn invisible after abuse but can become visible again with love and care and safety). kevin is a full being now, an actual monster, but he doesn't feel like it at all, which is where our story begins, with him talking to bee about this.

also because i am incapable of not including all three boys - neil! he is a complete shadow, dark and quiet and always moving, never taking any specific form. he's very interesting in their — kinda a mix of kandrew both. neil isn't frozen with fear like kevin was; he has bite and he isn't afraid of other monsters, has great power like andrew, but he's controlled by the past. even in a new life, he's still running, still invisible for the sake of survival.

the story isn't a romance (QUEERPLATONIC ROTATIONS) but it is full of love and trust. for example, kandrew: the dynamic between them is so important!!!!! foundation of thr au. the parallel and contrast of the times where kevin was vulnerable when a powerful person came 2 him; it destroyed kevin the first time, but now, with andrew by his side, it allows kevin 2 heal. also i think andrew became stronger while taking care of kevin in the beginning because his power wasn't running on anger and spite anymore, but protection 🥺

kevneil relationship: for kevin, i think neil entering his life in the same position kevin was/is in (but now having drew by his side) gives him new perspective . understanding . compassion too.

for neil, having people, tethers, support even in the smallest ways, makes him more real. brings him out. not in a physical sense— having a body most of the time is weird for him after changing for so long. he'll never choose or stick to one form, either. but overall, he's more settled in his existence, starts to see himself as an actual being, find his identity. even if he is Nothing, he's Nothing in the sense of a void, a black hole, and neil's been collecting bits of the world for years.

and although this au is kevin pov, i think a 2nd part with bee's pov and her different monster patients, the foxes, would be super fun :] (and more fitting of the prompt) so who knows.. . and if u want 2 know anything abt Other monster au (or any other monster au i have. so many) as well, i am here ;>

finally, here is a tidbit that doesn't fit the tone of this at all but i couldnt keep 2 myself LOL - there is a human-monster hotline u can call to speak to a liaison if u suspect monstrous activity in ur area! the number is 1-666-3005 and the Monster Identification Listing Force (MILF) is the organizer and even has an infomercial on human TV. for a generous donation of YOUR SOUL (ahem. 50¢) u can buy monster repellent. is it holy water? no, that's a common misconception - it is actually just unfiltered tap water because that stuff has so many metals in it the monsters take psychic damage near it<3 works like a charm

#liaison. liaisun. did u see what i did there i have been waiting 4 so long 2 mention that and the time has come!!! <3 i am free #i think the reclamation of monsters is very sexy!! healing monsters brings me so much joy #SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG i wrote 99% in a day and when i came back to neil's paragraph i lost my groove and then overcompensated which is wh #its longer than kandrew's oops. but regardless<3 #ALSO U HAVE THE PERFECT NAME MONSTERMETAPHOR!!!! everything is connected #aftg #asks #kandreil #kevinzinho #neilisms #amdrew #kevin day #neil josten #andrew minyard #all for the game #luniaisun #dailykandrew

[rhetoricalrogue]

Fiction Type: Fanfiction Fandom: Dragon Age Prompt: "You have no proof"

Continuing @fictober-event with the AU of the AU of the AU @alittlestarling and I are up to our eyebrows in, this time focusing on my son Vincent.

Running and fighting. Fighting and running. Catch a few fitful hours of unrestful sleep, then repeat. It seemed that was all Vincent had been doing these past few months. First, there was the running and fighting that had been expected of him when he had been conscripted into Empress Celene’s army, then the running when a templar on their side had turned on their unit – Vincent was still healing from the many arrow wounds he’d received when the smite had hit him from behind, the barrier he had put up to protect the solders on their side crashing down at the worst possible moment – and then running from where he had dragged himself, almost near death, to heal and recover back to his side of the army out of fear that they would think he had abandoned his post and hunt him down to drag him back or worse, give him the Brand and use him as an example of battlemages who thought they could take advantage of chaos on the battlefield to make a run from the Circle.

There had been a brief respite from the fighting as he traveled back east, the days of interrogation he’d undergone to prove that he spoke the truth about what had happened that day finally paying off. Vincent knew that his noble birth was one of the main reasons he had been allowed to return to Ostwick, injured in the line of duty – if conscription into a war not of his making nor even in his homeland could ever be called duty – and he wasn’t going to argue with his commanding officers once they signed the paperwork for his release back to the Circle. He’d set a hard pace from the Exalted Plains to Jader, worry that word of his untimely death – once they couldn’t find a body, the army had been quick to declare him killed in action – had already reached those he cared for.

Maker, if Roz ever thought he was dead, it would gut him to think of putting her through unnecessary grief and agony, no matter how brief.

Travel back home was on a decent pace, then he heard word of a contingent of mages traveling to Haven, which was decidedly closer than boarding a ship to sail from Jader back home. Vincent’s mind was made up when he heard that there were mages from Ostwick in the company and joining up with them was far more preferable than sailing across the Waking Sea.

Vincent and boats went together just as well as oil and water.

And then the unthinkable happened. He hadn’t even been anywhere close to Haven when word got out of the explosion, rumors quick to jump to the conclusion that mages had been at the root of the calamity and had taken a page out of the apostate from Kirkwall a year or so ago and blown up the Divine to enact change. Vincent was fortunate that his physical build wasn’t what one stereotypically thought of when they pictured a mage, and he used that to his advantage to flee. Templars were suddenly everywhere, killing on sight. Whatever brief rest he had from running and fighting was well over, and Vincent found himself hiding among pockets of mages similarly running for their lives in the wilds of Ferelden. He lost count of the days, catching sleep when he could and helping as many mages as possible while looking out for himself. It was selfish and he would feel guilty later but running, even if running meant leaving people behind, was the only way that he would possibly ever make it back home again.

Back home, and back to Rosalind. The image of her was seared into his mind and it was one bright thing he had to cling to. He would be damned if he had survived everything that had been thrown at him so far only to succumb to a templar’s blade before he could see her in person again.

Who knew how many days later, Vincent found himself close to Redcliffe. There were rumors that the village was a safe haven for mages everywhere and it was the closest thing to hope that he’d felt since leaving Orlais. He didn’t know how much further it was, but there were abandoned crofter’s cottages dotting the landscape that he dared to take shelter in. He couldn’t risk lighting fires in the hearth, but fitfully sleeping with a roof over his head instead of out in the open was a welcome relief.

And then the demons came. The most direct route to Redcliffe was cut off and Vincent found himself running from shrieking monsters that he had only encountered during his Harrowing. The only positive was that the demons didn’t discriminate between mage, templar, or regular civilian, so if he were really looking to put a positive spin on an otherwise absolute shitshow, he told himself that there were fewer templars trying to kill him in the area.

He came across a group of mages one evening and they readily welcomed him into the shelter of the woods they had named the Witchwood. He listened halfheartedly at their more radical ideas, silently resolving to abandon them for the preferred safety of the nearby crossroads once daylight broke, when he heard someone call him by name.

“Enchanter Trevelyan?”

The light was dim in the cavern, but he didn’t need it to recognize one of his favorite pupils. “Noemi?” He made to get up from where he had sat on the floor but didn’t even make it to his knees before the fourteen-year-old girl flung herself in his direction. He muffled a pained grunt as her arms wrapped just a little too tightly around his shoulder, the last of his injuries having to heal on their own as he used whatever magic reserves he had to fight off daily attacks instead of tending to himself. “How are you here?”

“How are you here? They told us you were dead!” Vincent froze. Oh no.

“Noemi, who else is here with you? Did you come with the people going to the Conclave?”

She wiped at her face, her tears making clean tracks on dirty cheeks. “No. I ran when the Circle fell.”

His eyes widened. “What?” Reaching out, he gripped her shoulders in his hands and focused on her. “Tell me everything. Where’s Roz? Is she here?” Maker, please, he begged, his pulse roaring in his ears. I’ve never been a devout man, but please, let her be safe.

“We were heading to dinner after lessons when she took me and a few of the little ones aside and told us to head to the greenhouses for a special project. She said that she would be there as soon as she could, but there was something that she had to do first. Then all at once, there was a lot of yelling and fire and…” she swallowed. “The last I saw of her was when she was running to the greenhouses. She told me to take the little ones and run.”

He couldn’t breathe. “What do you mean, the last you saw of her?”

