#THE MACHINE HEALED THEIR WOUNDS??? ARE YOU FOR REAL????

[dazais-guardian-angel]

Okay, a good amount of time has passed, and after having seen this post by @weretiger-be-my-horse , I've been turning it over and over in my brain going absolutely feral over this concept. I need to expand upon my thoughts on this idea and all the evidence there is pointing towards it, whether that be actual tangible things, or purely strong vibes I have.

First of all, full disclaimer: I did not like the season 5 finale, and how it wrapped up the DoA arc. To say that I "disliked" it is putting it extremely lightly, in fact -- I absolutely hated it, and I am still, to a degree, in disbelief that I actually even watched those 24 minutes with my own two eyes, and that it somehow wasn't a complete fever dream. While I'm not going to go in long-winded detail into all the ways that I feel like the finale almost completely bastardized all of its featured characters and destroyed any and all buildup we've had going on in this arc for 50 some chapters now, because that's not the main point of this post, I will not make any attempt to hide the fact that the theory-crafting I'm about to pose here is partly influenced and prompted by how much I hated the finale, and how much I desperately hope that it will not end up being manga canon. Therefore, if you enjoyed the finale — and that's fine! — and don't want to read any negativity about it, then I would not recommend reading any further (I mean, you've probably already left by this point, which is fair lol), While obviously it's important that I be as objective and unbiased as possible when explaining my thoughts, some of my negative feelings about the writing will be a part of this analysis, even if this isn't going to be a full-blown rant. Just know that if you proceed.

With that out of the way, let me continue.

So. In the aforementioned post, the theory presented is that the anime may be operating on an alternate timeline, and that this will become evident once we read the upcoming October chapter, wherein things will go completely differently post-chapter 110 than they do in the final episode — probably for the worse, with the s5 finale intending to lull us into a false sense of security and make us assume that everything in the manga arc finale will wrap up as smoothly and consequence-freely(? lol) as it did in the anime one. It also suggests that the Fukuchi we see at the very end that sskk are fighting came from the manga timeline, where he won, and that he used the Book to jump to a timeline where he lost, the anime one, proven by the fact that this Fukuchi is wearing a mask with the same design on it as the mask Fukuchi is wearing on the chapter 110 DoA color spread/title page.

First of all, I want to note the fact that it's not just the mask design that's the same: the entire outfit is roughly more or less the same as well. It's not completely 1-to-1, because the anime can never fully match the intricacies of Harukawa's beautiful outfit designs, and the Fukuchi in this scene has the kimono half-off because of the... super saiyan mode he's in, but most all of the main pieces of clothing are there. Any small inaccuracies could also be attributed to the fact that Harukawa probably didn't have this finalized art ready back when this episode was being made, so the animators wouldn't have had the complete design to work off of. But in general, because it's all so similar, I think we can quite confidently say that the ending episode Fukuchi is meant to be the one from this manga art.

Also, people have pointed this out, but it's worth mentioning that the mask Asagiri wore at Anime Expo in July was referencing this Fukuchi. It's not a crucial detail, but it just proves more that Asagiri is a gigantic fucking troll, and that he clearly wanted to draw attention to this Fukuchi design. It's important. He describes the mask here as made in the motif of an ellipses inside a speech bubble... could that perhaps be referencing meta aspects, like the Book?

Next, I want to talk about the even bigger elephant in the room, which to me is the most damning and undeniable piece of evidence there is of the anime operating on a completely separate timeline from the manga:

This Fucking Hand™️

As we all know, in the anime, Fyodor injures his hand when the password input device blows up, and as we all know, this does not happen in the manga. In the last episode, Dazai claims that the final nail in the coffin of his impromptu plan to kill Fyodor relied on this hand injury: because Fyodor couldn't pilot his escape helicopter himself, he would ask one of his Meursault vampires to do it for him, unaware that Bram and thus this vampire was now on the ADA's side, and said vampire could kill him while his guard was down.

Ignoring how utterly stupid and contrived this plan is when you stop and think about it for more than two seconds, the fact of the matter is that something that initially seemed like nothing more than an odd but inconsequential anime original addition ended up snowballing into being the entire reason one of the big bads was brought down. If Fyodor hadn't hurt his hand, he wouldn't have needed another pilot, and so the traitor vampire wouldn't have had an opportunity to get near him and kill him without him expecting it even though said vampire was presumably with him as they were leaving Meursault, and was probably already a traitor by then, so there was plenty opportunity for him to still die. not to mention by Chuuya's hands at literally any time he wanted to, because Chuuya was coherent the whole time. Also there's absolutely no way Dazai could have known exactly what Ranpo would do, no matter how smart he is and how much he trusts him. idk it's fucking dumb, just roll with it. Therefore, putting aside all other variables for now, we can conclude that, on the most basic level, this signifies that no hand wound = no death.

And let me tell you, this hand wound bothers me. It really, really does. Because they focus on it a LOT — they go out of their way to draw attention to it MULTIPLE TIMES, from the moment it first happens to the end of the season. Fyodor even talks about it to himself, about Dazai being able to cause him tangible, visible, bodily harm, (something that, again, as far as we've seen, has never happened in the manga). Hell, even after Fyodor's death, they're still drawing attention to it, because his right arm is all of him that survives, and Dazai picks it up and gives it to Nikolai to do his hilarious sad little gay fondling of it played completely straight even though there's nothing straight going on here at all! It's like it's a big red flashing sign at all times going "you see this injured hand? This is important. Are you picking up that it's important? Are you taking note of it?" Why is that? Obviously, it serves to give us the lore crumbs about Fyodor and "that man", but that's hardly the main, much more glaring reason, as I've already mentioned.

Fyodor doesn't hurt his hand in the manga. Fyodor won't die here in the manga. I am so dead serious by this point about this, and it's not just simply the fact that this was absolutely not at all the time for him to die, or the fact that his hand is the reason for his death in the anime in and of itself, but how much EMPHASIS they place on this, and on the hand in general. What would be the point of adding something like this, if it's not meant to alert us to the fact that it has a major impact on how the story plays out? We all know Bones: they struggle to get right and include everything that's already there in the source material; they would never go out of their way to add something this noteworthy if there wasn't a very good reason for it, if it wasn't absolutely necessary. I've seen a few people bring up the fact that Fyodor gets shot in the shoulder by Sigma and that that could lead to the same outcome in the manga, but I disagree: although he has blood on his shoulder in the manga, it seems like the bullet just grazed the top of it, because his arm and hand appears completely functional afterwards (not hanging limp by his side or anything). But that doesn't even matter, because this isn't even about the semantics/logistics of how the hand wound caused Fyodor's death because again, it's a stupid outcome, or what could serve as a substitute in the manga — thematically, this is a textbook example of the butterfly effect. Countless parallel universes exist within this series, ones where even the most minute differences lead to a majorly different outcome: this just happens to be one of them. There's no reason to think it isn't, and there's no reason to not think that the anime wants us to clue into the fact that things only went as smoothly as they did on the Meursault side because of this wound; in other words, that things will go very differently in the manga thanks to the absence of said wound. They wouldn't have added it in the first place and put such clearly deliberate emphasis on it otherwise.

Things are going to happen very differently in the manga, at least when it comes to the Meursault crew (but then, if you assume that, you then naturally assume it all will be very different). This is the only conclusion one can come to with the presentation of this anime-only wound, combined with the fact that parallel universes are a very real thing in BSD.

I'm going to go on a bit of a tangent, so bear with me. I play a lot of visual novels, and although such concepts aren't really as original now as they were a while ago, some of my favorite and some of the very best VNs out there are the ones that break the fourth wall and make the visual novel branching route format directly intertwined with the story: you know, the ones where the characters go "if only I had done things differently, maybe everything would have turned out better...!" in a wink wink nudge nudge moment, and the ones where the characters are aware of the different timelines, even, or even have the ability to gain information from their selves in said alternate timelines to influence events in their current one (I'm intentionally not naming the games I'm thinking of for the sake of spoilers, but if you know, you know lmao). It gets very meta in this regard, and this is how I started viewing BSD through the lens of ever since I first learned about Beast: like a visual novel with many branching routes, and only a few routes that feel entirely "right".

When I first read Dazai's Entrance Exam, I was struck by how unnerving the ending sequence in the abandoned hospital felt. Obviously, Kunikida's internal struggle over Sasaki's actions and motives is him still desperately clinging to his ideal world that does not exist, but the specific type of phrases he uses — "who is wrong?" "[who is] the cause of all this?" "there has to be an ideal world" "there has to be something, I'm sure of it" "There must have been something we could have done!" — and the framing of the scene in general, is eerily reminiscent of a bad ending in a visual novel, to me. There's a haunting, looming, bleak sense that a different outcome could have been achieved, if different decisions had been made, or if things outside of anyone's control had been different... and we know that this is true, because in Beast alone, Kunikida never goes through the Azure Messenger incident, because Dazai doesn't have his entrance exam. Hell, you could even consider the anime's version of the Azure Messenger arc an alternate timeline in of itself, if you really wanted to, long before we even arrive at season 5.

When it comes to Beast, this timeline has almost the opposite feeling of what I described above, that I've also encountered in visual novels: the idea of a "good route" or "good ending" that still doesn't feel quite earned, or as perfect as one would expect. Beast is presented as the "ideal" timeline purely for one sole reason: Oda is alive. It is the only timeline where he's alive, and keeping Oda alive is the ultimate goal Dazai wants to achieve, the only reason this timeline exists; therefore, disregarding all else, Beast should be the best timeline, because Oda's death is the greatest devastation in the series to date. We all want him to live, so why wouldn't the timeline where he does be the best one? And yet... of course, it isn't. Dazai is alone, and steeped in darkness and loneliness without Oda, and dies by the end of the story for Oda's continued living. Atsushi has Kyouka still, but he's suffering and more traumatized, and unable to heal while stuck in the mafia, and neither can Kyouka. Akutagawa is living a much better life in the ADA... but without his sister, and without what he has from his bond with Atsushi in canon, that isn't replicated in Beast. And Oda... Oda is alive, and he has his children and his novel, but there is a feeling that he is aimless, that something in his life is missing. He has everything he ever wanted, but all that means nothing without what he truly needs: Dazai, and his time with Dazai and Ango at the bar. In this way, things going well and us getting what we want — in this case, Oda living — goes against how it's supposed to be, the natural order, which is why it feels so hollow. In the specific visual novel I'm thinking of here as a comparison (again, shoutout if you know), there's an alternate ending that involves you inputting information you gain at the end of the game very early on in the game, wherein the protagonist now has memories of the future and is able to bypass and prevent all of the events that take place normally. This means that people who die or are hurt somehow in general are saved from that fate, and nothing bad ever occurs; everything wraps up neatly and nicely... but again, there's an undeniable, unsettling feeling of emptiness, of a victory that rings hollow, because what's the point if everything is simply handed to you easily, where's the sense of accomplishment, without any struggles to achieve said victories, or any growth along the way? How can it feel earned if one doesn't have to, in Dazai's words, "scream within the storm of uncertainty, and run with flowing blood"?

You can probably already see where I'm going with this.

This finale feels weird. Really, really weird. It feels too cheap, too simple, too unsatisfying. So much so, in fact, that for almost the entire runtime, as I was bombarded with resolution upon resolution one after another, I kept thinking "There's no way this can be real. Where's the catch? When is the "gotcha!" moment gonna happen? The "it was all a dream" reveal?". And this isn't just because I hated the writing, and that it really did feel like a fever dream watching fanfic levels of bad (actually, that's an insult to fanfic writers, tbh; they could do better) — no, it genuinely feels so incredibly fake. Even upon rewatching it and already knowing what happens, my brain still naturally keeps expecting some kinda of "sike, you THOUGHT!" moment to suddenly appear. It just.... feels "too good to be true". Dazai and Chuuya come out unscathed, and it's revealed that they were never in any real danger to begin with. Fyodor, one of our biggest threats, is dealt with supposedly for good (I say "supposedly" only because of the Jesus line, but if anything imo, I think that's just a hint that this won't be the canon ending in the manga, so in a sense he's going to "come back to life"), and Nikolai seems somewhat at peace with his death. The other biggest threat, Fukuchi, is also dealt with, and he and Fukuzawa get their final moment together of closure. Yes, Sigma is left in Meursault don't even get me started on how angry this alone makes me, and Fukuzawa loses Fukuchi, but overall, everything is portrayed in a positive light, and any negatives or losses are quickly glossed over. Everything is tied up nicely, neatly, and smoothly. ...And that is exactly what makes it feel so wrong, and hard to trust in.

