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millaneyy · 10 months

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Why TOTK Ganondorf is the best Ganondorf in the series

This became a bit of an essay by accident hehe

Goes without saying: HUGE MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR THE FINAL BOSS AND ENTIRE STORY!!! All the gifs used are my own, and even though they're a bit crunchy, feel free to use them as you wish!

Anyways, starting at the start.

The Character

I'm not exactly a long time Zelda fan (botw was my first proper zelda game), and therefore didn’t know that much about Ganondorf before I saw him in the trailer and decided to research the lore like a crazy person. Based off of that, I think that Wind Waker Ganondorf is the best by far.

He had such an interesting aura to him- less like a power hungry madman and more like a wise old king who was also very evil, and his motivation made it difficult to see him as a true villain. As they say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. His whole plan revolved around the fact that the Gerudo people, his people, were left to suffer in the desert while the rest of Hyrule prospered, and he decided to take action. At least, that's what I remember. Please correct me if I have that messed up!!

Anyways, I think that motivation is what makes WW G-man cool- he's a total asshole, yes, but he has this kind of twisted honour that almost makes you feel bad for him. And this brings me to my one little gripe about TOTK Ganondorf- he doesn’t really seem to have a motivation? At least, not that I heard of. So in that sense, he doesn’t really feel as driven as WW Ganon. We never learn WHY he wanted to rule over Hyrule, he kinda just did. He wanted power, that much was obvious, but that was it. On the other hand though, it’s always fun to have a villain who’s evil for the sake of being evil, and it didn’t detract at all from his presence in the game.

And boy, is he a PRESENCE. Some of his lines are incredibly cold- "I will rule. That is what a king must do" WITH THE ORGAN IN THE BACKGROUND AND HIS DEMON KING TITLE ON THE SCREEN, or "Do not look away, you witness a king's revival" (the line that drove the whole community insane for a little while- if you know you know) as he draws his sword with all the confidence of a centuries old evil incarnate.

Even better- "I will be taking far more than your arm this time", as if Ganondorf, through the Calamity, hasn't taken away everything Link knew and loved already. This dude is crazy.

(And a little bonus that I found out about right before posting this- apparently in the Japanese version, he does have a very clear motive? But it was lost in translation? I need to research that a bit more though. If you know anything about that, do tell!!)

Now, with that out of the way...

The Build Up

Thematically, I think that the build up to his fight is pretty awesome, even compared to the other three G's. If you did the entire story (geoglyphs included) beforehand, then you know that this dude:

a) straight up killed someone with his bare hands (he wasn't holding the knife when he killed Sonia, so I kind of just assumed he broke her spine or something)

b) is so powerful that 7 of the strongest warriors in Hyrule WITH secret stones couldn't defeat him, and was only taken down by sealing his power away- which is still only a temporary solution

c) lived on after reawakening despite being an actual emaciated corpse

d) was so busted that even in (kind of) death, the essence of his power (the malice) that leaked out of his seal was strong enough on its own to completely DECIMATE Hyrule

So yeah, I was a little scared on my way down because I knew this guy was going to kick my ass (spoiler alert: he did).

The little gauntlet of monsters to fight as you descend was pretty sick, and serves as a fairly good warmup for the army later on. The silver lynel totally caught me off guard though. As you get closer to the lowest point in Hyrule, you end up amassing some of the most powerful weapons imaginable thanks to all the silver enemies, which got me feeling so goddamn strong! That's important later.

And eventually, getting to the Forgotten Foundation and realising that I was back in the prologue area as that scary music started back up sent chills down my spine.

And the music. THE MUSIC.

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Give this a listen (youtube because soundcloud links are jank, sorry)- skip to about 2:00 because that's the bit I'm talking about!

As you get deeper and deeper, the music gets more and more intense- and if there’s one thing I absolutely adore about TOTK, it’s the dynamic music throughout (see example: THE DUNGEON THEMES). The use of music that changes as you go- and this is by far the best example.

At first, you don’t really notice it while you’re preoccupied. You’re more focused on weapons and monsters and all that mess. But the first time I really noticed it was, as I said, when I realised I was in the prologue. The cut up voice clips and the drone in the background are a little creepy, and remind you of what happened the last time you tried to fight this guy,

Then, it starts to develop once you walk past the mural. There’s the choral singing, the drone in the background picks up into something with more melody, and the entire run up to the boss is completely enemy free- it gives you time to let the circumstances sink in as the music swells and you approach the heart of the depths. Also, the music builds as you get deeper and deeper, which from what I know is a subversion from the usual "music building as you climb his tower" or whatever he's in normally. Very nice.

Idk about you guys, but I slow walked down there for the DRAMATIC EFFECT.

At about 3 minutes into the video is how it sounds when you dive into the imprisoning chamber, where it all started (and I'll talk more about the parallels between this and the prologue another time... THE TORCH AUGHHSYWJHFH) and keep trucking on through the gloom, the horror movie piano kicking in as you walk through the final tunnel and stand on the precipice overlooking the dark, unknown pit below...

And jump.

Then the track finally reaches its climax as everything starts to overlap, the bells and organ (i think thats what it is?) screaming at you in the background as you fall, making the song feel like an epic of vengeance. There's so much dread, and an underlying ominous/threatening feeling that encapsulates the fact that Ganondorf is the embodiment of an ancient evil, one that has tormented Hyrule for centuries- but at the same time, there's an element of finality and inevitability, because you're going to put that evil down, and make up for all the grief and the death and loss that constantly follows in his wake.

I mean, just listen to the last 30 seconds or so of that track and tell me you don't feel excited. In awe. Because I deadass teleported back up to the mural just to hear it again.

I think I got a little carried away there, but moving on to the bit you probably came here for…

The Fight

Phase one - The Demon King's Army

Remember how I mentioned that the earlier monsters and busted weapons make you feel powerful? This is basically that x10.

The whole sequence feels very epic, ESPECIALLY after the build up, and with the appearance of the Sages mirroring the attack of the Champions from BOTW, it almost feels like victory is assured already as you cut down hordes of monsters with practically no effort, all while the strings in the background kick in and get more intense with every wave.

This serves to make you feel even more like God- taking out waves and waves of fairly tough enemies made me feel like I was on top, like nothing could stand in my way. It's pretty cool, a good way of integrating the monster army you keep seeing in the cutscenes, and manages to keep the energy from the descent going pretty well, while also being a casual reminder that this Ganondorf bloke can summon world ending horrors at will. ESPECIALLY when the dungeon bosses come back to life and force the Sages to stay behind.

Phase two - The Menace Unleashed

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Once again, the music goes absolutely crazy. The first phase feels intense, but still like the fight is only just beginning. Just an ambient drone, near silent as he approaches, picking up as you start to duel. No one is here to help- no Sages, no Zelda- just Link and Ganondorf, a rematch that's been in the making since 2006.

If the army battle makes you feel powerful, then the first few seconds of this fight are what takes that power away- because this guy is a total damage sponge and moved a lot faster than I could predict. Additionally, you can't fast travel outside to heal gloom hearts if you have medallions set up (i thought i was so smart for that too), so if you used all of your sunny food during the army, you're doomed.

Most of his attacks in this phase are fairly simple, with only one or two for each weapon he can wield (and tbh the switching weapons really threw me the first time), but like I said, he goes pretty fast. Therefore, if you're like me and can't differentiate some of his tells, you're also going to lose a lot of hearts very fast. And did I mention he gives you gloom hearts instead of normal damage? Again, no sunny food = death of the instant kind.

On top of the general stress of trying to get the timing down, there were a couple of moments in this phase alone that had me yelling something along the lines of "WHAT THE ACTUAL SHIT"- one of which being some of the tricks he pulls under certain conditions. For example; a standard looking sword attack where he swings once, then as you lower your shield to get a hit in, as you naturally would, he swings at you again. He also kicks you if you hang too close, and fires off some of his gloom attacks faster if you're trying to attack him as he charges. It makes him feel more like an actual person you're fighting, and stops you from hanging close and swinging wildly the whole time.

(i was going to make this a video, but tumblr only lets you add one. anyways, see what i said about him swinging again if you lower the shield?)

As well as that, he taunts and mocks you when you get hit- make any misstep or stumble into an attack, and he'll laugh and insult your skill while he casually walks up to you like the absolute gigachad he is. It's not like the Twilight Princess walk where it feels a bit slow- this walk made me feel THREATENED. Circling in the opposite direction when he circled me with the spear made me feel like a pro swordsman. On one hand, I thought the taunting was super cool as a mechanic! On the other hand it made me want to kill him even harder.

And the other moment that made my jaw drop? This guy. Can DODGE your regular attacks AND FLURRY RUSH. And by flurry rush I mean take a really tough/fast swing at you. BUT STILL.

For as long as I can remember, the perfect dodge and flurry rush have given Link an unfair edge over most enemies and bosses- it's an opening to deal mass damage with no counters. It’s made link OP against everything the game throws at him- up until right now. This highlights the fact that Ganondorf is no pushover- him and Link are evenly matched, and you’ll need some actual consistent skill to take him out. The good news is that your own flurries are still pretty powerful, and 5 or 6 are enough to start the next phase.

As the fight progresses and his health starts to go down, the music starts to build up more (at about 1:25 in the video above)- the barely present drums starting to speed up and get louder, accompanied by sporadic piano, more choral snippets, and an ominous undertone as their duel grows more intense, eventually building to a climax and slowing down a tad (2:45) as he activates his secret stone and transforms, beginning the third phase.

Phase three and four - Master of the Secret Stone

Well this one was certainly something. Once again I jumped out of my seat and YELLED when his health bar started to refill past the normal amount, all the way off of my screen. It just didn’t stop. There are no words to describe the primal fear of realising how insanely busted this dude was. I tried to get it on the gif up there, but that made the video too long to convert :(

The music here is my favourite bit of the whole phase- as you face down the powered up Ganondorf and his phantoms, you hear the familiar but melancholy motif of BOTW/Dark Beast playing around the same time the Sages show up once again to deal with said phantoms (at about 3:22). For a second it's just that- melancholy, encapsulating the same kind of hopelessness that followed Calamity Ganon 100 years ago. But at the same time, as your squad comes to assist, you're reminded of the Champions and their aid, and suddenly it feels like you could still turn the tides of this seemingly impossible battle. Just like you did with the Calamity.

Yes it was cool, and yes I nearly cried.

The phantoms were actually the worst for a minute or so- it takes a while for the all of the Sages to appear and lighten the burden, meaning that you end up needing to take on 2-5 of these guys at once as well as the real deal. This got me killed more times than I'd like to admit. Once all the Sages arrive, the arena becomes a complete warzone with everyone duking it out at once, the real Ganondorf’s attacks start to get faster and harder hitting, and he starts to dodge and rush you more often- even dodging more of your attacks and forcing you to flurry him, so if you don’t have your timing down, this is awful. Not to mention, it's very easy to lock on to the wrong Ganon, which makes it harder to block the real attacks with a shield.

And also, this is the point where he starts destroying literally all of your shields in just a few hits, meaning that if you can't dodge or parry, then it's only so long until you're left defenceless.

Aside from that, this phase plays out like the Phantom Ganon fight in the Castle until you get his health bar down about halfway, when he recalls the phantoms and biden blasts the Sages away, beckoning Link forwards and starting phase four, which is basically phase two again but insane.

This is where the fight- for me, at least- became incredibly difficult, since Ganondorf not only dodges your regular attacks, but also dodges your flurry rushes and counters with his own EVERY SINGLE TIME, forcing you to flurry rush again to hit him. Not only does this require perfect timing, but is also the only way to damage him for the remainder of this fight (unless you cheese it with arrows or sneak in some hits in while he's switching weapons- but the latter is dangerous since he still attacks faster when you're close).

A little video to emphasise the flurry rush thing; the timing for that second dodge had to be dead on. What you can't hear is me yelling something along the lines of "GOD, FINALLY" after dying to this phase many times and mashing the y button like my life depended on it. LOOK HOW FAST THAT MF IS ON THE SECOND ATTACK

The soundtrack becomes super crazy again, this time using the motif of Calamity Ganon/the Blights (starts at 5:00, and you can also hear it in the video above) and bringing back that sense of hopelessness again- but this time with with a strong side of excitement since you're now in the final stretch of the fight. Because the Blights were supposed to be the equal match for each Champion, this bit of the theme makes it feel like Ganondorf is an equal match to Link- which I know I've said already, but that's kind of the thing that's blown me away the most about the whole battle.

It's the fact that you can't just wail on him and spam flurry rushes without him countering you in some way- which in this case mostly consists of him dodging you and attacking back at an insane speed. This isn't like Calamity Ganon where you just hit and dodge for five minutes, this is an actual proper swordfight, and exactly what I'd been hoping for from the final boss!

Additionally, the Blight/Calamity motif (well, more like entire theme) represents his ties to Calamity Ganon, the force of nature that took Link 2 tries to beat (with death included), and it's use in this part of the battle tells you that right now, Ganondorf possesses the same level of destructive power as that thing- and he's sure as hell going to make sure you know that.

As well as the whole "dodging the flurry rush and forcing you to pull it off twice" thing, he also pulls out a few more projectile based attacks. These aren't too bad (WE GET THE RETURN OF ARCANE PING PONG FROM OOT), but he usually follows them up with a quick swing, making them a distraction that takes a while to get used to.

And finally, as a last little surprise, getting hit by any of his gloom projectiles in this phase takes away one of your maximum hearts. PERMANENTLY. Not like the gloom hearts, where you can get them back and then heal. Nope. That shit is gone gone.

Once you finally whittle down his ridiculous health bar, we launch into the customary "massive beast" style phase as he straight up just rips the secret stone out of his head and eats it, giving up his mind, body and soul for the sake of defeating Link, becoming a Dragon and escaping through the top of the arena.

Phase five - Draconified Demon King

So like I said above, the Demon Dragon is basically Dark Beast 2, except it's so much cooler! The cutscene does a great job of highlighting the insane size of this guy- it's like 3x the size of the already massive elemental dragons and emerges from the depths in a way that eerily resembles the Calamity, right down to the glowing yellow eyes. And yeah, that's probably the point, but it's still cool.

Luckily for Link, Zelda/the Light Dragon swoops in and rescues him from the jaws of death (literally), taking him high up into the air so he can attack from above. It's an absolute spectacle, and the epic style remix of the game's main theme that plays makes it even better, instilling the same level of awe that Dark Beast does- at least for me.

Just like DB, the fight has you up against a massive malice/gloom infused monster (the dragon, in this case), getting close and attacking it's weak points and then finishing it off by destroying the secret stone on it's head. There's a lot of downtime, which is kind of to be expected with this style of fight, but I honestly don't mind because these colossal battles are supposed to feel less like a Dark Souls boss and more like a victory lap- like a "you're Link, the legendary hero, slaying this massive beast in the name of Hyrule" kind of thing.

My personal favourite bit of this whole phase is the fact that when you dive down to the Dragon's weak points, Zelda dives down next to you to get underneath and catch you afterwards. So sick. I also really like the use of skydiving! It pairs super well with the music and made me think of that final trailer we got in April- like THIS is the epicness we were promised.

(and also dodging the fireballs was way more fun than slowly sidestepping a laser. sorry dark beast, but i gotta say it </3)

Final thoughts

I'm gonna be honest: I kind of forgot to compare his fight to the other 3 mainline ones, but doing that now would make this way too long! I just love the TOTK fight so much and needed to get it out.

While I'd still say that each Ganondorf (in the mainline games) has their own unique trait that makes them cool: OOT Ganondorf is the original, and the most cunning, WW Ganondorf has the best character and TP Ganondorf is the most evil by a mile- TOTK Ganondorf feels like a combination of those best traits (minus the characterisation) paired with the greatest final boss I've ever seen in a Zelda game, which makes him the best for me.

The first phase in particular was my favourite- wayyyyy back in April when I saw big G in the trailer, my first thought was "oh man i hope we get an actual sword fight boss instead of calamity ganon 2.0" AND MY PRAYERS WERE ANSWERED!!!

Ganondorf literally just rolled up, delivered some cold lines, and then kicked my ass with his cool sword. Many times. And I think that's exactly the kind of boss fight he deserves. I'm just so happy that it feels like we're in an actual duel, mano a mano, instead of just being able to chance a win like with Calamity.

FIN

thank you for reading my zelda obsessed rambles! i just beat the boss last night and have been working on this on and off all day, so any reblogs or shares would be massively appreciated <3

GANONDORF FANS UNITE!!!!

#totk spoilers #totk ganondorf #totk thoughts #tears of the kingdom #long post #i'm not joking this is a whole essay #i'm just so goddamn happy that we got a GOOD final boss in comparison to calamity ganon #don't get me wrong i love botw #but calamity ganon was just so shit. it was basically another blight #dark beast was cool though. i'll die on that hill #certified millaney moment

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aureliacetinn · 5 months

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gerodi la forge differently designed

(image desiption

Gerodi la forge without vizor eyes unfocused going in slightly different direction, wearing his yellow uniform standing stoic but proud, the spectrum the vizor lets him see from (or should only read thread as to why I think that) it refracting of his face as the effects surrounded him a lil like he being beamed up to a ship.)

Embrace the spectrum of blind/V.I eyes artists!, embrace the nuance of disabilities people!

Gerodi la forge is a complicated representation for the blind/chronic pain community though probably more positive than most but still falling under the technology ruining the nuance of disability.

So I wanted to draw him and show a more accurate(imo) portrayal of his eyes without the visor to 1 cuz white clear eyes trope annoys me

2 to not want to hide blind person eyes as media often tends to do (minus sunglasses needed for blind actor due to sensitivities)

3 cuz they cause pain and so he should have them off more often.

to note a lot of what im going to say is written way better an documented better by janet jay a lot of my sources are from here amazing piece on gerodi you should read: https://www.janetjay.com/what-star-trek-got-wrong-about-geordis-disabilities/ also if you in blind community are fine with his eyes portrayed as more cataract, that’s valid too.

So gerodi la forge for me as a avid star trek fan was important, hey I can exist if he can he not been erased! Buuuuuuuut,

it did urk me that 1 he was kinda a lil nerdy creep trope that never got a gf which levar burton himself has called out as racism from the shows writers (sources at bottom of thread) id also argue ableism also and many able bodied people treat disabled people as sexless.

but also that he never got to be disabled really, he suffered from chronic pain form the vizor but kept choosing to not take pain pills or treatment, which you know that’s some inner ableism right there I did to myself as a teen, and I kinda think gerodi reinforced it a lil in me,

“look where he is, he deals with the pain he never shows it”

Not a great message really, gerodi never is allowed to show the struggle they choose that the vizor existing was enough, and yes we got that amasing ep where he didn’t want to be fixed, but that would then be countered by never showing the struggle. Women at warp did a great ep where on disability karrisa mehr calling gerodi a disabled version of a “manic pixie dream girl” feels very apt.

Never allowed to complain just be quirky gerodi.

And on to the vizor

The vizor is complicated , it apparently let him see much of the EM spectrum", ranging from simple heat and infrared through radio waves” now I personally am all for mobility aids that have cool attachments but it’s a delicate balance of unique features and fixing and or making them more powerful than able bodied colleague-cuz thats fixing, and I feel gerodi with how show wrote it and portrayed him it was a magic fix more than an aid, why I chose to only show the thermal spectrum in image, instead of how it apparently can see everything more than human eyes can anyway which yeh defeat aid purpose.

image of vizor silver sem ring over eye with gold lines across not fullyblcokign vision 0

and it gave him chronic pain, they choose this as a balancer, okay…but then never portrayed it just did to show how gerodi overcame his disabilities and gets on with it like a good soldier. So yeh im mixed on it. They made great use in ep when it was hacked by cardassians this is the cool thing you can do with mobility aids (unless you just destroy them, fuck you then) and that was interesting for the time, but um then in he insolence of office the ebook gerodi forced to have his vizor REMOVED so he can stay in star fleet as its now a security risk- NOT OKAy you could have just had a redesign or a arc of gerodi having to fight for it if you must but no , brain surgery remove this part of you!!

(gif desicription men seeing tea they drink is funky to show how gross what they did to gerodi waas)

so yeh my ending take is gerodi is complicated overall that’s still a positive over most disabled rep in sci-fi but many mistakes were made and some part of gerodi was harmful and picard sure as hell didn’t address that. They show his eyes now but its still the white cloudy trope and knowing its for awful reasons kidna ruins that. So I hope my art here just shows his potential and blind eyes diversity, but opens up discussions in not fixing and overcoming can be toxic and that

pain is part of a disability its part of the rep and it sucks

this is very important to remember when depicting disability that there’s nuance guys.

Thank you

Levar burton on gerodi: https://boundingintocomics.com/2021/12/15/star-trek-the-next-generation-star-levar-burton-says-geordi-laforge-never-finding-love-was-racist-those-white-men-who-wrote-the-show-had-an-unconscious-bias-that-was-on-display-to-me-and-to/

#digital art #artists on tumblr #disabled representation #disability inclusion #disability aids #disabled #star trek #star trek fanart #star trek fandom #geordi la forge #gerodi vizor #star trek picard #star trek next gen #star trek tng #image description in piece

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maple-the-awesome · 1 year

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We'll Meet Again...I Know When || Chapter 18

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x GN Reader

Words: 3,462

Overview: Given your old-fashioned personality and obsession with all things 1940s to 1980s, it’s no wonder that most people refer to you as an ‘old soul’ who would’ve rather lived back then than in the modern era. Little do they know, you already did, but with your previous life as Hollie Stark cut short, you’ve been left with some…unfinished business, to say the least. Top of your list? Finally getting to marry your thought-to-be-lost fiancé.

Series Masterlist 🤎 Marvel Masterlist 🤎 Fandom Masterlist

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: FIGHT OR FLIGHT

Clearly, Steve has never been on a family road trip before; a fact that you had become painfully aware of (literally) while squished in the backstreet of the tiniest getaway car ever 'borrowed'.

"I think we're all adults here," he assured, but he's awfully quiet now as he has been for the last thirty minutes. Only once did he meet your silent glare in the rearview mirror as you both suffered another round of bickering between Sam and Bucky. All adults? Well, he thought wrong.

Naturally, you're very happy for a chance to finally stretch your legs and breathe your own air while Steve meets with the rest of your little makeshift team of fugitives. Aside from Clint who you give a mock salute to as a greeting, you don't know the others personally, although you assume the girl must be the famous Wanda Maximoff Natasha's mentioned from time to time. As for the overly excited Captain America fan, you don't know who he's supposed to be, not that you won't likely find out later.

"There's still time to turn back," Bucky warns quietly, crossing his arms over the car roof.

You're leaning against it next to him, "Nope, you're stuck with me, Barnes. Wherever you go, I go."

He doesn't appear too disappointed, replying merely with a nod, yet his anxiety's clearly there. Whether it's because you guys could lose out there or the idea that all these people will be risking themselves for his sake, you're not sure, however you set a hand over his gently, something that's become your wordless language of comfort; he has no complaints.

A German voice echoes through the car lot, gaining everyone's attention including Steve's. He looks around uneasily which isn't surprising; even he must be worried regarding how this might play out, "Alright, that's our cue to get moving. Suit up."

As everyone begins passing out uniforms, you suddenly groan and rest your head against the car dramatically much to Bucky's concern, "What's wrong?"

"...It's only just now occurred to me that I've been wearing pajamas this entire time...I'm gonna be fighting, like, half the Avengers in my pajamas - and they're not even cool ones!" You whine, your face burning with embarrassment (and slight jealousy). It's amazing what goes unnoticed when you've been repeatedly attacked both physically and mentally throughout the last forty eight hours.

"Yeaaah, as much as I'd love to see you roundhouse kick someone with flannel pants on, Steve asked that I bring you a little something different," although your misery is apparently very amusing to watch, Clint takes pity upon you despite his smirk and grabs a stack of clothes from the back of his van.