“Ser Barnabas grabbed her by the hair and hit her with a smite.” Noemi’s lips trembled. “She screamed for me to run, so I ran. I ran and I ran and I haven’t stopped running.”

No. No, he refused to believe she was dead. “Did you see her fall?”

“No, but…” She scrubbed at her face. “We were all scared of Ser Barnabas, you know that. You know how much he liked to threaten hitting us. I didn’t see it, but Vincent, I think she’s dead.”

Vincent shook his head and sat back against the cavern wall. There was something building in his chest, a wail that wanted to break free and rip past his throat. “You have no proof though,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm as to not scare her. “You thought I was dead, but here I am. Roz is strong, and she’s clever. She had to have made it out of there alive. We have to hold onto the hope that she made it and she’s somewhere out in the world, just like we are.”

He took one look at Noemi and knew that she didn’t believe him, yet she nodded. “Okay.”

“We’re leaving here tomorrow morning. There’s a town, Redcliffe. Have you heard of it?”

Noemi shrank back from him. “No, you can’t make me go back there!”

“What’s wrong?”

“I was there. I took as many of the little ones as I could find after we scattered and we got on a boat. The older instructors said that Redcliffe was safe, but something in that town feels wrong. I made sure that the little ones were looked after, but then I snuck out in the middle of the night to find somewhere safer. I thought that I could go back, take the children with me to wherever I found, but…” she spread her hands as if to silently express the chaos around them. “They’re safer where they’re at for now, but I don’t want to go back. Please, don’t make me go back.”

Vincent winced as she huddled at his side, her entire body shaking. “Okay. Okay, we won’t go there, I promise.” He wrapped his arms around her, his mind whirring, desperately trying to focus on Noemi instead of the great yawning grief that threatened to swallow him whole. “Have you heard of the Crossroads? I don’t think it’s very far from here, we can make our way to that in the morning, okay?”

She nodded. “And look for Roz?”

Vincent squeezed his eyes tightly. There was no way that she was dead; she was such a fixture in his life, a lifeline even in the most peaceful of times. He loved her so completely that he was certain that he would have felt something, some sort of connection that tied his heart to hers sever, should she be truly gone.

He ran his hand soothingly over his former pupil’s back while trying to speak over the lump of unshed tears that had built in his throat. “Yes. And just you wait. We’ll find her.”

Maker, how he almost believed that.

#fictober21 #my writing #vincent trevelyan #rosalind marlowe #sweetheart au #do I even know HOW an Orlesian army could conscript mages from the Free Marches to fight for the empress? #no but it's my story damn it. if the devs forgot an entire moon i can make up some sort of handwavey excuse #that's my story and I'm sticking to it dangit

[lewis-winters]

part of my dæmon au (I suggest reading this if you're not familiar with the concept of dæmons. Just for the extra gut punch.)

---

Thalia settles during their jump into Normandy, but George doesn't realize it-- they both don't. Not until Foy.

He figures it's because she'd been a cockatoo before-- numerous times, in fact, ever since they were ten and found that they could make their mama laugh with a wonky impression of their papa. It was probably the form Thalia was the most comfortable in, this large bird with a beautiful crown of feathers that puff up every time she crowed with laughter or used their particular talent of imitation to mimic their superiors and their dæmons to make their fellow men laugh. People had always marveled at their brilliant memory and their skill at recreating them with nothing but their voices, weaving a tapestry of the past to help bring joy to the present. It was a point of pride and comfort for the both of them, and so it made sense that Thalia would shift into one the night of their first jump.

It had made even more sense, that she'd shifted into one that was midnight black with just bare traces of red on the tips of her tail and wings.

"I didn't know they came in this color," George remembered musing out loud, running a finger over her beak before trailing it back over the plume of her crown.

Thalia had peeped in her special, boisterous voice; "I'd rather this than get covered in camoflauge grease."

George had agreed. And with the night all around them, they soared.

Here in Foy, however, they are in trenches, and George can't help but think of upturned soil falling in chunks all around them under the force of mortar rain. Red smeared across sludged snow, intermingling with the mud and seeping into the earth below their feet. Against the constant white of Bastogne, Thalia was a smear that had proudly stood out, with her whistles and her voices, drawing giggles and laughs from tired mouths. But here in the outskirts of Foy, she blends in with what little remains of Skip and Alex. A smudge of black and red on the tainted ground of a wretched forest.

Thalia picks Skip's rosary up with her beak to give to Don, and the finality of it all guts George like a knife.

That's when he realizes that Thalia hasn't shifted for months.

Oh, he thinks, balling his hands into fists to get them to stop shaking. This is who we are now.

Now here they are, in Hageneu, George smoking a cigarette with Web and his raven dæmon, Annabelle, perched atop his helmet like a gargoyle, dramatic and gothic and so stereotypical of a boy with such a scholarly dæmon, it was almost comical. George figures he and Thalia aren't any different, with her sat on his shoulder like a spectre, solemn and silent. As still as a statue. She hasn't said a word since the assault on Foy, and George has done little to fill the silence. Web, cowed by the less than warm welcome back, says nothing, too. Annabelle, however, runs her beak, talks nothing but nonsense that is more to herself and Web than for anybody else. George ignores it all, concentrating on the smoke in his lungs, the stick between his fingers, and the lingering smell of blood and sweat on his clothes. He breathes out a cloud of nicotine.

Annabelle turns to them. "You're a red tailed cockatoo. Native in Austrlia." she tells Thalia in a rough whisper, like each word might be a wail of grief. She pauses. "The people there say they ferry the dead into the afterlife."

George goes still.

Cold dread has run down his spine, and fury like none he has ever felt before rises. He whirls around, about to do the unthinkable, about to reach out and throttle this little smart aleck of a bird until she might be silenced, nevermind that it's wrong, nevermind that she's Web's dæmon, how dare--

But Thalia beats him to it.

"They sure do teach you a lot in Harvard," she says in a voice not her own. In a voice of a dead man. A perfect imitation of Don Hoobler.

Every one freezes. The fury that has lit up in George now a dying ember in the wake of the sadness that takes over Web's whole face, his blue eyes deep pools of regret that matches the bottomless pit that's formed in the cavern of George's chest. Thalia, on his shoulder, squawks in surprise, crown puffing up, just as Annabelle turns away from her and barely keeps down a wrecked sob.

"I'm sorry," Thalia says, still with Don's voice, remorse coloring it ragged. "I'm sorry."

"No, I am," Annabelle tells her. "We are."

Web ducks his head, and in the middle of the street in Hageneu, he, Annabelle, and Thalia cry.

George says nothing. He finishes his smoke.

It's not the last time it happens. It's the beginning. Every day brings forth a different ghost, a different fallen man from Thalia's beak. First Don, then on the night of the patrol, Alex and Cressida, their dual voices scoffing in distaste at the state of Lieutenant Jones. The next morning, it's Julian, his alabama accent uttering a single line of expletives muttered under Thalia's breath for nobody else but George to hear. On and on, ghosts pour out of her, every impression a reminder of the absence and the aching loss, and every day George becomes more distant, pulling away from her as far as their bond will allow, until their conversations are simply her talking at him while George flinches away. They keep to themselves more, now. It's no use, sharing this grief when others are already so leaden with it all. Thalia is his, he is Thalia's. The ghosts she summons are for them. Selfishly and selflessly, he does not want to share.

"I'm sorry, George," Thalia tells him on the night before they are to depart from Thalem, in a whisper that sounds exactly like Skip. George closes his eyes and sees his friend's last moments, screaming for Luz as Ilaria fluttered around his head, an iridescent ruby red violently snuffed out by the flash of mortar fire so bright, George couldn't make out the floating Dust that had no doubt become of her. His chest clenches. "I'm sorry, I can't stop. I don't know how to stop."

George runs a finger over her beak, then the plume of her crown. He thinks of what Annabelle had said, about life and death and those stuck in between. The ferrymen, cursed to constantly say goodbye, burdened with the inability to forget as each soul slips past their fingers and into the ether, every atom dissolving and turning to floating Dust, leaving nothing but a shell behind.