I'm not sure if this will make sense, but to me, the finale is so incredibly poorly written that it almost feels.... intentional. It's so bad to the point of feeling self-aware in how bad it is, how unrealistically happy and convenient an ending it is. It had to end this neatly in order to rush to wrap up this arc for the season finale and not leave the last episode on a cliffhanger — which imo is chiefly the main reason it turned out this way, and, if this whole theory is true, Asagiri just used it to his advantage — and I'm not saying this was probably an effect Bones had in mind intentionally, I'm sure they just threw shit at the wall and went with whatever stuck, maaaaybe with some suggestions/approval from Asagiri, but the result is that you have a conclusion that contradicts so much of what was set up before and goes against so many character arcs, making some characters so out of character and even regressing in their development Dazai. I'm talking about Dazai abandoning Sigma, because he would never; hashtag #NOTMYDAZAI. Also Nikolai, Nikolai for most of that is so ooc I can't even begin to describe it oh my god. Everyone is OOC to a degree though lmao, and opens so many plot holes, to the point that it's impossible not to watch all that and get the feeling that it is subtly saying to you "did you really think it could be this easy? It feels wrong, doesn't it? It doesn't feel satisfying. It feels unearned." I find it incredibly interesting and suspicious in particular that they confirmed multiple theories people had about soukoku in Meursault: that Chuuya slowed the elevator's fall so that Dazai wouldn't die from it, that Chuuya slowed down the bullet so that it only penetrated Dazai's skin and not his skull, and that the both of them used Fyodor's camera angle to their advantage because they knew he wouldn't be able to see certain things from his view. I'm not saying that Asagiri trawled BSD twitter and tumblr after those chapters dropped for the most popular theories before the final episode was made lmao, there was no time for that (imagine though lol—), but I do think it's highly likely that he already had in mind exactly what theories would be made about these parts (I mean, the evidence for the gun scene was all there), and that Dazai rattling them off in his long monologue to Fyodor at the end is essentially him speaking to the audience and going "yeah, that's what you would predict, right? Those are the clichés, after all", much like him suggesting earlier that he can maybe bring Chuuya back to himself with a few moving words and the power of friendship, and Fyodor using the split personalities trope to fool Sigma. We expect these tropes to be true. Of course we'd fall for them, as Fyodor tells Sigma, especially if the evidence is right there. But Asagiri himself has explicitly said that he likes doing the opposite of what people expect. And so just because people predicted correctly with the three things I mentioned in this timeline... doesn't mean they'll be true in the manga's. Things happened how we wanted and expected it to, and everything turned out happily. So we can relax now, right? Everything will work out just as easily in the manga, right? Or... is the reason most of this finale feels so fake and unsettling and unsatisfying because it's meant to lull us into a false sense of security before all our heroes lose in the manga? Because deep down, we don't want an ending that's this simple, because we'd rather have a conclusion where our characters have struggled more and grown more and come out the better for it, and we know it?

After rewatching the episode a lot, and watching some other videos, and doing a lot of thinking, I am pretty confident in suspecting that the only part of this finale that is actually from manga canon, aside from Aya jumping off the building of course, is Fyodor and Nikolai's exchange after Fyodor leaves Meursault — specifically, them talking about Fyodor leaving Sigma behind, and their "new game" and Nikolai being excited at the prospect of it. This little conversation actually feels in character for them, and it's easy to tell this when contrasting it with everything that happens immediately after, wherein Fyodor is fatally stabbed, and Nikolai, completely at odds with what he was just talking about, just... stands there and watches Fyodor die while Dazai monologues lmao. I'm not sure if the helicopter is still a factor, but I would bet good money on Fyolai getting out of Meursault being manga canon, and that Dazai and Chuuya getting out as well and killing Fyodor + everything with FukuFuku, is part of the anime original ending, in order to wrap up everything positively. It makes much more sense if you think about, in reality (aka in the manga), Dazai and Chuuya still being left behind in Meursault (where they can eventually try to get Sigma), because none of it was an act and things did not go according to plan, and Fukuchi having an entirely different goal that doesn't feel so stupid and contradictory to his character, and Fukuzawa possibly dying — everyone seemingly loses, with Aya still being the last hope, perhaps by awakening her ability like we all speculated.

There's a youtuber I watch who covers BSD in-depth, despite being an anime-only (she reads the respective manga content after each season, though). Going into this finale, she knew about the fact that the anime had overtaken the manga, though she didn't know where the cutoff point was; despite that, however, she made predictions about what was from the manga so far and what was anime original, and it was almost entirely spot-on, based mostly on what she basically described as "anime original dialogue." She talked about how you can always tell when dialogue is veering into the realm of anime-original, because the sentences are very short, choppy, and slightly out of character, but generic enough to not be TOO out of character, and so that anyone can easily write said lines, even if they're not extremely familiar with the character like the original author would be. And when I heard this explanation, everything clicked — because so much of this finale has dialogue like that. The Fyolai scenes just feel peppered with it, around the lines I mentioned earlier, the Dazai dialogue does too, and ESPECIALLY shit at the end like Fukuchi and Fukuzawa exchanging the cliche death lines to end all death lines: "Are you there? I'm a little tired." "Rest up." That just isn't Bungou Stray Dogs. That isn't Asagiri. BSD is cheesy at times, yes, but it isn't like this; it's smarter. The dialogue is smarter, the explanations/plot twists are smarter, Asagiri is smarter, and the aforementioned youtuber I watched agreed. She's a pretty casual fan of the series, so if even she could pick up on these things, I think it speaks volumes.

I mentioned this briefly earlier, but this theory makes sense if you consider that this situation probably came about because of Bones wanting two seasons back-to-back when they did, and this arc being as long as it is. Season 3 aired in 2019, and I imagine Bones would have wanted season 4 in 2020, and might have then been willing to wait a bit longer for season 5 in order for more of this arc's manga chapters to come out — but then covid happened. Because of that, season 4 was delayed to 2023, creating the longest gap we've had between seasons, and I wouldn't at all be surprised if the delay made them want season 5 right together with it, after getting so far "behind", so to speak. S4 was announced in November of 2021, and roughly around that time, Asagiri was finishing up writing the plot of the DoA arc. If Bones came to him sometime in late 2021 and said they wanted two seasons now (so basically, one giant two cour season), Asagiri would know that not only of course would this arc not be finished publishing in the manga for a very long time yet, but that roughly 20ish episodes would not be enough to cover it all to the end, with this arc being longer than any arc the anime has adapted to date. Because of all this, and the arc manga chapters being nowhere near fully drawn to completion, he'd have to make a decision about what to do, and what to give Bones. Without ending season 5 on a massive cliffhanger that wouldn't be resolved for years until an eventual season 6, the only other option would be to rush towards an anime-original ending for the DoA arc.... and for Asagiri to take advantage of that, and integrate it into BSD's lore. Thereby creating a truly unique cross-media experience that utilizes the different mediums to create multiple timelines, that could make both the anime and manga interact with each other and become part of a bigger picture (not that you'd need to see both to get the full experience, mind you, just that it'd provide a little bonus if you did).... and would without a doubt be Asagiri's biggest surprise yet.

...I feel like at this point I'm starting to ramble, and my evidence become more and more incoherent and less substantial lmao, so I should probably end this post. 💀 Thank you if you've read this far, and hopefully it made some semblance of sense, despite not being structured very well; I know I promised at the start to try to be as objective as possible and curb my negative feelings, but I'm not sure how well I succeeded in that regard. If it weren't for the Fukuchi thing and the Fyodor hand thing, I probably wouldn't take how wrong and strange and bad the finale feels to me as serious evidence about it being an alternate timeline, especially since I seem to be one of the only people who actually hates all of it.... but combined with everything else, I am just so convinced of this theory being true. It started off as pure copium, but as more time has gone on, I fully, 100% believe in my bones (ha) that there is no way that finale is the same Bungou Stray Dogs I know and love, for so many reasons. It just isn't. It can't be. I know BSD better than this, I know Asagiri better than this, and I know that it's absolutely in the realm of possibility for him to cook up this whole scheme to completely blindside us with in the upcoming chapters, because that's exactly the kind of shit Mr. "Please Be Surprised!" himself would pull. If I end up being completely wrong, I guess I'm wrong, and you can laugh at me all you want then.... but I just know that ages ago people were teasing the idea of the anime operating on a different timeline from the manga, and I truly do think that only now are we finally seeing that idea come to fruition, as a setup for Asagiri going full-bore insanity with the Book in the upcoming arc(s). if I and the OP of that theory end up right, this will be the wildest time in the BSD fandom's history.

Like. I cannot even emphasize how hard they are trolling us at this point. Something is going on. Something is being cooked over there, the likes of which we've never seen before... and I don't think any of us are ready for it.

Oh yeah, and one last thing of note: both Fyodor and Nikolai here have their right arms hidden from view. Is that alluding to anything? I'm not sure. I also think that since chapter 110 was so short, next chapter will likely be 110.5 instead of 111, and if that's the case, this title spread could still technically be associated with the next chapter... wherein we might see this Fukuchi, who ends up wreaking havoc, right before he jumps to the timeline in the anime, as we see him at the end of the s5 finale.

I guess we'll find out on Tuesday.

#bungou stray dogs #meta #bsd season 5 #bsd s5 spoilers #alternatively titled 'when you copium so hard out of stewing in your denial anger and grief that it becomes reality' #is it still copium if there's strong evidence for it? idk #i DON'T know what i'll do if the stuff in this finale ends up being canon :))) make no mistake about that #but until the very moment the schrödinger's cat box is opened and i am forced to acknowledge it with my own two eyes in chapter 111/110.5 #i am choosing to stay calm and rational and look at things with a sound mind... and acknowledge all the signs that are there #of which there are so many #Asagiri is a troll. he has always been a troll and this is more evident than ever lately #and he would know that everyone who watched the finale would take it at face value #never expecting it to go completely differently in the manga #and he's so much smarter than what was in that finale. he would never write those things. i would stake my life on it. #i don't care how many flaws BSD does have that i do acknowledge; he is a good writer in so many ways and he is so much better than /that/ #i could fill an entire BOOK (ha ha) with all of the reasons why this finale does not work. seriously it is a never-ending can of worms #of ooc characterizations and plot holes and abandoned threads and straight up CONTRADICTIONS with what has been stated before in the arc #with fukuchi's motivations and presentation; with things that were happening in meursault; just.... so much illogical shit in general #THE MACHINE HEALED THEIR WOUNDS??? ARE YOU FOR REAL???? #*sigh* but i said i wasn't gonna rant alskdjgfkdls #tbh though the only REAL thing i need to know that the finale was anime only was what the youtuber i watch pointed out: #that Bram magically regenerated all his clothes. because if it were Asagiri Bram would be naked from the shoulders down fjdkslsaskd #...anyway. This theory is real and true. I am manifesting it into existence 🙏🙏🙏 #Asagiri my man...... you have never let me down yet in all the years I've known your series. Please don't let me down now. #I'm trusting in you more than ever right now...... and your ability to blow all our minds in the best possible way #(guys i'm really really really scared deep down; please hold me hahaha ahahahahaaaa- *cries*) #this would the coolest thing in the history of ever though if it happened though. I am SO EXCITED FOR THE POSSIBILITY!!!!! #ASAGIRI YOU SICK AND TWISTED MF; HOW DARE YOU MAKE ME BEG FOR MY FAVES TO SUFFER JUST SO THAT THIS BAD WRITING DOESN'T BECOME REALITY!!!!!! #he knows exactly what he's doing *SCREAMS* :))))))))

[twi-liight]

Hi! I suffer from Baldur's Gate brainrot. I just stumbled upon your blog and love your writing! Could you do some Astarion, Gale and Karlach headcanons for taking care of Tav after they're badly injured in battle?

Reckless Attack ❣

Grieve, weep, and agonize over a corpse - but know that death is never final in Faerun. The burden of injuries will instead always be present: pain is eternal, no matter how numb. ❥ Astarion/Tav, Gale/Tav, Karlach/Tav. ❥ TW: Descriptive mentions of injuries and gore. ❥ Act 2 spoilers. ❥ They/them pronouns for Tav. ❥ Tav is the nickname for the reader/oc insert. Their real name is up to you!

An Absolutist cult has gathered deep in the bowels of the forests of Rivington. Nothing out of the ordinary... Other than the sheer numbers they possess, creating a dense population of Absolute extremists gathered in stone ruins.

Adventuring parties that dare to end their machinations perished slowly and painfully. Their corpses - what is left of them - are displayed pierced from the gnarled branches of the trees, where they bleed out on the forest ground.

Tav, Astarion, Gale, and Karlach had a plan: throw a barrel full of smoke bombs into the middle of the ruins, firebolt, and profit. Except things didn’t go according to plan (they never do). That barrel was supposed to be at their rendezvous point, but the cultists found it before they did and thought it a gift from their Goddess.

Trapped in hiding, Tav decided to do what they do best: attack.

A potent necromancy curse was successfully cast on Tav, negating any healing spells thrown their way.

Well.

Fuck.

ASTARION

"As always, you refuse to listen to me. And now look at you: a mess. What did I say about running afool to the vanguard?" Astarion does not wait for their response. “Don't do it. It is smarter to be in the shadows in this instance. And what did you do? Ran alone into a quarry of cultists with no sense of self-preservation!”

Anger, pure anger, is present in his voice, sharpening his typical melodic lilt into daggers. If he cared about the present company - Shadowheart, Halsin, and Gale crowded into a tent, surrounding Tav upon their cot - it is nonexistent in his wine-red eyes. They could get lost in those bloody depths for hours. But not now. Not when seething rage roils off of his body like a cloud of darkness.

They look away.

"Nothing to say for yourself, darling?” he mocks. Astarion’s visage twists into a sneer, sharply turning his face away from them. He finds an unused rag, wets it, wrings it of excess water, and then moves past Shadowheart. “Allow me,” he murmurs to her, gentler.

Shadowheart’s inquisitive green eyes understand the depth of the situation immediately. She sighs, clearly annoyed he has taken over her job, but is dissuaded by Astarion’s next string of words: “I’ll clean them up. Magic and healing and all that wonderful nonsense are not necessarily my area of expertise. A firebolt here and there, surely, but I wouldn’t know where to begin with a curse that... Negates healing magic.”

“Sure,” Shadowheart replies, eyes flicking to Tav. Worry is evident over her features. Worry hangs heavy around everyone. Emerging out of battles victorious and grievously injured is commonplace; nothing a mass healing word couldn't fix along with a good night’s rest. Open wounds would be closed scars, ailments would be cured, and broken bones would be unbroken. Rinse and repeat.

This time, it is different.