This outfit certainly surpasses any expectation you had which only anticipated something simple and more dignified than pajamas. It consists of a black, long-sleeved jumpsuit with silver seams made from a flexible yet durable material completed with slim shoes built in. Set on top of the stack is a pair of fingerless gloves, a utility belt, and a small handle without any blade, however when Clint picks it up and turns one of the dials, a baton stick appears with a glow of blue electricity around it.

"Figured it was about time you got your own suit. No more fighting in formal work clothes or pajamas," Steve comments. When you look at him, you catch sight of the gentler glimmer hidden behind his amused smile. Bouncing on your heels, you happily thank both him and Clint before hurrying around the car to change.

"Alright, listen up everyone. The original plan was to take a chopper, but since Stark hasn't wasted any time getting here, we'll have to switch things up a bit. He likely has eyes all over the tarmac, so I'll be going out there on my own. When he confronts me, I'll keep him distracted for as long as possible. That'll hopefully give us time to see who else is here and gain an idea as to what his game plan must be. It'll also give us time to find out how he arrived since I refuse to believe Stark would take public air.

"The Quinjet is likely hidden around here somewhere. Sam, I want you to scout it out using Red Wing. Sneak inside the airport, taking cover there with Bucky and (Y/n) while you search. Wanda and Clint will keep an eye on the situation from the parking deck while Scott will cover me from nearby. Remain unnoticed until Sam locates the Quinjet. That's when we'll make a move for it."

Pinning down the Quinjet's location was the easy part, however getting to it would be far more challenging especially considering the party Tony's gathered.

Based on what you had overheard through the comms, Rhodey and Natasha have picked Tony's side along with the company of two newcomers, one being the same cat-guy who attacked Bucky back at the apartments. Earlier, Steve told you that his name's T'Challa and that his father was a causality in the UN bombing which explains that kitty's determination in stopping Bucky. You unfortunately have no information on the last person until hearing a thud against the airport windows.

Sam, Bucky, and you had already been running to hanger five when the person dressed in a red and blue spandex suit starts crawling across the glass after your trio. Before much can be said as a reaction, they push off then use their momentum to shatter through the window, ultimately kicking Sam across the hall; he only had time to brace himself for the impact.

Bucky spins around, blocking you while throwing a punch at Sam's attacker, however his fist is easily caught midair by the kid - yes, kid, judging on the youthful tone of his voice.

"Woah, you have a metal arm? That's so awesome, dude!"

Having someone easily stop the full force of a super soldier's punch takes Bucky off guard, leaving him dumbfounded for a pause which is long enough for Sam to recover. On his feet, he quickly charges at the boy - who seems to be spider themed provided the tiny spider design on his chest and web patterns of his suit - then lifts him into the air away from the two of you.

"Ugh, I can't believe Tony brought a child to a fight. The hell was he thinking!" You complain aloud, chasing after Sam and spider-boy with Bucky remaining close by your side.

They tussle with each other near the ceiling of the building, spider-boy eventually getting away, although that doesn't stop the fight as he pursues Sam by swinging on webs and weaving through the rafters. Meanwhile, Bucky and you aren't too far behind.

Even with the new weapon provided to you by Clint, there's nothing you can personally do to help given this fight's height, but the same doesn't apply to Bucky. Ripping an advertisement sign from the ground, he tosses it towards spider-boy, only hesitating afterwards when you give a shout of disapproval, yet the sign had already left his hands by that point. Fortunately, spider-boy turns around at just the right moment, leaping out of the way before he can be hit.

"Bucky!"

"What?!"

"He's a child-!"

"-Hey buddy, I think you lost this!" Your complaint is cut short when Bucky grabs your shoulders and pulls you against him behind a pillar. He leans over you, keeping you close as the sign is sent flying back towards the two of you with enough force to cut through the pillar mere inches away from Bucky's head.

Looking back at the damage, you shallow whatever concern you once had over the kid, deciding to worry less about morals right now and more about not being killed yourselves. Thus, when spider-boy's distracted by Sam, Bucky and you move to find cover elsewhere behind an information stall that isn't sliced in half.

As you both keep an eye on things from there and await an opening to help Sam, a web is shot at his gear, causing him to crash into a phone market below. Stumbling to his feet, he tries to engage again, however more webs are shot at his hands, sticking him down to the railing behind.

When the boy swings towards Sam with legs drawn forward in preparation to kick him, Bucky runs forward, attempting to shield Sam, not that it does too much good. Both men get kicked off the edge together, landing on ground-level where spider-boy then webs them to the floor.

You curse to yourself at this, crouching along the many chairs and stalls to quietly yet swiftly make your way to the paused elevators. You're thankful that, by the time you get down to them, Sam has used Red Wing to grab spider-boy and toss him out the window which will hopefully buy you guys time to at least get out of this cramped building.

"You guys okay?"

"I'll be better when I get this stuff off of me," Sam grumbles, unable to even sit up on his own due to both of his arms being practically glued together, "I don't even want to know what it is!"

Looking over the sticky substance with a scrunched nose, you realize there's no way it can simply be pulled off given its strength, "...Hold on, I have an idea."

Taking your baton, you mess with the dials a bit to get the exact setting you desire. At first, the same electric current from before appears with a sharp buzz causing Sam to jerk away and shake his head rapidly, "Oh no - No way! Do not electrocute me! If you're gonna run an experiment, test it on Bucky first!"

"Hey!"

"Just - Hold. Still. You won't get electrocuted-" Turning the dial all the way, the baton stick disappears, but leaves the blue current which pulls together with a blow of air, transforming into a blue flame. It surprises even you, being much too strong until you turn a second dial that brings the torch down, "-You'll get burned, but that's only the worst case scenario and if you move!"

Needless to say, your words bring Sam little comfort. Bucky, on the other hand, is very amused until it's his turn.

Racing onto the tarmac, it doesn't take long to spot the rest of your team. Everyone’s heading in the same direction with a concerning lack of any tails, however it doesn’t take long to find them. Seconds after making it out into the open, a golden ray burns through the cement, cutting off your paths.

The newcomer is yet another Avenger you haven’t met yet. If you had to guess, you'd say he must be Vision, your sort-of-grandnephew going off of what you've been told, but that's a looong headache of a story you're happy you weren't involved with judging on Natasha's account.

"Captain Rogers, I know you believe you're in the right here, however for the collective good, you must surrender now," the rest of the Avengers stand behind Vison, coming together as a barrier between you and the Quinjet.

"What's your call, Cap?"

"We fight," there's no hesitation in his voice nor feet as he begins marching forward despite this roadblock. The rest of you, while showing some concern, follow his lead.

Your pace starts out as a jog then slowly picks up speed until a full sprint towards Stark’s team, your speed mirrored by them as they, too, show no signs of backing down, fully intending to meet you head on which is precisely what they end up doing.

As expected, it's immediate chaos filled with flying fists, blasts, magic, and arrows; a whole collection of superhero powers coming together not to fight a crazed villain, but each other. It's an uncomfortable thought regardless of how many of these people are total strangers to you. If they're here helping Tony, they must be good at heart, after all, it's unfortunately your side that's made up of criminals.

You take some sort of solace in putting your arm up to block a kick to your face which seemed too lazy to actually carry any malice. It might not be appropriate provided the timing, yet you take zero shame in giving a friendly nod to the leg’s owner, “Hey Nat.”

"Hey," she swings her leg down, throwing a punch your way instead. She’s going easy on you - as easy as a black widow can go, anyways, since the force of her punch still burns against your palm when you catch it. She has to keep you on your toes, doesn’t she?

“I like the suit. Is it new?”

"First time wearing it!" You announce proudly, standing back while gesturing down your body. You punctuate your sentence by throwing a punch her way.

She dodges with ease. Grabbing your wrist and pulling you towards herself roughly, she pins your arm under hers, "Looks good."

"Thanks," she then tries to flip you, but you maneuver against her too quickly, grabbing hold of both her forearms to keep her at a distance. You both keep your grips on each other's arms, smirking the other down until Natasha suddenly pushes you back. A flash of light hits a few feet away, not close enough to be a danger to either of you, just to get your attention.

"Mind if I cut in?" Clint saunters over, nodding his head to the other side of the tarmac, "I think Barnes could use a new partner himself.”

Following his gaze, you realize he's right. T'Challa has Bucky alone, the two engaged in a close fist fight. Thus, you leave Natasha to Clint, rushing to grab your baton and reach Bucky's side. By the time you get there, T'Challa has him knocked down and pinned against a stack of crates.

His focus is taken, preventing him from noticing you until you swing the electrified baton square into his back. It’s plenty strong, resulting in his knees buckling and body freezing in place as he deals with the buzzing pain. Bucky then sweeps his legs out from under him, throwing him to the ground.

"You good?" You have to ask even if Bucky’s already on his feet ushering you away from the dangerous feline.

He gives quick assurance to his well being, the two of you disappearing behind equipment before anyone can attack either of you again. It's from there that you scan the makeshift battlefield, checking to see if anyone needs help, which seems to be the case for everyone really. Each fighter is occupied, running or zipping across the tarmac with someone always on their tail. No progress has been made towards the Quinjet; you’re still just as far as when Vison first appeared.

"We can't keep fighting them forever. That guy's probably in Siberia by now," Bucky points out, not that you need the extra stress.

Steve takes cover behind some equipment opposite to you two, "I'll cover you while you get to the jet-"

"-Steve, I don't think that's possible," you're quick to argue, "There’s too many eyes in the sky right now and they’re all looking for Bucky. Even if you go out there to fight some more, Tony’s not going to be fooled so easily. If it’s not him, then someone else will just blow past you to get to Bucky; you can’t keep them all at bay.”

"Look Cap, I think we have to face the fact that not all of us are going to get out here," Sam's voice echoes over your ear piece.

"If we're gonna win this, then some of us are going to have to lose it," Clint adds.

"If anyone’s getting on that jet, it at least has to be you and Bucky - (Y/n), too, if you think you can stick together that long."

“...The problem is, even with those who will stay behind as cover, we’re too equally matched to beat these guys. Slipping past isn’t reliable unless we can give Tony a concrete reason to turn his head," you cut in, catching Steve's eyes. He’s clearly not overjoyed about this condition, but not everything can end perfectly especially in a battle, "Right now, this fight alone isn't doing that. We need something bigger - a distraction none of them can't simply turn away from."

"I’ve got something bigger, but I can't hold it for long,” Scott offers, “On my signal, run like hell and if I end up tearing myself in half...Well, don't come back for me."

"How's that going to help us...? He’s going to tear himself in half?" Bucky whispers, but Steve brushes him off.

"You're sure about this, Scott?"

"Yeah, I do it all the time - Okay, once - in a lab...then I passed out...but don't worry! I've got this!"

"Where'd you find this guy again?" You ask, not receiving an answer. Maybe you wouldn't have liked it anyways.

Continuing to keep an eye out on the battlefield, you search for Scott's 'signal' which you assumed would be a shouted call or explosion knowing how Avengers usually work. 'Something bigger' only done in a lab before passing out…? Not a lot to go off of there.

Even if using more of your imagination, you certainly weren't expecting Scott to suddenly appear out of thin air nearly the size of one of the airplanes parked around. He grabs Rhodey mid-flight and tosses him across the airport which provides enough of a distraction (and a clear enough signal) for Steve, Bucky, and you to start running towards the Quinjet.

Trusting that Scott and others can cause enough mayhem to keep Tony’s team at bay, you ignore much of the crashing behind yourselves with eyes glued forward. Steve leads the way, easily forgetting that not everyone following him is a super soldier, although Bucky takes some more consideration for you, only running a foot or two ahead while looking back every few seconds to ensure you don't get separated.

You're almost there when a beam is sent flying past, hitting the tower above the hanger which sends it crashing down in a cloud of dust. For a handful of seconds, the debris pauses with the help of Wanda's red magic keeping it up, allowing you all just enough time to roll inside the hanger before the tower finally crashes down behind.

It seems like you're at last in the green, the tower’s destruction appearing to have successfully blocked anyone else from getting over too quickly, however not everyone missed your plan until now.

Standing between you three and the Quinjet is Natasha who steps forward with a tired sigh, "You're not gonna stop, are you?"

"You know I can't," Steve answers, his voice sympathetic at the least.

Natasha then glances at you. You don't say anything, but you don't need to since your eyes do enough pleading as does the image of you standing beside Bucky. Your stance does waiver when put up against one of your closest friends, yet it’s clear that you have no intentions of abandoning him even for her.

Natasha had always been your friend, but your bond had grown much stronger once she became the only person you’ve ever trusted with Hollie. After listening to your stories and woes for the last two years, she’s come to understand the inner turmoil you suffer from, often in silence.

As crazy as it had been to accept back then, she now realizes the true extent of challenges encountered by someone with their past life’s memories. She knows it hasn’t been easy for you - far from it - and she knows how much joy it’s brought you being able to be with Bucky again. He had been tragedy ripped away from you in the past without any form of goodbye; as someone who knows all too well what that feels like from their own personal experience, Natasha can’t blame you for holding onto him so tightly even if it divides you from your other friends and family.

Shaking her head slightly, she returns her gaze to Steve, raising her arm in his direction, "...I'm going to regret this."

You inhale, preparing for the heartache that would come with a loss, however Natasha doesn't shoot a taser at Steve. Instead, it goes past him, hitting a different target: T'Challa who had just made his way over the debris, prepared to lunge before Natasha's betrayal which stops him in his tracks.

"Go."

Steve and Bucky take this chance without hesitation, rushing to get on the Quinjet, yet you stay temporarily, long enough to show your relief through an airy voice, "I'm really racking up my debt to you, Nat."

"And I still plan to cash in on it some day," she winks, returning your genuine smile before you hurry after the boys. You have a long flight to make, after all.

NEXT CHAPTER➡️

⬅️PREVIOUS CHAPTER

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ash-and-books · 2 years

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Rating: 5/5

Book Blurb: On the night of the blood moon, the Vampire Lord must die. Floriane's position as the forge maiden of Hunter's Hamlet is one of reverence, for it is her skill that arms and protects the vampire hunters. She knows her place and is a faithful servant to the Master Hunter and her community... until the night of the blood moon. Until her brother is dying at the hands of the Vampire Lord Ruvan. Wanting to defend her home at all costs, Floriane fights the vampire lord, ready to give her life if it means taking his. But Ruvan doesn't want to take her life... he wants her. Kidnapped and brought to the vampire castle, Floriane is now blood sworn to the vampire lord. She is bound in mind and body to her worst enemy. But Ruvan isn't the fiend she thought he was. She learns the truth of the vampires: They are not mindless monsters, but a proud people, twisted and tortured by an ancient curse. Ruvan believes that Floriane might be the key to ending his people's suffering. All Floriane wants is to defend her home. Loyalties are tested and the lines between truth and lie, hate and passion, are blurred. When her dagger is at his chest, will she be able to take the heart of the man who has claimed hers? A darkly-reimagined Snow White meets inspiration from Beauty and the Beast in an epic fantasy world of hunters, vampires, and curses that run deeper than blood. This stand alone is complete with a "happily ever after" ending. It's perfect for fantasy romance fans looking for just the right amount of steam and their next slow-burn and swoon worthy, enemies to lovers story. While it is set in the Married to Magic universe, readers can start with this book

Review:

“I might be the forge maiden, but I am no delicate flower. I am as cold as silver. As strong as iron. I will bend for destiny, but not for any man.”

Hunters, vampires, an ancient curse, a blood oath, and a forbidden romance come together in this gorgeous darkly re-imagined Snow White meets Beauty and the Beast. Floraine is a forge maiden for the Hunter’s Hamlet, she was raised to make weapons for the hunters to hunt vampires, and her entire life has been spent listening to the wills of others and having no choice of her own, not even in who she can marry. Her only solace is her family, her mother who was a forge maiden before her and her brother who is a Hunter. But on the night of a blood moon she sees her brother dying at the hands of the Vampire Lord Ruvan and decides to do whatever it takes to protect her home... even taking a forbidden elixir and going head on with the vampire lord. However, Ruvan doesn’t want to kill her in fact he wants her. He kidnaps her and brings her back to the vampire castle and he explains his true motives: he needs a human’s help in breaking the curse placed on him and his people...a cursed they believe to have been placed on them by the hunters. Ruvan and Floraine make a bloodsworn oath: she will help break the curse and not harm him or those loyal to him and he will not harm her or even come back to the Hamlet in exchange. The more time she spends with Ruvan and his covenant the more she is realizing that everything she was taught to believe about them is not true, that they aren’t mindless creatures after blood... and that there is something much darker going on here. The more time she spends with Ruvan the more she begins to question the line between hatred and love and what is the truth and what is a lie. This was the perfect blend of enemies to lovers with slow burn romance and high stakes quest. Ruvan and Floraine have to honestly question their entire histories and beliefs of what they know, and face new emotions and feelings, they have to find the bond that is deeper than blood and truly see one another for who they are. Ruvan was honestly so swoon worthy, he’s kind, supportive, patient, and my all time favorite thing: CONSENT. He is constantly checking in on Floraine and asking her if she is okay with things and that is just perfection to me. So yes, this is definitely one of my favorites from the series ( though it can be read as a standalone but I HIGHLY RECOMMEND ALL THE BOOKS) and I can’t wait to see what book Elise Kova writes next in this series!

*Thank you to Elise Kova for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

#book review #bookish #fantasy romance #book #elise kova #married to magic #romance book #romance read

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margaret-diaries · 2 years

Text

Final Wind

October 13, 2022

I always wonder how it feels like to die.

What would be my last thought as I grasp my final breath? What would I see as I shut my eyes, and cease to exist forever? Will there be nothingness, or heaven or hell waits for me? Does the afterlife truly exist?

As life unfolds, I became more scared of living than dying. Living feels like dying, and maybe dying feels liberating.

I always wonder how some people love to live when living is just synonymous with suffering. I feel bad for newborns, and children, for they have no idea what's waiting for them. They have no idea life will be like this. And when I say "this", you know what I mean.

I wonder why people fear death when living is more frightening. This is why I feel admiration for the older fellows, it must have been hard living for so long. Every wrinkle, and a silver strand of their hair, tells a story. But I wonder, how would you know if you lived your life?

I wonder why people pity those who die young and are a blessing when people live long.

I wonder what people are praying for before they sleep, what do they long for? What do they yearn for the most in life?

I mean why are we on earth anyway.

Why do we need to live and strive? That would probably be my question if God is just a stranger sitting on a bus.

We all have missions on earth, as they say. But what could it be, and why would it end your hopes and dreams, in a snap, when heaven decides it's done?

I remember a professor of mine died a year ago, he studied, dreamed, worked for a couple of years, and then die. What mission did he accomplish? I wonder. He was just 24 years old. Just starting to build his life. Or the father who died across from our house, he's just starting to create his family, but he died. Poor little daughters, life snatched their dad.

I might sound pessimistic and suicidal, but I am not just a fan of life, but I still do it anyway. Or maybe I fear to live because I don't want to witness people I love grabbed away from me. Maybe this is one of the reasons, why I am so ready to go anytime. However, these people dying everywhere, make me realize I won't be here for too long too.

It's thinking that there's an end that makes me want to live.

And if God is real, and we meet someday, I want to tell Him, I lived my life. I tried to be better. I tried to outgrow the unpleasant versions of myself that some probably met. If we are different from different individuals, I want to create more versions that contribute values, love, peace, and joy, while I still exist.

The universe knows my heart. And my heart only beats for a life that's lived. So if the last wind brushes my being, I can shut my world with so much gratitude and peace.

Love, Margaret

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imperiuswrecked · 2 years

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Ok. So this is what I see a long-standing issue is with the X-Men and by addition lots of comic books. Now it is the nature of what they are less than the shortcomings of writers.

Magneto was not Magneto in his first appearances. Not the Magneto we know him today. I started reading from the start but have paused that venture. There in the first issues were laid the foundations of the character of Magneto and the themes which will follow for years.

Wanda and Pietro were supposed to be the same age as the X-Men kind of the opposite of the X-Men but also not.

So 1963 Magneto actions don’t meld well with post 1980 Magneto. Of course it is canon so to ignore it would create its own issue.

Do I think Magneto would have made the twins work for him always? Yes. Do I think he would have showed them the extent of brutal treatment that he did? Probably not.

We know that when he thinks he killed Kitty it destroyed him and started him on a redemption arch. It caused a visceral traumatic reaction. I do think they try and show how much Magneto connected with Wanda in Avengers Origins even the ending making it look like he is looking for them out of a feeling they’re family. Looking longingly at the photo of Anya and Magda.

So writers even fic writers are kind of in this situation where they need to keep this part of his character due to canon even though it doesn’t completely mesh with his now established origins/character.

It’s a hard job. I think a lot fic writers ignore that Magneto because they don’t know him especially if they only read the Avengers origins title. They like the 90s and those moments where the crux of the issue is that he chooses mutantdom over them. I think a lot people want better for the Mag Fam which is why the relationship is so hard to read. They want better for a family that have suffered so much.

They don’t want Magneto to be totally cut off from his children and they don’t want a Pietro/Wanda to have a Father they feel doesn’t love them. I am not a fluff fan and I think a Mag Fam central book is long overdue.

But I still don’t like HoM personally and what it did. My interpretation is that Pietro went to Magneto at the start because he thought he’d be the only one to do what it takes to save Wanda. I think there was a flicker in Pietro that no matter how much he may dislike/have disdain for him, he must love/care for Wanda enough to do anything.

There are many Magnetos and the first iteration of Magneto has not stuck. His villain role had its nuances but was still very Saturday morning special. Again I don’t think he would have been nurturing Father figure to them, don’t get me wrong but I don’t think he’d have treated children being persecuted the way he did.

I do think a lot of post 2000 X-Men writing of Magneto was down to the film and heck even post 1993/1994 Magneto was based around the animated series and the way he was portrayed there. His portrayal there was as a baddie still nuanced but a clear villain.

In the end navigating comics is hard but I struggle myself with the original plot points and how they play into the now established character.

This is a very interesting read and I agree with you on some points but on others I have to disagree.

First off, yes I agree there is a change in Magneto's character over the decades, most well rounded characters change and grow into fuller versions of themselves.

The intention behind Magneto's early appearances was very Silver Age villainy, he was meant to embody the opposite ideas of Professor X and though both are working towards the sme goal, they had different ways of approaching it. Meanwhile The Maximoff Twins were meant to be reluctant villains from the start, iirc there was an interview where Stan Lee talked about that. So right away we have them barely tolerating Magneto, the foundation from the start is unstable.

However I disagree that he would not have put the Twins through his harsh commands/actions if he had known because Erik was still in a place of a lot of emotional pain. The Avengers Origins: Scarlet Witch & Quicksilver was definitely an attempt to soft retcon the harshness of 60s/70s Magneto.

Magneto's slow transformation from all out villain to anti hero took decades, and usually Marvel likes to press the big old reset button on things like that like they do for Doctor Doom, yet Magneto's change is something that if today Marvel attempts to reset him back into the 60s era would be very jarring for readers but maybe something traumatic happening to him could possibly make it less so. However I think it would be extremely stupid of Marvel to ever revert him back to that era because it would make his character diminish in his richness and growth.

Magneto did not start out Jewish, it was something that was added much later, and it has a lot to do with his change.

I know not all the fans even read the comics, many fans like to take things out of context, or they are simply unaware of the context. Many fans re only movie fans but add in some comic lore because we don't have a live action Magnet Family, and I do not count that whitewashed mess of a character called Peter in the XMCU, nor those sisters he has. The MCU Twins are also whitewashed and completely divorced from their comic origins. So we have people pushing this very Fanon version of Magnet Family because it's more fun or easier to understand than their complex familial relationships.

The 90s is the era where the Magnet Family has the most interaction so even if comic fans ignored the Silver Age and focused on Bronze Age Magneto onward, we still have how his character acted in the 90s. He does choose mutantdom over them, Magneto: Dark Seduction #3

And we have the Twins clearly stating how they feel towards him.