He squeezes his eyes shut and forces himself to recall-- Alex's cackle, Cressida's playful growl. Dukeman shuffling cards, Karimlan's exasperated huffs of breath. Jackson's childlike wonder, Bedeviere's quiet chitters in her otter form, as she held Jackson's finger to lull them both to sleep. There are more, and George remembers them all. His eyes prick, hot with tears. Is a ferryman supposed to feel so deeply? Is a soldier supposed to cry for the dead he leaves behind? It doesn't seem fair, a burden so large. Surely he'd been good, been a decent human being enough to avoid such a painful task? Yet here they are, trapped in hell on earth, his dæmon a mere shadow of her former self, her voice stolen away by dead men. Her wings as black as upturned earth, her tail feathers as red as freshly spilled blood.

He runs his fingers through Thalia's wings. Feels them soft and precious between his cold fingers. She is warm.

What will the world remember, he wonders, when this all ended and they've returned stateside, these soldier boys wounded and forever scarred by the things they've seen and done and experienced. He thinks of the years going by, the distance and time dulling the hurt, smoothing out the edges. Life is so long just as it is so abruptly short. If he lives to see himself out of this war, would he remember or would he forget? Would he continue and allow them all to fade in a death more gentle but just as unfair as the first?

The thought leaves him colder than he has ever been. He buries his face in Thalia's wing.

"Tell me," he pleads with her. "Tell me the last thing he said to us. Before the mortars started."

Thalia squawks, plume puffing up with dignity and pride. "See ya, Luz," she peeps in Skip's whisper. Then, in Ilaria's; "Good night, Thalie."

George closes his eyes, and after a second, Thalia follows suit.

#band of brothers #george luz #david webster #dæmon au #death #death mention #bob aus #estrella_marie

[lazuliquetzal]

Don't Take It Personally, Asshole!

@snowlikestardust

BY POPULAR REQUEST: This is a (cleaned up) version of an early draft of CH11 of AA Batteries, which is in Akira’s POV instead of Miyuki’s! You’ll probably recognize a lot of turns of phrase because I’m unoriginal and like, 80% of what I cut gets recycled. This scene got cut up and Frankensteined a LOT into later chapters haha.

So this takes place during the Yakushi practice match, right after Eijun throws wild and Miyuki talks to Kataoka about his inability to throw to the inside.

“Akira.” Akira stiffens and turns his gaze away from the mound. Coach is standing on the sidelines, and he makes a ‘come here’ gesture. Akira jogs over. He tries to ignore the flicker of hope in his chest, but he can’t stop the way his heart is pounding out of control, leaving him barely able to hear. “Coach,” Akira dips his head in respect and clenches his jaw. His eyes fix upon the ground below. “Can you fix this?” ‘This’ being the obvious — the fact that Eijun can’t throw to the inside. He looks back to the mound. Eijun is stiff and pale, his left hand clenching and unclenching in unconscious denial. He looks a little scared, yes, but mostly, he looks confused. And — this is the important thing — he hasn’t given up. This Eijun won’t shuffle back to the dugout, defeated. This Eijun will go down kicking and screaming. Eijun still wants to pitch. Maybe he can’t pitch. But he wants to. Yeah, Akira thinks. I’ll take those odds.

He looks back at the coach and nods his head.

Kataoka breaks his gaze and looks to the outfield. “Asou!”

Their left fielder jogs in, mouth pulled into a firm line.

“Miyuki, you’re playing left field. Akira, you’re in.”

You’re in.

The words echo around Akira’s brain. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

While Kataoka sorts out the substitution with the umpires, Akira exhales. He drops down onto the bench and adjusts the straps on his leg guards, making sure they’re not too tight or too loose. Beside him, Furuya hovers, eyes narrowed.

Are you going to be okay?

Akira nods.

The truth is: he’d thought about the Inajitsu thing for a long time. And after the initial anger and grief and shame, he’d come to the following conclusion:

Coach Kataoka was right. Akira probably would not have survived that inning.

It wasn’t nerves. Akira had never been nervous in his life.

(Okay, he had been nervous, of course he had. But not for a baseball game.)

And it wasn’t lack of skill or experience, though that probably played a big role in the coach’s decision.

(Okay, definitely played a big role in the coach’s decision. Let’s be honest: Akira was not the best catcher in the dugout that day.)

The truth is this: Akira was scared, too.

For good or ill, better or worse, Eijun and Akira have always fed off each other like a chemical reaction. If Eijun got excited, Akira got excited. If Akira got competitive, Eijun got competitive. Having them play while they were both out of their minds would not have ended well.

Today is a different story.

He’s not going to lie: it is weird seeing Eijun unable to pitch to the inside. It’s practically unthinkable. Eijun and Akira lived and died by the inside pitch. It pretty much defined their entire middle school career.

But right now? Akira’s not scared. And as long as he can hold onto that, he can fix this.

Kataoka gestures for him to get out on the field, and Akira steps out of the dugout.

“Do your best,” Miyuki says, from behind him.

Akira resists the urge to roll his eyes. As if I’d do anything less.

They split off: Miyuki to the outfield, and Akira to the mound. He jogs up to where Eijun is standing. When he arrives, he stops just an arm’s length away from his brother.

Eijun stares at him for a moment, and Akira stares back.

“Hey,” Akira says. “What sign does Miyuki-senpai use for the cutter kai?”

Eijun blinks, caught off guard by the question. He shakes his head and answers the question. “Ah, he uses a ‘four,’” he says, and he makes the sign with his hand.

“Cool,” Akira says. “I’m gonna use a seven.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

Eijun makes a face. “You’re doing this just to be annoying, aren’t you.”

“Yep.”

“And even if I argue, you’re going to use it anyway.”

“Absolutely.”

“I hate you so much.”

“Great,” Akira says, in the flat voice that he knows Eijun finds irritating. “Good talk.”

He steps away and turns to the rest of the field. “So, uh, they’re probably gonna get a lot of hits,” Akira yells out. “Like, a lot. Sorry about the workout. Thanks for your cooperation.”

“You’re saying it wrong!” Eijun hisses at him. “And they are not gonna get a lot of hits!”

“I dunno, Ei,” Akira says, rolling his eyes. “You’re not exactly on top of your game, are you?”

“I’ll kick your ass if you make bad calls.”

“So shake them.” Akira glares at Eijun, daring him.

Eijun agitatedly waves his arms around. “You know I — ugh! Shut up! Get off my mound!”

Akira waves good-bye, as annoyingly as he can, and he walks down to home plate. He sketches a quick bow to the batter and the umpire, and then he crouches down.

The game resumes.

Akira takes a quick look around, the way Chris-senpai taught him to. The runners are at ease, barely paying attention to him. The guy on first base looks especially relaxed.

Hm. He’s never done a pickoff before. That would be pretty cool.

Akira turns his attention back to the mound, and he’s about to make a call —

And then he frowns.

He wants to tell Eijun to throw to the inside. And he knows, by the expression on his brother’s face, that it’s what Eijun wants to do, too.

But there’s something else in Eijun’s gaze. His eyes keep darting around — not to the runners, but to the batter.

Akira glances over at Todoroki Raichi. Yakushi’s monster first-year, a batter who can crush an ace in a single hit. Logic says to be careful; logic says to keep their guard up against the best batter in West Tokyo.

Well, fuck that, Akira decides. If Eijun really can’t pitch to the inside, then every batter might as well be Todoroki Raichi. It’s like middle school all over again.

He spreads his arms wide.

Eijun blinks.

Ignore him, Eijun. Just pitch whatever.

You’re joking, right?

Akira smirks. What, you think I can’t catch it?

Eijun sticks his tongue out — petty and dramatic as always. Akira rolls his eyes, and he knows that his brother can see it because he rolls his eyes back.

Eijun throws the ball.

It's instinctual, at this point, to move his feet and stretch his arm, catching the ball before it can fly out of reach. It slams into the back of his mitt, his vision tunnels — and before his brain can catch up with his body, he chucks the ball down to first base.

Wait, shit —

Thankfully, Zono-senpai catches the ball and tags out the runner. Pickoff.

"Out," says the umpire, looking just as surprised as Akira feels.

Holy crap! Akira thinks, in the safety of his own mind. That actually worked?

Zono tosses the ball back to Eijun, and then sends Akira a fiercely enraged expression.

Akira winces and ducks his head. He can hear Chris-senpai’s voice in his mind: baseball is a team sport.

Oops.

But they got the out, so at least he didn’t fuck up his very first play in the game.