They, and they alone, were cursed with a necromancy spell that makes all healing magic useless to their wounds.

Their wounds are appalling: Broken ribs evident with the pain swelling in their chest and labored breathing, purple and black blotchy bruises from the hammer blows they took to the shoulder, an open laceration across their chest, their ankle snapped in two, burns on their left leg crawling up their thigh. Blood all over their face from their own and from the enemies they felled.

“Hey, it’s fine,” they wheeze out. "Nothing I can't handle. The cultists are down and dead and buried - everything else can come after."

Hesitantly, Gale opens his mouth to reply, but is abruptly cut off by Astarion snapping out: "No."

"No," they echo. Their brows furrow.

"What a saint you are," Astarion snarls. His lips are down-turned, fangs bared as he speaks, but his ministrations upon their face are soothing. Gently, he rubs off the blood with a cool washcloth, eyes focusing on the task at hand as he cannot bear to look at them.

"Throwing yourself into the heat of battle like that, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Tell me, my dear, do you enjoy watching rational fly past you when you make your impulsive decisions?"

They flush with humiliation and hurt. Broken and battered, they dig their elbow into the cot to prop themselves up and face Astarion head-on, but Halsin presses a hand into their shoulder and pushes them down.

Fuck. Their head spins in circles.

"You're one to talk. Impulsivity is your middle name; you said yourself that planning is not your forte." Even raising their voice hurts but they do it anyway. Their eyes, threatening to slip into oblivion, flood with frustrated tears. "What the fuck is your problem, Astarion?"

"Must I really spell it out for you, sweetheart? You go around, telling everyone exactly what they need to hear. You tell them they aren't alone. That you will help them, that you will ensure they see the future that they want." The words are venom: petty and spiteful and yearning to be understood. "You," Astarion hisses out, "are so blind."

Tempers rising to fever pitch, Halsin tenses from his spot at the foot of the cot. From the corner of Tav's eye, they see Gale murmur something to him, something like, Let this play out. Astarion would never hurt them.

"I am the only one who will take the first step!" Tav cries. The words explode out of their broken chest faster than they realize, flying like an arrow straight toward Astarion's unbeating heart. "I risk my life - every day - for all of YOU! For all the people that need me! For all that I am because-"

"Because what?" He taunts. "Because it is the right thing to do? Look at yourself, Tav! You are on death's door if not for everyone in this room!"

"Because no one else will do it! Not anyone in this damn camp cares enough to- to help the people we could-" They cough violently, but they slam their elbows into the cot to prop themselves up. No one stops them this time as they meet Astarion's burning eyes. "No one cares but ME-"

"WE care about you!" Louder. Vicious. Astarion's voice splits in the air in two in one fell swoop, striking them down like lightning into silence.

He's breathing heavily, panting, as if exhausted. The adrenaline pumping in his veins is begging him to swoop Tav up and run away with them. Away from all of this bullshit and into hiding within the shadows. Maybe the Underdark. Maybe the Shadowcursed Lands. They can descend into madness together.

At least there, they will be safe.

"I care about you," Astarion chokes out before he can stop himself. "More than anything. Do you know that? I hope you know that."

Their mouth forms the words to reply, Of course I do, but it doesn't leave their throat. Instead, it stays stuck there like a fluttering butterfly, forced into silence. It hurts to speak. It hurts to talk. It hurts to see him like this.

He calls out their name so quietly it could have been a trick of the wind.

"Astarion," they plead.

He shakes his head, stubborn and unconvinced. "You don't owe these people anything. You certainly do not owe them your life for their burdens. I," he breathes out, voice as shaky as a leaf in the wind. He screws his eyes shut and clenches his fist around the rag, where their blood stains his palm.

"I almost lost the sun of my life today."

When Astarion opens his eyes, they are steeled with resilience and fury as they gaze into theirs. It is hypnotic. It is lonely. They yearn to comfort him.

"It will not happen again."

GALE

"Easy," Gale murmurs, a strong arm laying them down in his tent. Soft blankets and pillows meet their back, and the cushy grass beneath makes for a cool and comforting sleep. Their breath stutters, but Gale gazes at them so fondly as he pushes their hair from their face that the pain eases.

He does not miss their labored breathing. "Shhh shh shh. I've got you. Just focus on me."

His thumb lingers on the swell of their cheek. His eyes flutter close. A gentle glow of purple surrounds him, and eventually, that gentleness extends to Tav. The agonizing, piercing sensation in their chest numbs into a cool, muted nothingness. They gasp - then exhale in relief, slower than their panicky, short breaths from before.

"That's it," he encourages. "Well done, my love. How are you feeling?"

"So-so," they reply. Their voice aches and croaks, but for some reason, it makes Gale smile.

Oh no. He knows that look.

They study his handsome, tired face, looking for any signs of alarm. Is he hungry? Does he need to feed on another artefact? Was there an envoy telling them they missed another Absolutist hideout? Did they miss something? Did they do something wrong?

No. Nope. "Enough of that." He takes their hand, kisses their knuckles, then sighs. "You're the last person who should be worrying about someone. Such a pest, hm? Always buzzing around me like I'm seconds away from disappearing in front of your eyes..."

"You are," they say. Their brows furrow, and they pant out, "The-- your burden to carry, the--"

"The orb, I know. I know." His heart twists. It aches. He failed Mystra before and that was painful. But this is another subject entirely; it couldn't come close. Watching sheer heartbreak in their expression because of him? Oh, Goddess forgive him, he has failed them.

Gale can scarcely celebrate his victory, too. He undid the damned curse that affected Tav's ability to receive magic. The necromancy spell was so potent that Tav rejected any healing spells thrown at them. Late into the hours of experimentation, he, Halsin, and Shadowheart considered allowing the effects to wither and die rather than exterminating it outright. It was Jaheira who told them it would be inefficient, because how long would they have to wait in camp while Tav rode out the effects of the curse? Ideally? Hours. But days? Weeks? Months?

He spent the long night following and feeling out the curse with the Weave. It was a complicated hex - a tangled knot of magic that had to be unwoven carefully, thread by thread. Every connotation, every intent was traced back to the heart of the curse, and he followed it with abandon.

"I'm sorry for all the trouble, then," they whisper.

"You should be," he jests. "Nearly made my heart collapse, seeing you like that."

The image is still burned into his mind. He can't stop thinking about it. His mortality has always been a dreadful afterthought pushed into the further recesses of his tadpole-addled brain, but was he so taken with Tav that he never realized how mortal they were, too?

No. No. Gale tightens his grip on their hand, giving them a comforting squeeze as they breathe in and out, in and out. It's not that he never realized how susceptible they are to death and danger. He just never wanted to confront it.

"You are changing the very premise of my life," he says softly. An exasperated chuckle leaves him as he shakes his head, adding, "as always. I don't know what I would have done if I actually lost you, back there." What wouldn't I do? "No scrolls of revivifies, no Withers to bring you back. I wouldn't be able to accept it."

He understands Ketheric Thorm all too well, now.

"Come here," they whisper. Gale lets their hands press into the back of his head. He thinks, absently, that he would let them do much of anything. In their care, he is no grand wizard with a plethora of achievements under his belt. No. He is as humble as the Weave itself, and their hands compose music and art for him to simply bear witness to.

They rest his head upon their chest, where his ear can listen to the comforting sound of their beating heart.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud thud.

"Good night, my love," Gale says, when their breathing evens and they have finally fallen into peaceful slumber. He does not sleep at all.

KARLACH

"Oh gods. Oh gods!" Karlach clasps Tav's left hand between hers, holding tightly and vowing to never let go. Their blood stains her hand and chest and clothes. It's everywhere. Sickly sweet and sticky, drawing all of her attention from the room to the sensation of it dripping down her skin.

They've lost so much blood. It's nauseating, like an unsettling reality has just settled in her stomach.

"Tav!" She exclaims, helpless and pathetic. "Why did you do that, you big idiot? You seriously could have gotten killed out there, why-- why aren't you..."

Responding? Where are their quips, their sass, their brightness she fell so fast and hard for? Tav lays there upon the cot, broken and battered. Karlach has seen the remains of her enemies after she has slaughtered them and has barely flinched. She can barely stomach the sight of them bloodied, bones twisted in the wrong way, bruises so purple they're as black as a chasm.

All they can do is breathe. Their eyes focus distantly above them to the roof of the tent, but nothing else.

Panic seizes her faster than she can control it. "Are they breathing?! Are they going to survive this?! Fuck," she growls, running a frustrated hand through her dark hair, matted with blood. "I should have made those sons of bitches suffer."

"Karlach," Shadowheart says, firm but gentle, her hands bloody too as she applied pressure down on Tav's wounds, "it was important that you returned them to camp as fast as you did. Sometimes, we do not have the luxuries to let our enemies die in pain."

Right. Right. Karlach watched an Absolutist barbarian slam his warhammer into Tav's back. Once to knock them down. Twice to keep them plastered on the ground. Once more to keep them unconscious. She saw red, then: the rage she slipped into boiled her veins so hot, the howl she let out sent her surroundings enemies into a frightened frenzy. She hacked her great axe into the barbarian over and over and over until he was nothing but a bloodied pulp of a man, more gore than flesh.

She scooped Tav up from the ground. Karlach never let anyone else touch them. She snarled and snapped at the others who tried to come too close and dead sprinted as fast as she could back to camp.

She heard their choked sobs of pain in her arms. They choked out her name, and Karlach couldn't offer them much of anything other than an, "We're going home, bubs, just hang on. 'Kay? You just focus on me."

"Can I stay here?" She begs Shadowheart. "I won't get in the way. Just let me hold their hand, please."

Shadowheart exchanges a conflicted glance at Halsin. He nods, and she sighs. "Fine," she says. "But - I need you to stand to the side for now. You can hold their hand after we're done figuring out how to undo this curse."

"A fine specimen of a curse, really," Gale adds, his hand curled under his chin. "I'm almost impressed."

"I would be too," huffs Shadowheart, "if our reckless leader wasn't caught up in this mess. Really, what were you thinking?"

"Right?" Karlach shoves off into the corner of the tent, doing her best to keep herself as small and as out-of-the-way as possible. Tears flood her eyes, and she chokes out, "Of all the things to do, why did it have to be that? I thought you said you trusted me! To have your back! I have your back, don't I? Don't I?"

"Of course you do," Halsin croons. He hooks his finger into a bottle of salve, and spreads it on Tav's burns. Tav visibly winces and tenses, whimpering in pain.

"Stop whatever you're doing right now!" Karlach wails. "You're hurting them! I'll kill you, Halsin, I swear it!"

Gale exchanges a look with Shadowheart. He ponders deeply for a moment as Karlach sobs devastatingly behind them. He opens his mouth, then shuts it promptly.

"Just say it," Shadowheart urges impatiently.

"We should play a game," he suggests. "The quiet game."

"No way," Karlach hiccups. "I'm dogshit at that game. Anyway, focus on Tav or I'll gut you, seriously."

❥ Additional links: kofi | ao3

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 x reader #bg3 x you #baldur's gate 3 x reader #baldur's gate 3 x you #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion #astarion x tav #gale x reader #gale x you #gale x tav #karlach x reader #karlach x you #karlach x tav #shadowheart #halsin #halsin is always just there. like. yeah ok guys. whatever

[toast-on-dandelioms]

I have an ask about Spider reader, what if they bonded with a symbiote like Venom ? Exept they bonded to the point its impossible to separate them without killing them both? Venom is still partially separate from reader mostly working and talking with them or taking control when reader cant. Venom knows everthing about them since there i readers head.

Ok that's a great question!

I think at first Spider would be tired of Venom and try everything to get rid of him before getting used to a companion that doesn't have to be kept in the dark about their vigilante job and also their family problems.

They wouldn't tell anyone, but Alfred would obviously find out and just make sure they're ok before making his plan faster of getting the family to notice them.

If we take in consideration the original timeline that I am following at the moment, Superman would probably be the first person you would tell after months of knowing him and trusting him enough.

But when the Batfam will find out? Well I'm gonna make an example for how they would find out. (And also a small spoiler for the next part)

Ok so Spider is 'working' with Superman sometimes since Gotham's streets are relatively safe and they decide to follow Superman to a mission where they thought they were gonna work alone with Superman again and instead find Batman and Damian waiting for you two.

The mission consists of defeating a rising villain that is making weapons for big villains around the world, and while in the evil lair after defeating the villain, Batman almosts get stabbed by a machine set off by Superman.

But Spider decides to help him and saves him, getting stabbed in the process and making Venom heal them slowly and not immediately since they didn't want Batman to ask questions.

But Spider is still bleeding with a grave wound, which sends everyone in a panic.

So Batman sends Superman with you to the Batcave to get healed while Batman and Damian will make sure the villain will get what he deserves for hurting Spider. (Since Batfam is already a bit yandere for Spider but do not know their real identity)

At the Batcave Spider gets treated a bit after managing to give them some sedatives to make them calm down, which makes Venom come out to defend Spider.

And Alfred decides to make the drastic decision to reveal who Spider is, tired of seeing the Batfam treating them horribly while almost idolising and loving Spider which is the same person.

And Venom insults them with telling everything Spider thinks of them, all the pain, injuries and thoughts they had to make the Batfam feel even worse and Superman more of a yandere than he already was.

So the Batfam becomes even more, not sure the right terminology, yandere for Spider and wants to make it right, promising Venom to make it right and wanting to give Spider all the love they couldn't receive the first years in the Manor.

Venom, sadly, gets manipulated by everyone and promises to not say anything to Spider and helping them a bit since Venom also wants the best for Spider.

The story would continue with Spider getting imprisoned in the Manor, with their powers weak thanks to Venom, making them desperate and also weirded out by the sudden attention of everyone.