Magneto: Dark Seduction #4

Magneto never treated his kids as being persecuted, he simply used them as he has others, to achieve his goals.

While I agree that Magneto has changed, and become more multi layered, to ignore his less than pleasant side/past is to ignore just how dangerous he was and is and can be.

As for your interpretation of Pietro, while I agree every fan had their own way of reading things, it is clear that he arrived at the Avengers first before the scene where he begs for Erik's help in House of M.

Avengers Disassembled #5

We know this because he mentions to Erik that he was just there and they are plotting Wanda's death which he only could have learned if he went to them first.

House of M (2005) #7

Polaris does not have as much baggage with Magneto as the Twins but she does have her own journey where she struggles.

And I agree, comics are very hard, and trying to figure out characters is like a puzzle, it's something I enjoy but I know not all fans are as obsessive over the details and getting the characters close to their comic selfs as I am. However the constant thing I see in fandom is how often all this soap opera drama is often ignored or downplayed by fans when it comes to character meta and I have seen people over the years try to force Magnet Family Fanon over the place of Canon or get upset when it's pointed out that in Canon they are not a close family unit at all.

Every fan is free to have their fanon and how they view the Magnet Family. Heck, they can even throw out whatever Canon they don't like to fit their fanfics because they want to. I never have issues with that of course. However usually when I do talk about the Magnet Family I take them as they are, the good and the bad, even if at time I have different aus for them in my fics.

I find this family so interesting and it's why I love to discuss them with others, so thank you for your ask!

#erik lensherr #magneto #pietro maximoff #quicksilver #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #lorna dane #polaris #magnet family #long post #meta #imp answers

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onyxheartbeat · 3 years

Text

Dear HIM/Ville Valo fans,

this is a long post but I must discuss this.

________

I came across this interview of Kat Von D from a few days ago. Before I get into my thoughts, below is a passage from her old book “Go Big or Go Home” which you may or may not have read. She wrote about Ville:

________

“I only knew his music, and I loved it on first listen. It was dark and it was beautiful. It was metal and it was poetry. It was love loaded into a gun, and I wondered about the man behind the songs. Two years later, our paths crossed, and like the majority of the connections I’ve made in life, tattooing brought us together. Through our first tattoo sessions, we began to get to know each other. For the next few years, I just thought of him as my friend from overseas, and that was all. Then, after knowing him for six years, something changed. It could have been the wine, the music, or the moon. Most likely it was just perfect timing. Just one kiss, and he changed my world. We were both sad back then, and lost. I was depressed, having finally ended a marriage that had been doomed from the beginning. I was also dealing with the pressures of filming a television show, which was totally new to me - and drinking my way blindly through it all. His story mirrored mine, and he had been feeling just as low. We had been waiting for something to happen, for someone or something to come along and save us from ourselves. And when it suddenly seemed that that someone was each other, it took us both by surprise. We shared darkness, and doing that bought light back into our somber worlds: for once, we didn’t feel alone.He’s the reason why I wanted to write music to begin with - and learn to sing. I remember the exact moment I made up my mind about making music. It was something I felt I needed to do, not for any reason other than a way to respond to him. It didn’t matter if the songs I’d write never saw the light of day, as long as he was able to listen to my music, my message to him. He had told me to look for a package at my door step, prefacing the delivery of the contents, his new album, saying, “These are all of the things that are easier sung than said.”I knew what he meant, but never imagined that each song would be filled with direct messages to me. I put the album on, and the music rushed out of the speakers and filled my house. His voice rang all around, making it’s way to the core of my heart with every word he sang. As cryptic as those lyrics may have been for anyone else, I knew exactly what each word meant and recognized every event and place he referred to. The songs were so beautiful, I just wished so badly that he could have said everything out loud just once to me. How should I respond to something like this? Where do I even start?The first time I saw him after I got sober, he was in town working on music. We sat in my office at the shop until the late hours of the night, talking and catching up about everything - music, home, art and work. Did we talk about love? No. We constantly danced around our past instead. What happened to us? I couldn’t find the courage to ask because I was scared of the answer I already knew. We decided to draw, with pencils and paper in front of us, we sat at opposite ends of the table. He pulled my three-minute timer from one of the nearby shelves, and placed it at the center of the table. He suggested we draw each other, and I was game. With a flip of the hourglass, the grains of sand moved from one vessel to the other, and we began.Sketching these timed portraits forced us to stare at each other, making it practically impossible to focus on the drawing itself. I had almost forgotten how beautiful his face was. He has a combination of eyes, lips, and a darkness to his looks that makes him look almost otherworldly. With him, I felt like I was at the center of an orderly, tranquil, magnificent universe. For those short three minutes, there were no questions about life or purpose. It was as if we never needed any more from each other than this.Like all people, I’ve suffered from love sickness and tasted the pain of love. The theatrical director of my mind, the one who staged all these versions of him and my life with him, seemed to be unaffected by reason. I was finding myself constantly day dreaming of the past.His eyes, his hands, his crooked smile - I’d ruminate over his features. Things he said. Things he did. Things he wrote. Things he drew. Things he sang. Over and over again, I’d sift through these images and memories as if they somehow contained the answer to my prayers. But I was living with a long-age memory of him; living so far away from the present moment.If we had spoken about what we were or what we thought we were, back when we got sober, I wouldn’t have been so confused, wandering what if, and writing the rest of our story in my mind. What did I expect? For him to magically not hear about me being in a relationship? And to not be bothered by it? If only he would have asked….. I would have….. If we could have only talked….. then things would be….. if we allowed ourselves to transform our fears of being open, vulnerable, then, I’d convince myself, we would be together. I realized that none of that mattered now. If I wanted to be free of this unrequited longing, I would have to make peace with the past and finally let it go. There was no way around it. But did I want to be free of it? - and him?I listened to one of his songs the other day. Out of all the songs he wrote on that album, this one was the most direct. He sings my name in the chorus. By the time the song is over, I’ve felt a range of emotions - I’m sad but happy, frustrated but calm. He sings about how I alone bring him to a place of stillness and peace within when we are together. What a victorious feeling - to enter into a place with him where no one else has been. To be able to bring goodness to and draw it out of someone. Those sweet thoughts were interrupted by an e-mail from him. Impeccable timing as always. It’s just a short note, letting me now he’s somewhere out there, thinking of me. He ends the message by calling me “Star Face” - his pet name for me from long ago that no one else uses. At that moment, I loathe him for it. I loathe him because I love him. Sometimes it feels like it would be so much easier to walk away from this if he’d just tell me that he hates me, that he wants nothing to do with me. But instead he calls me “Star Face.” There is no way he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s not letting go, either.‘Ultimately, it is the desire, not the desired, that we love.’The silver plane hurtled over Newfoundland, over the Labrador sea. Someone told me I might see the northern lights as I fly east and north, but I wouldn’t have noticed as I was deep in writing the letter that I had already mentally composed long before I decided to make this trip to see him over New Year’s Day. I didn’t have to edit myself this time, I knew exactly what the letter would say.I reread the note to myself before sealing the envelope. Then I drew out the first letter of his name in pencil on the front. What a beautiful letter it was, probably my favorite out of the entire alphabet. A letter I was so used to writing myself. With ease the swirls and curves of each arch seemed to flow from my heart, my mind’s eye, drawn in and through my arms to my hands, releasing themselves onto the pale ivory paper envelope. My plane landed soon after.I had missed this country, I had missed him, too. I wondered how time had treated him ,for it had been a few years since I had last seen him. I wondered if I still had the ability to quiet his heart when he was feeling manic. He always said I had a way of doing that when I was near. And I wondered if he even needed me in that way anymore.When we met up, he looked just as beautiful as the day we saw each other for the first time, almost ten years before. And as if no time had passed, we started right where we left off - hours flew by in the comfort of each other’s presence. Talking. Catching up.He asked if I was getting sleepy, and my attempt at concealing the tiredness was transparent. I looked at the clock; maybe it was the jet lag or the clock hands pointing to midnight, but I knew it was time to say good-bye. Reluctantly, we both stood up and tried our best to part ways. As good as it felt to be near him again, I gave him the letter I had written letting him know that I was letting the nation of us go. He took the sealed envelope, and then I watched him walk away for what I assumed would be the last time.My heart didn’t belong locked up in a tower across the ocean from my home. It belonged in my chest, beating, living, feeling, sometimes hurting, but always loving. I deserved to be free, and understanding and needing that more than a dream, I was finally able to let him go.”

_________

Now, let me start by saying, I’ve never understood this and I still don’t. I’ve had that passage saved in my drafts for years because I keep almost anything pertaining to Ville.

I’ve been a HIM fan since I was about 15 years old, and have followed Ville’s life and work closely. The friendship between them was always apparent to HIM fans in those days, because we saw her in photos with the band often. I used to watch Miami Ink and LA Ink as regularly as pretty much anyone in those days, and I remember when this particular passage of her book was brought to light, the HIM fan base read it and we all had our thoughts. We were all aware of Screamworks being written about Kat (it’s obvious in the lyrics of the album) even though Ville never specifically said Kat’s name when asked about it in interviews.

I remember being baffled back when we as HIM fans discovered this passage from the book. I couldn’t imagine not making that relationship work if it was true love. I’m a bit biased because I adore Ville and he’s like a dream to me, but I just couldn’t understand it. It seemed like she took the relationship for granted or she didn’t love him enough to make it work; but I digress. I get it; love and relationships are complex.

Still, flash forward to this recent interview (the screenshot), she says it was unrequited love, and I’m still not understanding it. Why release all the songs now? Why didn’t she make it work if it was true love? Who is she trying to say was the one not reciprocating (as the word “unrequited” suggests) in the relationship? I don’t understand any of it. More than anything, I’ve had so many questions that I wish I could ask Ville about it all because he only spoke briefly about it all, and it was always rather cryptic.

I’m only writing this as a HIM fan, and because I love Ville and his lyrics on Screamworks so, so much (it’s an extremely underrated album in the HIM discography, in my opinion) so I’m letting any fellow HIM lovers know she wrote an album in response to it, in case you’re interested. I haven’t followed Kat or her work in many years, so I don’t know what to make of all this, but it’s always been extremely apparent to me when listening to Screamworks that a lot of heart went into it and even pain, not that his lyrics on other albums aren’t like that too, but I felt it more on Screamworks. I feel that Ville was the one who was truly heartbroken.

You all probably know from following my blog that I’m obsessed with love and unrequited love. Any romantic stories, bittersweet letters, heartbreak, longing etc. is just my favorite thing in the world so please excuse the long post, haha.

#ville valo #him #h.i.m.#h.i.m #him band #screamworks #his infernal majesty

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trashmenofmarvel · 3 years

Text

Branded - Chapter 57 (Final)

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You find your relic.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

AO3

You’d only been to the ancient Sanctum a few times, with strict access to the library for your studies and nowhere else, and normally you would be excited to visit the unofficial headquarters of the Mystic Arts.

But now, as you followed Wong to the room of portals that would lead to the Nepal sanctum, your stomach twisted and your heart raced. You couldn’t even enjoy the fact this was where Strange had gone on his near-disastrous pilgrimage. The idea of the Ancient One kicking him out on his ass was an entertaining one, though you were still glad she eventually trained him. As irritated as you were about a lot of things regarding the former surgeon, he and Wong both had taught you nearly everything you knew.

Plus, you’d seen the scars on his hands. As arrogant and egotistical as he appeared, Strange had suffered to get where he was. Not unlike yourself. Not unlike Bucky.

The Orb of Agamotto hung within the circular room where other sorcerers consulted with it, verifying that the magical Earthly shields were still intact. Past them were three doors leading to the other sanctums, including the one in Kathmandu.

You and Bucky followed Wong through, the familiar feeling of displacement shifting your stomach and throwing you off balance for a moment. Neither Wong nor Bucky were as unsteady as you were. It had been something you were embarrassed about, but according to Strange during one of your lessons, it simply meant you were more sensitive to spatial displacement.

As Wong led you both through the ancient stone hallways, past the commons where other sorcerers were in training, doubt crept along your nerves. Someday, possibly sooner than you were prepared, all of these people were going to follow you. Look to you for guidance, for teaching. For protection.

How were you supposed to become the next Ancient One if you couldn’t even walk through a portal without getting dizzy?

This wasn’t going to work. The idea was crazy enough to begin with. The Ancient One had to be wrong. You were going to step into her office and nothing would happen. You would make a fool of yourself; you weren’t any more talented or skilled than any other sorcerer. Just half a year ago, you’d had no idea demons and magic were even real.

And now, you were expected to carry on the mantle as one of the most powerful sorcerers on Earth? How was that even possible? How could you ever be worthy enough to—

Wong opened a door using a complicated series of hand gestures, and as soon as you stepped through, your panicked mind fell silent. Energy thrummed along your skin, setting the hairs upright.

“Here it is.”

Wong’s announcement was unnecessary; you would know this place in your dreams, even though you had never been.

It was a simple room with a single large, circular window pointed towards the mountains over the city. Potted plants perched on most available surfaces that weren’t covered with books, scrolls, and odd knickknacks.

There was only a single writing desk pushed to the side, humble and unobtrusive. The rest of the room was empty space with a single well-worn green rug in the middle. But the plants made everything seem alive and verdant. It felt very much like a place the Ancient One would spend her time. It was a reflection of her, in a way. Quiet, but hidden with secret truths.

“Take a look around,” Wong said, but you were already moving. Slowly and with intense focus, you circled the room, reaching out and feeling, not with your hands but with your mind.

Odd and powerful energy pervaded the room, muted by spells but still apparent to you. They were coming from the artifacts that were laid out, seemingly casually, on the shelves and desks.

Most of them seemed as plain and unimportant as the room itself. A cracked vase with the lip stained red. A golden helmet that was varnished and faded, but two glittering horns jutted from the temples. A knobby staff with a smooth, grey stone fixed at one end, as modest as any walking stick except for the melodic hum that emanated from the stone. You had a feeling neither Wong nor Bucky could hear it.

But despite all the weird, wonderful oddities in your reach, you were drawn elsewhere. You approached one corner of the room where lay a pile of old scrolls and their cloth wrappings, and moved them aside with care to reveal what was hidden underneath.

It was a sword hilt. Just the hilt. There was no blade, not even a piece of broken metal. The metal was dulled with time and flaked with rust, the pommel grey and dirty.

You reached out and hesitated. Fingertips inches away, something stopped you. The knowledge that once you took hold of the relic, everything would change.

You glanced over your shoulder at Bucky.

He was watching you with close attention, as was Wong, but when he caught your eye he gave a small smile of encouragement. He supported you, even though he had to know what this meant, or at least had a good idea of it.

Not every sorcerer found their relic within the Ancient One’s study.

Comfort and warmth, so strong it could only be described as love, flooded across the bond and washed away your fears. You returned his smile, even if it was shaky, and you held on to that feeling as you turned back to the hilt.

You closed the distance, wrapped your fingers around the relic, and lifted it.

It was surprisingly heavy; that was your only observation before it began. The hilt thrummed in your palm, vibrating so fast you nearly dropped it.

The rust flaked away from the metal, leaving it polished and silver. The grey pommel was shaken of its dirt, and you realized it was white bone, the metal wrapping around it to form the grip and crossguard.

The thrumming didn’t stop, but you couldn’t let go even if you wanted to. Your fingers seized around the metal, energy teeming up your hand and arm. When it reached your right shoulder, all the way up to your pentagram, the sigil burned in a way it hadn’t done since the ritual.

Bucky must have sensed your panic because he rushed forward, but you backed away from him fast, instinct screaming at you to put a safe distance between you now.

It was a good thing you had; the energy from your sigil exploded down your arm, through your hand, and into the hilt. A burst of red light shot outward, forcing you to turn away from the blinding beam.

When the light dimmed and you could see again, blinking away the after images, you stared at the sword. That’s what it was now. A glowing red blade, seemingly made entirely of light. The energy that came from it was purely of the demon realm, scorching and sulfuric.

“What…” You choked the words past your dry throat. “What is this?”

There were only a handful of times you’d ever seen Wong shocked. So, that was three powerful sorcerers you’d rendered speechless in the span of a day.

“The blade of Hell, or so it is spoken. None in the history of the order had been able to unlock its powers, rendering it anything more than a broken hilt.” He leveled you with a somber stare. “It is called Daemonio Vexatur. Which means—“

“—to become a demon.”

Wong raised a brow.

“Rough translation, but yes.”

“So, it’s a demon sword?” asked Bucky, eyeing the glowing blade. He was understandably wary, and honestly, was accepting what was happening better than you were. You were still stuck on the fact that you were holding a glowing-freaking-sword in your hand.

“Yes. And no,” Wong said in traditional teaching-fashion. “A demon cannot wield it, but it takes demonic energy to power.”

“Oh. So that’s why my sigil and my entire arm feel like they’re on fire.”

Bucky’s mouth opened and he took a step forward, protectiveness sizzling along the bond, and you gave him a hurried smile.

“Kidding. Sort of.” You smiled wider through your clenched teeth. “It is really uncomfortable.”

Bucky’s dark look told you he didn’t believe you, and with what you imagined was coming from your end of the bond, you didn’t blame him. Holding the sword was like holding on to a live wire that was also burning. There was a molten jolt connecting the hilt to your sigil, and you were just hoping to not get incinerated in the process.

And just like that, the connection was gone, and the relief of your arm no longer being on fire was dimmed by the disappointment as the sword was extinguished, leaving nothing more than a gleaming hilt.

“What happened?” You frowned, eyeing the relic as if searching for an on switch.

“It will take time and training to effectively control your relic.”

“How long?” You looked up when Wong didn’t answer immediately, catching the serious dent in his brow.

“It’s hard to say. No one in living memory has wielded the blade, and it was believed no one ever would.”

Wong gave a heavy sigh.

“So of course, you would be the one to wield it.”

You returned your gaze to the relic and turned over the hilt in your hand, admiring the metal and bone. You wondered if the bone was from a demon, a safe bet considering.

“So.” You carefully put down the hilt and turned to give Bucky your best serious face. “How does it feel to have a wizard girlfriend with a lightsaber?”

Wong rolled his eyes. He knew you well enough by now to know what you were doing, but he didn’t comment on your attempts to over your fear with humor. He muttered something about reporting to Strange as he left the office.

But Bucky…

Worry and fondness conflicted across the bond, struggling to coexist. He stepped forward, the green cloth tunic he’d found in one of the drawers of your room stretched unfairly tight across his chest. It was the largest he could find in a hurry, and it was nearly enough to distract you from your own anxieties.

“I think…” Bucky wrapped his arm around you, drawing you into an embrace that you melted into easily. “That I’m scared for you. I’m confused as hell what this means, and I’m guessing this isn’t going to make your life any easier or less complicated. But… I’m also proud of you.”

You could sense the pride easily, but Bucky was trying to bury the fear that was close to terror. He truly was scared of what this meant. You were too, and the Ancient One’s words weighed heavily on your shoulders.

There was a questioning feeling tugging at your thoughts, and you remembered too late that Bucky could sense the same anxiety, even if he didn’t have all the details. So you smoothed out your tumultuous thoughts and covered them the best way you knew how.

“You say that to all the wizard girlfriends.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“That is what swords do.”

Bucky pulled back far enough to stare at you with narrowed eyes, but when he touched his horns to yours it was with such gentleness that you nearly forgot to breathe. But breathe you did, drinking in his familiar, soothing scent and allowed the tension to drain from your muscle.

“We should head back.” Bucky said after a moment of intimate, comfortable silence in which you finally relaxed. “Got a bastard to catch.”

You reluctantly let go first, knowing he was right and you couldn’t stay here forever. Turning toward the sword hilt, you reached for it and paused. You took a small detour and picked up an old, ratty cloth nearby and carefully wrapped the relic within. Until you had a better grasp of how to wield the sword, it was probably a wiser idea to not handle it directly. You had no idea if it was sentient like Strange’s cloak, and it would be better not to accidentally set it off. Slicing off your own leg was a poor way to convince anyone that you were the next Ancient One.

On your journey back down the halls toward the portal door, Bucky said, “So… what are you going to name it?”

He smiled at your sideways glance.

“All cool swords get a name. It’s kind of a universal rule.”

Maybe you didn’t know Bucky as well as you thought you did, because you had no idea he was such a damn nerd.

“Yeah? You’ll have to bestow all your sword knowledge on me.”

“Is that a sexual innuendo?”

“It is now.”

Bucky’s smile died on his lips when you were no longer at his side. He paused and looked back where you had stopped at the threshold to the portal room.

“What if I can’t do this?” The doorway before you was no longer just a doorway. It was an insurmountable hurdle, and your feet wouldn’t budge from the floor. “What if I fail?”

Bucky approached slow and steady, his expression gentle and fond.

“You won’t. You’re too stubborn to fail.” A warm hand softly cupped your cheek, his human one, and you leaned into it. He laughed silently at your predictable need to be touched, but his expression faded into something more serious. “But on the very slim chance you do, then you get back up and you start again. Just as you always have.”

Your stomach fell. Bucky couldn’t understand what failure meant in your case. You didn’t even know what it meant, but you could guess. If you failed to be the Ancient One everyone needed… then there might not be any second chances.

Bucky wrapped you in his arms one more time, undoubtedly sensing his words of encouragement hadn’t hit as effectively as he’d wanted.

“Whatever this means, you finding that relic… Whatever happens when we find Zemo...” Bucky’s voice was deep in his chest, a rumbling sound that never failed to comfort you. “I’ll be here.”

You returned his embrace, gripping him tightly as you pressed your cheek against his chest.

“I know.”

And you did, too. Bucky would be there for you. Not because he was compelled to be, and not out of a sense of duty or guilt to protect you. He would be by your side by choice.

And that fact made Zemo’s escape, the Ancient One’s words, and your own self-doubt a little easier to bear. Because you and Bucky would weather it.

Together.

“When wounds are healed by love, the scars are beautiful.” –David Bowles

#branded #demon!bucky x reader #demon!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #my writing #my fanfiction

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honeymoonjin · 4 years

Text

𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: fanboy!taehyung x artist!reader

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 13.7k

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: still bitter about a scandal that ruined your painting career, you’re recommended a getaway by your therapist to a small island off the coast of seoul. expecting a tranquil location to wallow in self-pity, you’re startled when on your first night, you encounter an avid fan of your work. instead of annoying you for an autograph, kim taehyung ends up being the very thing you need to fall in love with art again.

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: sexually explicit content, reader suffers from poor mental health but nothing serious, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, praise, that’s kinda it, it’s pretty soft tbh

The breeze is light here, broken by the gentle rise of the sand dunes behind you. It runs over your skin like water, a warm current that lasts long after the sun slips below the horizon line.

You sit for hours watching it, the tail of pinks and oranges and ochres that reflect thickly on the top of the water, the shallow crests of low tide. There’s a pull in your heart, a twitch at your fingers. The you a year ago would’ve had her paints out already, an easel with legs precariously shoved in the dry sand. The you a year ago would have been tossing up whether cadmium yellow or cadmium orange would suit the last slip of sun above the water, and whether you should wait til it was gone entirely to save making the decision.

Then again, the you a year ago would never have needed to come here.

The you today just waits, silently, you don’t even know what for. You’d been told this was a getaway. That you just needed some time to recover your muse, or some bullshit like that. But the more time you sit in silence and watch the sky blacken to navy and the stars prick the darkness with dazzling clarity, you think your therapist was wrong. How was this a getaway when all your problems were still festering inside you?

“Oh my god, Y/n L/n?”

You groan and sink back into the sand, head cushioned on the warm piles. Just your fucking luck. “You’ve got the wrong person,” you call out with eyes squeezed shut, praying the stranger will leave you alone. The last thing you needed was a green reporter or psycho fan to spill your location to the rest of the world. You can only imagine the headline. Disgraced painter Y/n L/n found hiding away on a tropical island eight months after she ruined the Met Gala.