Akira looks back to Eijun. Judging by the wild course of his last pitch, he’s still overly aware of the batter.

Akira spreads his arms, again.

Eijun grits his teeth. He steps onto the rubber and winds up.

It comes. Low. It hits dirt, and Akira stops it. Then he tosses it back.

Throw what you want.

“Are you leading me, or not?” Eijun yells, finally cracking.

“Depends!” Akira yells back.

Eijun crosses his arms. On what?

Akira mimes the motion of a ball hitting him in the face, and then flaps his hand around.

Eijun stares at him incredulously. Excuse me?

It’s a valid concern!

Eijun groans in frustration. I’m not gonna hit you in the face!

Aw, you do care! Akira grins and fires off a sarcastic thumbs up, just rile up his brother a little bit more.

It works, because Eijun’s eyes flash, bubbling up with barely contained fury.

Get mad. It’s better than being scared.

Eijun steps back onto the rubber and tightens his grip on the ball, daring Akira to make the call.

Akira places his mitt. Fastball to the outside.

Eijun throws. Todoroki swings. Foul.

Akira barely registers the hit — as soon as he realized it was a foul, he’d already started planning the next move. Another outside pitch, again, but a four-seamer this time.

Eijun throws.

Foul.

Okay, Akira thinks. He looks back at his brother and studies his expression.

He still looks annoyed and irritated. And even better — he’s not looking at Todoroki Raichi anymore.

Good.

He makes the call. And Eijun follows.

It’s like déjà vu, Akira thinks, as the ball makes its way toward him. A fastball to the inside corner, a sight he’s seen thousands of times. The batter tenses, squares his hips, and swings the bat.

Clang.

Like lightning, a sudden stab of oh shit flashes across Akira’s chest. That was a good hit — firm and loud and solid.

Oops, Akira thinks, as Todoroki takes off running and the runners start trickling in. In retrospect? It was probably obvious that they were gunning for an inside pitch. Most batters are pretty comfortable with the gambler’s fallacy —

Someone clicks their tongue, and Akira blinks, crashing back into the present. Eijun’s glaring at him, again.

Deal with that later, dumbass.

Akira rolls his eyes, but Eijun’s right. Unfortunately.

They’re in the middle of a game right now. He can reflect upon his baseball sins at two in the morning.

The moment the next batter steps up to the plate, Akira calls for another inside pitch. And Eijun delivers.

The ball slams into the back of his mitt, and it’s like a gear clicking into place. How long has it been since he caught for his brother outside of mandatory practice? How long has it been since they formed a battery on the field?

The familiar sensation doesn’t wipe away the anger, but it does drown it out. Who needs feelings? They have baseball.

“Nice pitch,” Akira calls out, and he tosses the ball back to the mound. Truce?

Eijun receives the toss. He nods and straightens his back. Truce.

The rest of their play time blurs by after that.

#lazuli writes #this is hilarious to me because eijun and akira are just so stupidly insular with their chaos #they don't even notice that everyone else is terrified #the twins are like: i'm angy >:(( and miyuki is like WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING #aa batteries dna #daiya no ace

[argonaughtt]

For the character ask - Wanda Maximoff 👀

favorite thing about them: Oh where to begin. I adore Wanda as a character so much I am struggling to find one thing to place as my favorite thing. It’s more of a complicated answer but I’d say my favorite thing is how Wanda uses her powers throughout the movies and how they are tied to her character development, as in, how Wanda uses her powers and how they reflect who she is as a person. Like from the beginning of her introduction in AOU she uses her mental manipulation to bring out Tony’s fear and influenced him to create Ultron. She could have killed him then and there but chose to let Tony “self destruct” which is dark as hell but so fascinating because her need for revenge extended beyond just wanting him dead, she wanted him to suffer for his mistakes. On the complete Opposite end of the spectrum, Wanda uses her powers to connect with Vision when he is in pain and pretty much help him through the events of Infinity War by protecting him, healing him, and staying by his side until he asks the unthinkable of her. Wanda kills the love of her life in a last desperate act to save the universe which is just about the most selfless thing you can do, only to have it be undone, making Vision’s sacrifice be for nothing. Then of course the events of WandaVision happen which is entirely based around Wanda tapping into Chaos Magic and its ability to give Wanda the perfect fantasy life she’s always dreamed of with Vision. Her manipulation of the world around her explicitly grants her her deepest wants and desires as she tries desperately to run away from her grief, but then eventually comes to accept what has happened to her, and ends the fantasy willingly, accepting her loss. so I guess in conclusion how Wanda uses her powers reflects her state of mind and who she is as a character and I love it. I’m so sorry this turned into a mini essay. 

least favorite thing about them: probably Wanda’s shortsightedness. Wanda is not a character that thinks long term about her actions and that comes back to bite her. A lot. Like again from her manipulation of Tony in AOU helping create a world ending murderbot to subduing Vision in the Compound in Civil War ultimately pitting them against one another and resulting in her getting locked up on the Raft, ugh. I do love how impulsive Wanda is as a character but my girl does not think about long term consequences. 

favorite line: You’re gonna make me choose?? How dare- ok I’m probably gonna have to go with “You took everything from me” and the following “you will” to Thanos cus AHHHHHH THE PAIN. THE SUFFERING IS REAL. My Scarvis heart is in pieces. 

brOTP: Wanda and Natasha if Wanda and Pietro isn’t on the table

OTP: WandaxVision my babies <3

nOTP: WandaxDr.Strange >:(((

random headcanon: I have ten thousand of these but one of my favorites is Wanda teaches Vision how to cook and even though he can’t eat he finds the act of creating a complicated meal extremely satisfying. Wanda is his taste tester, of course. :D (and in return Vision teaches her how to fly <3) 

unpopular opinion: Brunette Wanda is superior to redhead Wanda oooops

song i associate with them: TOO MANY SONGS uhhhh probably Control by Halsey is one of the best ones.

favorite picture of them: 

The Queen herself 

#thank you for the asks!! #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #vision x wanda #ask response #jacketpotatoo

[book-dragon-etcetera]

Why Mantis and Loki should be a thing; fight me (please don’t I swear I’m nice).

What makes a good relationship subplot? Actually, scratch that – this is the MCU, we don’t go for mediocrity – what makes the best relationship subplots? It can vary, but my favourites, the ones that keep me digging and digging, coming back every time I think of a new angle (you’re in the fandom tags, you know what I’m talking about) always tie into the wider story. They feed character growth; allow new concepts to be explored; fit in with and in some cases represent the greater themes of a story.

In case you haven’t guessed, I’m going to be arguing that Loki and Mantis could be something along those lines. Something great. One of the best, most interesting relationships of modern screenwriting. I know, okay!! I know, it feels weird as anything – it’s taken me a while, too. But bear with me, and worst-case scenario, you’ll have a new take on a fascinating pair of characters.

Before I put the two together though, I feel like I need to do a little character study for Mantis. So far, she has had little to no clear development and without serious thought of your own, she seems entirely one-dimensional; two at best. In case you have not plugged hours and hours of thought into a character with barely ten minutes of screen-time, here are some of my thoughts, free of charge 😊. Incidentally, the interpretation I take to enhance my viewing experience (and add suitably crippling levels of angst :D ) ties her in perfectly with Loki’s story and character.

More Than Just a Bug: A Minor Study

What we know: Mantis has spent her whole life in servitude to Ego a massively powerful being, intent on taking over the universe, who sees all other life as inferior, insect-like (hence the name ‘Mantis’ – happenstance in the comics, derogatory in the films). Whether she has ever met anyone else is unclear, and until we actually see her talk about it, we’ll never know. Going by her comfort in talking to the Guardians, and also the fact that she anticipates the result of Ego’s meeting with Peter, I’m going to assume she has, but more specifically, that they were Ego’s other children.

Imagine this, if you will. Mantis, since her childhood, has been intermittently exposed to Ego’s offspring. They appear, are doted on for a few days, and then vanish as suddenly as they came. Not having been delayed by the Ravagers that collected them (as Peter was), they are all young children, with strong but changeable emotions. As such, they fit Ego’s narrative of universe full of mindless beasts, unthinking and impermanent. If Mantis were not an empath, able to feel their distress and confusion at the kidnapping, they would have no impact on her at all. As it is, they give her no epiphany, but rather a slow sense of unease that grows over time, as child after child is reduced to a pile of bones in a cave.