And after a while, with everyone manipulating them and suffocating them with their love will eventually lead to Stockholm Syndrome.

And that's the end of it! I will probably reblog it if I find anything wrong that I didn't notice! Thanks for the ask!

For the divider you can go to @saradika-graphics, she does this and takes requests!

#yandere x reader #platonic yandere #yandere batman #yandere #yandere aesthetic #yandere dc x reader #yandere dc #yandere bruce wayne #yandere dick grayson #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere damian wayne #yandere batfam #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfamily #yandere family

[carooosa]

Enchanting Distractions

Summary: Tav (reader) has ADHD/is bad at setting boundaries when it comes to their party members. Astarion comforts them.

Word count: 3.5k

A/N: Semi-canon compliant, takes place after the tiefling party and literally right before entering Act 2. I barely proofread it so sorry in advance. I was feeling particularly upset at myself today and so this is what I wrote up.

The days had been starting to blur together as you made your way through the mountain pass. Tomorrow your party would step into the shadow-cursed lands, so it was decided to set up camp early for the night to ensure that everyone was well-rested and prepared. Tension ran through the camp, everyone on edge with the possibility of finding the cause of the tadpoles. Whatever happens tomorrow could very well be the end of your journey.

As everyone set up their tents, you began to look through your supplies, separating potions, arrows, and scrolls into piles to give to your companions. While organizing everything, the sound of Lae’zel and Shadowheart bickering caused you to lift your head. They had never gotten along since the beginning of this tadpole mess but after the Githyanki Creche their hatred for each other seemed to amplify.

“I would say that I’m surprised that machine was unable to get rid of the tadpoles, but then again, I wouldn’t expect gith to know what they were doing,” Shadowheart had taunted Lae’zel.

“The zaith'isk was tampered with! Githyanki technology is far beyond your understanding, and if you had something other than a tadpole in your brain, you would realize the mistake in your words,” Lae’zel shot back. She turned to herself before saying, “Useless istik, mindlessly following a false god”

“What did you just say?” Shadowheart said as she readied herself to attack.

“Your ‘goddess’ ordered you to steal a precious artifact from my people, and yet knowing that does not change your unwavering belief. A goblin has more integrity than you,” Lae’zel said as she continued to walk away.

“Shar is a real goddess, unlike the githyanki’s petty attempt at a goddess, Vlaakith,” Shadowheart yells as she begins to sprint toward Lae’zel. The fighter had already pulled out her sword and the clashing of metal rang through the air. You sighed, standing up from the mess that laid out before you, and ran towards the fight. Before you could intervene, Karlach had taken her great axe and held it out in between the two aggressors before berating them.

“For fuck’s sake guys, the whole point of setting up camp early was to rest for tomorrow, not argue and waste our energy on dumb fights.” As Karlach said this, Shadowheart cast gust of wind to push her opponent back, accidentally hitting Karlach in the crossfire. She had succeeded at causing Lae’zel to lose her grip on her sword but had caused that sword to slash into Karlach’s leg. The tiefling groaned as she kneeled to the ground, clutching her thigh.

You ran back to your bag and turned it upside down, dumping all the contents onto the piles you had started to make earlier, and rummaged through your items until you found a healing potion and some fire-resistant bandages. When you ran over to Karlach to heal her, Wyll was already yelling at the two women who had caused an unnecessary injury.

“Your recklessness has caused this bloodshed!” he sounded exasperated as you handed Karlach the potion, unraveling the bandages and starting to dress her wound, careful to not burn yourself in the process. “You both are distracted by your own prejudices and disdain for each other that the thought you may be hurting others in the process never crossed your minds. So caught up in yourselves, you have yet to see the irony of the words you throw at each other.”

Wyll continued his lecture as you focus on Karlach, watching her toss aside the empty potion bottle. “Thanks, soldier,” she says with a weak smile. She pushes herself off of the ground, causing Wyll to pause his lecture and rush to her side. “I’m fine, just gonna head to bed early,” she says while sidestepping past him.

You take a breath and start to think of how to address the situation that just happened when suddenly, Gale is by your side, anxiously fumbling with his hands. Realization overcame you and you tried to recall the last time you had given the wizard an enchanted item to consume the magic from. 

“I know now might not be the best time,” he starts, “but there really never is a good time nowadays, is there?” he finishes with a chuckle to himself.

“I should have an enchanted ring in my bag—“ you stop when you glance back at your backpack, contents strewn across the ground.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Gale says quickly. “Dinner isn’t going to cook itself!” He makes his way to his tent and you drag your feet back to your backpack, dreading the mess you’ll have to clean up. Sifting through the items, you create another pile of the things you already looked through. Focused on organizing, you don’t hear Astarion sneak up on you.

“My my, these are quite the… piles you have here,” he says while crouching down across from you. “What’s with all these arrows and grenades? Have you decided to try your hand in ranged combat? Because if so,” he pauses, crimson red eyes staring into your soul, “I’d be more than happy to give you some private lessons.” He bares his teeth, his fangs glistening. You’re tempted to take him up on the offer before you remember why you got those items in the first place.

“Oh, those aren’t for me. I’ve been picking up stuff here and there, and I figured before heading out tomorrow I’d give some to everyone. I was actually organizing everything,” you say, completely forgetting that you were looking for a ring, “and I was going to try and figure out what would be best for everyone to have, but since you’re here, you can pick whatever you want.”

“I can choose anything here?” Astarion asks with a smirk. You nod your head and he responds by picking up your hand and giving it a kiss on the palm, “Then I pick you, my dear.”

Your cheeks flush red as you stutter out a response. “That’s not what I meant and you know it!” Astarion had been teasing you a lot more lately, and while you didn’t mind, it had proven to be an extra distraction. 

He chuckled at your pout, caressing your face with his other hand, his thumb pressing down on your lower lip. You both stare at each other for a moment, before he sighs and brings his hands back to his side. “Well, if I can’t have you I guess I need to figure something else out.” He scans over the pile and picks up a necklace.

“Wait, not that,” you say while snatching the jewelry away from him. “That can restore one of Shadowheart’s spells, I should go give that to her.” You stand up and run off to find the cleric, not noticing the disgruntled look Astarion has on his face. He sighs and looks down at the clutter, beginning to sift through the items.

While making your way to Shadowheart’s tent, you hear Halsin comfort a whining Scratch. “There, there, I’m sure we will retreive it soon enough,” the druid says while gently petting the dog. “Ah, Tav, could I bother you for a moment? Scratch seems to have lost his ball in a burrow and neither of us can reach it. Would mind seeing if you can grab it?”

Scratch runs up to you and paces around you in circles before you lean down to him, “Of course I’ll help you out, buddy.” Without thinking, you set the necklace on a nearby rock, crouching down to the burrow and searching for the ball. In the shadows you spot it, deep inside the tunnel, and you reach your arm in. 

Your fingers are barely able to reach the toy, and you’re about to maneuver the ball out when Gale speaks. “Tav, I’m terribly sorry to ask again, but were you able to find the enchanted ring perchance?” The ball rolls out of your grasp, and you let out a long sigh before retracting your arm.

“Sorry, Gale, I got distracted. As soon as I get this ball out for Scratch I’ll go and get it for you.” Content with that answer he nods and walks off. Reaching your hand back into the hole, you push yourself against the ground, the extra leverage closing the distance between your hand and the toy. You let out a breath before throwing the ball, Scratch bounding after it.

“Thank you, Tav!” Halsin says as he runs after the dog.

Walking back to where Astarion sits rummaging through your things, Wyll interrupts you. “Tav, do you by chance have a fire resistance potion? I was wanting to give Karlach these flowers to cheer her up,” he says, holding the bouquet in front of him sheepishly. Although Wyll and Karlach had been foes in Avernus, they’re relationship was slowly blossoming into a gentle romance.

“That’s very sweet of you, Wyll. I should have one in my stuff.” You both head over to the piles of items that Astarion had started to organize. It would be nice to have someone think about me like Wyll thinks about Karlach, you ponder as you bend down next to Astarion, grabbing the fire resistance potion that sat buried within the clutter. “Here you go,” you hand Wyll the potion, “I think those will make her very happy.”

Wyll says a quick thanks as he opens the potion with his teeth, hastily pouring the contents over the bouquet and heading off to Karlach’s tent. Clearing his throat, Astarion asks “Did Shadowheart enjoy your gift?” he says with a slight frown and a twinge of annoyance in his voice.

“My what?”

He stares at you for a second, before elaborating, “The necklace? The one that you oh so rudely snatched from my hands.” He watches as your face scrunches up tightly trying to remember what he’s talking about before you gasp.

“The necklace!”

“Yes, the necklace,” he sighs.

“Where did I put it?” you say as you frantically pat down your pockets.

Astarion starts to tease you again, “Really, darling, how could you misplace something like that? I thought that necklace was important after you had yanked it out of my hand and ran off to Shadowheart.” He’s chuckling to himself when he notices the genuine frustration that is starting to seep off of you.

“I just had it. I was holding it in my hand. Where could I have put it?” you mutter to yourself, your breath starting to quicken. Dread creeps through your chest as you begin to mentally retrace your steps. “Think, dammit, think!” Tears start to form in the corners of your eyes, a lump taking place in the back of your throat. Astarion stood up and reached his hand tentatively towards yours, squeezing it gently to try and bring you back to the present.

Gale had made his way back over to you, seeing that you were near your things. “I hate to interrupt this touching moment, but I really do need that ring if you have it,” He says while clutching his chest. Astarion glares daggers at the wizard who is either oblivious or purposely ignoring your stress, but you don’t notice as your mind has drifted off.

Right, you think to yourself, I came over here to look for the ring. Without saying a word, you push away Astarion’s hand and sink to the ground, aimlessly pushing around everything trying to find the ring. Astarion studies you, the way your hands seem to be searching for the relic while your eyes glaze over and stare at nothing, until your hand brushes over the small golden circle and you grasp it firmly. You sigh and recollect yourself before turning around and jumping up to Gale, handing him the ring with a forced smile and laugh. “Sorry for the delay! I’ve been so forgetful lately.”

He takes the ring from your hand, clutching it tightly while absorbing the magic into his chest. When he opens his hand, the ring is broken into two. “Ah, apologies. Dinner should be finished soon. Thanks again,” he says with a bow before leaving.

You sigh before returning to the pile, starting to organize it once again. From the outside, people would assume that you’re just forgetful and easily distracted, most even finding your frantic and hectic demeanor cute. You can’t help but feel like a burden, requiring constant reminders to stay on task, feeling like you need to rely on others instead of yourself. It wasn’t for a lack of trying, either, but no matter how many times you repeated tasks to yourself, how many times you had written down what needs to be done, how many times you had try to will focus into your mind, nothing changed. It's always been like this, and now with the stress of the unknown ahead, you’ve been getting distracted more.

Astarion watches you, determined to organize the mess on the ground. When he first met you, you had brushed off your forgetfulness and laughed along with anyone who had made a joke at your expense. It had annoyed him to no end when you would walk into the same room, multiple times, that you had just looted. This aloofness only seemed to grow after you both had come to an agreement that Astarion could drink your blood in order to satiate his thirst, the only side affect being your increased mind-wandering.

After another 30 minutes of watching you return to the same room over and over to loot, he had decided that you both would search the rooms together, if nothing else to lessen the time it took at each town. He didn’t expect that during the extra, private time you both were now spending together he would begin to grow fond of you. While he would be working on a lock of a chest, you would grab a book and immediately become immersed in it. At first, he would use this time to pocket the most valuable items found in whatever container he had just opened, but as time went on, he had started to ask you questions about what you were reading.

It had caught him off guard when you looked up at him with excitement in your eyes as you explained the gossip in the diary you found, and he couldn’t help but become intrigued himself. Quickly, a new routine had started: while Astarion would loot and lockpick whatever he could get his hands on, you would find diaries, notes, and books to read outloud. He would respond to the especially vulgar and outlandish things you would recite with theatrical gasps and awes. One time, you had stumbled across a particularly sad letter from a person who begged their lover to wait for them, only for their lover to respond that they had never returned. A choked sob had escaped your lips when you finished the letter, and Astarion had quickly called you over to distract you.

“It’s about time that you learn how to use one of these,” he said while he pushed a lockpick into your hands. “If you’re going to stare at me while I do all the work, you may as well get something out of it.” He had been joking, but you hadn’t taken it that way. A wave a guilt and embarrassment had washed over you as you resolved to force yourself to learn what he was teaching you. It was all in vain, however, as every ten minutes when he would ask you to demonstrate, your hands would clam up and your mind would go blank.

“Darling, is it really that hard to focus? Or am I just that distracting, hm?” he had joked.

You wouldn’t look into his eyes, instead you had begun to fumble with the lockpick in your hands. “I’m sorry,” you had whispered, “I’m really trying.”

You had expected him to berate you or to even make a joke about how useless you were, but instead he had sighed and positioned himself behind you, placing his hands over yours as he talked you through the steps, yet again, of lockpicking. When you had heard the final click of the lock, you quickly turned to look at the man who had helped you. Inches away from each other’s faces, he smiled softly and brought one of his hands up to your cheek as he placed a gentle kiss on your temple.

“See? You can focus,” he had said while giving you a tight squeeze.

The sound of your sigh brought him back to the present, and he stared at you for a moment before asking, “Do you want me to go and look for the necklace while you do this?” You stop moving things around and just sit there, defeated. The necklace had completely slipped your mind, just like the ring. Your body begins to shake as tears run down your cheek. Astarion slowly kneels next to you, grabbing the potions and arrows from your hand and setting them off to the side. “Hey, it’s alright. Shh-shh-shh, there’s no need to ruin that beautiful face of yours.”