“Oh my god, it is you! I’m a massive fan, wow!”

Fuck. At least there was a chance they’d keep quiet. You crack open an eye, staring up at the figure beside you, cast in shadow. From the glint of moonlight, you can see a crown of ruffled hair that’s a faded teal. It reminds you of the impressionist painting of a mountain lake that threw your work into the public eye. Just as faded as the dye on his hair, that time feels worn and aged, like from another life. A reminder of how far you’d fallen. “Look,” you confess lowly to the silhouette, “I just wanna be left alone, I’m not- I’m just here for a break from...everything.”

The figure shifts his weight in the sand, raising an arm to scratch at the back of his neck shyly. “I don’t mean to disturb you,” he apologises. With the slight breeze, his baggy clothes buffet around his lean figure and in the darkness he looks like some vengeful angel, towering over you with the moon behind him. But his voice is so soft, so genuine, so- so warm. Perhaps not vengeful, then, but definitely an angel. “You’re a hero of mine, I wanted to thank you for how much you’ve inspired me, saved me. Gosh, it’s crazy that you’re even here, I-”

“I’m sorry,” you force out, sitting up, wincing as grains of sand work their way down the nape of your neck, “really, I am. But I’m not the person you’re thinking of. Not anymore, at least.” You hate the way your voice rings out so thinly in the night air, nothing like the deep honey of his. You hate the way you sound broken.

He senses it too; he takes a step back, turns towards the dunes. “I should be going, I guess,” he murmurs. “For what it’s worth, I hope I see you around. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

You don’t respond, wrapping your arms around your hunched knees and staring at the silver ocean until you can no longer see him in your peripheral vision.

—

It’s over a week before you see him again. Though you’d never admit it to anyone, you keep an eye out for the boy with the teal hair. There wasn’t enough light that day to make out his face but still, with hardly any people for miles, you hadn’t anticipated he’d be all that difficult to find.

Truth be told, there had been a deep curl of regret and dissatisfaction that took root inside you shortly after you left. He was just trying to be nice, and you could use a friend. Could use someone.

You had asked for privacy when your therapist began recommending a break, a getaway, but you hadn’t expected it to this degree. The place you were staying at was a rundown bungalow just behind the dunes, tucked away in a sliver of land where sand met forest, rising up into hills. The only people you saw were the employees that ran it: a maid that stopped by every day at 1pm, even though you had already made the bed and cleaned up after yourself; an older gentleman that delivered you fresh groceries every couple of days in his ancient-looking four wheel drive; and finally, the electrician you’d had to call out a few nights prior after the power went out.

The mysterious fan hadn’t been dressed like an employee; then again, it was long past the workday when he’d approached you. Mulishly, you find yourself lugging a picnic blanket and a pillow down to the beachfront every evening, monitoring every inch of the coastline that stretches around this edge of the peninsula.

It’s only on the ninth night, when you’re folding up your rough blanket with a disappointed grumble, that a sudden yap catches your attention. You whirl around, toes sinking deeper into the light sand, and gasp as a familiar silhouette approaches, stumbling down a sand dune to your left.

He hasn’t seen you yet; so focused on the tiny fluffball that tugs restlessly at its leash. It’s a lot earlier tonight than the last time you’d seen him, and there’s enough remnants of sunlight in the sky to cast him in a warm golden glow.

He’s in baggy clothes like last time, a long-sleeved white t-shirt with a v in the center, unbuttoned and sagging over the shoulder of the arm that’s getting yanked along, and some tan linen shorts. It’s hard to tell with how he sinks to his ankles in sand with every step, but he’s barefoot, almost sliding down the steep dune more so than walking.

You can’t hear him at this distance, but his lips are moving, parted in a boxy grin as he responds to the constant yipping of the tiny dog at his feet. He’s gorgeous, tanned skin to fit the honey of his voice - the voice you’ve been unable to shake from your head - and the roots of his hair are the colour of brown sugar, lightening into the dyed teal ends, whipping over his cheeks and neck in the seabreeze.

He turns off when he reaches the base, following his dog, who pulls in your direction, short bursts of energy that get cut off by the length of the leash. Your heart jumps, and you find yourself waiting in anticipation, breath caught in your throat.

But the moment he glances up and sees you, he halts in his tracks. Stepping back, his smile falls, bowing his head to you apologetically and pulling on the leash so that the small black-and-tan puppy at his feet turns around with him.

They start walking away from you, and you don't have time to think before you're calling out to him, jogging over with your blanket and pillow forgotten behind you.

He stops walking, though he doesn't turn, and when you finally come to a stop beside him, he keeps his head down.

"Look, I'm sorry about yesterday," you rush out, slightly out of breath, "I was in a really shitty mood, and I had kinda come here to get away from...everything in the first place. I wasn't expecting a fan, and I reacted badly. I'm sorry."

Even after standing still, you can't seem to catch your breath. You haven't seen him this close, in this much detail, and it makes the air catch in your lungs. His eyes are an intense burnt umber, dancing over your face with an unreadable depth to them. He's taller than you, but not bulky. Though his shoulders are wide, he's lean, with a narrow nose and soft cheeks. The wind plays with the ends of his hair, revealing glimpses of a strong brow. He's beautiful.

"I didn't mean to bother you," he says after a moment, and you almost jump at the timbre of his voice so close to you, "I should be the one apologising. I'll leave you alone, honestly. I can find another place to go for a walk, or go at a different time-"

"Do you walk here a lot at this time?" you interrupt, the euphoria of finally holding a conversation after so long loosening your tongue. "You haven't been back since that night."

He tips his head to the side, shoulder jerking when his dog impatiently tugs at the leash, quiet snuffles and yips of disapproval ignored in the air between you. There's a flicker of something in his eyes - surprise? Amusement? "You were looking for me?"

"I-" Your voice fails you, and you realise how pathetic you must look. Your shoulders sink. "I was... I wanted to apologise," you land on finally.

That strange flicker in his eyes settles into a grateful warmth. "I normally do, yeah, but I had to go back to the mainland to pick up this guy." With a genuine smile, he glances down to the ball of fluff that's now lying over his bare foot. "I stayed there while he got his first lot of vaccinations. You can pat him, if you want."

You can recognise that offer for what it really is; an olive branch. In other words, he's apparently not holding a grudge against you for being an asshole. You smile gratefully, crouching down to pat the tiny animal. "What's his name?"

"Yeontan," he answers cheerily. "he's nine weeks old!"

You coo, chuckling at the soft fur wriggling beneath your fingertips, at the wet nose prodding at your palm for more pats. "Yeontan..." you muse. "Why does that name sound familiar?"

You hear a sheepish laugh from above. "Your, um, your painting of the old barn in Icheon? There's a kennel that's beside it in shadow, but you can just make out the name Yeontan painted on the front. I-" He breaks off awkwardly, falling silent.

Your hand freezes, and you feel yourself slump from a crouch to sitting fully on the sand, still hot from the afternoon sun. Yeontan. A detail you couldn't even remember painting, yet he'd named his dog after it. The dog continues to cover your hands in slobber and stray fur, but you just stare at it blankly.

"I'm sorry," the man winces, tone low with defeat. "You probably think it's stupid. I swear I'm not one of those crazy obsessed fans! There was just..." His voice changes then, closes up to cut off any emotion. "I shouldn't say. Sorry."

Your shoulders slacken. "You don't have to keep apologising," you say softly. After a moment's thought, you push up off the sand to stand up again, grains clinging to the skin that's damp from the dog's affections. The handsome stranger's face is stricken, reluctant as he watches you get up. You miss the boxy smile he'd held when he made his way down the dunes. You wonder if he'll ever smile that way at you. "I wanna hear. What you have to say."

Hand flexing on the leash, he looks down at Yeontan and back up at you, eyes squinted slightly as the sun glares onto his face; a radiant, sharp orange. "One of the reasons I'm such a fan of your work is the emotion you can actually see on the canvas. I don't even know how to explain it, but I feel it. And with the Icheon barn painting - I actually saved up for years to buy the original - there's something so sad and lonely about that kennel, that patch of shadow. The rest of the scene is so bright and open, it feels like a party that the kennel wasn't invited to. I don't know, it's stupid. But I thought if I ever bought a dog, I'd name it Yeontan so that it wouldn't feel so alone." He faces the horizon as he speaks, wincing into the light, and a broken laugh bubbles out of his throat once he's done. "Like I said; it's stupid."

But you don't think it's stupid at all. "Did it work?" you ask instead, nose prickling as tears build behind your eyes. The more he spoke, the more you remember the painting. It was your last work before the Met Gala disaster, and after everything went down in flames, desperate online tabloids went back to it, citing it as a 'cry for help'. You hadn't really painted it like that though, not really. You'd seen that beautifully painted barn in the countryside when you were driving between cities to visit your parents, and was taken by the dilapidated dog kennel tucked just beside it. Painting it wasn't some sort of clue to your nosedive, but more like a solidarity with that kennel, the dog that once lived there. The story that had been forgotten. And to hear this man had seen it, had wanted to ease the suffering just like you had... The emotions inside you, ones that had felt so dull and monochrome, now churn inside you in indecipherable technicolour, too many to count. But you think one of them might just be hope. "Did- did getting Yeontan work?"

He's looking at you now. He stays silent for a moment, the softest smile tugging at your lips, and it takes your breath away, watching the colours of sunset play across his skin while his brown eyes seek yours out intensely. "Yeah, it did," he answers eventually, his voice almost a whisper. It's only once he starts speaking that you realise the two of you have moved closer inwards without realising, so that it would only take a half step forward to be pressed against him. "But I think talking with you has helped more."

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. The whirlpool inside you settles, leaving you feeling lighter than you have in years. You don't know what it is about this man that makes you feel...sane again, but you want more of it. "I think talking with you has helped me too," you confess, voice lilting in uncertainty. "Can... can I see you again? I don't even know your name, but-"

"Taehyung," he answers immediately, and even with the fall of night, the sun well and truly gone, his eyes are bright. "I could come back tomorrow?"

Your toes flex in the sand fighting the urge to jump in relief. "Yes! Yes, I'd like that," you chime, a smile tugging at your lips. "It was nice to meet you, Taehyung."

"The pleasure is all mine."

You sleep well that night. You can’t remember the last time the peaceful rays of sun have woken you so gently, but you certainly aren’t complaining.

You’d spent the past week or so moping in your cabin until late afternoon and then moping on the beach. Only now, after finally meeting the boy again - Taehyung - you realise how much you’ve been wasting your time buried in your own thoughts. Now all you want to do is explore. You’d been told on the ferry over here that the island was only a few hours’ walk around the coastline, and that your cabin, a street of shops and a small village of houses were the only signs of life. No bar to drown your sorrows at. No club for finding faceless strangers to make you forget who you were for a few hours. All your coping vices had been replaced with open stretches of nature in all its colours; the cool grey rocky beaches on the southern shore, the lush greens of the hilly forests, the glinting turquoise of the sea, and open plains of pastel sky for miles and miles.

The walk isn’t particularly intensive, but it’s long, and your feet ache in their sandals by the time you reach the docks again, having marked a full loop around the island. The dock, empty this late in the morning, leads directly to the main street via a cobblestone path that weaves between dunes, flax bushes, fields and a skinny stretch of trees, and you follow it to the center of the island, resting in a small cafe.

There’s no free WiFi here, so you sip at a tall glass of homemade strawberry lemonade and watch the streets through the storefront window. From your seat, you can see the people wander back and forth, the odd few with kids, but almost all are retirement age. Slow-moving couples with walkers and canes, elderly men jangling the keys to their vintage cars (that surely didn’t have much road to drive on), women with age-spotted skin and heavy beaded jewellery.

You can’t work out how Taehyung fits in this picture. It’s almost impossible to picture him walking down the same street as everyone else; his dyed hair, clothes two sizes too big, tall and slender frame hurrying down with a dog leash in one hand and a grocery bag in the other-

Wait.

You straighten up, eyes widening as you watch the man himself pauses to let Yeontan cock his leg on a patch of grass by the intersection. Physically, he’s entirely incongruous with the rest of the villagers, but he looks entirely at home, glancing up to smile in recognition at every figure that passes by him. One goes so far as to reach up and ruffle his hair playfully as she talks, and his face brightens with crinkled eyes and a boxy grin, greeting her warmly.

The same feeling of longing and dissatisfaction stirs you from the other time you saw that smile. You want to be the one that makes him so happy. You frown, unconsciously chewing on the end of the paper straw. It’s too hot in here. There’s not enough ventilation, and with the sun streaming in, the heat just pools inside, sticking to your thighs and arms. That’s why you leave the cafe before finishing your drink. The heat.

The lady has left by the time you cross the street, and you fake a cough noisily as you pass him, eyes cast away but face turned so he’d easily recognise you.

“Y/n!” Your heart warms, keens at the calling of your name, and you turn to him, smiling broadly. Taehyung grins when Yeontan rushes over to greet you too, whole body rocking with the force of his tail wagging. “Fancy seeing you here,” he remarks, and you take in a deep breath of air, feeling lightheaded with his attention back on you.

“I decided to explore a bit,” you answer, eyes dropping down to the supermarket bag in his hands, white plastic taut and digging red lines into his palm with the weight of it. “Retail therapy?”

He laughs goodnaturedly, but there’s a flush of pink high on his cheekbones, standing out beside the strands of green that he’s tucked behind his ears. “It’s actually, uh, something for tonight. I didn’t know if you’d- If you still-” He breaks off his stammering with another laugh, this one more self-conscious, and the pink deepens to red. “I thought you and I could paint together. I bought us some materials just in case you didn’t bring your own.” You fall silent, mouth slack and parted in surprise, so he continues on, lifting up his hand for a moment, bag rustling, then changing his mind and letting it fall again. “There isn’t a proper art supplies store here, so it’s just from the toy store. I know you’re probably used to proper stuff, but a bad worker blames his tools, you know! Not that you would- that you’re a bad-”

“You paint?” you ask finally, ending his nervous rambling.

His whole body slackens a bit, like you’ve cut some tension from him, his head dipping down to break eye contact. “Um. I’m- learning,” he answers with an uncertain wobble to his voice.

You tilt your head to the side with an expectant smile. “That’s really cool. How long have you been studying?”

He swallows, looking up to send you a hesitant smile. “I, um, I studied the instructions on the back of a paint-by-numbers kit in the toy store. Just now.” His voice lifts at the end of each sentence like it’s a question, that same bargaining smile plastered on his face.

You let out a genuine laugh, the first one you’ve had in a while. In too long. “Is that so? I better bow down to the maestro then.”

“Hey!” he whines playfully, shoulders rocking forward like a toddler feeling sorry for himself. “I learnt everything I know so far just from your art. And did you hear that speech I gave you about The Barn at Icheon? That was pretty good, right? You have to admit, that was good.”

His hand, the one loosely holding Yeontan’s lead, reaches out to grasp gently just above your elbow as he speaks, rocking you slightly like he’s pleading for you to agree. You find a constant stream of laughter bubbling out of your throat as he does so, feeling so light in the sunny midday breeze. “Okay, okay, that was good,” you confess, “you get a point for that.”

Once your laughter subsides slowly, you find yourself looking up at him with a residual smile, the same of which is spread on his face, eyes glimmering with something fond. He waits for the air between you to fall silent, tongue slipping out just slightly to wet his lips as you hold his gaze. “Y/n,” he asks softly, your name like molten sugar on his tongue, thumb unconsciously rubbing at the sensitive skin in the crook of your arm, “will you paint with me?”

Though the thought of painting still sours inside your chest, with his skin on your skin and his smile just for you, you feel like you could do anything. There’s only one answer. “Yes, I’ll paint with you, Taehyung.”

Painting with Taehyung is less painting with Taehyung and more staring desolately into the middle distance as Taehyung decides to make the clouds purple, bottom lip sucked between his teeth in focus.

“Don’t overthink it,” he stresses for the millionth time, glancing over at your blank canvas, “I’m not judging you.”

But it’s not about him judging you. If it wasn’t for him, you don’t think a paintbrush would have ever found its way into your hands again, certainly not so soon. It’s just that- you feel an overwhelming burden, a historical pressure of all your mistakes before. If you put brush to canvas now and create a work of art, then was your complete mindblank for the Met Gala all for nothing? Though your therapist advised against it, you had rather become attached to the idea that you’d somehow gotten artistically injured somewhere, and that eventually you’d broken completely, irreparable. It made the constant white void easier. Your first death.

“Happy little accidents,” Taehyung says lightly, dipping heavily into orange and catching a dollop on his wide-leg jeans. Not noticing it, or not caring, he swipes the orange into the canvas in a wonky line down past the horizon line, forming the neck and body of what looks vaguely like a giraffe. “And, um, happy little- happy little trees. If you want we could turn around and face the forest?”

Though a glum cloud is settling in your stomach you flick him a soft smile. “So you watch Bob Ross too? I thought you said you learnt everything from me.”

Using the same brush, he scoops out some black, using a pinkie finger to mix the colours together inside the bristles, a murky brown. “Maybe just a little,” he admits, daubing rough patches onto the giraffe, half of them overlapping the edges of its body. There’s an endearing quality to his carefree worksmanship, and you can’t deny that his painting looks good, wonky lines and all. “But don’t worry, you’ll always be my first,” Taehyung adds, not looking at you but smirking all the same.

The double entendre isn’t missed on you, but still, as you sit on a picnic table right on the edge of the village, blank canvas in front of you, you can’t bring yourself to laugh at it. All you can see is the paint drying on the tip of Taehyung’s finger, the messy pots of basic acrylics, and the warm smile that doesn’t leave his face.

He’s having fun. How long has it been since painting has been fun for you? Annoyed, you grab the clear green plastic brush from the set, dipping it into black. Muscle memory tingles across your knuckles and down the muscles of your wrist, an instinct to hold the brush in a certain way, tap off the excess, but your frustration overrides it, and you take the paintladen brush and smear it directly across the center of the canvas, a gaping maw of glossy shadow that bulges on the lower edges, gravity pulling at the thick stripe. You go completely still once it’s done. Staring.

Taehyung looks over after a moment, watching you carefully. “Is everything alright? If you didn’t want to paint, we didn’t have to-”

“It’s terrible,” you interrupt, a frown marring your face. “I fucked it up.”

“You didn’t,” he chastises softly, pushing his canvas to the side and leaning over your shoulder. “It’s a promising start. Maybe the duck pond is black in your world.”

Your eyes slide lower, unfocused. “Maybe the whole ocean is black in my world,” you murmur.

He’s silent for a moment, unsure what to say. “Then how will the fish see?” he asks in a light tone, bumping your shoulder gently with his, but you just let out a broken sob, tears spilling over your cheeks like they’d been triggered by his contact. Taehyung’s mouth opens in a rounded o, eyes wide, and as the dam breaks, you feel an arm find your back, rubbing soothingly, and long, warm fingers wrap around the hand that holds the brush limply, cradling it. “We can fix it, it’s okay,” he soothes in a kind whisper, “here; it’s that mailbox now, yeah? And behind it is the candy shop-” His voice cuts off while he guides your shaking hand to the green, mixing it with white in the plastic pottle to make a pale pastel. You feel the pressure of the brush in your hand shift as he moves the bristles over the canvas in a roughly rectangular shape, but you’re unseeing, crying tears that sting like turpentine into that black ocean behind your eyelids, letting him move you.

The two of you stay like that for what feels like an eternity, you curled in his embrace as he quietly paints for you, commenting on each step of the process so you know what he’s doing, even with your eyes closed. At one point, your energy leaves you, and you collapse into him, pressing your cheek against the stable warmth of his chest, heartbeat audible through his thin t-shirt. He doesn’t complain, just adjusting his stance to better support you and resting his chin on your head.

“I’m sorry,” you blubber thickly at one point, tasting salt.

“You don’t have to be,” he assures, “just keep breathing. Look; let’s put some trees in, hm? One for you and one for me.”

You open your eyes with a sniffle, feeling your hand lower in his secure hold, and you twist around your head to watch him dip the filthy brush in a green which has already been tainted by white and red in places. Your eyes follow it up again, until he fearlessly swipes in the graceful branches of the fir trees which cover the highest points of the island. You look at the rest of the painting, and a disbelieving giggle bubbles out of you, a smile across your face despite everything.

Unlike the mental image you’d been plotting in your head with the narration, this square of canvas has a line of slightly leaning buildings stacked beside each other tightly, colours smearing on the borders. In the middle of the uneven grey strip of cement down the middle to mark out the road, two trees stand proud, mostly green but with bleeding patches of muddy purple and brown too. Entire drops of paint spatter and run, creating a chaotic but vivid daydream of the end of the street in front of you.

“A lot better in your head, wasn’t it?” Taehyung asks knowingly. You laugh again, the last few tears pressed out of the corners of your wet eyes. “It’s okay,” he replies easily, “it was better in my head too. But the one in our heads is boring, don’t you think? If I wanted to see the street in front of me exactly, I’d just look up. Or take a photo. But nobody can visit this place we’ve painted. It’s just here, brand new because of us. I think I like that more.”

You sit up, wiping your eyes with a tired smile. “There’s no way you learnt all that from me,” you deflect, voice still raw from crying. “But yeah. I think I like this one more too.”

“I’m glad,” he answers softly, letting go of your hand and removing his hand from your back at the same time. You suppress a shiver at the sudden absence of heat. “I’ll let this dry and hang it up right beside The Barn at Icheon.”

You laugh again, sniffing away the last dregs of self-pity. “You better not,” you warn playfully, “as semantically poignant as it is, it’s an awful paintjob.”

When Taehyung smiles, it’s bright and boxy. And it’s just for you.

Time passes, but not like in the real world. Out here on this island, you start counting the passage of time by how many occasions you’d met Taehyung. Then, once you’ve seen him too often to count, you let yourself lose track of time completely, remembering only the moments spent with him like vignettes on a fragile chain.

The two of you always meet in the town or on the beach, speaking about everything and nothing. One day, while waiting beside the blue metal mailbox for Yeontan to pee (though Taehyung still insisted it looked better black) you tell him of the time you accidentally turned all your clothes yellowy-green after accidentally putting an apron in the wash that had an opened sampler of chartruese in the pocket. On a rainy afternoon when you’d gotten caught in the downfall walking through the forest, Taehyung told you, while wringing out rainwater from his rumpled maroon sweater, that he was meant to be studying agricultural sciences on the mainland, but his grandmother was sick and so he bought a place nearby to care for her.

“One good thing about being on the island,” he’d chimed cheerily, dark teal and brown plastered to his cheeks and forehead, “is that property is super cheap here. My grandma paid half and I paid half, and now the one-bedroom I live in is all mine.”

“But isn’t that sad?” you’d questioned, feeling the ground turn to mud beneath your shoes. “Living on the island, I mean? You should be in a big city, partying with your friends, living life. This place is like one massive retirement village.”

Taehyung had just shrugged. “My grandma likes it. And I like living for someone else, you know? Makes me feel good.”

Long after you’d gone home, warming up by the radiator in your beachside bungalow, those words had stuck with you. You wonder if, with all this time he’s been spending with you, he’s starting to live for you, too. You wonder if maybe that’s a bad thing.

But still, time passes in this hazy, episodic way. Money continues to filter out of your bank account each week you stay, but you hadn’t worried about your finances for years now, enough successful exhibits from your productive days keeping a healthy sum.

Though he never pushes as much as last time at the picnic table, Taehyung keeps you creating. Backs of napkins, tourism pamphlets, the kids colouring sets at the local diner. No matter how scrawled or indecipherable, the soft-hearted boy compliments your work all the same, slipping the scraps into his pocket with a joking promise that he’s going to frame them. Somehow, every unthought, unplanned line of ink or lead or pigment that lights the page feels like one less needle buried deep inside your heart, one small salve to ease the burden. You don’t know if Taehyung knows it, but in all the ways that count he’s a better artist than you.