Her uncertainty must of course be hidden from Ego, who may be too narcissistic to imagine she could ever turn against him, but would certainly kill her if he saw her doubts, so she separates herself from the feeling. Her outer self remains uncomplicated and pliant, still attempting to please her adoptive father-figure, while her inner self languishes in steadily deepening turmoil. She dissociates to survive, until she almost believes it herself.

Now let’s try looking at her scene with Drax, where she touches his arm by the flower-filled lakes, through this new lens.

BEWARE. THIS SCENE WILL BECOME SIGNIFICANTLY MORE PAINFUL IF YOU ASSIMILATE THIS INTERPRETATION.

To recap: Mantis has spent her life in a state of slowly growing unease over the pain, suffering and subsequent deaths of Ego’s many children. Her only comfort has been his assurances that all other life is meaningless, and as such their suffering weightless. By Mantis’s own design, this inner struggle has been buried deep, totally inaccessible. Therefore, she goes into this scene entirely intending to allow Ego to kill the Guardians, and if Peter is successful, the universe.

Alright, here goes:

So, Mantis seems normal (normal??) for the first section. She reacts suitably when Drax calls her ugly, and then when he argues that it’s a good thing. When he mentions his lost daughter, she makes a joke (incidentally the sort of play-a-crooked-thing-straight joke that Loki might enjoy), but then Drax compares his daughter to Mantis, calling them both ‘innocent’, and she makes this face when he isn’t looking at her.

This is not a naïve look, and I don’t think it’s meant to be. The tiniest edge of that inner guilt, her natural empathy for the terrible fates of Ego’s children, is bleeding through against her will, brought to the surface by a father mourning the loss of his daughter. Wanting to understand, and partly in fear of what she might find there, she reaches for his arm.

When she feels his grief, she is physically affected, taking large gasps of air with glittering eyes. It’s easy to forget, but in some ways, Drax is the most emotionally developed of the Guardians. He had a wife, and daughter, and a home. He’s lived through what most of us would determine a normal life, and reached middle age. Quill, Gamora, Groot – they’re all younger than him, and therefore less emotionally developed. (I have no idea what age Rocket is, but at least by maturity he can certainly be added to the list.) This level of experience is where Drax’s moments of unexpected wisdom come from. He is a fully realised person with all the complexities and regrets that come with age, something Mantis has never felt in anyone except Ego. And he is mourning his daughter.

When she touches his arm, Mantis is feeling one of the worst losses, the deepest hurts that a person can ever experience, even dulled by years: the loss of a child. But for her, it’s even more than that. It’s personal. She realises in that moment that on the other end of every one of Ego’s children was someone like Drax, feeling what he felt. That they were still out there in the universe, mourning the sons and daughters that Mantis had met. It tilts her world on its axis, and we get a close-up to watch it:

This is her guilt, her worst fears validated. She can no longer use the ‘we’re just insects anyway’ justification to excuse the cavern of bones. Every tiny doubt she has ever had now has an explanation, and it means she has grown up complicit to atrocities she couldn’t even recognise. Upset, and guilty that he still believes her innocent, she turns immediately to Drax, knowing she can no longer stand by do nothing. They are interrupted by Gamora before Mantis can explain, so later that night, knowing she cannot bear being complicit yet again to murder, Mantis wakes Drax and betrays Ego, despite her fear and love for someone who has been (literally) her whole world.

Go watch the scene thinking about Mantis's guilt, I dare you. I did, and it hurt me.

By the end of GotG2, we have a Mantis still conditioned to serve the father she has now killed. His teachings have left her with crippling self-doubt, and a sense of personal inferiority that as of yet we have not seen her question, despite a truly incredible level of power (subduing first Ego – an actual planet – and then Thanos; I’ll go into her frightening Gamora later), and her own heroism. She is incapable of being righteously angry at Ego, because righteously implies right, something it does not occur to her that she might have. And she hides it all, because over the years she has built an unconscious self-defence mechanism which allows her to control people’s actions towards her by seeming harmless and sweet. The ultimate deflector of aggression.

What her motives and feelings might be now she has found her freedom, I also have some thoughts on, but that is a topic for another day (possibly a Loki including day, hmm?). I feel like it’s important to mention that, although this is a dark interpretation, that doesn’t mean I think Mantis is a dark character. There is inherent darkness in the horror of her past, but some of the best and brightest people in the world are people who have been to hell and back, and come back kinder for it. One day, when she has learnt some self-worth, and ditched the clothes that she wore as a slave to a monster, I think she could be one of the best, most impressive, and nuanced heroes we have ever seen.

#marvel #marvel mcu #character study #mantis #loki laufeyson #gotg vol 2 #gotg 2 #fanfic #ao3 author #expand your horizons #short essay #pom klementieff #drax the destroyer #angst #empaths #headcannons

[katsukikitten]

A/N look if you didnt even tear up. All I'm saying is I didnt do my job right.

Part 1 ××× Part 2 ×× Part 3

Bakugou sits at the long table in the dining room in his usual spot, Mei and Haru nod his way as others begin to file in. 

The children look a tad older than usual as they sit a bit straighter this year, Uncle Sozen seems to have aged over night as he sits to Bakugou's left. He offers a wide smile to which Bakugou returns.

"DADDY!! DADDY!" A shrill voice rings out, little feet slapping harshly against the hard wood as a little girl slams down into his lap. Ash blonde hair dutifully braided but coming loose from all of the horse play skillfully climbs onto his legs. 

She looks up at him with wide eyes that mirror your eye color. His heart melts as he smooths down some of her hair. 

"Where's your brother?" He asks softly before a young boy comes rushing in. Feet falling hard enough to shake the dishes at the table. Your hair and his burning ember eyes greet him with a shit eating grin. 

Neither could be older than six or seven. 

"Told you I'd find you!" He brings up a bright palm to slap his older sister only for his wrist to be grabbed by you.  Leveling him with a glare the child shrinks away. Trying to hide behind both his sister and father. Bakugou looks up at you, your fierce gaze, your glowing features and swollen belly. His heart melts, pooling in his stomach and threatening to dip lower still. He swallows thickly adding his own sharp voice to the mix. 

"Sit and behave." The children cling to Uncle Sozen or Aunt Mai. Climbing into their laps eager to be spoiled once more. Summer crickets echo into the dining hall before they are drowned out by both the thunder of the approaching summer storm and the roar of the dining table. 

Dinner goes on without a hitch. Happy conversation as Sobo takes it all in. She sits stick straight, her once silver hair long since turned moon white and adorned in her normal plain kimono. When dinner is over, everyone begins to clear the table, excited for tomorrow's birthday and celebration that is bound to take place. Bakugou goes to what has become his normal duty, standing by Sobo to help her up and back to her study. He knows she wants to see the moon flowers bloom. 

He is gentle with her now fragile stature, never able to forget how easily she wielded an old weapon on his first dinner at this estate. The thought makes him smile as they enter her study. He settles her onto her cushion, about to leave to finish clearing the table. But she doesn't let go so Bakugou sinks into the cushion beside her, the summer storm faded as quickly as it came and as the clouds clear  the closed tight buds slowly begin to unravel, mirrored moonlight nestled on delicate petals. Silence envelops the two as they stare at the beautiful metaphor that is the moon flower. Her grip tightens on his strong bicep.

"Thank you for humoring this old woman." Sobo breaks the silence causing scarlet eyes to slide to his elder. 

Except she no longer looks old, instead she looks young. As she did in the picture with All Might. Hair as dark as night and adorned in her crane kimono. Bakugou swallows thickly. 

"I'm glad you've made up your mind, mago."She smiles, squeezing tighter and somehow this feels more like a good bye than anything else. 

He doesn't like the feeling, he goes to open his mouth to ask what she means but lightning suddenly strikes outside. 

The thunder comes as the sound of the sliding door to your room. Bakugou lifts a palm glowing hot as an ember aimed at the figure who dared to enter in the early hours of the morning. 

Mei stands in the doorway disheveled as you slowly rise, you hold eye contact with Mei's watery eyes and just…know. 

You jump to your feet, throwing off the blanket as you rummage in your bag for any sort of clothing. Mismatched as you shove your body in the fabric as you head for the door. Sprinting down the hall as if called on a mission. Bakugou rises, noticing Mei's tear stained cheeks, questions are plastered all over his tired features. 