You start to sob quietly. Why was this so difficult for you? You were able to talk your way out of situations, fight enemies with ease, and coordinate a fighting strategy that used everyone to the best of their abilities, yet you were unable to do such simple things. You draw your hands to your eyes, pressing harshly into them to try and stop the tears that fall out. Astarion gingerly moves his arms around you in a hug, as gentle as he can muster as to not startle you. He squeezes you tightly and you stay like that for a while, before you’re able to croak out a simple question that leaves a pain in his chest.

“What’s wrong with me?” You move your hands away from your face and turn your head to look at him, expecting to see frustration in his eyes but instead finding something softer. It looks as if he’s genuinely concerned. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Tav,” he says quietly, barely above a whisper.

“Then why,” you say with trembling words, “why can’t I do such simple things? Why is it so difficult for me to remember what I’m doing, to not get distracted?”

Astarion sighs as he looks at you with his big, round eyes. “You are capable of much more than you know, my sweet. You were designated the leader for a reason. You’re brave, witty, and above all else, kind. You are so sickenly kind and patient with everyone, yet you don’t afford yourself the same grace,” he says as he rubs circles into your back. “You’ve been kind to those that don’t deserve it, but you’re never kind to yourself.”

“Thank you,” you reply meekly. You hated crying in front of your companions, but you found that you didn’t mind being comforted by Astarion.

“Besides, darling,” the vampire joked,” It’s hardly your fault that you keep getting distracted when there are six adult children who need constant supervision.”

“Don’t you mean seven?”

He pulled away from you with a gasp. “I think I am more than capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much.”

“Oh, if that’s the case, you don’t need to see me for blood anymore then, right?” you teased.

Astarion squinted at you before his eyes softened and he pulled you into his arms again. You both sat like that for a while before he spoke, barely above a whisper, “I don’t only need you for blood.” Before you can respond, Gale’s call to dinner causes Astarion to push you up. “Go on, enjoy dinner.” You start to protest and gesture to the mess that still needs to be cleaned up before he cuts you off, “I’ll take care of it.” As he begins to sort through the items, he catches your eye before you leave. 

“I hope you know that I’m still expecting to see you tonight,” he says with a sultry voice. If you hadn’t gotten closer recently, you would take what he says at face value, a meaningless flirt to rile you up. But beneath his smirk you can see a hint of sadness in his eyes.

It will need to wait for another time as your stomach grumbles, and you remember that you had forgotten to eat lunch that day. You say a quick thank-you before running off to join the rest of the party, feeling more at ease about the adventure that lay before you.

#bg3 #astarion x tav #bg3 astarion #bg3 shadowheart #bg3 tav #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 gale #bg3 wyll #bg3 lae'zel #bg3 karlach #astarion x reader

[teyamsatan]

Cruel Summer | Chapter IV: 'Tis The Damn Season

Pairings: Neteyam x (f)Human!Reader

Word Count: 8.2k words

Warnings/notes: angst, allusions to/mentions of smut, Neteyam x reader being the absolute cutest, some fluff, all the feels, 18+ minors DNI

Synopsis: Neteyam in unable to stop himself from confessing a truth he's tried to bury for years, a truth that will change everything between you. Jake shares news with his son that will threaten whatever peace Neteyam's come to know.

A/N: there's no earthly reason why this chapter had to take so long except my own inability to write it and procrastinating with requests instead. i hope this was worth the wait, and as this is the second to last chapter, prepare yourself for the main meal soon. I don't think that will take that long, cause I've had the last chapter in my mind before I even started writing this story to begin with. I hope you enjoy, i'd love to hear your thoughts, i love to hear from you besties.

: ̗̀➛ listen to the Cruel Summer playlist here : ̗̀➛ masterlist (x) : ̗̀➛ series masterlist (x)

 

I'm stayin' at my parents' house

And the road not taken looks real good now

And it always leads to you in my hometown

Neteyam’s head was spinning with worry and mind-numbing fear, watching his sister’s spirit be taken out of her, her bioluminescent freckles that usually shine brighter than any other Na’vi he’s ever seen so dim they were barely alight anymore. He was picking at his nails nervously, a habit he hasn’t had since he was 7, watching as his mother was trying her best to shake her awake, almost like she was trying to will life back into her. The wails got to Neteyam more than he cared to admit, and eventually, he excused himself and left the family marui, settling instead for watching the tiny glowing fish as they surrounded and circled his ankles. Neteyam rarely felt powerless in his life. No matter what the situation was, no matter how dire, he always felt like he could somehow make it his own, he could somehow make it work. But now, as he stood there, listening to cries and tries, listening to his family trying to figure out how to save his baby sister, Neteyam felt hopeless and helpless, like a child. In moments like this, he missed you most. It was hard being without you always, his body having to unlearn and relearn instincts and feelings, having to rewire his brain from having been so accustomed to you and your body, and your mind and your soul for the past 19 years of his life. You would know what to do. You’d have some medical trick or a human way, you’d scream everyone out of the room and you’d just somehow figure it out. You always were able to just… figure things out. He missed that, along with everything else. 

“I’m going to contact Norm and Max, ok, baby? It’s going to be alright, they’ll know what to do. It’ll be alright.” 

Neteyam was terrified as the hours passed, waiting for the flying machine he knew would be coming any minute, and what would it bring along with it. His questions, his biggest dream and biggest nightmare, all plaguing him and his mind for the past few hours, were swiftly answered as from the helicopter came three figures, one blue one and two humans. One human in particular he cared about. His heart was beating so loudly it was almost completely covering the incessant, deafening sound the propellor blades were making. You were so beautiful, even more beautiful than he remembered. He couldn’t help the way his eyes trailed over your body and focused on scars that have appeared in the time you were apart, scars that made his stomach drop, or the way your hair was shorter, or the way you have gotten leaner and more muscular. He couldn’t help his mind wandering and twisting every change, a deep feeling of sorrow and weird jealousy, for the people that got to watch you grow, for the people that had to touch your body to heal your wounds, for the people the got to help you when he didn’t - when he couldn’t. 

Your eyes immediately found his, the way they always had the power to, and his breath hitched in his throat, the way it always seemed to when you did. He didn’t miss the way your eyes widened imperceptibly as you noticed him, nor the way they hardened as his presence took his toll on your mind. The frown and the hurt, the slight glistening of tears threatening to spill reminded Neteyam of the last time he saw you, the time that could have gone better, should have gone better than it did, and how he never got the chance to say goodbye. So many words he wanted to say, so many confessions that have rested in his chest for years that needed to be let out but weren’t, now close to spilling out as a blurt of messed-up feelings. So close, yet so far. Because this wasn’t the time - it never seemed to be when it came to you and him. You stood in the back and watched as Norm and Max greeted his father, and you all made your way back to the tent, the attention fully back on his sister who was still unconscious. The sight of her tugged at his heart so much it was making him sick, so he refused to walk in and see what they were doing, what human devices and contraptions it took to bring Kiri back to them. 

There's an ache in you put there by the ache in me

But if it's all the same to you, it's the same to me

His skin felt like it caught fire as it perceived your body in its vicinity, as you walked out of the marui and settled on the weaved pathway by the edge of the water, feet dangling off it. It felt so strange, having you back in his space. Like so much and yet nothing had changed. Like he hadn’t left you, and his life behind, his happiness and hope, like you didn’t kick him out and refused to send him off and at least pretend to make it easier on both of you. Like he never had to keep pretending his life wasn’t permeated fully by your very essence, your very being, by everything you were. 

“Vol…” 

You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. Neteyam felt anger bubble up inside him. This whole thing was so fucking unfair. You were so fucking unfair. He didn’t choose any of this. He didn’t want to leave you, why can’t you see that? Why could you not at least try to understand, try to be a little sympathetic towards the fact that this was killing him, and he suffered everyday, and the cold he felt from you cut worse than any blade, hurt worse than any wound. 

“God fucking damn it, Vol. Can you stop with the attitude and just please talk to me? I don’t see you in months, you show up here, clearly, you wanted to see us… see me. I’m here, so just talk to me. If you have to scream, or shout, or kick me, you can do that as long as you fucking talk.”

“I’m not here for you. I’m here for Kiri.” 

“Oh, stop it. Norm and Max could take care of Kiri well enough, and you know that. You’re not just here for Kiri. You’re here for me, too. I want to talk, we have to talk.” 

“No, Neteyam. We don’t have to talk. There’s nothing to talk about because nothing fucking matters anymore. None of it. We’re just strangers now, right? Acquaintances. I’ll see you every few months whenever Jake needs something and that’s about the extent of our relationship. Nineteen years of being there for you, of being your best friend, and in a day, you somehow became a stranger. You gave away the right to talk to me the second you walked out that door.”  

Neteyam watched as you took your leave, going back into the tent, leaving him once more to deal with all that stood to plague him.

It took hours, but Kiri’s condition wasn’t improving even with all the contraptions and equipment you were using on her. None of you knew what was wrong, although Norm and Max thought it was epilepsy. It looked like epilepsy, you thought, but if it had been, she would be back by now. It hurt you watching her like that, laying on the floor, the light of her freckles so dim they were barely visible anymore, and you touched her, running your hands over her chest and arm, hoping you could pray the light back into her, so you could tell her you’re sorry that you didn’t say goodbye to her. You would tell her that every time you are in the forest and you find a bead or flower that you’ve never seen before, you collect it with her in mind and keep it there in the hopes you’ll one day see her again, and she could use them for her tops or for the jewellery she always makes for everyone she loves. You missed her, the same way you missed them all, and you needed her to know that, despite all the hurt and the pain they’ve left behind, she would always be your sister. 

Neytiri eyed you curiously while you spent time with her daughter, and you cowered a little under her gaze. You knew it was dumb, but you’ve always loved Neytiri. You watched your whole life as she was the best mother to her children, and how patient and caring and funny and attentive she was, and you always hoped one day she’d learn to love you too, and that through her you could finally feel what it was like to have a mother, a loving mother. But she never did, no matter the time that passed or the efforts you made, so you stopped trying and forsook your futile aspirations. It was time to grow up, and you did - not fully whole, never quite the person you hoped you would become, but there was no point in dwelling on matters of the past, of realities you’d never be able to undo. 

“Will she live?” Your eyes snapped to her in shock as she spoke. She very rarely ever spoke to you directly. And not only did she do just that, but she asked you a question. A genuine question about the well-being of her daughter. You couldn’t believe she cared what you thought about it to ask. She sounded so sad and desolate, her voice hoarse and nasal from the amount she had cried. 

“I’m sure she will… she’s a tough girl. She’s special, she always has been. I think she’ll be just fine.” 

“Then why isn’t she awake yet? If it’s what they say it is… why?” Her voice broke at the last word and yours was not far off when you answered her. 

“I don’t know. But I don’t think they are right. I think it’s more complicated than that.”

She looked confused at you, then approached and sat down in front of her, across from you, as her hands also found Kiri’s body, pushing the bangs out of her face. 

“Her seizure happened at the Tree of Souls. At the bridge between this world and Eywa’s. I think nothing we, humans, or our technology could possibly do could bring her back. I think she needs the Tsa’hik.” 

Her eyes widened at your words and she immediately got up and sprinted out of the tent, and you hoped you were right, partly because of Kiri and partly cause maybe this way, not that it mattered anymore, but maybe she’d finally stop looking at you like a stray dog and more like an actual person.  

The next thing you knew, Neytiri came in with an array of people, the most imposing of which was a woman, who you assumed was the Metkayina Tsa’hik, who intimidated you beyond belief from the second she walked in, all tall and beautiful and imposing… and pregnant. You instinctively rose from your spot and got out, feeling a sudden chill in the room and knowing for a fact it wasn’t a place you were welcomed in anymore. You didn’t care, as long as it meant Kiri would be fine. You joined the rest of the family and the scientists outside, the silence thick as all of you watched with heavy hearts, hoping for a miracle. It took a while, but eventually, the silence was disrupted by gasps of relief as Kiri did indeed wake up, immediately tackled by several of her family members hugging her, consoling her as she cried. 

So we could call it even

You could call me babe for the weekend

'Tis the damn season, write this down

Early in the evening, when everything settled down, you made your way outside the marui once more, looking at the sky as it was preparing itself for eclipse, finally able to take in the beauty of this place, unlike anything you’ve ever seen before and more breathtaking than you could have ever imagined. You felt Neteyam’s presence flood your own as he approached you - your senses might never be as acute as theirs, neither your vision, or hearing, or touch able to hold a candle to their own, but none of that ever mattered when it came to him. His being was enough to turn you inside out, and sharpen your senses so that it would pick up everything about him, from his slightly musky and woody smell, that changed throughout the month as his heat approached, to the sound and cadence of his footsteps that were unmistakable to you no matter how far they were approaching you from, to the slight clink of the beads in his hair, that sometimes felt like it moved on its own accord, to even his breathing and its pattern, and the way it seemed to increase whenever he was close to you. 

“Now can we talk? Kiri’s fine, she’s finally fine. Please, Vol…” 

“Neteyam, I can’t make myself any clearer. I have nothing to say to you.” 

Neteyam felt anger overtake him again. What would he have to do to get you to listen, to get you to give him one second, just one second to explain to you, to talk to you? It was so fucking unfair, to have to lose so much and yet be painted as the villain by you, the person who’s supposed to know him better than anyone else in the world, who used to understand him, to whom he never had to explain any of his thought process because there was no need. You always just knew. He hoped he didn’t have to do this, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and with that rationale in mind, Neteyam approached you suddenly and picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder and making his way out of the village. 