When he’s around you, the world is lusher, more vibrant. Your time alone is grey and muted; a dull beach, an empty bungalow. With him, you feel like the sky is bluer and the trees are greener. The bonfire you sit in front of now casts an intense orange glow on everything around it, including Taehyung’s hands as he deftly impales marshmallows onto a skewer.

It’s cooler at nighttime these days. At some point, you’d both exchanged sandals for sneakers, t-shirts for sweaters. Taehyung seems to fancy heavy cable knits and thick trousers even in mild weather, and you wonder if he’d still wear clothing typical of an elderly gentleman even if he was on the mainland in a modern city instead of around the older generation on the island.

Tonight, you’d tried and failed a traditional Korean barbecue over the open flame. While Taehyung had shoved his cut of pork right into the fire, ending up with a charred outside and raw inner, you’d diligently held yours above the flames, turning and turning until the muscles in your arm screamed and you had to give up and admit perhaps the meat from the local butcher was cut too thick, and that a bonfire was good for nothing more than toasted marshmallows.

“This is where it’s at, this is it,” the young man enthuses confidently, each skewer laden with four or five marshmallows, bunched together, “dessert for dinner. The way it should be.”

You’re content to sit back and let him work excitedly, wrapping the edges of the picnic blanket low over your shoulders and lap. Though Taehyung is always devastatingly handsome, he’s the most gorgeous like this: focused in his element and surrounded by all the colours and textures of nature, a painting come to life. The heat of the flames is curling his hair lightly, making teal ends flick at his temples and the nape of his neck. His hair was growing out steadily, but still he chose not to cut it, and you can’t deny the length suits him.

“There’s more brown than green now,” you mention softly. “Soon it’ll look like dip-dye.”

Taehyung glances back at you over his shoulder with a rougish grin, shuffling around so he faces you fully. “What; is this your way of saying it looks bad?”

“No,” you defend with a pout, reaching for the near-full packet of marshmallows. “I’m just curious if you’re gonna leave it like that.”

Taehyung hums like he doesn’t fully believe you, and he leans over to shove his hand in the packet at the same time that you’re rummaging for the soft sweets, your knuckles brushing together. You shiver at the contact. Somehow, that’s been the first time you’ve shared skin contact since that day at the picnic table. Wide-eyed, you wait til he’s grabbed a bunch and pull your own hand away, empty and white with powder.

“Sorry,” he adds reflexively, but you just shake your head. How are you supposed to tell him that you liked the feeling of his skin on yours? Taehyung pops a pink marshmallow into his left cheek, letting it bulge and slur his speech as he gives you a broad grin. “You could dye it for me! My hair, I mean. Pick a colour.”

Against your will, you smile back, cheeks puffing at the thought. “I have no idea how to dye hair, Tae.”

Something flickers in his eyes when you say that, or maybe it’s the dancing flames reflected in them. He chews quickly, swallowing with a jerk of his jaw, and licks the rest of the white powder off his lips. “I bet it’s a whole lot easier than painting a picture.”

You scoff, but there’s no bite to it. “Oh, so you didn’t want me to paint one of my works on your hair, then? Don’t fancy Jeju Dusk on your scalp?”

Taehyung grins at the name, recognising the title of one of your earlier paintings - one that had been relentlessly criticised for its blending of techniques, something that later became your signature. “That’s my second favorite piece, you know? I have a print of it at home, and I saw the original in the Leeum Museum last year.”

You remember the director of the Leeum fondly. In your beginning years, he’d fought for your works to be shown in some of the frequent exhibitions they held. Even though you’d barely made a name for yourself, and had only recently moved to Seoul, Director Kim Namjoon took you in like a mentee and gave you a job himself as his PA. The experience you’d gotten there, as well as that vital exposure, had kept you business-savvy throughout your career, and once you were in a position to give back, you donated almost all of your original canvases to the museum in his name. Maybe one day you’d return home to Seoul and tell Namjoon of the boy who lived on a faraway island, the boy who taught you to open up again. Would Taehyung still be with you then? Though it hasn’t been long, it’s hard to comprehend a life without Taehyung. All you can visualise is a great absence, a lack. You banish the thought from your mind with a shake of your head, glancing back up to see the boy himself boldly setting a skewer of marshmallows on fire in the orange heat. “I hope that’s your one,” you joke weakly as he puffs out the blue and orange that lick at the blackening lumps.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what my favorite work is?” he asks instead, ignoring your statement.

You stay silent for a moment, observing the way he discards the charred skewer in his lap and delicately toasts the other one, swivelling the base so that each side of the marshmallow stack warms to a golden brown. Once he pulls it out, he hands it to you with an expectant quirk of his brow. You take the stick with a slightly suspicious smile. “What’s your favorite, Taehyung?”

“Your next one,” he answers immediately, gaze locked on yours.

You blame the heat radiating off the bonfire for the warmth in your cheeks as you suppress a smile. “Alright then,” you say decisively.

“Alright what?”

“Alright, I’ll dye your hair for you.”

He grins broadly, eyes crinkling into crescent moons as he starts eating his thoroughly-burnt marshmallows. “Tomorrow,” he announces, melted strings of pink and white pooling in the corner of his lips. “Let’s meet at the convenience store and you can pick the colour.”

You smirk at the way he devours the toasted marshmallows with childish glee. “You’ll regret that when you come out of this with highlighter orange hair.”

He chucks his leftover stick into the grocery bag you brought your supplies in, letting himself collapse backwards onto the heated sand. “I think I could pull it off,” he deflects calmly. “Just you see.”

Breath taken away by the peace on his face as he closes his eyes, your mind works dizzily, desperate to find something to keep him talking, to keep this moment between you alive. “Maybe you could get a job as air traffic control. Or a streetlight. Just you wait; it’ll be orange orange.”

Taehyung’s face warms in a lazy smile as he hums. He looks so peaceful lying there that you’re tempted to join him, but you choose instead to shuffle back from the fire so that you can see his face better. His hair’s splayed out over the sand, and you can see the warm flickers from the bonfire play over his neck, his jaw, and the tip of his nose. Taehyung’s right; orange does suit him. “I had a dream, you know. Last night.”

You feel - with the gentle breeze and the silence of the sea surrounding you - that perhaps you’re in a dream right now. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” his low voice hushes, barely louder than the popping of wood on the fire. “We weren’t on the island, we were in Seoul. Your wing of the Leeum Museum.”

You laugh shallowly, not wanting to make much noise for a reason you couldn’t quite pinprick. “I don’t have a wing at the Leeum.”

“You did in my dream,” he defends resolutely, the beginnings of a boxy smile tugging at his lips. “Anyway, we were in your wing, and I remember being so confused because I didn’t recognise any of them. But you told me they were all new. They were paintings of m-” he cuts himself off a beat too late, lips pressed together.

Your heart falters, a rush of adrenaline that flows to the ends of your fingers and toes. You fight to keeo your voice steady. “Maybe it was a premonition.”

Resting on his stomach, Taehyung’s hands twitch, his fingers twisting together. His smile flattens into a tense line and his eyelids squeeze shut tightly. “I don’t wanna get my hopes up,” he admits quietly after a short pause of thought.

Looking back, you can’t remember your thought process, or where your boldness comes from. Maybe something about the way the moment felt detached from reality, a timeless bubble of the two of you that sat adjacent to your real life, separate from consequence. Maybe it was the brief glimpse of pink as he wets the inner seam of his lips. Maybe you’ve just wanted this for too long to think rationally anymore.

Whatever it is, you swallow past the dryness in your mouth, bend down, and press a kiss to his lips.

Taehyung goes completely still at first. You’re cross-legged on the sand, knees faced to his side, and when you kiss him, it’s on enough of an angle that you feel his nose brushing your cheekbone, and you can feel your hair falling down either side of your face like silken rain. He stays still, though, and you press a little harder, just for a moment, before his lack of response shatters your streak of confidence.

With a minute sigh of regret, you lift off of him, ready to sit up again and apologise profoundly. But before there’s more than a few centimeters of air between you, his hand is suddenly snaking around the nape of your neck, fingers slipping up into your hair as he pulls you back down.

When you collide again with a gasp, his mouth is parted, and his teeth scrape against your bottom lip with his urgency. Losing your balance, you throw your outside arm over him, palm plunging into the sand just beside his head, and let your upper torso rest on his his.

“Taehyung,” you sigh onto his lips, shivering when his free hand rests hotly on your waist, thumb slipping under the hem of your shirt to rub maddenly over the sensitive skin of your stomach. “Oh, Taehyung.”

His lips are sticky with the remains of the toasted marshmallows, and tentatively you seek out that sweetness, kissing deeper, letting your tongue slide over the pinkened skin. He holds you so gently, like you’re made of glass, yet his mouth on yours is pure fire, and your breath comes in little gasps, bursts of oxygen that only fan the flames higher. It takes you a few moments to realise the humming in his throat and the motion of his lips are words, so softly spoken, but once you do you slow your movements to a languid stream to better hear them.

“...so beautiful, I’ve wanted to do this for so long, I must be dreaming…” He speaks with his eyes half-lidded, like he doesn’t want to fully lose sight of you, uttering words between sweet kisses, strong hands cradling you so carefully. He presses his lips against yours one last time and moves his hand from your neck to your face, thumbing tenderly at your cheekbone. “God, I’m so lucky to be by your side,” he gasps. “And when you paint new works and attend exhibits, I’ll still be by your side.”

His words are sweet, but something about them strikes an odd note in your chest, and you pull back slightly, shaking off his hands.

He looks at you with wide eyes and swollen lips which are parted in a confused pout. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s my paintings,” you whisper disbelievingly, “isn’t it? That’s why you think you like me. You like my paintings, and you think it’s somehow the same thing.”

He frowns, shuffling back to sit up, further apart from you than you’d been all night. “No,” he says automatically, “I like you, I just… I think you’re talented, and I want to help you-”

“It’s not your place to help me,” you snap back, and Taehyung flinches. “I’m not some- some out-of-order printer that just needs some TLC to start pumping out pages again. You’re a fan, Taehyung, not a fucking therapist.”

He lets those words sit in the air until they sour, staring at you with eyes shiny and lips trembling. “I know that,” he says, voice cracking, “I know that. I just- Just because you had issues with the Met Gala exhibit doesn’t mean you have to run away and hide, you know?”

Your mouth falls open. “I… I didn’t have issues with the Met Gala, okay, Taehyung? I blanked. Every time I tried to paint something for the exhibit, it sucked. I hated it. And then, eventually, I stopped being able to paint anything at all. It was like I just- I just couldn’t. And the Director kept calling, but I couldn’t answer him because I was so fucking humiliated, and you get the day of the Met and the walls are empty because Y/n L/n is a fucking failure. So it’s not- You can’t fix me, Taehyung. I’m just broken.”

The fire spits, crackles, as it smoulders down, nothing more than hot coals that barely light the surroundings. Taehyung, face slowly darkening to shadow, doesn’t say anything. Just sits. Waits.

You sniff, looking down at your hands. “My point is, Tae-” and you scoff at yourself for using a nickname at a time like this, “You shouldn’t like me. I have nothing to give you anymore.”

Sand sticks to your bare legs when you stand, but you make no attempt to brush it off. Though it’s nearly complete darkness, you see Taehyung’s hair shift as he tips his head up to watch you. Rather than speak back, he waits in the pitch black of the extinguished bonfire and lets you go.

Later, in the unforgiving silence of your bungalow, you find yourself gravitating not towards your bed but towards your suitcase, to the small wooden chest of travel paints you had brought never expecting to use.

It’s easier to paint than to think on your regrets and mistakes, and so you let your mind go black, your palette filling with shades of brown, ochre and beige, as well as a single swatch of teal.

The entire next day sees you in a sleep-deprived fervour, the entire main room of your bungalow cleared out and transformed into a makeshift studio, paintings drying on emptied bookshelves, sheets of old newspaper covering the carpet covered in stray spots of colour, the kitchen bench housing your mismatched array of paints and tools.

After finishing your first painting, you’d collapsed onto your bed as the sun began to rise, too exhausted to wash the dried paint off your hands and brow. But it only took a few moments of rest before you felt yourself sinking into a glum quicksand, sucked in by all the emotions swirling in your chest. Suffocated by the sole image of Taehyung, sitting alone on the sand in the dark as you walked away.

So, you’d gotten up, fed the itch in your hands and picked up a brush once more, and let yourself be taken by the mindless haze of work, of colours and angles and perspectives, starting to paint the knuckles on one canvas while you waited for the eyes to dry on another.

Just after 10am, your housekeeper had knocked on the door, and you’d had to play sick so that she wouldn’t come inside. If they kept your deposit or charged you damages for a stray lick of paint on some surface, what did it matter?

You threw yourself so intensely into these paintings, that weren’t art so much as sighs of relief, or buoys in a churning sea. It was all too easy to let your mind latch onto the task of mixing colours, of choosing techniques, of mastering proportions. Normally, you’d work in front of a landscape, or take a photo and paint it later, wanting to get things right, but Taehyung comes to mind with startling clarity.

Soon, your bungalow fills with artworks - some painted on newspaper, or pages of a book when you run out of canvases. Vistas of those moments with him like clustered vignettes: his eyes with orange glints reflected in them from that night with the bonfire; his hands wringing his sodden sweater the day you got caught in the rain; a boxy smile, the first time he ever grinned at you like that; and finally, just as your hands begin to shake too much to hold the brush steady, a lone silhouette walking down a dune, tiny dog tugging at the leash in his hand. The memories flow in reverse, like some sort of undoing, a wish to go back in time and do things right, to be better for him, to do right by him.

When you set the brush down one final time, fingers trembling with exhaustion, it’s nearly midnight. You realise with a dull pang that you’d forgotten to go down to the township to buy Taehyung hair dye. You realise he probably wouldn’t have come down either.

Your face is stiff in places where swipes of paint have dried, and your hair is tangled, thrown up a half-hearted ponytail that keeps threatening to slip, but as you stare around the chaos of the room, at the fevered paintings of him, only him, always him, your heart knows what to do. Whether you like it or not, you can’t go back in time and start new, start fresh. But you can go forward, and you know exactly where your feet will take you.

Well, maybe not exactly, because you’ve never been to Taehyung’s house. But shoving on some sneakers and wrappin yourself up in a jacket, you figure you can find it. The island’s population was barely fifty, and all the houses were in the same sleepy neighborhood behind the main street.

It’s after knocking on exactly twenty-six doors that you realise maybe you should just ask if the stranger knew Taehyung’s address, rather than leaving when somebody unfamiliar answered the door. Shivering, even with the thick padded jacket you’re bundled in, you decide that the next house better be the last. If they didn’t know where Tae was, you could just come back and pick up where you left off tomorrow.

The street is so silent that your sneaker soles on the gravel fill the void entirely, amplified in the chilled night air. As you went on, and the moon passed the center of the sky, less and less people even opened their doors, some that did scolding you for waking them at such an hour. You’d feel bad, only your mind’s entirely locked on one single person.

The next house you reach is small, like most of them, but looks particularly well-groomed compared to most. A gleaming white postbox with the number 13B rests beside the driveway and footpath, both of which are bordered by lush, freshly-mowed grass, almost black in the darkness. Like a beacon, a single lamplight shines white-yellow above the front door, and your eyes ache with the warm brightness as you knock.

After fifteen or so seconds, you hear muffled movement inside, and straighten your back expectantly, mentally running through your speech. A light turns on behind lacy curtains to the left, and eventually a blurred silhouette approaches in the foyer, unlocking the door.

You put on your most sympathetic smile and take in a breath when it cracks, revealing an older woman in mismatching winter pyjamas. “I’m so sorry to wake you, ma’am, but I was wondering if you knew a boy called-” As your eyes search the old woman’s face, you freeze. You know those eyes. “K-Kim Taehyung?” you finish, blinking widely at the woman who somehow looks so familiar.

Rather than grumble about the time or huff, she smiles broadly, lips tugging up in a boxy smile. “Well, of course, he’s my grandson!” The smile drops, brows furrowing in concern. “Is he alright?”

You suck in a breath through your teeth, eyes widening. “I- oh my goodness, I’ve heard so much about you,” you gush, her eyes crinkling fondly at your words. “Sorry, uh- yes, Taehyung is okay, I just-” You stop yourself, trying to steady your racing heart. “Mrs. Kim, you probably don’t even know me, but I did something bad and I need to make it right with him and I just… I think I’m in love with your grandson.” The moment you finish, something in your heart settles at the sound of the words lingering in the air.

She takes her time to reply, letting the words sink into her with a thoughtful sigh. “Darling, am I right in assuming your name is Y/n?”

You swallow quickly. “Yes, that’s right.”

She nods with a fond smile, a glimmer in her eye. “Then I think there’s something you should come see.”

“Inside?” After she waves you in and guides you to slip off your shoes and step into some house slippers instead, you find yourself awkwardly following her down a homely, perfumed hallway. “By the way, I’m so sorry for waking you.”

She waves it off before you even finish your sentence, sending you a kind wink. “No bother to me, lovie. I’m just glad you didn’t wake the dog.”

“The dog?” you mumble to yourself, before halting suddenly as Mrs. Kim pauses in front of a door, hand resting on the glass knob.

“My grandson’s been visiting me more lately, you see,” she explains, turning the knob to reveal a room in complete darkness, nothing inside visible. “He had so much to tell me and so much to do, became as hyper as a boy on Christmas morning! He told me not to go in here, but I couldn’t help myself.”

You step inside on her indication, breath caught in your throat as your eyes struggle to adjust. “I don’t understand…”

“Lovie, don’t worry about whatever went wrong with you two. You love him and… Maybe I’m just a hopeless romantic, but it’s clear he loves you too.” And with that, she flicks the light on and the room comes into focus.

A barn. That’s the first thing you see. A painting of a bright, sprawling barn with a tiny dilapidated kennel in its shadow, wobbly letters spelling out YEONTAN. On the wall directly across from the door rests the original painting of The Barn at Icheon, close to a meter wide and half a metre high. The question of why he’d keep this prized possession of his in a random room barely bigger than a closet dies on your tongue as you turn, seeing the other walls.

A sketch of a bird you’d seen and wanted to show him, clumsily sketched on the back of a receipt with a pen from the lady at the grocery store checkout; a smudged map of your old neighborhood in Seoul that he’d made you draw on a napkin when you were explaining to him how far away the art supply store was; a tourism pamphlet that you and Taehyung had found on a park bench, drawing little Bigfoot silhouettes on the pictures of mountains and mermaids on the beaches. Every one of these thoughtless scrawls, careless scribbles and hurried drawings are here, each one framed or mounted like in a gallery, in order of the time they were made. You turn around slowly, barely noticing Taehyung’s grandmother in the doorway, giving you a knowing look. Finally, on the last wall, the trail of pieces disappear with a final creation, a canvas.

Feeling tears gather in your eyes, you look at the black smear of a mailbox, the wonky shops, the two tall trees incongruously planted in the middle of the street. And, in the bottom right corner painted meticulously in teal, the same teal as his hair, Y/n and Taehyung.

You let out a sob, turning back to Mrs. Kim. “Thank you for showing me this,” you make out in a voice thickened with tears, “but I really need to see him. Can you please give me his address?”

With a look of warm empathy, she steps forward to clasp your shoulders gently, maternally. “He told me about what happened, luvie. He doesn’t blame you.”

Trembling, you wipe the wetness from your cheeks and sniff. “He should,” you admit sullenly, “he’s too good for me. He’s been nothing but kind and patient and caring and all I’ve done is let him down.” Something occurs to you, and you frown in confusion. “Wait… Did he stop by and tell you?”

Her hands squeeze your upper arms comfortingly before dropping them and stepping back. “Oh honey,” she coos, and your heart stops as she steps aside out of the doorway, letting another, taller figure enter the room.

“Taehyung,” you whisper in shock, but before you can even comprehend his presence, his arms are around you, pulling you against his chest in a tight hug. You feel thick layers of pressure and worry evaporate off of you with a single moment, lungs filling with the familiar scent of him, body relaxing with his chin resting on your head and his arms cradling you. For what feels like a small eternity, you let yourself be fully enveloped in him, an indescribable catharsis of finally being in his arms once more. As your tears dry on the soft flanelette of his pyjama shirt and your fingers clutch at his back, you feel a thought transform into a certainty. “I love you, Taehyung,” you confess quietly, and his whole body shudders with a sob, arms tightening around you even more.

“I love you so much,” he confesses lowly, chest rumbling against your ear as he speaks. “And please don’t ever call yourself broken. You’re not. I didn’t love the art, I loved you. Because the art is a part of you Y/n, whether it’s perfect or not.”

“Tae,” you breathe shakily, his name the only word on your lips.

A soft voice comes from the hallway, Taehyung’s grandmother quietly excusing herself to “leave the two lovebirds alone.” You barely notice, lost in the way Taehyung gently rocks you back and forth in his arms, soothing you.

“I missed you,” you hear Taehyung whisper into your hair, nuzzling his nose gently.

Though you shiver at the feeling, you let out a teary laugh. “I saw you a day ago.”

“But it wasn’t the same then,” he insists softly, and a slow breath escapes you weakly. “It’s okay; you’re here now. You-” he breaks off to swallow, and when he speaks again his voice is much quieter, paper thin. “You won’t walk away again, will you?”

You answer by tipping your head up to look him in the eyes warmly, rising onto the tips of your toes so that you can reach his mouth, pressing a kiss against it tenderly. “Never,” you answer surely, “I promise.”

When he smiles, it’s beautiful - that big, boxy grin you saw that day on the dunes, that day you agreed to paint with him, and so many times since. But it never fails to make you melt, lips automatically returning the gesture. “Now,” he announces with a bemused lilt in his voice. “As much as I love this makeout session in my grandma’s closet, it is 2am. Shall we go get some rest?”

Sleep comes quickly once you have Taehyung’s arm around you and your face in the crook of his neck, and you let it take you, knowing you’ll have time to savor the feeling of sleeping beside him for many days to come.

You take him home the next day.

He hadn’t ever been to the bungalow before, but now there was something you desperately wanted him to see. You hadn’t cleaned up before you’d suddenly began roaming the streets of the island, and as he stares around at the chaos, you kind of wish you had. “It’s pretty messy, but…”

“No,” he deflects, mouth parted and eyes wide in wonder, “don’t apologise, this is- wow.” He steps further into the room, stepping over discarded paint tubes, dried canvases and uncleaned brushes. He takes a moment to take in each work. Every single one of them a snapshot of him. “How- When did you do all this?”

You bite your lip, loitering in the entryway. “From when I got back that night until I decided to come looking for you.”

He furrows his brow, fingers gently skimming the top edge of the painting that rests on the easel in the center of the room, the first one you’d painted. His teal growouts, his uneven eyes, the moles dotted so intricately on his face. Your Tae. “You haven’t been able to pick up a brush in months, and then...all this?”

“This was easy,” you say with a shake of your head, “it was easy because it was you.”

He turns, then, glancing at you over his shoulder with eyes brimming with affection. “You really love me.”

A disbelieving grin stretches across your lips. “The midnight confession didn’t make it clear enough?”

“It’s not that, I- I can read it,” he explains, stepping back over to you. “The Barn at Icheon is filled with loneliness, and a lot of your other works talk about fear or curiosity or patience. But this is all love. And it’s me.”

“It’s you,” you confirm with a soft smile, “I love you, Taehyung. So much.”

His eyes light up, then, a cheeky glimmer as his hand reaches out, gripping your elbow and giving it a playful shake. “If I’m your mojo then, you should paint something else today,” he bargains, “I wanna see your genius in action. The black mailbox sadly doesn’t qualify.”

Your mouth drops open in mock outrage, shoving his chest with a whine. “That’s not fair! You said you liked it better black.” Looking around at the disaster zone of the bungalow, you sigh. “I also don’t think I have any paintable surfaces left. I missed the housekeeper so I’ll probably get a fine as it is.”