"Its...Sobo…" A hiccup leaves Mei's frame reminding Bakugou just how small and young she was, "She's...she's." 

"I'm glad you made up your mind, mago." 

It clicks as her voice echoes in his head from the dream, soles of his feet burning as he runs aimlessly through the estate until he finally finds where people are gathered. 

There was not a single dry eye as he huffs. 

"Where's…" He asks but Aunt Mai just points, clinging to Uncle Sozen who seems to be frozen in time. Bakugou slowly walks towards you as you sit with wide eyes. Clasping onto Sobo's cool hands. 

When he sinks down next to you is when he realizes that you're shaking. 

He fights his gut, to reach out for you, to pull him to you so you can cry to your heart's content but instead you look to great Oba. 

"I'll help sort her things. Please allow me a shower first." You say monotone, eyes glazed over and Bakugou isn't sure which would be worse. You unfeeling and cold or you crying until you were sick. 

Either way his heart was sure to split in two. Your eyes come back to Sobo. You lean in close, pressing a soft kiss to her fast cooling cheek. 

"I'm sorry we lied. Bakugou is barely my roommate Sobo." You whisper so lowly that even Katuski strains to hear you. 

You rise, trying to walk calmly out of the room. Telling yourself over and over that this was just a mission or worse yet just a nightmare and to allow yourself to feel an ounce of fear or grief would be your downfall. 

"Its all Uncle Shoji's fault! If he hadn't come and riled Sobo up or hadn't made that damned drug Sozen would have felt her vitals weaken." Haru yells, tears falling in fat droplets as he slides a forearm over his face.  You snap then, yelling as you reach for the first thing you can grab, a book that you hurl at your cousin as you scream. 

"SHE HAD AN ARRYTHMIA! WE CAN'T BLAME SHOJI FOR ALL OF OUR FAMILY'S FUCK UPS." 

The book hits Haku square in his face, a letter flutters from the yellowed pages before it slams onto the ground. 

All eyes watch the letter that's addressed in big bold letters. 

To my family. 

Eagerly you swoop for the letter, snatching onto the parchment and last tangible thing from your grandmother. You rise to your feet, eyes frantic as you look around the room. 

Bakugou knows that face, you're about to make a bad decision and before he can stop you you've set a harsh pace to follow. 

He rises and gives chase as does half of the younger generation. But none of them can keep up. 

No one but Bakugou, which you had expected. 

It would be more than easy enough to lose him in this house. 

Or maybe it wouldn't be so easy. With each turn he comes closer but you can't be caught yet. 

Whatever it is your grandmother has to say you know you have to read it first, but most importantly, alone. 

You want the chance to say goodbye and to grieve in private. 

You plan to lose him in the secret room in your grandmother's study rushing into it with just enough time to disappear. 

But suddenly you cannot, too overwhelmed by the sight of her favorite little room, decorated with all of her accomplishments but more importantly her family. Memories over lapping one another as you stand frozen. Bakugou bursts into the room, skin popping with heated explosions as he grabs for you. Grip gentle on your wrist. 

"We should go back." His voice is feather soft, as if he's scared you'll break and it makes you angry. 

It makes you sad. 

Because he's right, you will break. Now there was no one to look forward to seeing in your favorite season, no one to celebrate summer with. 

No one to lose horribly at Go to, no one to teach you the art of a deal and no one to explain the beauty in the world no matter how small and insignificant it seemed. 

Fat tears fall down your face as you cry like you never have before. Like you hadn't since you were a child. A small whine comes from your throat that has Bakugou's heart imploding, his brows furrowed as he reaches for your other wrist. Trying so hard to support you without making you feel weak. You push yourself into him, clutching at his shirt as his burning sugar and firework smell tingles your nose, summer incarnate.  He wraps his arms around you tightly, pushing you closer to him in an attempt to hold you together as best he can as you fall apart in his arms. 

"What are we gon..gonna do Katsuki?" You sob, shoving your face deeper into his chest, "H..How are we gon..gonna live without Sobo?" 

Bakugou's eyes sting from your defeat, staring out into the background as he thinks of anything he can say or do to help you, all he draws is a blank. He was the worst at shit like this! 

Movement catches his eye, a crane flies across the sky, his eyes fall to that damn plant noticing one final bloom persisting through the harsh morning sun.

"We aren't." He says, thinking of his dream, "She's always with us." 

His words bring you comfort, resolve forcing your back stick straight as you look him in the face. That odd magnetism between the two of you returns. Licking your lips you do the unthinkable, following your gut as you stand on your tippy toes to softly press your lips to his. 

"Thank you." A whisper, before stepping past him to face your family head on. 

The ash blonde stands in the study for a moment, reliving the feeling of your lips against his. Of the electricity that surged through his body harder than any shot Denki had ever taken at him before. 

The tips of his fingers brush over his lips, the bloom finally closing and he feels as if he sees a smile. 

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

He returns just in time to see the family all gathered around, you having finally settled the bunch. Breaking the wax seal of the letter. Eyes rimmed red, the ink blurring beneath your gaze but you needed to be okay, you needed to be strong. Someone was meant to read the letter outloud and today that someone was you. 

“To my loving family, if you’ve found this letter then I know what you all are going through. But I do not want you to shed tears over this little old woman. I have lived a long and wonderful life. Blessed with each of my children, and their children’s children. I want you all to celebrate my life and more importantly celebrate our family. As this is all we have and should treasure above all else. Life is hard enough as it is on our own so we must not forget where we come from and who truly supports our love and our dreams.  Surely there is no pain worse than hunger and loneliness, so eat with each other often to ease your troubles. One day Shoji will come back into our lives and I may not be around when that happens but when he does please welcome him back with open arms as we all can lose our way from time to time.  Let him join you all at the dinner table and help him to remember what family, what our family, is all about. Make sure that he eats  as I am sure he will be hungry and I know he will be lonely. Help him ease his pains, help guide him back onto the right path in life. I end this letter to remind you all how much I care and love for each and every one of you. Good things will come as does the crane that flies over the bloomed lotus. 

With all of my love, forever and for always I give to you,

Sobo.” 

Silence settles over the large estate with nothing more than sniffles and sobs echoing down the hall. Bakugou places his hand on your back, surprisingly having a hard time keeping his own eyes from watering. 

In such a short time he had made a friend, he made family. 

His skin burns through your shirt as tears fall from your cheeks, like a movie star. Eyes clouded, nose a bit red but eyes set hard. 

"Sobo was right. Family is all we have and we can all become misguided. I…." You look to the blonde, squaring your shoulders, "I lied. Bakugou is not my fiance. He isn't even my boyfriend. I lied for Sobo, thinking that this would make her happy. But now…now we must make things right." 

You pull an outdated iPhone from your pocket. 

"I found it after Shoji left. Maybe we can contact him and when he comes back…" Your voice is hard and yet threatening to crack all at once. Eyes roaming over your large family. 

"We will eat." Great Oba says, "Ladies, if you would prepare the food for celebration.  I will retire to her study and call friends and family. We will lay Sobo to rest when the sun sleeps and the moon rises." 

Everyone nods, wiping tears and comforting their children as they move to their duty. You give Bakugou a sympathetic look before rushing off to call uncle Shoji. 

Bakugou suddenly finds himself a bit aimless once again before the sharp bite of a matriarch's voice rings out. 

"Bakugou, you will come with me." Great Oba turns while Katsuki follows without question. 

A certain item weight extra heavy in his pants pocket. 

×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&

"Fuck!" Shoji growls for the thousandth time, unable to pack his things and leave the near by hotel. Finally he rises forcing himself to gather various items that he has half a mind to leave. 

Fresh tears pricking his eyes as he wishes that old bag would just….would just fucking love him. He knows he's the black sheep, the unwanted baby but still. 

He still is trying to live up to the image Sobo had of him. His phone rings and he answers it with a snobbish attitude, crying long gone from his voice. 

"What do you know, Princess figured out my random passcode. I knew you were smart but why are you so damn persistent I'm not coming bac… " 

"Just shut the fuck up." You cut him off, sounding like Sobo with your harsh tone but you with your cussing. He runs his hands through his hair. 