“Are you out of your fucking mind?! Put me down!” Neteyam pondered her question for a second. Maybe he truly was out of his mind. None of this was like him at all, this is not something he would ever have done a while ago, never before you. Neteyam was selfless, that’s how he was brought up to be, that’s the only way he knew how to be. But for the first time in his life, he needed to be selfish. For the first time in his life, he would do what he wanted to do, and he wanted to talk to you. Alone. He wanted to feel you, he wanted to remember what it was like for his heart to jump out of his chest and for his nostrils to be flooded with the only scent that drove his senses haywire and for his mind to scramble trying to understand the myriad of emotions running through it while he looked at you. He hasn’t seen you in months, haven’t felt you in months, and he was supposed to let it go without a fight?

No fucking way. 

You were so light in his arms, it felt like he was carrying a doll, and he barely registered your tiny ineffectual fists punching at his back, although he did feel like your legs were definitely stronger, just like the rest of you was since he last saw you. He didn’t stop until he hit an isolate meadow in the mangrove forest, your annoyed huffs and croaky screams drowning out the beautiful melodies played by the birds and his family’s ikran, that now had a home in these trees.

“I have no problem with holding you like this the whole time, but I’d rather look at you while I speak. I will put you down, but I swear on everything I hold dear, Vol, if you run, I will drag you back by your feet if I have to. We are talking, whether you like it or not.” 

With that threat, he lifted you off his shoulder and put you gently on the ground. You stood where he placed you, but refused to look at him, a deep frown marring your beautiful face. He sighed, feeling defeated and unmoored, but kneeled in front of you so he can look at your face properly, and you could look at his. 

“Vol, we haven’t seen each other in months. I didn’t know whether I’d ever see you again, but you’re here. You came here, out of your own volition. I know you wanted to see me. I know you, Vol. And you know me. You’re the only one that knows me.” He takes a hold of your mask gently and angles your face with barely any force to make you face him. “I was so mad at you for the way you shut me out. For not allowing me to say goodbye the way I wanted to, the way I should have. I needed to hold you, and tell you that I’ll miss you and that you’ll always be my best friend. That I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

Your eyes could barely hold it in, the urge to let it out and cry. Cry at seeing him again, at how frustrating he was, how angry you were, but how happy at the same time to finally see him again, to feel his touch on your skin and the way it lit it on fire, the way desire and ache and love pulsed through your veins at his mere proximity, how, despite all the months, all the time, all the hurt, it felt like nothing had changed between you, like seeing him again was exactly like coming back home after a long day outside, exhausted and spent, and happy to be comfortable and safe again. 

“I don’t care. I don’t care how sorry any of you are. You left your clan behind, and me, all of us behind, to go hide while we stand and fight and worry for our lives and the lives of everyone in the clan.”

Your words struck a chord in Neteyam and he felt the anger prick painfully at his mind, and despite priding himself on his composure, he couldn’t hold it in any longer, not anymore. Months of anguish kept inside finally came out and there was little he could do to stop it.

“We left so we could protect you! Why must you be so stubborn all of the fucking time? This wasn’t done to hurt you, Vol. This has nothing to do with you! None of us wanted to go! Believe it or not, you’re not the only one affected by this. I understand that you are upset and you have every reason to be, but what was the alternative? Either we stayed and the whole clan was even more at risk than it already is, or we brought two humans with us across the oceans to a new clan that hates humans?! Stop being so fucking selfish for one second and understand this isn’t only about you! I fucking lost everything that day! I lost my home, and my friends, and my future as Olo’eyktan, fuck, I lost the woman I lo-“ 

Your eyes go wide in shock at the words almost spoken, words that you imagined all your life but couldn’t believe right now. That can’t be what he was telling you, right? After all this time apart, after all the time together, in which you shared anything and everything under the sun, in secrets kept and broken promises, it couldn’t be that Neteyam was confessing to you something you swore you’d never feel for each other, something you wanted nothing more than to hear, something that would somehow both kill you and put you back together at the same time. 

“What did you just say?” 

Time flies, messy as the mud on your truck tires

Now I'm missing your smile, hear me out

We could just ride around

And the road not taken looks real good now

And it always leads to you in my hometown

His own wide eyes settle after a while, deep, settling breaths calming his heartbeat that he could feel in his throat, in his ears, in his temples. This was it. After all this time, after everything you’ve gone through, ironically now when there was no chance for you, not that there ever was, now when he was mad at you, when he would lose you again in just a short while, now he was about to confess something that has plagued him for years, that he’s wanted to tell you, that he knew he never could. 

He slowly brought his hand to your neck and collarbone, eyes tearing up mirroring your own, and he knew it would be easy telling you this, because loving you was easy, and falling in love with you - the easiest thing he’s ever done. His thumb caressed your soft skin and he watched in wonder as your mouth opened slightly, a soft exhale escaping you, and he followed the tear that rolled down your cheek when you closed your eyes from the overwhelming feelings trying you. 

“I lost the woman I love. The only woman I’ve ever loved. The annoying, aggravating, impossible woman who I’ve watched become the most beautiful, intelligent, incredible person, who taught me everything I know about anything that matters. Who I promised I wouldn’t fall in love with, but I did. A long time ago.”

You shook your head slightly, feeling the tears fall down your face, the stitches that you managed to put in the wounds deep in your soul coming loose around him, bleeding once more, and you wondered if despite wishing to hear these words for years, now that you have, it was the last thing you were ever going to hear. Because how are you supposed to survive this now, this overbearing pain of loving him, and losing him, knowing all this time he loved you, too, and that this was so far past what you agreed on… that it was love, requited love, crazy, stupid, incredible, one-of-a-kind love?

“You can’t say shit like this to me, Neteyam. You think I’m selfish? How about you? Why would you say these things to me now? I’m about to leave, I’m about to lose you again. It took me months to put back together what you broke, and I’m still not there yet, and now you say this shit, and what am I supposed to do with it, huh? How am I supposed to move on? To accept that I love a man that’ll never be mine, that I’ll never have except in fleeting moments, in secret affairs, that I’ve had to watch turn his back to me and choose duty over me, over and over and over again. You’re being mean. You’re being selfish.” 

“You fucking taught me to be selfish. You told me over and over my whole life to be more selfish. Well here I am, I’m being selfish. I want something, and that something is you. I want you. I need you. I need you to know that I’m in love with you, and to know that at least once in my life I get to make love to the woman i love and know that she loves me too, and that this is real, and that I’ve known this feeling and lived this feeling, at least once. Please. Please just tell me it wasn’t in my head. That all these years, despite what we told each other and ourselves, I loved you and you loved me too. And it was real, the only real thing I’ve ever known.” 

He sounded so forlorn, so desperate for you to ease his pain and mend his heart that was just as broken as yours, that suffered through as much, if not more, that was laid bared on the table for you to see it, to feel it, to either take it gently in your palms or squish it under your feet. No matter how mad you were, it was hard not to be taken aback and awed at his confession, not to feel privileged to be loved by him, by the best man you’ve ever met, a man who could have anyone in this world easily, whose mere presence in a room commands respect and attention, whose mind and words inspired Omaticaya songs, whose body motivated young men and enamoured young women. He was the best there was, and he wanted you. A human, who had none of the qualities praised and admired in the clan and in his world, but all the ones he wanted and hoped for. Because you were his best friend. And you understood him, and you stood by him through thick and thin, in sickness and in health, your whole entire lives. And you loved him, despite his shortcomings, despite being different to you, and you smiled at him in the way that put the sun to shame, and your eyes lit up when looking at him in a way that put the stars out of work. And you found him funny, which few people did - Lo’ak was the funny one, not him, that’s what he has always been told, but not to you, and if he was honest with himself, he only made jokes to hear your laugh and to feel the way you punched him whenever you found something funny. You have loved him all your life, you’ve been in love with him for years, and despite all that stood against you, all that you knew would prevent your own happy ending, despite your mind telling you it’s easier to just walk away, it’s safer for you to just leave and protect your heart, your heart needed to feel his, and feel him. Your heart needed to know what it would be, to be with him knowing what you knew now, knowing for a fact this is real, and it’s everything. 

You circled his wrist with your fingers and your other hand found his hair, that you pushed away from his face. You couldn’t help your smile that felt like the first real one you’ve cracked in months, and the way your heart skipped every other beat taking in his beauty, marvelling at his eyes that were pools of love and lust, of sadness and hope, of anguish and fear. 

“Of course it was real, skxawng.” You said with soft sobs. “It’s all real. It’s always been real. My whole life, you’ve been the only thing that’s been real.” You took off your mask, and closed the distance between you and kissed him, and you both melt into it, feeling the months apart fade away, feeling your mind empty of everything outside of him and his taste and his scent, and the feel of his skin as your palms traced his face and neck, of the way your own skin tingles under his touch. As you put your mask back on, struggling to catch your breath, he reaches for the buttons of your linen shirt and undoes them with surprising gentleness and accuracy, so tiny in his huge hands, and slides the shirt down your arms until it falls on the floor. You shudder a little under the breeze now caressing your bare skin and at the way Neteyam’s thumb flickers over one of your nipples, still covered by a black lace bra. 

“You’re so beautiful. So, so beautiful. I can’t believe I get to love you, I can’t believe you’re mine. And I’m yours, Vol. I’m yours, I’ve always been yours. I’ll always be yours.” 

You said nothing as the seed of doubt didn’t allow you to hope or even consider the future, instead getting lost in the pleasure of his skilled hands on your body, that still knew everything about you, as he laid you down on the ground gently and hovered over you, as his lips drew maps of unknown marvels on your soft skin, so different to his, but still so familiar, and he felt for the first time since his ikran landed on that beach months ago that this place could finally feel like home. He hated how despite memorising every curve, and beauty mark, and scar on your body, there were things that he had to relearn, curves he had to discover as his mouth came to terms with the changes he wasn’t there to witness, wasn’t there to get accustomed to as they happened to you. He pushed the unpleasant thought aside. It just meant he needed to relearn it, and he was happy with that. He was happy to hope he would get to once again know everything about you, and never get the chance to miss you again. 

Despite your silence, the tears still came and went, fogging up your mask listening to him and thinking about how much you’ve wanted this, and how much it will all hurt when it will inevitably succumb into nothing again. He stopped and came back to your level as he heard your quiet sniffles, ears perking up at the sound. 

“Vol…” 

“We shouldn’t be doing this, Neteyam. When you left, it killed me. It took me months to get back together enough to be normal again, if we do this, after everything you’ve said, after what i know, if i lose you, I…”

 

For the first time in his life and in your life, it was Neteyam who removed your mask covering your face and kissed you, and you swore you could have died then and been happy about it, and thank your lucky star you got to go while feeling his lips on yours, but soon enough he covered your face again and caressed your hair gently. 

“We have to do this because of what I said. Because of what you said. Because you are the only woman I’ll ever love, because for all intents and purposes, you are my mate. I want you to be my mate. Because all I’ve dreamt about for years is doing this with you knowing that you loved me too.” His expression changed, and in a serious tone, he continued. “But we won’t do anything you don’t want to, Vol. If you don’t want to do this, just tell me.”

Damn him, you thought bitterly. Damn him for having the ability of making you completely forget and forsake reason or any critical thinking when it came to him, when it came to what he meant to you. Of course you wanted to do this. You wanted nothing more than to do this. And despite how much your mind was screaming in pain at the eventuality of his loss, another part of it was screaming at the possibility of never feeling this feeling, at least once. All you managed was a meek shake of your head, and he smiled, a stupidly handsome smile and you couldn’t help yours from blossoming on your face as well, or the sense of fleeting happiness that enveloped you like a warm blanket. 

Despite whatever feelings of love you now knew were harboured in your convoluted relationship, you and Neteyam very rarely acted like it when you had sex. Your love was mostly tangible in the way you healed him, in the way he listened to your endless chattering about human stuff, in the way he looked at you when you said something that he found particularly endearing or the way you looked for him first whenever something anything of note happened to you. Sex, on the other hand, was a means to an end to you most times, just a way to relief tension and stress, a way to give your body what it needed, what it wanted, with someone who knew how to get it there. It was rough, and teasing, it was pushing your bodies to the extremes and testing your own and each other’s boundaries, but there was no need for that now. Because right now, in the way he touched you, in the way you felt, you knew this was different. You knew it was going to change everything yet again, more so than a mere confession ever could. Because now, knowing what you knew, feeling what you felt, you were making love, and it was an intimacy you’ve never experienced before. 

Back then, no matter how thoroughly he got you ready, no matter how long the foreplay, there was always a sense of urgency. It lasted all night, and there was still urgency to it. There was none of that now, as he explored every ounce of your body in languid, deliberate movements in between sonorous whispers that sounded a lot like adoration and wonderment, that told you how much he loved you, how much he’s missed you, how you were everything to him and listening to it felt a lot like heaven, a lot like comfort, a lot like home. 

He caressed your thighs from your ankles to the hips, and gently removed your shorts and placed them on the ground, next to your shirt. He inhaled sharply taking in your body and how much he missed it, and how much despite all the little changes, you were still very much yourself, and your body was still the one he used to get drunk on every night, that he got to once more tonight. You helped him out by removing your bra and underwear, and you smiled at the way his pupils dilated watching you, his eyes almost black now. You pulled him by his loincloth until he was over you again, and he took no time in attaching himself to you, and his lips to your neck, and his hands to your waist. Your heart was beating loudly as you felt him and he smiled against your chest when his lips felt your quickening pulse, knowing that his was just the same, that this was so much more than it ever was before. He never quite understood while people put so much emphasis on sex, why it was regarded as such an intimate act, especially to humans, but he understood now, as he felt you, as he knew you were in love with each other, that there was no doubt in either of your minds, that this feeling, and what you were doing, was something he could only conceive of doing with you, that this was going to bind you for life, regardless of the bond, regardless of a mating ritual, regardless of anything else. You were his and he was yours, forever. 