“Use me, then.”

“Haven’t I painted you enough?” you fire back, but Taehyung just shakes his head emphatically.

“Paint on me. Here,” he says, and his hands leave yours in order to find the hem of his shirt, peeling his shirt off and tossing it into a far end of the room. “A big old waterfall, right down the middle. Rock pool at the bottom.”

“Stop it!” You blush fiercely, hands coming up to cover your cheeks as your eyes feast on his chest, the smooth planes and taut skin, a beautiful golden bronze. “Taehyung…”

For the first time, he doesn't press further. Instead, his shoulders sag, teasing facade slipping. "I'm sorry, you don't have to. I'll stop."

Inexplicably, you find yourself wanting to prove you aren't fragile anymore, unbroken just as he'd insisted you were last night. "I can do it," you protest, stepping away from him to fossick for some usable brushes. "Lie down, then."

Taehyung freezes. "Uh. Yeah, yeah, okay, gimme one sec, I'll just-" With the enthusiasm of a boy having his first kiss, Taehyung hunkers down on the newspaper-covered carpet, shuffling some tools and tubes and palettes out of the way. He looks beautiful like that, chest rising and falling shakily with anticipation, warm brown eyes widened on you. "You don't have to paint a waterfall, you know," he assures hurriedly. "Whatever you do will be perfect."

Heart leaping at his words, you feel a streak of confidence deep inside you, and instead of sitting beside him, you straddle his hips with a newly-filled palette in one hand and a brush in the other. "I want you to guess," you announce from above him, eying his chest and wondering how the colours might fill the space. "Guess what I'm painting. It'll be fun!"

Taehyung's throat bobs with a harsh swallow, nodding quickly. "O-okay, yeah, let's do that," he agrees weakly.

You smile warmly, and begin dipping into a forest green, coating the tips of the bristles. Bending down, you mark a single point of green on the top of his chest, just below his collarbone. The moment the cool paint touches his skin, Taehyung shudders, eyes falling shut. "Okay?" you check. He nods again, chest heaving, and so you continue tracking colour, gradual swoops downwards. Each drag of the brush makes Taehyung's breath catch, and you watch as goosebumps break out on his bare arms.

"Feels nice," he mumbles, lips barely moving like he didn't even intend to speak.

Your lip twitches, but still you focus, topping up the brush whenever the lines became too spotty. After trailing down to just above the level of his belly button, you raise the brush again, starting a new form on the other side of his chest, this one smaller. "Any idea what it is?" you question, but Taehyung just sighs airily.

Once you're finished with the forest green, you wipe your brush off on the edge of your palette and go for a deeper shade, pressing in shadows under each swipe of green. It's once you're working on the bottom half of the second structure that you begin to feel a hardness between your legs, the point where you're straddling him. Shocked, you look up, but Taehyung's covered his eyes with the back of his hand, face turned to the side with reddened cheeks.

"I'm sorry," he croaks out once he feels you stop. "Didn't mean to."

With a fond smile, you lean down, careful not to smudge the wet paint, and gently kiss the corner of his mouth. His fingers twitch and his lips part in surprise, but he otherwise stays still. "It's okay," you soothe, "if it's any consolation, I feel the same way right now."

Like a switch is flipped, Taehyung lifts his hand and tucks his chin, looking down at where the two of you are pressed together, then back up at your face. "Seriously?"

You laugh warmly. "Taehyung, I love you and you're currently lying beneath me, half-naked, writhing every time the brush touches you. Of course I'm turned on."

His cheeks flush hotter and he bites his lip. "You can- you can keep going. Keep painting."

Obediently continuing to fill in the shadow across his stomach, you grin. "Still no guesses on what I'm painting? I'm almost done, you know."

He cranes his neck down further, but the angle prevents him from seeing much. "Some-something green? I'll be honest with you, my focus really isn't-fuck!"

You suppress a laugh as he shudders, hands reaching out to clutch at your pants. Having finished the shadow, you'd mixed a paler green to add some light points on the tops, and one of those swipes had just happened to land across the top of one of his nipples, already stiff from arousal. You continue dipping colour here and there, smirking at the paint that covers the dark brown of his right nipple.

"You tease," Taehyung complains with furrowed brows. "Fuck, that felt good. Please tell me you need to paint the other one too."

You hum in mock thought, transferring your brush to the hand with the palette so that you can reach out, swiping a thumb over the sensitive flesh. Taehyung's whole body jerks, his hips beginning to grind under you, the dull friction pulling a pleasured sigh from your lips that's blessedly drowned by his drawn-out moan. "Why the pout, Tae? This was your idea."

"Next time I'm holding the paintbrush," he promises, hips moving slowly beneath you, eyes lidded as they focus on you, "then you won't be so cocky."

His words send a hot rush of arousal through you, and you rock your hips unconsciously, swallowing a moan. "Next time," you repeat breathily, "but for now I'm almost done."

It only takes a few more touches of pale green, followed by two vertical strokes of brown, before you're putting your tools aside, and standing up off of him.

Taehyung groans in complaint when your hips leave him, his casual grey sweatpants tented and a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. "Where are you going?"

"Come see," you guide, tugging at his hand. "I have a mirror in my room."

He gets up, palming himself with a pout before following you down the hall, pulled along by your interlocked hands. Once in front of the mirror, Taehyung lifts his eyebrows at just how wrecked he looks. Bottom lip swollen from biting at it, hair mussed and sticking up, and a burst of green slowly drying on his torso. "It's...trees?"

"It's us," you explain softly, "like that painting we did together the first time." From beside him, you reach around to gently tap each figure, two tall fir trees, the one on his right taller than the one on his left. "One for you and one for me."

Before you can pull your arm back, his hand comes up to flatten yours against his chest, hands going cold where the paint is still wet in places.

"Tae, you'll smudge it."

"Y/n," he said slowly, head turning to look at you, eyes brimming with affection, "will you let me make love to you?"

Your breath catches, and rather than trusting your voice, you nod wordlessly.

With a deep exhale, he bends down and joins your lips with his, a hand coming up to bury itself in your hair, keeping you close. His lips are hot against yours, passionate and wanting, and your stomach warms with desire. Clumsily, your fingers find the hem of your shirt, lifting it as far as you can before you have to break apart from him, flinging it away once it clears your head.

"The bed?" Taehyung pants in the moments his mouth is free, and you nod, shucking off your jeans before getting onto the mattress in just your bra and panties. "God, you're beautiful," he chants, "how did I get so lucky?"

He slips out of his sweatpants and joins you sitting on the edge, but your eyes linger on his face, the way his eyes soften and crinkle when they meet yours. "I'm the lucky one," you reply simply.

You shiver when a large palm runs up your bare thigh, warm and grounding. "Can I go down on your first?" he asks with a pleading gaze.

You laugh weakly. "I'm definitely the lucky one." In confirmation, you lie yourself back, scooting so your head rests on the pillows.

Hand now having slid down your leg to rest over your ankle, he wraps his fingers around and lifts it off the bed delicately, your knee crooking and legs parting. Smoothly, he slips himself in the gap, lying on his stomach and letting your raised leg rest on his shoulders. With eyes heavy on you, he leans forward slowly and licks a strip over your clothed pussy, a dull kiss of friction across your clit. You groan, head lolling back, and he takes it as his initiative to continue, sucking at the juices that have dampened your panties until the whole crotch is wet, your thighs shaking slightly with your increased sensitivity.

"Tae, please," you breath out, "I wan' more."

A finger slips below the hem of your panties, just over your hipbone. "Should we take these off?" You nod with a needy whimper, lifting your hips to give him easier access.

He sits up to slide them down your legs, calmly spreading your thighs again when you get the self-conscious urge to close them. With only your bra on, you feel so vulnerable, but rather than scaring you, you feel at peace, so happy to be having this moment with Taehyung.

When he shuffles back into place again, he takes his time, his warm breath tickling your inner thighs. At your needy wiggle of your hips, he chuckles and rubs soothingly at the top of your leg where it's crooked over his shoulder, finally dipping his head again to lick at you.

He starts out maddeningly light, the very tip of his tongue flicking slowly over your clit, tentatively venturing out to dip between your folds. You reach out for his hand, needing something to anchor you, and he smiles against you as he interlocks your fingers, keeping you grounded.

"So good, Tae," you encourage, moaning openly when his tongue trails lower and dips between your folds, over your entrance. "Fuck, so good."

Rather than answer verbally, Taehyung doubles his efforts and begins to speed up, lapping at your core and suckling your clit.

Every breath is a moan or a whimper, overtaken by pleasure, but you let yourself drown in it, letting Taehyung eat you out like a man starved. With one hand on your upper thigh and one entwined with yours, he's got no fingers free to play with you, but expertly he brings you to your peak with just his tongue, thrusting it inside you as his nose nudges at your clit.

When you feel your orgasm quickly approaching, your moans heighten and your back begins to arch, hips grinding against him desperately. Taehyung chuckles, the sound vibrating against you and making you shudder, and his hand slips high to press against your waist instead, holding you in place for him. Your thighs tense around him, praises and curses and his name spilling from your lips incoherently.

It's one last nibble at your clit, pulling it into his mouth and dragging his tongue over it, your vision whites out with the force of your orgasm, jerking beneath him and crying out wantonly, overcome with pleasure. He works you through it diligently, groaning as you come down from your high with weak shivers, his tongue never ceasing until you push at his head from oversensitivity.

He lets your leg down carefully, kissing his way up your bare stomach, the swells of your breasts and your throat until his lips are on yours and you can taste yourself on him, feel the ends of his hair tickling against your cheeks.

"That was incredible, Tae," you pant out, feeling boneless beneath him as he takes charge of the kiss, tugging at your lips and licking into your mouth. "I need you," he gasps, and you moan throatily when his clothed crotch grinds against your bare core, the fabric of his underwear catching on your sensitive clit. He's hard, probably painfully so, and all you want is to feel him inside you.

Desperate, your fingers slip behind you, arching your back so that you can deftly release the clasp of your bra, pulling it off hastily before reaching for his underwear. "I need you too, Tae," you plea, "please hurry."

His fingers, slightly cool from the air, slide down your stomach and between your thighs, making you jump as he slips two inside, thrusting them slowly. You're still sensitive, and his mouth falls to your ear, hushing you and pressing encouraging kisses to your temple as you whimper. "Doing so well for me," he praises, "just gotta make sure you're ready, okay?"

"O-okay," you make out, sucking in a breath when he pulls out and presses a third finger inside you, picking up his pace. Gradually, the prickling overstimulation warms into pleasure again, and you rock your hips to seek more friction, free hand coming up to wrap around his neck and shoulders, holding him close.

With no bra on, your full chest is flat against his, and as the paint dries it drags over your nipples, making you arch your back, seeking out the friction.

The warmth between your legs tightens with the extra stimulation, and your breath begins to catch, feeling another orgasm oncoming.

"Close?" Taehyung murmurs in your ear as he widens the gaps between his fingers inside you, scissoring to stretch you even more. You nod hastily, moans getting stuck in your throat, pushed out with every gasped breath. Taehyung hums in response, and you whimper when you feel his fingers slipping out of you completely. Before you can protest, the blunt head of his cock slips between your sopping folds, Taehyung running it up and down to coat himself in your slick.

"Fuck, yes, please Tae, I'm ready," you babble, legs lifting to wrap around his hips, attempting to pull him in closer.

He chuckles, but it's cut off prematurely by a hissed breath of pleasure as he lines up and begins to sink his length into you, a delicious feeling of fullness after his fingers left you so empty. Taehyung enters you slowly, letting you adjust, and you feel completely enveloped by him; his voice in your ear, his hand in yours, his cock inside you.

"Need you, Tae," you whine once he stills, bottomed out, "please move."

"Are you ready?" You wiggle your hips with a groaned yes, arm tightening around him as he pulls back. He stops when just his head still rests inside you, pauses for a moment with a moan as you clench around him, and then plunges back in with one slick thrust.

You cry out, satisfied smile stretching tiredly across your face as he finally begins a steady rhythm, favoring deeper thrusts that make your toes curl. "Yes, Tae, so good!"

"God, you're still so tight," he groans throatily, "so good for me."

On the edge before, you find yourself close after only a few minutes, and you tell him with a shaky breath. Taehyung lets out a relieved exhale as he continues to thrust into you. "Thank fuck," he huffs out, panting a word at a time, "I'm not gonna last, you drive me crazy."

You press your head against his, nuzzling at it as you unwrap your arm from around his shoulders, instead seeking out your clit for the needed friction to push you over the edge. The added stimulation has you clenching, and Taehyung swears desperately, his pace picking up but shuddering as he gets close.

The two of you pant loudly into the otherwise silent room, filling each others' ears with whimpered moans and slurred praises, until you finally catch the tip of your peak, and with one final drag of his cock inside you, you're falling apart, not suddenly and violently like the first time, but rather a slow, hot wave of pleasure that works its way out from your core, down to your toes and fingertips, clenching tightly around Taehyung until he curses and spills inside you, shuddering through his release.

"I love you so much," you whisper once you come down from your high, a contented exhaustion seeping into your bones.

"I love you too," Taehyung says with a final press of his lips on your temple.

---

"This one's gorgeous. I love the broad lines on the ocean compared to the texture of rocks on the shore. This is at the island, you say?"

You hum in confirmation, smiling at your old friend. "You should see, it, Joonie. There's this little cluster of houses and shops right in the middle but the rest is just open nature. Forests, beaches, everything in the middle. I go there every year."

Kim Namjoon, Director at the Leeum Museum in Seoul and avid nature buff, takes one last look at the landscape canvas and grins. "Ah, twist my arm..." You follow him as he moves down the line of mounted canvases, stopping at a familiar portrait. He furrows his brows and cocks his head. "I feel like I've seen this guy before, something about the face... He didn't have green in his hair though, I must be confused."

You laugh at your friend, spying a shock of red through the swathes of people. "You have seen him before," you explain, catching the figure's eye, "you would have seen him here tonight."

In front of you, Namjoon raises his brows. "Oh, really? Who is he, then?"

Over Namjoon's shoulder, you watch Taehyung approach, turning heads with his scarlet dye. He gives you a wink, and you grin back. "He's my husband."

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mybg3notebook · 3 years

Text

Gale: Hypothesis and Analogies – Part 1

Here, I compile several hypotheses that are pretty common to find around, expressing my opinion on them and showing what EA has given us so far to justify them or not.

Disclaimer Game Version: All these analyses were written up to the game version v4.1.104.3536 (Early access). As long as new content is added, and as long as I have free time for that, I will try to keep updating this information. Written in June 2021.

Disclaimer about interpretations of Real Life concepts: I’m not a fan of bringing real life issues into plain analogies/allegories in a game which intention in doing so was not made explicit, but the fandom seems to like this aspect and therefore I would like to share those opinions here as well since some seems reasonable despite not being of my taste. This topic may be sensitive for some people. Be aware of it.

Hypothesis: Gale was groomed

Concept

Grooming is building a relationship, trust, and emotional connection with a child or young person (and sometimes their family as well) to lower the child's inhibitions with the objective of sexual abuse. Grooming allows offenders to slowly overcome natural boundaries long before sexual abuse occurs. On the surface, grooming a child can look like a close relationship between the offending adult, the targeted child and (potentially) the child’s caregivers. The grooming process is often misleading because the offender may be well-known or highly regarded in the community. As a result, it’s easy to trust them. Although grooming is more common among children, it may happen with adults too, especially in work environments.

Stages: First, perpetrators may target and exploit a child’s perceived vulnerabilities: emotional neediness, isolation, neglect, a chaotic home life, or lack of parental oversight, etc. They work to gain the trust of parents/caregivers to lower suspicion.

Once the perpetrator begins to fill the child's needs, they may assume a more important role in the child's life. Perpetrators utilize tactics such as gift giving, flattery, gifting money, and meeting other basic needs. Tactics may also include increased attention and affection towards the targeted child. The perpetrator uses isolation tactics to reinforce their relationship with the child by creating situations in which they are alone together or by cultivating a sense that they love and understand the child in a way that others, even their parents, cannot.

Once emotional dependence and trust have been built, the perpetrator progressively sexualizes the relationship. When sexual abuse is occurring, perpetrators commonly use emotional manipulation; they make the child believe they are the only person who can meet their emotional and material needs. The child may feel that the loss of the relationship, or the consequences of exposing it, will be more damaging and humiliating than continuing the unhealthy relationship.

Behavioural consequence

The consequences on victims of grooming tend to be very different depending on the victim's age, personality, and psychology, but some broad leftover traits or behaviours can be summarised as:

They are too eager to please and have a great avoidance of angering others.

Big desire for privacy: they know others will not understand what they lived.

The victim becomes withdrawn, or they may seem troubled by something but unwilling to talk about it. Alternatively, their emotions might become more volatile.

They tend to be unaware of the abuse for a long while even after the relationship ended.

If they are aware, they tend to display shame and embarrassment for what happened.

They can suffer abandonment issues depending on the way this relationship ended.

They tend to develop difficulties to maintain relationships.

This situation tends to be particularly invisible or dismissed for men and boys due to social norms about masculinity.

Inside the context of BG3

First, it's important to estimate Gale's age. More or less the fandom agrees he is currently (1492DR) in his early 30s. Mystra returned in 1479DR (read the post about "Mystra and her Chosen ones" for details), so Mystra may have lured Gale into serving her as Chosen when he was around 17 years old (this depends on every player’s perception of Gale’s age)

This gives us a good estimation of the context: When Mystra returned thanks to Elminster—who gave her most of his Silver Fire—she immediately started to strengthen her network of Chosen ones and to work on repairing the Weave to its original state. Due to this unique context, Gale may have been observed by Mystra as a precious asset: a very young wizard who could not only control the Weave but compose it: a great skill to repair a still weak Weave. Furthermore, in the novel Dead Masks (1491DR), it is stated that the best way to cast a spell with a weakened Weave is to "twist" it instead of using it for tapping into the Raw Magic. In this book it is not clear if this is a skill that only Chosen ones have, but it has a strong similarity with Gale's skills.

Although we don't know much about Gale's childhood, if he was neglected or not as a child to be more easily lured by the Goddess, we can agree that it's most likely that Mystra has been watching him as a potential candidate since a child. Gale explicitly says: "I’ve been in touch with the Weave for as long as I can remember". And as far as Forgotten Realms lore goes, Weave and Mystra are the same. We also know that this is a common behaviour of Mystra who has been watching precocious, skilful wizards before choosing them for her goals: for example, Midnight.

When Gale reached an age that could be considered a "(very) young man", she seduced him, using his passion and love for Magic to lure him. She offered him a deep connection with her and with the Weave: with Magic itself. After seeing Gale's passion for magic, it is understandable that he—as a teenager or a young man—must have been dazzled by her and her proposal. We know that, in the novel Elminster: a mage in the making, she offered to Elminster exactly what he wanted the most: power to make his revenge possible . By the end of the encounter, Elminster became “charmed” by her despite hating her throughout all his life, turning into her devotee. This situation can be interpreted as another example of how Mystra works: she seems to lure her potential Chosen with the promise of giving them what they are most passionate about.

Once Mystra slept with her Chosen, and imbued her divine essence on them, she left them to their own devices, making them wait for her commands. In Elminster’s and Sammaster ‘s case, both were put under tests, being forced—by their own drive to please the Goddess—to develop more magic and personal skills to serve her. In the process, both developed an obsession for her. Elminster's seems to be less self-destructive than Sammaster's, but the latter could be understandable since he always suffered from madness. My point is, the pattern continues with Gale: driven by this obsession of wanting Mystra close, to please her, Gale tried to control an ancient magic, and failed, being abandoned by Mystra due to this mistake.

Gale, according to this interpretation as a victim of grooming, is still stuck in the process: he wants to please Mystra, wants to right his wrongs, even though in some scenes he seems to have been over her, in others he still seems to be very attached to her (it's hard to know which is the most accurate since it's EA and Gale was rushed), he keeps all this trouble in private because he knows nobody will understand.

Unlike an adult who realised he was victim of grooming, Gale seems to be still not over that relationship, showing many of the behavioural consequences:

Gale is a person who is always eager to please and avoid confrontations. If there is no choice he will use violent means, but he will always push for diplomatic approaches [1,2]. This trait seems to favour this interpretation.

He has a strong sense of privacy to the point that he is considered "shady". A lot of that desire for privacy may come from the fact that he knows no one will understand the unique relationship he had with a bigger entity. This can be seen by choosing the meanest options during the Weave and the Loss. Despite his many troubles, he remains secretive, acknowledging that "some things can't be spoken".

He is completely unaware of having been a victim of such power imbalance. He doesn't see abuse in it, and he is not performative about this fact, since he is very private on the topic until very late in game.

Nobody can deny his abandonment issues (which are even explicitly pointed out in the dev's notes) [20]

We can infer, by all the information given, that Mystra has been his first (and presumably only) relationship so far, giving a possible hint that he may have decided not to enter another relationship again or may have felt apprehensive about it (even though I personally think this impediment is mainly caused by the “orb”).

I don't completely subscribe to this interpretation because I don’t think Mystra’s main goal has been sexual abuse, but the creation of servants and devotees that allow her to expand her power. To do so, she uses sex as part of the “ritual” that transforms certain mortals into Chosen Ones. The way in which this is indirectly explained in the novels makes me remember the concept of Zeus and his abuse of mortals: he spreads part of his divinity in the form of demi-god offspring. In Mystra’s case, she seems to leave part of her divinity in the Chosen one that slept with her: the “seed” of semi-divinity.

However, it’s not clear if sleeping with her Chosen ones is a procedure she always does. Her daughters may have inherited her divinity when she conceived them while possessing a mortal body, but other female Chosen Ones seemed to be out of this process. Ed Greedwood also has a constant discourse in his novels where he explains that magic is “better” understood or much easily wielded by females because “they are connected to their emotions” and another stereotype of this kind. What seems to be clear is that Forgotten Realm lore hides as much as possible its queerness, and when it comes to Mystra, this habit of sleeping with her Chosen seems to apply (or at least make it more explicit) only to male mortals. So in short, her main goal was to catch another useful mortal to her group of Chosen Ones, and to do so, she lured Gale with all what she could offer. I also believe gods are gods, and they are immensely overpowered and entitled to do whatever they want in this fantasy world. They don't follow mortal rules, so they may have little scruples to do anything they see necessary to achieve their own goals, no matter if the consequences of their actions affect children, teenagers, or adults.

Mystra in particular has been a very neutral goddess (due to her many rebirths), not particularly cruel as an evil deity could be, but not completely selfless either: she has conceived her daughters using a mortal vessel who previously gave her consent but without knowing the consequences of giving birth each year for a decade while containing a goddess inside. Mystra also profited off of Sammaster's madness (some Harpers who wrote Sammaster’s reports suspect she could have been able to cure him): she may have actively decided not to in order to let his genius madness increase her realm of power/magic. Therefore, Mystra may have had little scruples to use a very young Gale enamoured with magic to turn him into another Chosen whose skills could fix the Weave given the context that it had been severely weakened after the Spellplague. So the grooming is not completely misplaced in my opinion.

Gale's Chosen selection process is not different to what we can read in the book of the Cult of the Dragon, where Sammaster became obsessed with Mystra after sleeping with her and developed metamagic as a consequence to impress her. Or in the novel Elminster, the making of a mage, where Elmister originally despised Mystra and every magic user. However, after being in her presence, he fell for her charm, and never could get over his "love" for her, suffering a lot of painful circumstances to just be a "good devotee" and serve her.

Mystra is written in most novels as the living allegory of the beautiful "mean" woman who will always ask for more from her poor captivated men, but she will never be completely satisfied, no matter how much they sacrifice. She acknowledges the effort, but she is always asking for more. Only with Elminster she actively tried to save him from the Hells, showing, for a change, that her Chosen can be a bit more than mere pawns in the big game of divine power. However, it's important to highlight that the last rebirth of Mystra has changed her: in the novel Dead Masks some of the Seven Sisters explicitly say that Mystra has turned paranoid, asking each of her Chosen to do missions that the others cannot know. She has become more secretive and cryptic than ever.