"Sobi is gone Shoji. You need to come back. You need to say goodbye." 

"She...she what?! That old hag is immortal." 

"Watch your tongue." A startled chilll runs down his spine before you add your own flair to Sobo's best threat, "Or I will have to watch it for you by taking it for myself." 

"And before you start your bullshit pity party we want you here. We need you here. You're family. You need to eat with us. Laugh with us…" Your voice threatens to crack, "Cry with us Shoji. Find your way back home….please." 

Nothingness stretches on between the two of you before you sigh. Hoping he will prove you and everyone else wrong. That he is not a lost cause. 

"We lie her to rest tonight. Under the watch of the full moon near the lake." 

You hang up the phone, crushing it in your hand by accident as salt water streams down your face. 

×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&

The hot head has never found himself in so many uncomfortable and vulnerable spots during this trip than he has in his entire lifetime. 

He sits across from Great Oba-san who really only wanted him around to keep any eye on him. A war rages in himself, over the game of Go, over his dream and more so over these new blossoming feelings he has for you. 

Was this going to be worth a few bowls of spicy ramen? 

He fucking thought not. Sobo's voice echoes in his head as the small object burns a hole in his pocket. 

Better to return it now before they think him a thief. 

He withdrawals the stunning single set diamond ring that is surrounded by a ring of off tiny circular onyx. The diamond the moon suspended in the dark night of the onyx. 

A breathtaking piece truly, he sets it atop the paper work Great Oba is sorting. Her facial expression seems to change in slow motion as it adjusts to her rapidly changing emotions. 

"How did you…?" 

"I couldnt sleep and she called me in to hustle me over a game of Go. She said she knew that she...that we lied." Bakugou continues to tell her about the game and dream. All the while Oba stares with wide eyes, fixated on the ring waiting for him to finish. Her face sets hard, her eyes a mixture of emotion. 

"Bakugou, you know what you must do." As if it's a mission, a task. He thinks he must leave immediately. He goes to stand. 

"No. Sit." Controlled rage, pushing the ring back towards the young man, "You must propose now. No one has had Sobo's full blessing like this before." 

He stares at her hard, shocked even before he growls out. 

"We aren't even dating!" 

"In my time, in Sobo's time we didn't know our husbands name until we were wed." She continues to sort, filing things away avoiding taking the ring.  He sucks his teeth, dumbfounded. 

"We dont even like each other!" His forearms pop with his mouth and temper. Great Oba rolls her eyed. 

"That's debatable. I've never seen someone so quick to break down her walls before. Besides only a man would have stayed during this family crises. A boy would have left on the first night."  Bakugou mulls it over, the dream, was it just that or had he really pictured himself here. In this house. 

In this estate year after year as it ebbs and flows of faces with your family. 

Here with you? 

His heart races and slows all at once, his palms sweat as his feet tingle to move. He inhales deeply trying to collect his thoughts and calm his thoughts. 

"What if she says no?" His main worry, his only worry now being rejection. Still unsure if this is his future but it was true if given the opportunity to lay down his life to ensure yours he would do it. 

No hesitation, no doubt to keep you smiling. To ensure you become your own matriarch to protect this house and Sobo's spirit. 

"She wont say no. That ring isn't just any ring. That ring was passed down from our mother and from her mother." She swallows thickly, the thought of most her family having now passed pangs her heart but Oba must go on with big shoes to fill. 

Her elder sister a force of nature. 

Suddenly Bakugou stands, rage mixed in his scarlet eyes. 

"Then it ain't fucking right for me to have this! I can't have this!" 

"But. You. Will." Her tongue a knife. Ripping him to ribbons and all he can see is another version of you. Another strong willed woman, another force to be reckoned with. 

"Besides, I know she will not. Once she sees that ring she will know. Sobo was a great judge of character despite being quirkless. I heard my son Sozen tell the story but only partially. My sister's husband was a great man who sadly was inflicted with a disease, Alzheimer's hit him hard in his old age. And an in home nurse took advantage of that.  She looked much like s younger version it my sister, taking him to casinos and pretending to be his wife. She spent the family fortune, she thought a child would secure her wealth but she had tapped the well dry. When she realized that, she left Shoji on the front step, dirty and naked as if he were garbage." 

Bakugou slumps back onto the amethyst cushion from the weight of the story, still worry is written all along his face. Great Oba sighs. 

"At the end of the day, it is my niece's choice and if she says no at least you can say you tried. You honored Sobo's wish with an attempt and she'd be more than happy with that." Great Oba smiles and he can see a ghost of Sobo's wide, wild smile in her. 

He swallows thickly, gently grabbing the ring. He turns it over and over in his hands. 

This was crazy. 

This was stupid. 

This was crazy fucking stupid. 

But maybe his fate in love was meant to be crazy fucking stupid.

#bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou #summerwars au #bnha bakugou #bnha bakugo #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha x reader #bnha au #bnha x y/n #bnha x you #bakugou x you

[chilling-seavey]

Amoureux - Alfred’s Birth Story

A/N In Daniel and Louisa’s time period of the early to mid 1800s, childbirth was a dangerous thing and the statistics weren’t in the peoples’ favour in terms of survival rates. If it wasn’t the mothers passing away during delivery, it was the babies. This is one of those stories.

T/W Detailed descriptions of labour and delivery, major birth complications, stillbirth/infant death, and grief. 

August 24, 1829

Daniel played softly, his fingers dancing lightly over the keys to fill the conservatory with gentle music. Louisa sat at his side on the small piano bench, quite pregnant, and nursing her swollen stomach with two gentle hands wrapped around it, protecting. The children played together quietly on the rug across the large room with a few of the nannies from the palace staff. It was calm in the room but Louisa was stressed.

“Anything yet?” Daniel asked, glancing over at his wife as the song he was playing came to an end.

Louisa shook her head and rubbed her hands gently over her stomach with her gaze downcast, “He or she is still very much quiet.”

Daniel shifted to face towards her a little better on the piano bench and reached out a hand to brush over her belly, “Give Dada a little kick, sleepy one.”

There was nothing.

“It’s hard work growing into a whole person, isn’t it?” Daniel whispered, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of his wife’s growing belly right beside where his hand rested. He straightened back up and brushed a kiss over Louisa’s cheek before turning back to the piano, “Maybe something with a bit more tempo to liven you up.”

By the time lunch came around, Louisa wasn’t feeling very hungry so she opted to go upstairs to rest instead. The staff took the children to the dining room while Daniel offered to take his wife to bed. She took the stairs slowly, one hand on the railing and the other tucked in her husband’s own as he took each slow step with her. Daniel never rushed her. He watched her with care and concern and even helped to hold her dress up and out of the way so she wouldn’t trip as she stepped.

About halfway up, Louisa stopped and heaved a deep breath.

Daniel waited with her to catch her breath.

But then her hand was tightening its grip on his own and her bottom lip wedged itself between her teeth and she let out a pained cry that echoed through the palace. A few of the staff came running but Daniel was already right there with her, nearly holding his wife up all on his own in the middle of the staircase.

“Louisa.” he said softly, wincing as she gripped tighter to his hand and pressed her other just under the swell of her stomach.

She cried out again just as Mary, her lady-in-waiting, appeared behind her to see what was the matter. Daniel still held the front of Louisa’s dress up and his eye was caught by the little drops of red that were falling onto the step they were standing on.

“Oh mon Dieu.” Louisa cried, clinging onto Daniel as he and Mary started to help her up the stairs to her bedroom.

Some of the other staff got right to work cleaning the blood from the floors and the nannies kept the children occupied as word spread through Highgrove that something wasn’t quite right with the lady of the house.

Louisa was striped from her day clothes and left in a white nightgown and set back in bed as the doctor was called for. Daniel stayed right at her side, letting her grip onto his hand as she laboured and stained the white sheets in red.

“What is happening?” Louisa asked loudly, fear apparent in her voice.

“Just a little blood, miss.” Mary assured her a gently as she could. “The doctor should be here any moment.”

“You’re alright.” Daniel whispered reassuringly to his wife, tucked right up at her side, and brushed her strawberry-blonde hair out of her face as sweat was forming at her hairline. “You’re just fine.”