You reached over and untied his tewng and threw it with the rest of your clothes and just as it happened every time, you were always taken aback by his length, that somehow was always bigger than you remembered, and in light of the months spent apart, you were genuinely wondering about the logistics of how it was ever going to fit. 

“I know, I’m a little concerned, too.” 

You laughed, relieved that it was a thought shared between you, and doing your best to compose yourself and take a deep breath in, you removed your mask once more with one hand and pulled him towards you with the other, your lips meeting in a wet, messy kiss, filled with euphoric smiles and breathless moans, and for the first time in your life, you felt happy. Even it was just for a little while, just for a short, fleeting moment in time, you were wholly happy, and you had everything you ever wanted. A maskless kiss in the beautiful nature that surrounded you, shared with the man you loved, that you now knew loved you too, and the quiet hope of tomorrow. You didn’t want it to end, even as you felt the world slowly disappear from view, even as he reluctantly put some distance between you and helped you fasten it back onto your face. 

“I never missed your room more than right this second.” 

“Tell me about it.” 

As he slowly entered you, you were reminded of your first time, nearly two years ago now, and how sweet he had been, and how thoughtful and kind, and how he was the same now. He took his time, comforting you at every point, and held you as you cried from the pain of being stretched out after so long, by a length and girth no human normally was supposed to know, and he talked you through it, and you cracked a few jokes in between soft sobs and muffled cries, and you understood then what it felt like to be whole, and mended by a touch or a gaze, as long as they came from the one person in the world that mattered. 

When the pain subsided, it was replaced by ecstasy and the best feeling you’ve ever felt, as the pleasure he was always able to coax out of you was magnified infinitely by his confession, and you knew he felt the same by the way he looked at you, by how isolated tears fell from his eyes and onto your mask, how his smile was radiant and reassured, how he held you and touched you like he’d never let you go again, and God, you hoped he never did. When you came, you came together, and the overwhelming feelings left you a panting, limp mess around him, your mind empty from the high and full from the simple “I love you” that followed.

“I have missed you so much, Vol.” suddenly, he picks you up by your waist and turns you so that you are placed gently on his chest, and you sprawl on his body, with him still deep in you, tightening your arms around him and your head on his chest. You lay there for a long while, while he places kisses on your head and runs his fingers down your back and thighs, taking you in, and you listen to his heartbeat, fast and erratic, so much like your own, so much like the soundtrack to your dreams, the music of your deepest fantasies. 

It took forever for either of you to move at all, just content being in each other’s presence, making up for months of lost love and lost nights. Eventually, you removed your head from where it has found its once-more home, and looked at him. 

“I missed you, too. I can’t believe I’m here. There’s so much I want to tell you.”

And so you did. You spent hours talking, catching up, talking about anything and everything, like you always used to when you were young. You told him about training and how Tarsem is doing a good job as Olo'eyktan, how he wants both you and Spider to be a more involved part of the plan, how he’s got you training and how you feel excited to be more involved in this part of his life that you never quite got to be involved in before. You tell him about every new scar on your body and he does the same, and he goes over the village and the training, and all the new people he’s met and how he likes Tsireya and Rot’xo but not Aonung, he tells you about all the ways Lo’ak is testing their dad’s patience and all the dreams he’s had of you. That takes a while, and you laugh at the sillier ones and cry at the more emotional ones, and cry at the way he was right that you had been selfish, and how much in your attempt to deal with your own heartbreak, you forgot that he was going through his own. You never separated from each other, still hugging, or cuddling, or pressing at least one leg against the other’s, refusing to be more than a couple centimetres apart at a time, if you could help it.

Sleep in half the day just for old times' sake

I won't ask you to wait if you don't ask me to stay

So I'll go back to L.A. and the so-called friends

Who'll write books about me, if I ever make it

And wonder about the only soul who can tell which smiles I'm fakin'

You didn’t talk about the future. About how you knew you would have to leave soon, and what would happen after, you didn’t talk about the hurt or the pain, or the way it would come crashing down in front of you so soon, because right now, it didn’t matter. Because you knew for the first time in your life that all the pain the world could possibly throw at you would be worth this, and if you had to spend your whole life paying for it, you’ve made your peace with that. At least, you got this. And no matter what you lost, you’d always have this. 

In the morning, he took your hand in his and lifted you, and watched as you put your bra and panties back on. He didn’t say anything as you bent for the rest of your clothes, clearly enjoying the view, but stopped you as you were trying to get dressed. 

“Let’s go for a swim. You have a mask, you can breathe underwater better than me.” He chuckled a little. “I want to show you my new life, I need you to be part of it.” 

You were touched by his words. You nodded and dropped the shirt, and removed your hand from his swiftly. Without warning, you started running towards the beach, not looking behind you as you screamed after him. 

“Last one in the water has to do whatever the other one wants.” 

Neteyam rolled his eyes, but watched as you ran away from him, as you always did, wild and free, and he was relieved to realise some things would never change, and this was definitely one, alongside the eternal love he felt for you. He gave you quite the headstart, but eventually started running, and it took very little on his part to catch up to you, and he listened to your screams of annoyance as his feet touched the water first and he dove in, submerging his body and grabbing your waist and pulling you under with him. He allowed you to take the unearthly beauty in, with a shocked expression on your face, your mouth agape as you noticed the coral and all the fish that were circling you curiously. You reached out for them and they immediately dispersed, and he smiled at how it made you jump slightly, his heart swelling with affection and jubilance at this moment that he never thought he’d get, that he would never forget, that he would cherish forever. 

You swam for hours, and for the first time in either of your lives, Neteyam felt grateful for your mask, that allowed you to breathe underwater for extended periods of time, much longer than he could, that allowed you to go with him on an ilu and experience this new feeling that felt so different than an ikran, and yet somehow just as liberating and freeing, and you loved it, and all of a sudden he loved it a little more than he did before. 

"So what do you want?" you say playfully as you resurface, your head in his neck, his body flush against yours as you float aimlessly. He just tilts his head, not understanding your question.

"You beat me in the water. I said that whoever wins gets to tell the other what to do."

Neteyam thought about it for a long while.

"I have everything I want right now." he held you a bit tighter as he answered. "I still can't believe you're here. I can't believe these last few hours have been real. There's nothing else I could ever want."

You sighed against him, and he couldn't tell if it was happy or not, and right now, he didn't want to know.

"You're a better person than I am. I would have asked for eternal servitude."

He chuckled as his lips found your wet hair again.

"You got it, Vol."

And the heart I know I'm breakin' is my own

To leave the warmest bed I've ever known

As you walked back to the village, the dream world you lived in since he brought you to the forest was quickly fading before your eyes, and the worries, and the fear were settling in again, like they always seemed to, and it felt a lot like greeting old friends that never left, just hid a little under a curtain of flowy incandescence, ready to pounce at the slightest opportunity. Neteyam's voice broke through the dark feelings overcoming you, like he always had the power to.

“I know it's scary, thinking of what's next. I know. I'm terrified, but seeing you again, Vol, this night, this morning, it made me realise I can't lose you again. So just stay. I’ll talk to my parents, I’ll talk to the Metkayina. We’ll figure it out. Just please stay.”

His words managed to put your mind as ease almost as much as they shocked you in their spontaneity and craziness. Neteyam wasn't a rash person, or a person who just blurted out big life decisions, such as this one. You laughed awkwardly, trying to defuse the tension you felt in yourself and in the air around you.

“How would that ever work, silly?”

“I don’t know. It will work. Or I’ll come back with you, I’ll come back home. We’ll figure it out, ok? Just please say yes.” 

You roll your eyes at him, but you were grateful. And so, so happy. Because despite everything, this was everything you've ever wanted, and everything you thought you'd never get. You didn't know why you came to Awa'atlu. To yell at him, to check for yourself how he was doing, if he managed to move on easier than you could. To be angry, to get closure, to say goodbye forever. But now, it felt a lot like you were here for a new beginning, for a second chance at love, and how could you ever say no to that? The little nod makes Neteyam beam, and he picks you up and spins you around, once again kissing each-other against the ticking time bomb of your forsaken mask, laughing against his lips and his cheeks as he peppers kisses throughout your whole face, on your eyes, and your cheeks, on your forehead and your nose.

"Thank you."

We could call it even, even though I'm leavin'

And I'll be yours for the weekend, 'tis the damn season

"I'll go check on Kiri. You talk to your parents, ok?"

Neteyam did just that, as he found his dad sitting alone by the edge of the water, cleaning his favourite weapon, the way he liked to do when there was something on his mind, or something weighing heavily on his shoulders. Kiri's condition must have taken a bigger toll on him than Neteyam realised, he thought absentmindedly. He was so nervous, so afraid of what he had to say and how his parents would react. His mating situation has been a matter of great debate in their family for a years now, and so to tell them he's chosen... a human, essentially giving up his chance at feeling the bond, at a child... he knew would be a lot to take in, but he was ready, and he had chosen, and for once in his life, Neteyam would have his way.

"Dad?"

His father was startled as he got pulled out of his musings, another rare occurence.

"Neteyam, it's good you're here. I need to chat to you."

Neteyam took a seat by his dad, eyeing him keenly.

"Is everything alright, you seem off."

"Neteyam..." the former Olo'eyktan winced a little, refusing to meet his son's gaze.

"The situation with the Metkayina is... a little more dire than I told you before. Tonowari told us the clan is not fully willing to accept us, that they don't consider us one of them, even despite the Uturu given by their own Olo'eyktan. He's worried for our future here, and honestly son, so am I. I don't want us to have to leave again, to have to uproot our family once more.

He's... thought of a solution. For it to be an easier transition. A way forward, a way to unite the clans, the power of the Omaticaya, the blood of the Toruk Makto with the ruling family of the reef people. As you know, Tonowari has an older daughter, a warrior. She's said to be one of the most proficient and skilled warriors this tribe's ever seen. They say she's beautiful and smart. Kind and charismatic.

Neteyam... in order for us to stay, you will have to mate with her."

And I’ll be yours for the weekend..

‘tis the damn season.

Taglist: @liluvtojineteyam @pinkpantheris @fanboyluvr @bananafruityawne @zaddyneteyamlovergirl @netemoon @www-interludeshadow-com

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[ilguna]

☼ the water heals our wounds (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; Finnick was beginning to believe that the damage done on you was permanent, but he had to try one more idea.

warnings; swearing, death mention, torture mention

wc; 5.3k

–

It’s too loud.

You can hear everything, between the people shouting nearby, and the consistent beeping from machines. There’s voices talking over one another, orders being barked around the room, fighting for more attention.

It’s bringing on a pounding headache, as if there’s tiny people inside of your head, slamming their fists on the inside of your skull with both hands, trying to get out. At first, it’s bearable, considering what you’ve been through lately.

And then it burns.

You fly up in the bed, eyes opening, hands reaching for the source of pain, attached to your forearm. Several people reach to grab and restrain you to keep from moving any further. You can see that there’s a needle, blood moving into a small vial.

“Miss (L/n), we’re just drawing your blood.” A nurse tells you, “You’re in District Thirteen, you’re safe now.”

“Dis—” You begin, and find that your voice is hoarse. You clear your throat, “District Thirteen isn’t real.”

“I assure you, it is.” He says, “We just had a team of volunteers rescue you and a few other victors from the Capitol.”

“The Tribute Center.” You murmur, watching as they pull the needle out, and replace it with a cotton pad, wrapping your elbow. “We were in the Tribute Center.”

“Yes, very good.” He says, “Can you tell me where you’re from?”

“District Four.” Your face twists, the headache is coming back, “Can we—?”

“When did you win the Hunger Games?”

“Sixty-Seventh. Can we talk about something else?” You look away, observing the space you’re in, “Anything else…”

You must be in District Thirteen’s hospital, judging by what you’re surrounded by. You can see a lot of people moving around, dressed similarly. The nurses and doctors look like they’re wearing different outfits than—what you can only guess is—regular civilians. There’s a few people sitting on gurneys dressed in hard armor and bulletproof vests, pockets absent of weapons.

You’d like to say that it’s not usually this busy or disorganized often, and that’s because of how the medical crew are reacting to the sheer amount of people in here. It’s crawling with bodies. They push people on gurneys away into hallways, some straight into private rooms where they pull the blinds, others are subjected to being treated in the main open room, like you.

You must not be high risk, then. 

You watch as a team of professionals wheel a gurney by, someone laying unresponsive in the bed. You look away quickly, to the next rapidly moving object, and realize that you recognize the person. You manage to look back in time to see who it really is, stomach squeezing in horror.

It’s Johanna on that bed, head shaven to the skin, scabs covering every inch of available skin. She looks disgusting, but it answers the question that’s been on your mind these past couple of weeks. You finally know what’s been happening to Johanna in the Capitol.

“Are you hungry? Or thirsty?” He asks, “We normally have to wait for clearance, but you’re alert and responsive. They wouldn’t want us to wait for permission.”

“I’d like water, if you can.” You nod, “I’m not hungry, though.”

He gives you a smile, turning to place his hand on the girls’ shoulder next to him, beginning to talk to her. You look away again, towards the doors that have just been pushed open, doors slamming against the wall from the force.

A young woman with dark hair in a braid is looking around the room quickly, searching for something. You get a glimpse of her face, and you know instantly that it’s Katniss Everdeen. 