Mystra's actions seem to have worse connotation if we think that she can have visions of the future, as she had when she decided that Sammaster had to be her Chosen: she had foresaw the death of another Chosen and she wanted him to fill that vacuum before the event happened. So she may have foreseen Gale’s actions in his naive way to impress her. Maybe she wanted him to do it, so she could have a new piece of magic in her realm. But this is mere speculation, we will need the full release of the game to have the answer.

As I explained, despite not being a fan of it, the interpretation of grooming is not a bad one. It fits mostly if it's applied to a teenage boy, and probably it would have been taken a bit more seriously and less prone to jokes inside the fandom if Gale were a female character and Mystra a male God.

Hypothesis: Gale has abandonment Issues

Concept

Abandonment issues arise when an individual has a strong fear of losing loved ones. A fear of abandonment is a form of anxiety. It often begins in childhood when a child experiences a traumatic loss. Children who go through this experience may then begin to fear losing other important people in their lives. Some individuals continue to fear abandonment as they grow older. Although it is less common, abandonment issues can also sometimes begin in adulthood.

The loss often stems from a trauma, such as a death or divorce. Emotional abandonment, where a parent or caregiver is physically present but emotionally absent, may also give rise to abandonment issues later in life. It is not clear what makes one person develop this fear, since not all humans who have experienced similar losses do it. Trauma — potentially from abuse or poverty — may play a role, as may the level of emotional support that a person receives following a loss. These issues can have a significant effect on a person’s life and relationships because they fear that the other person will leave them at any moment.

Behavioural signs/consequences

Being overly eager to please ( a “people pleaser”)

Pushing others away to avoid rejection

Jealousy of the partner or the others when in a relationship.

Trouble trusting their partner's intentions.

Feeling insecure about their relationships.

Codependency

Need for continuous reassurance that others love them and will stay with them

Persisting in unhealthy relationships

Inability to maintain relationships: or moving quickly from one relationship to another or sabotaging them

Inside the context of BG3

I'm not going to explain this in great detail since it's spread in most of the posts I’ve done about Gale's analysis. What it's clear is that Gale has a constant fear for abandonment once he starts caring for Tav as a friend or/and lover, and this fear makes him prone to do things of poor taste. This fear seems to make him look for acceptance that only through a night of intimacy can give him. This information is apparently in the book he read, making us guess that his experience with relationships is rather poor if nonexistent. Dev's notes also reinforce the idea that Gale fears abandonment:

Gale: It is my truth, finally revealed. It is this folly that led Mystra to abandon me completely. I can only hope you won’t abandon me as well. After all we’ve been through. After the night we spent together. Surely we can brave even this side by side Dev's note: Solemn. Full of yearning, his news will not lead to him being abandoned by the player.

Gale: Loyalty is such a… such a very rare commodity. Dev's note: The reference to loyalty foreshadows Mystra leaving him.

So far in EA, we can see that Gale checks some behavioural consequences of this fear: he is always eager to please, approaching Tav with courtesy and jovial manners, only displaying his most acidic side to a Tav whose actions are evil. In that case, Gale cares little if Tav leaves him. With the Loss scene we can see that it is hard for him to give his trust to others, pushing them away because they would not understand the grave mistake he made. His trust demands constant progression from the Stew scene, to the Weave, to the Loss scene. If he is romanced, he asks several times if Tav is thinking of the Weave moment. When Tav asks him this question, Gale will deflect, always asking back to have Tav’s answer first before giving his: it could be interpreted as Gale looking for constant reassurance in the blooming relationship.

However, in my opinion, the best situation that shows his abandonment issues is during our meeting with Gandrel. Gale disapproves of handing over Astarion, by telling Tav about an anecdote of a dog turning old and mean: how his friend got rid of the animal just because it was an inconvenience. This is very curious since Gale's mistrust for Astarion is not a secret: he stated many times that Astarion is a danger to the group, and his wickedness causes him to strongly dislike him. The reason for this is quite obvious if we see both lists of approvals: mostly what one approves the other disapproves. Despite all this, Gale strongly judges Tav for handing Astarion over, and his disapproval for doing it shows that Gale is not lying on the matter: the meta-knowledge is trustworthy information.

This can be understood better when Tav defends Astarion against Gandrel: Gale approves twice of defending him. If Astarion is not in the group when meeting the monster hunter, the first approval happens when Tav recognises that Astarion is part of their companions/friends (therefore, Tav is showing care for their group). The second approval happens when Tav reinforces their loyalty to Astarion insisting that they won’t give his location (this is a clear display of loyalty that Gale acknowledges as rare. See the post of "Gale Hypotheses- Part 2", section: "Proposition to Cheat" for more details). Although Gale will explicitly question this decision, he secretly approved it (the approvals we saw are meta-knowledge: only the player sees them). Considering the undeniable context that Gale deeply dislikes Astarion, we may interpret this as Gale seeing in Tav a loyal person who will not abandon someone they care for, even if that person endangers them. Loyalty is something that resounds deeply in Gale due to his abandonment issues.

Another detail on this matter can be seen during the party. If Tav arranges spending the night with a companion and then asks (non-romanced) Gale the same, he will answer:

Gale: You are all too quick to abandon the one you promised yourself to. It’s not a quality I admire.

This line shows that first, Gale is not interested in casual sex; he needs the connection that the Weave provides and Tav’s explicit, previous romantic interest in it. Second, when Gale is romanced but Tav sleeps with someone else, Gale will not interfere in that affair, but he may not like it (due to his, I suppose, jealous comment since he doesn’t display an approval penalty for this). However, he seems to equate loyalty with commitment, understanding that affair as a fling but believing he still holds the romantic interest of Tav, hence his proposition the next day. More details in the post of "Gale Hypotheses- Part 2", section: "Proposition to Cheat".

---------

Sources for both parts:

Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders ( 5V)

Some concepts were summarised from: https://melcrowecounsellor.com www.d2l.org/child-grooming-signs-behavior-awareness/

This post was written in June 2021. → For more Gale: Analysis Series Index

#bg3 meta #bg3 gale #gale #gale of waterdeep

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discoscoob · 3 years

Text

Reset | Loki x Female Reader

Loki (Marvel) x Doctor Who

Loki and the Doctor answer a distress call, while Donna explains the reason for Loki’s sudden cruelty towards you.

Part Thirteen | Part Fifteen | Chapter Index

Words: 5.7k

Warnings: death and angst

Read on AO3

Loki and the Doctor returned to the TARDIS in solemn silence, as he suspected, Loki didn’t find you in the control room, he knew you would be hiding deep within the TARDIS by now and that Donna was likely trying to find you. He was certainly it would be a few days, at least, before he would see you again, before he had to see the pain on your face and know he was the one who was responsible for it.

You would resent him now and Loki didn’t even know if you would give him an opportunity to explain, but even if you did, how could you ever trust him again after the things he said to you? Loki felt hopeless, the only silver lining was the fact you were still alive and he reminded himself that he did the right thing.

“Loki, I’m sorry.” The Doctor sensitively approached him, “it was the only way-”

“Yeah,” Loki cut him off and the Doctor could tell he didn’t wish to talk about it, or about anything for that matter, so he let himself fall silent as he focused on piloting his ship.

Loki, who usually stood with proud posture and walked with confidence in each step, hung his head, slumped his shoulders, with them curved forward slightly, and dragged his feet as he began to make his way out of the control room to find somewhere to wallow in self pity, but the TARDIS had other ideas.

The lights of the control room switched to a dangerous red, that told you immediately something was wrong, but if that wasn’t enough, a repetitive bleeping echoed through the room. Loki suddenly became alert as he turned on the spot and looked back at the Doctor who was already working furiously at the ships console.

“What is that?” Loki demanded to know as he joined the Doctor’s side by the console.

“A distress call.” The Doctor answered while he squinted at the monitor, instead of putting on his reading glasses.

Loki’s interest spiked, he realised a distraction might be exactly what he needed to keep his mind from running over the cruel things he had said to you as you wept at his feet.

“Are you answering it?” Loki asked.

“Of course,” The Doctor nodded, as if that should’ve been obvious before he glanced up at Loki. “Wanna come along?”

“I have nothing better to do.” Loki nonchalantly shrugged.

“Buckle up.” The Doctor told him as he slammed down the handbrake.

***

You were lying on the floor of the dome observatory, curled up between the scattered cushions and blankets Loki had conjured for the makeshift bed you would often share whenever the pair of you came here. The more time the pair of you had spent together here, the more it felt like the space belonged to the both of you, it had always been peaceful here and you were never disturbed. It seemed natural to you that this was the first place you decided to come to seek safety and comfort.

Loki’s scent still lingered upon the soft furnishings which surrounded you like a nest, you couldn’t tell if you found it comforting or if it made your stomach churn with nausea, perhaps a bit of both. You hugged one of the cushions close to your chest and snuggled your body tightly around it as you unashamedly let your sobs rack through your body, which caused your back and shoulders to shake from the uncontrollable cries.

Your tears were cooling as they dripped from your jaw and travelled down the line of your neck, soaking the bedding around you, but you didn’t care. You were in agony, it genuinely felt as though your heart had been torn apart from the inside out and it was left bleeding in your chest just as rapidly as the tears flowed from your eyes, which were red and puffy by now. A dull headache had begun to form at your temples, from the toll your continuous weeping had taken on your body and your eyelids were becoming heavier as you welcomed sleep with open arms, but you didn’t get the chance.

You reduced your sobs to quiet sniffles when you heard the sealed door slide open before sliding back shut. Your eyes widened immediately and your weak and damaged heart nervously quickened it’s beat as for just a moment you had thought it was Loki who had come to see you. You weren’t sure if you were more glad or disheartened when you heard their footsteps and instantly recognised them as your aunties.

You gulped before you attempted to speak, hoping your crying and the tightness of your throat hadn’t put too much of a strain on your voice.

“If you have come to say ‘I told you so’ you can leave.” You croakily told her, without even bothering to turn around.

“Quite the opposite, actually.” Donna softly explained as she welcomed herself to sit down beside you.

You wanted to ask what she meant by that, but you didn’t have the energy, so you stared off at the breathtaking sight before you, despite the fact that all the stars and colours blurred together from the moisture that gathered in your eyes and slightly impaired your vision, hoping that she would elaborate without prompting.

“What a gorgeous view.” Donna observed instead, “I never even knew this part of the TARDIS existed.”

“Loki showed it to me.” You quietly told her, your voice was tired and saying his name caused your heart to clench.

“So this is where you two would disappear to when you were avoiding me?” She teased like everything was still normal, which only caused memories to rapidly flash through your mind like quickly flicking through the pages of an old photo album. You couldn’t stop yourself before you were crying again, you curled yourself tighter around the cushion, squashing it between your thighs and the front of your chest as you rested your forehead against the top of your knees and buried your face into the soft cushion, literally turning yourself into a ball. You felt your auntie rest her hand on your shuddering back as she gently began to stroke it in a circular pattern in an attempt to sooth you.

“I came here to tell you I was wrong.” Donna finally admitted, it shocked you so much, it acted like a sudden slap in the face as it immediately interrupted your sobs.

You raised your face from the cushion and lifted your head at an angle that said a pain shooting through your neck, which you ignored, to look at your auntie for the first time since she entered the room.

“About Loki.” She quickly added, as if it needed any clarification.

You ignored the ache in your head as you forced yourself into a sitting position, at first your head spun from how abruptly you moved, so you cradled your forehead in your palm for a moment before you focused your attention back on Donna and narrowed your eyes at her.

“Get out.” You harshly told her as you pointed towards the door, when she failed to move, due to the fact she was stunned motionless by your abrupt change in behaviour, you shoved roughly at her shoulder which caused her to gasp in both shock and pain.

“Haven’t you done enough, already?” You yelled at her, while she recoiled with wide eyes, completely thrown off guard by your outburst. “You think you can trick me again? Manipulate me into forgiving you, just so you can wipe the slate clean and start another twisted game?”

“What?” Donna hesitantly asked, afraid you had lost your mind since you weren’t making any sense.

“Goddammit, Loki, just drop the act!” You demanded with an exhausted sigh and Donna finally realised what you thought was going on as she sympathetically pulled her bows together and leaned back towards you.

Donna recalled how Loki had shifted into his female form at the temple in Pompeii, she hadn’t realised he could shift into other the forms of other people as well, but from your reaction, it didn’t take long for her to figure out that you had thought she was Loki disguised as herself.

“Hun, it’s me. It’s Donna.” She gently told you which caused you to finally pause as she put her hand on your forearm and stroked her thumb back and forth.

She had used the term of endearment which she most often called you and you couldn’t recall a time where which she had used it in front of Loki and he never called you ‘hun’ which made you pause in consideration as you squinted your eyes at your auntie.

“I’m sorry,” you eventually slumped with a sigh, as you brought your fingers up to your forehead to smooth out your crossed brows, the pulsating headache still dully shot through your skull. “I thought you were Loki, he can shift into the forms of other people.” You explained and Donna nodded with understanding.

“It’s okay.” She assured you.

“But... but why are you defending him?” You finally asked, “you’re not exactly his biggest fan.”

Donna tilted her head and pursed her lips to the side, the patience and empathy in her eyes made you feel at ease.

“Do you recall what happened?” She asked you first, to get an idea of your understanding of what had happened, because she knew you were smart and suspected that there must have been something blocking you from making the connection between the monster preying on your faith, specifically your faith in Loki, and him suddenly destroying it.

“The beast had started coming for me...” you drew your brows together as you concentrated on playing the memories back in your mind, “I was frightened and it was attracted by my fear, but Loki was there and I knew he would keep me safe but... I... I was wrong.”

You couldn’t see the confusion that was evident on Donna’s face as you were looking down at your hands which you were fidgeting with on top of your lap.

“Do you remember how the beast was defeated?” She asked you.

“I didn’t see,” you shook your head, “I was too upset. I just... I just assumed the Doctor had figured out how to stop it.”

She wondered how you had managed to get it so wrong, you hadn’t suffered any head injury that might have distorted your memories but then it hit her that something else would have distorted your mind, the beast had been inside it.

She recalled how you had told Loki it was changing you and your thoughts and realised that it must have made you forget that faith was what it fed on, and instead made you believe it was fear, in order to make you cling on tighter to your faith in Loki, despite how hard he was trying to break it.

“Sweetheart, the beast fed on faith,” she reminded you, “it was your faith in Loki that it wanted, he had to destroy it to save your life.” Donna explained to you as she gently brushed some of your hair away from your face, once you had lowered your head in thought.

“He didn’t mean anything he said, I could see how much it broke his heart to say those things to you.” Donna continued, “he really cares about you. It’s genuine and special and I was wrong.”

It was hazy at first but the fog the beast had left in your mind started to clear and your memories slotted back together, you realised how out of the blue it was for Loki to suddenly start being cruel to you and how at the exact moment he completely shattered your heart, the beast was defeated.

The realisation hit you like a slap in the face as you sat up straight and let your jaw fall slack, you suddenly had the urge to find Loki immediately and tell him you understood what he had done and fix everything, but before you could rise to your feet, you felt tremors beneath you as the whole ship began to quiver. The view beyond the dome vanished into array of colourful lights which the TARDIS travelled through like a current, the colours reflected on your face like a rainbow as you watched with wide eyed wonder, until the TARDIS came to an abrupt stop and the dome was plunged into darkness.

***

Loki and the Doctor cautiously stepped out of the TARDIS into the corridor of the space ship, which had given out the distress call, with wide eyes as they vigilantly glanced all around them, since they had no idea what to expect. But apart from some broken wires, which hung loose from the ceiling and occasional spat out sparks of electricity, it was empty and eerily silent. The pair made sure to steer clear of the broken wires as they made their way further down the dark and abandoned corridor, which was littered debris and abandoned belongings, while smoke and dust filled the air around them.

They followed the trail of destruction in silence, both wondering if they were too late, but they soon found out that they weren’t alone.

“Hear me and rejoice.” A voice called from the distance, beckoning them towards it. “You have had the privilege of being saved by the Great Titan.”

Loki abruptly halted in his tracks, the Doctor walked a few steps ahead before he realised he could no longer hear Loki’s footsteps behind him and looked over his shoulder, to find him bracing himself against the wall with a pale and vacant look on his face.

“You may think this is suffering.” the voice continued.

“Loki, are you all right?” The Doctor asked.

“No.” The voice said, “it is salvation.”

Loki blinked rapidly and determination took over his features before he stood straight and looked beyond the Doctor as he continued towards the voice which echoed through the wrecked ship, while the Doctor followed after him, whisper yelling his name along the way.

When Loki reached the centre of the ship, he saw the height of the destruction, the fires, the bodies of his people scattered around the floor as Thanos’ henchmen, Ebony Maw, stepped between them reciting his speech while Thanos himself, stood at the head of the ship, clad in gold armour.

He swallowed heavily at the devastation Thanos had brought upon his people, before he found a shadowed corner to hide in, behind a broken piece of wall as he watched on unnoticed. The Doctor joined his side just as Ebony Maw walked past a man who turned his head into the light, which revealed his features to both Loki and the Doctor.

“Is that you?” The Doctor whispered.

Loki nodded but his lips remained tightly sealed and the Doctor suddenly yanked on his arm, abruptly turning Loki to face him.

“You can’t be here, you can’t go back on your own timeline, the consequences could be catastrophic.” The Doctor warned him with a low tone. “We need to leave.”

“No.” Loki stopped him, “this isn’t my past, it’s not even my future. It... it’s... complicated.”

“Believe me, I know all too well about complicated, wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey stuff. Try me.” The Doctor told him and Loki looked at him with furrowed brows.

“That purple brute other there,” Loki nodded his head towards the mighty titan and the Doctor glanced over and acknowledged him with a nod. “His name is Thanos and he is searching for all six infinity stones. I suspect he succeeds because five years from now, Earths ‘mightiest heroes,’” Loki brought both his hands up to make air quotation marks, which caused the Doctor to pull a face which Loki paid no attention to as he continued. “Go on a mission back in time to gather the infinity stones themselves, in order to reverse his snap which erased half the population of the entire universe. Of course, as you would expect, they messed up because I got my hands on the tesseract and diverged from the timeline, I mean, I didn’t know they needed it to save the universe.”

The Doctor cleared his throat in order to remind Loki that he was also diverging from the original point he was trying to explain.

“The point is, this isn’t my future anymore, not since I broke the original timeline.” Loki finally explained. “I’m a ‘cosmic mistake.’ That is why I shouldn’t exist.” He added to himself, more quietly.

“How do you know all that?” The Doctor asked.

“The TVA showed me.” Loki shrugged.

Suddenly Thor’s cries of pain caused Loki and the Doctor to once again peek over the wall they were hidden behind.

“That’s your brother!” The Doctor instantly recognised him from when he had saw him in the alleyway in New York.

Thanos was holding him down on his knees with his head clenched in his large hand as he held one of the infinity stones against his temple, torturing him.

“All right, stop!” Original Loki yielded and Thanos immediately removed the stone from against Thor’s temple, but still held the top of his head in the palm of his oversized hand.

“We don’t have the tesseract.” Thor said, his voice was exhausted and hoarse and he was panting heavily from the torture which Thanos made him endure. “It was destroyed on Asgard.”

Loki and the Doctor watched with bated breath as original Loki slowly began to raise his arm and a bright light appeared in his palm as he conjured a blue cube and he lowered his head to avoid his brothers gaze.

“You really are the worst brother.” Thor sighed through his heavy breaths.

“I assure you, brother, the sun will shine on us again.” Original Loki told Thor as he stepped towards Thanos and held out the tesseract.

Loki ducked back down and rested his back against the broken wall, the Doctor followed him and observed him as he seemed to be lost in thought.

“Loki...” The Doctor whispered, in an attempt to prompt him to share his thoughts.

“I die here.” Loki simply muttered, without lifting his eyes to the Doctors.

“What?”

“I die here.” Loki repeated, as he finally looked up to the Doctor, “but what if I changed that? What if... what if I took his place?”

“Loki, you can’t.” The Doctor immediately discouraged him.

“What else is there for me?” Loki argued. “I only had one thing worth living for and I broke her heart.”

“And you think dying will fix it?” The Doctor asked Loki, trying to make him see sense.

“No, but maybe he can.” Loki gestured to the Loki who stood beyond the broken wall they crouched behind. “What good am I for her? I am living a life on the run, you said it yourself, that’s not freedom.”

The Doctor recalled saying that to Loki during his first night on the TARDIS when they shared a conversation in the control room. He couldn’t believe how far they had come since. He still believed what he said was true, but now he had grown closer to Loki, it was harder to admit it, while Loki, who had originally disagreed with him, was the one repeating it back to him. They had come full circle.

The Doctor was just about to open his mouth to reply when a large, roaring, green beast came hurtling towards them, Loki quickly dived for cover and pushed the Doctor down with him as he did, just in time for the beast to leap straight over them.

“What the hell was that?!” The Doctor whisper yelled.

Loki didn’t stop to answer before he was climbing off the Doctor and stealthily scrambling through the ship to steal himself away, during the commotion.

Loki fought back against himself when he felt a strong arm slide around his waist and a large hand clamp over his mouth, usually he was able to use his strength and tactics to protect himself in situations like this, however this time he was struggling to get free, due to the fact it was himself he was trying to escape from, he had met his match but Loki hadn’t realised that, since his other self had grabbed him from behind. Once Loki had managed to drag himself over to a secluded corner, he let him out of his hold and the pair of them finally made eye contact.

Original Loki immediately freaked out and conjured a dagger before he shoved Loki into a wall and held it against his throat in the blink of an eye. The Doctor, who had watched the whole thing from where he was hid, quickly scurried over to the identical pair before they killed one another.

“Not quite the reaction I was expecting but, then again, I can’t say I’m surprised.” The Loki with a knife to his throat said as he raised his hands by his sides to show he wasn’t a threat.

“Who are you?” Loki demanded lowly which caused the Loki before him pulled his face back and give him a look.

“Come on, you and I both know you’re smarter than that.” Loki told him, which caused him to squint but he didn’t remove the dagger from below his jaw just yet.

“Loki–” The Doctor tried to interject, but the pair of them sent him an identical deadly glare and he immediately sealed his lips.

“There is no other like me, I am the one and only.” Loki told himself.

“My existence says otherwise.” Loki replied to himself with a shrug, “look, this has been nice but you’re wasting time...”

Before the Loki with the dagger could react, his other self raised his palm to his forehead and transferred all the knowledge he needed, which caused his eyes to roll into the back of his head as the dagger fell from his limp hand and his body became weak from the force of another’s thoughts, experiences and memories invading his mind. Once Loki retracted his hand from his skull, the original Loki dropped to the floor unconscious.

***

You called out for Loki and the Doctor as you and Donna rushed into the control room in search of them, only to find no one was there. The pair of you shared a look before you walked around separate sides of the console to reach the exit, you were the first to push the narrow wooden door of the TARDIS open and you immediately felt unsettled as you were greeted by the sight of the wrecked and abandoned corridor of what appeared to be a space ship, filled with smoke, debris and lose broken wires hanging from the ceiling.

Donna peeked over your shoulder, from where you stood in the doorway, at the carnage before the both of you, and although you couldn’t see it, her face mirrored yours as her features filled with worry and dread.

“What on earth are they doing here?” Donna wondered out loud, as you cautiously stepped forward and she slid out of the TARDIS after you and gently pulled the door shut behind her.

Your wide eyes wandered over every inch of the corridor which you could see and you quietly travelled down it, with your auntie in toe, carefully stepping over the bits of rubble. The pair of you yelped and jumped out of the way when one of the wires you were passing by, spat out some sparks of electricity towards you.