The ladies in the room bustled around to get everything prepared for a birth – earlier than the doctor had calculated or expected. Louisa’s screams of agony seemed to keep tensions high as the staff worked quickly to tend to her and keep her as comfortable as possible as she progressed quickly. She had done this five times before, had delivered three boys and two girls into the world, and yet this time the blood that stained her nightgown and her bedsheets was a first.

The doctor came swiftly and hurried over to the foot of the bed to assess the young mother, tucking her stained nightgown up over her knees as she laid with them spread for him. Louisa bit down on the side of her arm as the doctor checked her out and Daniel watched him with bated breath for a verdict.

“You are in fact labouring early, miss.” the doctor said as he sat back from her and rested her nightgown back down to keep her decent in the room full of people.

“What’s with the blood?” Daniel asked quickly.

“The baby might be in distress so it is crucial that we get him or her out as soon as possible.”

“I am going to die!” Louisa sobbed, gritting her teeth and screaming out as another painful contraction ripped through her.

“No. Don’t you dare say that.” Daniel scolded softly, pressing a strong kiss to her temple.

“We will do our best, miss.” the doctor said, his attempt at reassurance not meaning much.

Louisa squirmed uncomfortably on the bed, burying her face in Daniel’s chest as she wailed, staining his shirt in tears. He could only cradle her head and shush her softly and try not to think about the unthinkable.

The doctor kept a very close eye on her as she progressed, trying to hurry her along the best he could as he prepared for birth. Louisa ended up pulling off her nightgown to labour completely naturally and no one dare question her. For the last five births she did so naked so the sixth would be no different. It was how she felt most comfortable and no one was to question that.

Daniel sat beside her like he was glued there, letting her grip his hand between his soft kisses to her head and her cheek every once in a while, whispering reassuring words into her ear no matter how much she swore in French until the words echoed off the walls.

By quarter to 2 in the afternoon, the doctor declared Louisa ready to deliver and the trembling frightened young woman was set into position.

“Doctor.” Louisa spoke shakily.

The man glanced up at her from the foot of the bed, “Yes, miss?”

“If you must choose, please save my baby.”

“Louisa.” Daniel said sharply.

“It is in the hands of God, miss.” was the doctors only response.

“Louisa, look at me.” Daniel grabbed her chin and turned her head to get her to look up at him. Her green eyes were shimmering in tears. “You are not dying on me today, you understand?”

She only sobbed.

“Louisa, promise me.” Daniel ordered.

“I am so scared.” she cried.

Daniel just stared at her for a moment, her flushed cheeks and teary eyes and the fear in her face. He couldn’t argue with her…not like that…not then. He only leaned down and pressed a strong kiss to her lips.

“You must push now, miss.” the doctor instructed.

Daniel shifted beside her to tuck his hand under her knee as she bore down strongly. It was a place he had taken already five times before and the instinct seemed to only come naturally. She gripped his other hand so tightly her nails were digging into his flash but he didn’t dare complain. He watched her, his beautiful wife, for it might have been the last time.

“That’s it, miss. Keep going.” the doctor encouraged, his hands working right between her legs to help coax the baby out.

The staff around the room watched on attentively, a few of the ladies had frightened tears in their eyes as the blood soaked sheets were not a safe sight and the awfully pale Duchess had them saying silent prayers across the room. Mary, however, was right at Louisa’s other side; patting her forehead with a damp cloth perfectly silently.

“That’s the head, miss, push for me some more.” the doctor praised, one of the ladies rushing up behind him with a clean linen at the ready.

Louisa gripped Daniel’s hand until her knuckles turned pale and she gritted her teeth and pushed with whatever weak energy was left in her.

“That’s so good, darling.” Daniel whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple as she took a shaky inhale.

“Once more, miss. Big push now.” the doctor ordered.

“Come on, sweetheart.” Daniel breathed, pressing his forehead against his wife’s head in silent prayer, still holding her leg back and letting her squeeze his hand. “Almost there, darling.”

Louisa shrieked in agony, bending herself forward slightly to really put all her efforts out and to birth her sixth child into the doctor’s waiting hands. The sudden relief washed over her with a deep gasp and she fell backwards onto the soft white pillows, heaving for air. Mary fanned her face quickly as Daniel cradled the back of her head lovingly.

But from the noise of her delivery, silence fell over the room. Perfect silence.

Louisa took a moment to catch her bearings but it was only seconds later she was lifting her head up again, “Where’s my baby?”

The nurse held the small baby in the linen in her arms, the white fabric stained slightly in blood and fluid, her face as melancholy as the doctor’s.

Silence.

“I want to see my baby.” Louisa panted, holding out her trembling arms to the nurse.

“We must deliver the placenta first, miss.” the doctor spoke flatly.

Louisa didn’t take her eyes off the white bundle that had been taken from her and across her bedroom the entire time she pushed out the placenta and another nurse helped to tuck it away in one of the chamber pots. Daniel stayed where he was, the two young parents watching the doctor move across the room to the nurses and ladies in waiting to assess the child.

There was nothing but silence.

“I demand to see my baby at once!” Louisa snapped suddenly, fear apparent in her voice.

The nurse who had received the baby from the doctor’s hands walked slowly over to the bedside, the doctor right beside her. She passed over the swaddled newborn and Louisa took it carefully, easily resting her arms right around it.

“I am afraid, miss,” the doctor spoke gently, “that the baby was delivered stillborn. It was a boy.”

Louisa let out a soft whimper as she stared down at her sixth child, wrapped in white in her arms, his face a near paper white and his eyes closed gently. He looked as if he were sleeping.

“Alfie.” Louisa’s soft whisper of her fourth son’s name broke in her throat and Daniel’s heart nearly shattered at the entirety of it.

He only shuffled up closer to his wife and tucked his arms right around her and held her as she cried. Daniel hid his own tears behind her, trying to stay somewhat strong for her after a painful delivery to only be met with no expected sweet prize.

“Why is God punishing us?” Louisa sobbed, clinging onto her son that she never got to meet. “Not my baby.”

Daniel scrunched his eyes shut and hid his face behind her shoulder, choking back his own tears for the sake of the crowded room. The last time he felt heartbreak like this was when he was forced to leave Louisa behind with his brother but even that didn’t feel as sickening as this.

“We will give you a moment, your Royal Highnesses.” Mary said softly and ushered the ladies and the doctor out of the room.

With privacy, Daniel couldn’t hold back his sob, holding Louisa tightly as the two of them cried out their sudden sorrows.

“What did I do wrong?” Louisa sniffled.

Daniel shook his head as he looked up from her bare shoulder, “Nothing.”

“Merde.” Louisa cried, fresh tears pouring down her cheeks.

Daniel could only pull her face close to press a strong kiss to her cheek and nuzzled his face with hers, their tears mixing together between them as they stared down at their sleeping son. Daniel wrapped his arm around hers and brushed his hand gently over the baby’s dark hair and full cheeks. He was warm from having been just delivered but he was terribly still. It was frightening.

They sat there in their bed together, holding their stillborn child and crying together until their tears were nearly running dry.

“My heart aches.” Louisa breathed. Her voice was trembling.

“Mine as well.” Daniel whispered through a sniffle.

The doors opened again and the staff returned after giving them a moment to grieve. Louisa was redressed and wrapped up to keep warm after birth, her bleeding having stopped and her heartrate stable and physical health unwavering. Daniel held the baby while she was tended to, standing a few paces from the bedside with his focus all on who would have been his fourth son, sixth child, and seventh love of his life.

Little Alfred was buried three days later. The world rested heavily on the Seavey’s that cloudy afternoon as the smallest casket was lowered into the ground in the family plot right beside Daniel’s eldest brother. Louisa’s sobs could nearly be heard all through London.

Daniel only cried in private, hiding himself in the pantry or in one of the far stairwells and sobbed into his sleeve until his cheeks were red and his lungs were gasping for breath. There was no pain like holding your deceased child, even one who had yet to even open his eyes to the world.

Daniel and Louisa consoled each other honestly as time went by but were terrified to have any more children. They swore five to be their cut off to prevent themselves from enduring anymore heartbreak. But that wasn’t written in the stars as Louisa fell pregnant almost a year later – her longest amount of time between pregnancies – and later delivered a perfectly healthy baby girl one Spring morning and named her Victoria. Victory. Rising above the ashes of grief into the sunshine of new life.

#👑 #daniel seavey #why dont we #daniel seavey oneshots #royal!wdw