If that didn’t surprise the both of you enough already, the monstrous roar which echoed through the ship surely did as you clung to one another in shock.

“Those nitwits are going to get themselves killed.” Donna fretted as you both ran in the direction of where the roaring came from, unprepared for what might await you, but determined to save the God and the Time Lord from whatever situation they had got themselves in.

The first thing that caught your attention when you finally reached the heart of the ship was the green beast attacking the man you recognised as Thanos and you immediately put your arm out to halt Donna to ensure the both of you remained unnoticed in the shadows.

Your heart had threatened to leap straight out your throat as soon as you laid your eyes on the raisin resembling titan as a million worries raced through your mind at once. Your concern only heightened when you saw the hundreds of bodies that were scattered across the floor, you instantly knew the all lost their lives to the hands of Thanos and you sent a silent prayer that Loki wasn’t one of them as your eyes desperately searched for his familiar face.

“Oh my god,” you tensed when you heard Donna gasp, “that’s Loki’s brother!” She whispered to you as she pointed towards a man, who looked worse for wear, from what you could see, he was the polar opposite of his adoptive brother in appearance, with short blond hair which contrasted Loki’s long black locks.

“Wait- how do you know Loki’s brother?” You whispered back as you began to move further into the room, keeping in the shadows.

“We met him in New York while you were unconscious... did we never mention it?” Donna told you and you shook your head over your shoulder as you gave her a disappointed look that wasn’t too serious.

You quickly shushed Donna, despite the fact she wasn’t speaking, when you heard some hushed voices coming from behind some broken pieces of wall.

“Look, this has been nice but you’re wasting time...” You would recognise that voice anywhere and you immediately rushed towards it.

You were surprised when you saw a replica of Loki collapse to the floor before your Loki, while the Doctor stood beside him. Loki whispered your name as soon as he saw you.

“What are you doing here?” He asked you.

“Looking for you!” You harshly whispered back, he recoiled from your tone as you made your way towards him over all the debris, until you were finally stood in front of him.

“I... I’m sorry, I know what I said to you is unforgivable but please listen to me, you can’t be here. You have to leave.” Loki urgently whispered to you but you shook your head.

“No, Loki, I know why you did it, Donna explained everything.” You assured him as you brought your hand up to his which was limp by his side and he glanced over your shoulder towards your auntie with an unreadable look.

“She did?” He asked with disbelief as his eyes remained on Donna and she offered him a small apologetic smile with a nod. While you took a second to glance down at the Loki on the floor at your feet before you peaked back over the wall towards Thanos, who was beginning to overpower the green beast and your heart sank with realisation as fresh tears began to rise to your already puffy eyes and you grabbed a tight hold of Loki’s shirt as you stepped closer to him.

“Loki, please tell me you’re not about to do what I think you’re about to do.” You whispered lowly to him and the way he avoided your eyes gave you the answer you didn’t want to hear.

“Loki, don’t you dare!” You made your voice sound as assertive as it possibly could but it still trembled due to the lump in your throat, which was making it difficult to breathe, as sheer panic ignited in your racing heart. “Listen to me, if this is because you thought I might be upset or mad at you, I’m not, I promise. I understand why you had to say those things. You were saving me. I know you didn’t mean any of it. You don’t have to do this. Just come back to the TARDIS with me, yeah?” You pleaded with him, but he just kept his head down as his own eyes became misty.

You placed both your hands on the sides of his face to force him to look at you and your heart shattered all over again when you saw the hopeless look on his face.

“You’re better off without me.” Loki told you and you rapidly shook your head but he continued. “I’m on the run, I can’t keep dragging you along with me forever, constantly looking over my shoulder. You deserve a better life than that.”

“I’d follow you forever.” You promised him and he smiled sadly at that as he let out his own sob and brought your hand up to his wet lips to kiss the back of it.

“Take care of him for me, okay.” Loki told you as he nodded to the version of himself that was lying unconscious at your feet.

“I don’t want him, I want you!” You stubbornly told him.

“He is the better version of me.” Loki continued trying to persuade you.

“You’re the best version of you. Loki, I... I love you.” You finally admitted to him.

“What?” Loki choked looking at you in disbelief.

“I love you.” You repeated with more determination, you didn’t care what his response was, you just desperately needed him to know.

Loki stared at you with his mouth agape for a moment, it was as if you were both in your own bubble, completely oblivious to the chaos around you as you both stared into each other’s watery eyes.

“I love you too.” Loki confessed and he could barely finish his sentence before you were crashing your lips into his, the kiss was sloppy and tasted salty as your tears slipped past each other’s lips, but neither of you cared.

“Then please don’t do this.” You begged him once you parted.

“I need to save my brother,” he gestured to Thor, who was now being restrained as debris from the wreckage coiled around his body, “and you need to save him,” he gestured to the Loki at your feet, “I’m not supposed to exist. Everything will be as it should.”

You swallowed hard realising that there was no turning back from this and it became all the more real when with a green shimmer, Loki was suddenly dressed in the same clothes and cape as the unconscious Loki was wearing, even the same marks of dirt appeared on his face and his hair grew a little longer. He was his mirror image. The fact you knew exactly what was going to happen next made it all the more heart wrenching as you threw your arms around his shoulders and held onto him as tight as you could, certain that if you simply refused to let him go, he would give in and come back to the TARDIS with you.

Your shoulders shook with the force of your cries as you hid your face into the crook of Loki’s neck and you felt his arms curl around your waist just as tightly as he buried his face into the crown of your head. You were sure you felt his own chest tremble against yours with his own sobs which left a constricting feeling around your heart.

The Doctor peaked over the wall and watched Thanos add the second infinity stone to his golden gauntlet and he looked back towards the both of you.

“Loki...” He called his attention.

You sniffled as you pulled back from Loki and nudged the tip of your nose against the back of your sleeve. Loki glanced over to where Ebony Maw knelt before Thanos before he looked back at you.

“This isn’t the end for me, it’s just a reset.” Loki assured you. “The Avengers will return to 2012 and I will escape with the tesseract and embark on this journey again.”

“You will be trapped in an infinite loop?”

“I will spend the rest of eternity reliving the happiness moments of my life, with someone I love and who loves me in return.” Loki corrected you and you couldn’t help the smile that broke through your sobs, lighting up your face like the sun peeking through a pair of storm clouds.

“You need to go.” Loki said more solemnly when he realised he was running out of time, he could bare to look at the way your face dropped so he closed his eyes and left a final lingering kiss on your forehead before he wordlessly turned to make his way out of the shadows. You had automatically taken a step forward to follow him but your aunties hand on your shoulder stopped you from going any further.

You felt numb as she encouraged you to move, you allowed her to guide you without any struggling but she was the only reason your legs were moving at all, as you refused to take your eyes off the spot where Loki disappeared.

“If I might interject. If you’re going to Earth, you might want a guide. I do have a bit of experience in that arena.” You heard Loki voice as you kept to the shadows and Donna encouraged you to continue putting one foot in front of the other.

You were grateful for the fact your auntie was guiding you because everything looked smudged and out of focus due to your tears obscuring your vision.

Once you made it back to the TARDIS, Donna held the door open for the Doctor to carry Loki through, you knew he was the same person as your Loki but when you looked at him, it felt like looking at a stranger and you couldn’t help the faint burn of resentment that ignited within you when you looked upon him, knowing your Loki had sacrificed his life to take his place and offer him a second chance.

Without a care for what the Doctor did with Loki, you made a beeline straight through the control room, ignoring Donna as she called after you as you rushed as quickly as you could to your bedroom and locked the door behind you.

You didn’t even manage to make it to your bed before your legs gave way beneath you and you succumbed to your grief as it ripped through your chest and the agony of your loss constricted around your heart like barbed wire.

You sat on your bottom and hugged your arms around your legs, which were bent and pulled flush to your chest, and you buried your face into the top of your knees. As your last moments with your Loki played on a constant loop behind your eyes, until the memories faded into a dream as sleep took over.

#loki #loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki x you #loki imagine #loki marvel #loki series #thor #doctor who #tenth doctor #10th doctor #donna noble #tom hiddelson

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morimakesfanart · 3 years

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Sindria's Prophet #14

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13]

[AO3]

~POV Mori~

I woke up when it was still dark out. Only the faintest light came in my windows.

I hadn't done anything yesterday. Just laid down and rested for the first time in a long time. The doctor's were convinced I needed one more day of rest, but I knew I was already better. When was the last time I had just let my body rest like that when I wasn't sick? I couldn't remember. This peace was nice.

The quiet of sunrise was only broken by the faint sound of bird calls in the distance. I sat up and closed my eyes. I focused everything on my other senses. I couldn't hear the ocean easily from here. I had wanted to use the sounds of the waves to meditate, but I would just have to do without.

It had been a few days since I last checked in with myself and really focused inward. I could still feel them, all of the Black Rukh that had merged with me back in Balbadd. They were much calmer than before. And they felt like a part of me now, like I might be incomplete if they were suddenly gone. I knew each one from the dreams too. Their lives were mine and each also now knew my life as their own.

Going through all of their lives on the ship would have been painful even without being sick. These were angry souls and they did not welcome the inner peace I was offering easily, but a person's Rukh doesn't lie. After reading this world's truth through my memories they all calmed.

All of us lived lives of loss and poverty and trauma. That must have been another part of why we were able to fully merge in such a short time.

As Black Rukh they couldn't return to the Great Flow where the rest of their loved ones were, but they at least had each other within me.

It was a very strange feeling.

And along with their lives and Rukh, their magoi was also now mine. What had felt like a small pool now felt like a large lake. I had a lot more magoi at my disposal now that they were fully integrated with me.

The Great Bell range and I grounded myself in the present.

Only then did it occur to me that I was probably sick, and suffering from the influx of Rukh separately at the same time. It had been both all along. Whatever illness I had was worsened by my situation with the Rukh. I hadn't lost my magoi manipulation during it, but it was probably learning it ahead of time that had saved me. There's no way such a large amount of Rukh entering me wouldn't have made my body unstable.

Would the doctors understand if I explained it to them? I should ask Sinbad before saying something unnecessary.

The dim light from my windows called to me. I got out of my bed, put on my glasses, and sat on the sill of one them at the encouragement of the waves.

Like this, I could look down and see the Palace court yard. On the other side of the court yard were the Silver Scorpio (martial arts training), and Black Libra (libraries & schools) Towers, behind them to the left was the Red Cancer Tower (military) and fully to the left was the Purple Leo Tower where Sinbad lived. Since I was on a high floor I could easily see all of the towers of the Palace from my windows -all except the White Capricorn Tower where Ja'far does most of his work since that building was on the other side of this one.

It was so strange. Looking at all this made it real that I was really here. How many times had I reread or rewatched scenes wondering what it would feel like to be here?

I rested my head on the window frame as I watched the growing light from the sunrise.

The guards changed.

The sun was fully risen. Ja'far would be waking up Sinbad soon if he hadn't already.

Two people walked out of the Purple Leo Tower -a guard and a woman. She wasn't wearing a uniform. In fact she was wearing less than the citizens I saw the other day.

"Oh, right."

Sinbad has a call girl see to him after Ja'far wakes him up.

I had the 3rd fan book for the anime which contains a day-in-the-life for a bunch of the main characters. It was only in Japanese, but I had learned enough (and could look up what I didn't know) to at least read his schedule.

The direct translation was for a "temporary woman" which from what I've found is the Japanese term for a fem sex worker. I've seen some translations for Magi's extra material refer to them as "call girls" so that was the term I chose to use.

The franchise used the word "harem" in a bunch of places, but purposely didn't use it here. That combined with an omake of Sinbad having a nightmare about being married and having a harem made it clear that Sinbad did not have a harem; he had the whole red-light district of his country to choose from.

Hold on... That book wasn't supposed to reach my house until after I had Isekaied so how did I know it's contents? There were barely any scans or photos of pages online-

*Knock knock*

My thoughts

were cut off when breakfast arrived -with more medicine of course.

---

~POV Sinbad~

Nearly a week had passed since King Sinbad had arrived home. There was a lot to catch up on. As much as he wanted to finally relax after everything that happened in Balbadd he didn't really have the time for it. Even after catching up he would still have to prepare for his trip to the Kou Empire. And Ja'far wasn't letting him forget either responsibility.

None of this stopped him from having his slow mornings. He at least gave himself that little slice of heaven.

This was business as usual -at least it was supposed to be- but Sinbad couldn't shake a growing feeling that he couldn't name. It was making him unsettled. The waves didn't give him any answers and drinking hadn't made it go away. It felt similar to missing important.

He wasn't missing any paperwork. There had been an issue with one of their supply ships going missing, and another being delayed, but he had already decided how to proceed. He was definitely interested in the progress the Black Libra Tower was making with testing Mori's theories, but the experiments would take time and they had already scheduled a meeting for an update. The new guests were still settling in. Alibaba was a mess and Aladdin was only marginally better the last time he had visited, but Morgiana was fine and already training with Masrur regularly. According to the doctors reports, Mori would be better in another day or so, and the reports he got from the maids said she was resting every day after giving that partial scroll.

Maybe this was impatience. Aside from his paperwork, everything interesting was either done or waiting for the next step.

Sinbad often walked his country in the evening, but there was no reason he couldn't check on things now. He didn't have time to go for a walk at that moment, but he could spare the magoi needed to use Zepar and fly around the country using the bird he had possessed with the Djinn's power. This wouldn't be the first time he'd done this while working on paperwork.

The bird was sitting on a railing in the city center when Sinbad took over. From this spot he could make some quick rounds in the city and then maybe make a stop in the Black Libra Tower to get a sneak peak at what they had found out so far.

The same old gossip filled most of the streets. Some price complaints, who just had a child, how work was going...

"You're serious? A prophet?”

"My husband saw the scrolls she made from her visions with his own two eyes."

Now that was new gossip.

Sinbad had the bird land near by the two women.

"Oh? What was in them?"

"He said it was like reading secrets of the world."

"Really???"

"Mhmm." She nodded. "Not everyone believes it though so they are all working to test her writing."

"Didn't you just say she was brought in by our King? Do they really think he'd be fooled by some false prophet?"

"I said the same thing! And you know what my husband said? He said that they need to find proof even if they believe the Prophet because otherwise we won't be able to prove it to our allied countries."

"I guess that makes sense..."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Oh! I think I might know what she looks like!”

"What? How? You only learned about her just now."

"When King Sinbad came home, there was a girl on some magical flying cloth, remember? That has to have been the Prophet!"

"I think you're right!"

To two moved on to some other gossip and King had the bird fly towards the Palace. Listening to talk about his Beautiful Prophet reminded him of his mission to peek at what was happening in the Black Libra Tower. Being able to bypass the stairs and the gates made the journey much faster.

The Sun was already in the western side of the sky. Shadows were cast onto the court yard from the Black Libra Tower. The stone of the Green Sagittarius Tower was nearly blinding white from the direct light. Color flashed in the corner of his eye as the bird flew past the upper levels of the guest tower. Before his thoughts had fully registered the familiar shade of nearly black indigo, Sinbad was guiding the bird to investigate. He landed on the railing of one of the windows and looked at the young woman resting against that same window's frame.

Mori looked just as surprised to see a bird land right in front of her as he was to be there. Sinbad had purposely been avoiding using Zepar to spy on Mori since she somehow knew that he had eavesdropped on her before. It had been days since he last saw her, so when she was suddenly an option-

"Heh hehe"

Mori's chuckle and smile took his full attention. He didn't know what had made her laugh, but he hoped she'd do it again.

"Sir, are you aware you are a bird?” After the words passed her lips she was struck by a giggle fit.

Sinbad had no idea what she was thinking or why she had said that to a bird, but he was hearing her voice for the first time in nearly a week so he'd worry about figuring it out later.

When Mori finished laughing at her own joke she leaned her head to the side and watched him. Her hair shifted and another lock spilled over her shoulder. The sight brought attention to the low neckline of the dress she was wearing. If Sinbad was there in person he would have brushed her hair out of the way just to have an excuse to touch her.

"Did you miss me that much?" Her voice was soft and a bit playful. "You didn't have to use Zepar to visit me."

Mori knew it was him! Sinbad jolted and his head hit the back of his chair in his office. How could she tell? Only magicians could see magoi and Rukh to see the spell active on the bird.

"Sin, is something wrong?-” Ja'far had just entered the room to give his afternoon report.

King Sinbad raised a hand for him to be quiet and tapped Zepar's ring to explain the situation. He didn't want to talk and miss something Mori said or did.

The General's expression turned serious and nodded as he went quiet.

When Mori didn't get a response from the bird she added, "Are you surprised that I knew it was you?" Her smile was warm as the sun. "I have read your Fate many times, so I will always recognize you, my King."

Normally, the idea that someone could see through Zepar's magic would concern him, but this didn't. It strengthened his belief that Fate had guided Mori to him.

And the affectionate way she said "my King" at the end made him smile. The waves had moved like this a few times like the last time he had seen her in person, and when he learned she could also feel the waves. The Great Flow of the Rukh was guiding them to the Fate he could see, the one where she lived the rest of her life by his side.

Ja'far sighed. "Just let me know when I can give you my report."

Mori whipped her head towards the door to her room. "They're here early."

There were the sounds of people walking in the hallway, but no voices to denounce who, or their destination. All the same, Mori got up and walked to the door. She opened it before the doctors had a chance to knock.

"How did you...?" One of the doctors asked.

"I recognized the sound of your footsteps," was her answer.

"I see.... And how are you feeling today?"

Mori walked into her room, and spared a glance at the bird still watching her from the window. "I feel fine. Just like yesterday." She turned back towards the door and sat on the edge of her bed. "So can I finally leave this room?"

The doctors were understanding but they still were going to do a full check up first.

Even without the waves it was obvious that Mori was going to be marked as full health. Sinbad would prefer to go see her immediately and give her a tour of the Palace personally, but he was still a King with responsibilities. "Ja'far, Mori has just been declared healthy. What do you think of everyone having dinner together to get everyone better aquatinted?"

"I didn't hear anything about-” Ja'far started and then cut himself when he realized. "Were you just using Zepar to spy on her??"

"Of course not." Sinbad said with all of the confidence of the King he was. "I flew directly to her and she recognized me instantly. I wasn't spying at all."

"She recognized you??" Of course he'd be shocked.

King Sinbad laughed. "She did. Though she was surprised to see me."

"I bet she was surprised to suddenly see a bird in her room. What made you think to use Zepar instead of visiting her in person? You're already getting regular reports on her condition." Ja'far always acted as a buzz kill.

It didn't stop Sinbad from laughing at the situation before finally asking for that report he postponed earlier -conveniently avoiding answering Ja'far's question.

The magician in Mori's room was talking. "Would you be interested in visiting the Black Libra Tower with us? We can show you how the experiments are going. And if possible, would you be willing to answer some questions?"

That was an understandable request, but it could wear her out.

The Prophet was facing away from the windows so Sinbad couldn't see her expression. "I'd really like that actually." But he could hear the excitement growing in her voice.

"Let me get changed real quick." Mori disappeared behind her folding wall and emerged in the outfit he met her in.

Sinbad did not drop control of the bird, but he also didn't follow Mori out of her room. Instead he waited in the window sill until he saw her enter the courtyard and then had the bird fly to the Black Libra Tower.

---

As soon as he finished whatever last minute things Ja'far was about to add to his pile, Sinbad would go to the Black Libra Tower and surprise his Beautiful Prophet in person.

~POV Mori~

In the manga and in the anime the only areas shown of the Black Libra Tower were Yamuraiha's office/lab and one of the libraries. I was more than curious about the rest of the facilities.

The first room seemed to be a reception area and had a map of the tower. I only got to glance at the separations between the libraries, offices and class rooms before a tall and lanky magician walked up to us.

"Is this her??” Her short ponytail bounced as she looked between me and my guides.

Isa, the magician who had been taking care of me the past few days, introduced me. "This is Lady Mori, the Prophet!” He acted like he was showing off the coolest toy on the playground.

The tall woman got right up in my face. "I knew she had to be the Prophet! The Rukh don't normally move this way around people."

Before I got to respond she started rambling comments and questions that covered everything in maroon and peacock blue getting sponged across a cream canvas. I stepped back and Isa cut her off. "Lady Mori will be answering everyone's questions in time. We were just on our way to see Yamuraiha so I can show her how everything has been coming along. You are welcome to join us."

She definitely joined us. As did many others who spotted us or were called over by others in our procession.

We walked through a few library areas, and up a few flights of stairs. As we passed various rooms and areas I was told what or who would be inside, but I wouldn't remember any of the specifics until I had a chance to use the space and explore on my own. What did stick was that most of the classrooms were next to the libraries and the labs were near the offices.

Yamuraiha must have heard our group from down the hall because her head popped out from one of the rooms ahead of us. "What is going on out here??” Then she made eye contact with me. "It's you!!"

That made me smile. I fought back responding 'it's me!' like I would with my friends. "I'm Mori. I'm glad I'm finally getting the chance to meet you, Yamuraiha!” I stopped walking when I got 3 yards/meters away.

She immediately pulled her staff against her chest with both hands. Her shoulders tensed but she had an enthusiastic smile. "The pleasure is all mine!"

Yamuraiha was amazing, smart, and endearing. I really wanted to be friends with her.

I out stretched my hand to shake hers. "I'm really excited to work with you, and learn more about magic even though I'm not a magician."

"The feeling is mutual!” She took my hand more than matching my excitement. And when she released it said, "Since you're here, would you like to see what we've been working on from the scrolls you gave us?"

"Yes please!”

---

The lab she lead us to was a little down the hall. All of my scrolls were spread out on one table and a bunch of notes and different materials were on an other.

Yamuraiha pulled out parchment that had a complicated magic circle written on it. "We can't do much yet, and it still takes a catalyst and many magicians at once to control the amount of magoi safely but our alchemy magic has made a breakthrough from your writing."

She asked a few of the magicians that came with me to join her. They pointed their staffs and wands at the magic cycle. A large crystal in the room started glowing, and the Rukh lit up the space from within the circle. Specks were pulled out of the pile of ingredients nearby -dirt, scraps paper, a small potted plant- and gathered at the center of the circle. The light got too bright for me to look straight at it and when it faded there was a small dark grey cube in the middle of the circle. It looked like a die with no markings.

Yam explained. "After reading about 'atoms' and 'bonds' in your scrolls it was like finding the missing piece. It will still be a long time before we can perfect the process, and we still can't make anything bigger than this yet, but soon we will be able to make anything we want!"

((In the future I intend to: reference more old memes, describe more of my experience with synesthesia, and explain more basic history and science. SO you all have been warned lol))

I had to respond; I couldn't just continue staring in awe. When I tried to answer I ended up gasping since had forgotten to breathe. I chuckled at my own shock as well as the situation. I looked up at them. "You're all amazing to be able to develop this already from the little I wrote!" I looked back at the stone. "I knew I wrote the keys to Yunan's signature alchemy magic in those scrolls, but to think you've already gotten this far with it -its amazing."

With this -when developed farther- we could make certain materials without having to worry about the pollution, and break things down easily so we won't have to worry about garbage piling up everywhere.

"Did you say Yunan? The Magi, Yunan?" Yamuraiha looked at me with wide eyes.

"Yes." It was my turn to explain. "Yunan is able to use alchemy magic like this on a grand scale. In the Fates I read he will have reason to visit Sindria in about 2 years. He creates a cabin and food in the middle of the Palace court yard so he has somewhere comfortable to stay."

The bird in the window ruffled it's feathers.

"Yunan explains the basic concept of how that magic works when asked, and since I know the science of the physical world I know the details to what he was talking about." My smile widened. "I hope my notes were easy to understand. Please let me know if you have any questions."

#magi prophet fanfic #magi fanfiction #magi fanfic #sinbad magi #king sinbad #magi sinbad #sinbadxoc

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