You grit your teeth, a shudder running through your body. You grip onto the railings handles, letting out a shaky breath. You’ve seen her a lot recently, although you’ve never met her, not yet anyway. You had mentored the Quarter Quell—no, no you shouldn’t think about that.

“Gale!” Katniss shouts, starting for him.

A nurse blocks her, saying something, and you’re trying to read her lips, when a voice cuts through the noise.

“(Y/n)!”

You flinch, jerking to the other side of the bed, squeezing your eyes shut. The thoughts—the memories—of all the times he’s screamed your name, screamed at you. The morning he left, the purple bruises…

He punished you, said that it’s your fault this happened. 

“Miss (L/n)?” The nurse asks, placing his hand on yours.

You jump, swatting his hand off of yours. In the process, your eyes fly open, catching sight of him—of Finnick—coming towards you. You can’t let him have you, the last time he did—the nightmares still haven’t stopped. You can’t do it again. You need to get out of here.

You almost trip getting out of the bed, legs tangled in the scratchy white hospital sheets. Your bare feet slap against the tile floor, which is cool against your soles. You stumble a few steps to catch your balance before wheeling around, both hands grabbing the gurney.

“Get away from me!” You scream, pulling the back back a bit before launching it in his direction.

You watch his smile drop, eyebrows drawing in. He’s doing it again, the next thing you know he’ll have everyone on his side. He’s not going to trick you, you’re not going back to him this time. You’ll die before you end up in his hands. It was better in the Capitol. He wasn’t there, and you were safe.

A couple people jump to catch the gurney before it slams into him. It almost makes you want to scream at them, too, for trying to protect him. You don’t have time to, you turn around and start for the exit doors on the other side of the room. The male nurse that had been helping you tries to make a grab, but completely misses.

“Stop her!” He shouts.

You slip past several people, slamming into the metal doors, which start emitting a terrible, high-pitched scream that starts once they’re opened. You make a run for it down the long, cement hallways, feet slapping painfully on the floor. You can hear shouting behind you, pleading for you to stop.

You’re faster than they are. The further you run, the less you’re able to hear them, until their voices are gone entirely. You end up tripping into one of the side doors, leading you into a dark room. Good, they shouldn’t be able to find you here for a long time.

You drag your feet to the corner of the room, panting, struggling to catch your breath. The burning in your chest slowly grows stronger, you dig your nails into your collarbone, trying to distract from the pain.

You slide down the wall, letting out a sob, hands moving to clamp over your ears to block out the humming sound coming from somewhere inside of the room.

—

You hate the hospital wing of District Thirteen.

Surprisingly, it has nothing to do with the fact of how the medical team is treating you. For once in your life, they couldn’t be more considerate and caring about your feelings. It’s refreshing, considering you’ve been in and out of the hospital since you won the Hunger Games.

The Capitol didn’t catch that your immune system was weaker than it had been before. You were home for a week before you caught the nasty disease that was going around the district. You spend two and a half months in the hospital trying to recover and leave. 

You honestly thought you were miserable in the arena, but it was nothing compared to how they treated you in the Four hospital. You know it was nothing personal, that’s how they treated all their patients. It was just so odd to see so much aggression in a place of healing.

There were a few times you almost left the hospital without being discharged because you couldn’t handle it anymore. It’s difficult to deal with that behavior in such a fragile state of mind. You couldn’t sleep because of the nightmares that plagued you, you were hardly eating because every bite made you nauseous.

The only reason why you were convinced to stay each time was because of Finnick. You think you remember him telling you that you could risk putting yourself in more danger if you didn’t stay. The last thing you wanted to do after you won the Games was die when you got home.

When you told that story to the Head Doctor here—mostly the part that you hate hospitals, in hopes that he would change his mind and let you stay in your own dorm—he hung onto that story, and a certain factor about it. Like how you didn’t mention Finnick in a negative light.

Those times in the hospital could’ve very well have been Finnick drawing you in. You smelt honey each time you were around him, making you feel safe enough to land. And the second you did, he trapped you.

The doctor won’t let you leave, no matter how many times you beg him to.

Like you said, you completely understand that they’re just doing their jobs when they come to check on you, and accompany you to the bathroom, and take you for walks around the hallways. The issue is that there’s nothing more you want right now than to be left alone.

When they hover like this, it’s like they’re trying to set you back. They did this in the Capitol, hovered over your smallest movements, made you second-guess your sentences. Now, you’re always waiting for the nurses here to say something like they did, always waiting for the drop that’ll never come.

“Do you want to go around one more time?” The nurse asks.

“No, I’m done.” 

There’s no point in walking around these halls. There’s nothing to look at, no rooms to look inside of. All it does is leave you to your thoughts, because half of the time, the nurses can’t bring themselves to carry a conversation. You might as well stay inside of your room.

“You remember that you’re supposed to be pushing yourself, right?” She asks.

“He wants me to push myself to walk in a rectangle?” You snap back, looking at her, “I can obviously walk just fuckin’ fine. They didn’t break my fucking legs.”

“It’s to keep up your stamina.”

“If you wanted to test my stamina, then you’d let me walk around the entire bunker and keep your fucking mouth shut to see how long I’ll go for.” You shake your head, rounding the corner to go inside of your assigned room.

You make it two steps before you stop, eyes locked on the foreign object. Your foot moves back to get you out of there, but you know that there’s nowhere to run to, anymore. You need clearance to get through the doors, and you can’t do it without one of the nurse’s approval.

You would’ve snuck out by now if you could.

Your arms wrap around your upper body to hug yourself, fingers digging into your upper arm’s flesh to ground yourself.

It’s just a vase of flowers, it can’t hurt you. What can, is the thought of him being in here, delivering these himself. What else can be in here? What of your belongings did he touch? Is this why the nurses insisted that you get out of bed at that exact moment.

“(Y/n)?”

“Was he in here?” The words are harsh.

“No, we don’t let visitors back here, they are to wait in the lobby.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Your voice is surprisingly measured, despite the uncontrollable urge to freak out. You grip your arms tighter, “Was he in here?”

She’s silent for a few seconds, “Yes.”

“Why on earth would you let him?” You tear your eyes from the flowers, “Who approved of that?”

“Doctor Hurley did.” She says, “There’s been so much progress between you two, so he allowed Finnick to come in here on special request to deliver a gift. He picked the flowers himself this morning. He wanted them at their freshest.

You begin to take deep breaths, trying to calm yourself, “I don’t understand.”

“What’s the matter?”

“You let him in my space?” You ask, tears building in your eyes. You can’t be safe, not even back here, in an area where you can’t escape if he were here. Is he here? “The one place that he wasn’t supposed to have access to? You let him in here? What did he touch? Did he leave?”

There’s a smile that hints at the corners of her lips. He must’ve talked to her, that’s the only reason why she thinks it’s okay. He told her the same sob story that he told you to get you to stay. She’s supposed to be on your side.

You start inside of your room, one long stride after the other, hand reaching for the clear vase of colorful flowers, paired together to show the end of summer, the beginning of fall. There’s a few long leaves sticking out, giving you more of the outdoors.

You twist around, letting out a scream as you throw the vase at the nurse. She jumps out of the way, making it shatter against the concrete wall instead, glass bursting into pieces, flying in every direction. The bundle of flowers lands in the puddle of glass and water.

—

“I want to go to the cafeteria to eat!” You shout, hand flying out in the direction of the door, “I don’t understand why Peeta’s allowed to go and I’m not!”

Doctor Hurley is shaking his head at you, face twisted like it always is when he’s delivering bad news. Behind him stands Boggs, the head of security, arms crossed and waiting in the doorway. You demanded to see both of them today, because it would be the only way to appeal to both at the same time.

“It’s not an act of unfairness, (Y/n).” Doctor Hurley says, “Let’s say you have an episode, there’s a chance you could trigger both Johanna and Peeta at the same time too. And it’s vice versa with Peeta.”

“You really think that Peeta’s aggression could set me off?” You ask, “Peeta and I might have had the same treatment, but it was obviously done in different ways. He’s aggressive towards Katniss, and they made me afraid of Finnick.”

“Yes, precisely.” 

You turn your attention to Boggs, “Please, you know that my first reaction wouldn’t be to fight. The first thing that I’d do is run. All you’d have to do is worry about getting Peeta under control.”

“We would still have to spend time finding you after you run. That first day you came here, you only had access to the hospital wing, and it took hours for us to find you. It’ll take longer, possibly days, if you went hiding here.” Boggs says.

“Yet you were able to find Katniss each time she hid, right?” You shoot back, watching his face twist. “Yeah, I know about that because of Haymitch. And worst-case scenario, if you can’t find me, I come down from the hysteria and come out myself.” Now you look back at Hurley, “You’ve been teaching me self-soothing techniques for a reason to bring myself back down when I’m feeling that way.”

Hurley shakes his head, “This is not a time to put that to the test.”

You cross your arms, shaking your head, “Then why don’t you send Johanna or Peeta to their rooms? It’d be a fair trade-off.”

“We can’t, we’re under special orders from Coin to continue to push his progress. We need him outside of his comfort zone.” Boggs says, “And Johanna’s stable enough to mix her with the other victors. We can’t risk a third.”

“So he’s the golden one, again?” You ask, “You say that it’s not a matter of being unfair, but that’s exactly what it is.”

“(Y/n), why don’t you go down on a different day?” Hurley asks, “It’ll still let you feel some sense of normalcy.”

You slam your fists into the desk, the tray full of food rattles against the wood, “You only let them go down once a week! I don’t want to sit with people I don’t know! I want the victors, for fuck’s sake!” You scoot away from the table, back further onto the bed to give you more leg mobility. This is when you draw your leg back and kick the table so it topples over, the tray hits the floor, food splattering up the wall. “I want to see Finnick!”

The room’s silent for a good minute, while you struggle to get your emotions under control, realizing that this is exactly what they meant about you triggering Peeta and Johanna. These outbursts don’t help you, but what else are you supposed to do? They don’t listen to you. They back you into a corner and give you solutions you don’t care about. 

“You said—” You begin, wiping the tears that are forming in the corners of your eyes away, “You said that denying me things like this is a step back.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Hurley says.

“It feels like you’re trying to keep me from moving forward, by keeping me away from them. How am I supposed to know how to act around them, if you don’t give me a chance?” You ask, “I want an opportunity.”

Boggs watches you for a few more seconds, and then he lets out a sigh, “Tell the nurses to give her a jumpsuit.”

Hurley turns to look at him, “After this?” He motions to the mess on the floor, “How do you think Peeta will react?”

“I think Peeta’s shown a lot of empathy for the people that were with him in the Capitol, recently.” Boggs says, “He’s made it a long way as well, and I’m not going to prioritize him. If there’s a step back, fine. We have another couple of weeks to work on it.”

“If you think so.” Hurley looks at you, “We’ll have a nurse bring a jumpsuit. Boggs will bring you down.”

“Thank you.”

Both of them leave, heading in the direction of the nurse station at the end of the hall. You try not to bother them too much if you don’t have to. They’ve begun to lift a lot of the restrictions they’ve put on you, which is a relief. It’s driving you crazy to be treated like a child.

While you wait, you go over to clean up the mess you made. You place the table upright, and get to work on using napkins to scoop the specific portions of food back onto the metal tray. By the time Boggs comes back, the food is relatively gone, and you can’t even tell you knocked the table over.

He hands over your new outfit, one that you’ve worn a few times before. You take it, and shuffle inside of the bathroom. You use the one hair tie they allow you to have to tie your hair out of your face, and then you change into the grey outfit. You leave the bathroom, pulling on your flats, because that’s all they allow you to have. 

Boggs escorts you out of your room, down a hall and through a pair of swinging doors. They moved you out of the first area because you stopped showing a threat of escaping. You nearly cried when they told you the news, because the nurses there are significantly meaner than the ones over here. And they’ve told you several times that they would never have let Finnick go into your room like that, regardless of what Doctor Hurley approved.

The moment you step foot out of the hospital, you wrap your arms around your body to hold in the anxiety that’s beginning to bubble inside of you. In a few days, it would’ve been two weeks since you last saw Finnick. You’re not used to him being away for so long, especially with how persistent he is. You’ve been told by the nurses that it’s because he’s working on something with Coin, Plutarch and Haymitch.

When you asked more about it, you were told that they didn’t know anything. And even if they did, they wouldn’t be allowed to tell you, because you haven’t hit that stage yet. Yes, you’re a victor, and you’ve just managed to survive the Capitol, but that doesn’t give you a rite of passage here.

Boggs brings you to an elevator, where he has you step inside, and then pulls the door down. He presses a button on a box next to him, and the two of you begin your descent to the cafeteria’s floor. The elevator’s not even close to as nice as the ones from the Capitol, those ones move smoothly and noiselessly.

It stops, he pulls the door open, and leads you to the cafeteria doors. He stops in front of them, “If you feel the need to leave, you have to let me know.”

“I will.” You nod.

“We’ll grab you a tray, and then sit down with them. Lunch just started, it should be over in thirty minutes.”

You nod again, letting him know you’re listening. He goes through the doors, and you follow behind him, hugging yourself tighter to give you something to focus on. A few people glance to look at you, but their eyes don’t linger for very long, returning to the person they’re talking to.

Boggs brings you to the short line that leads to the window where you get your food. When it’s your turn, the lady on the other side gives you a wide smile, and tells you to enjoy. You wonder how many of the people in here know who you are.

Boggs starts walking away, and you follow behind him, taking deep breaths to calm yourself, because you can no longer hug yourself. You’ve got the tray in your hands, something to focus on.

“Mind if we join you?” Boggs says, stepping aside.

You suck in your bottom lip, giving a smile to the table of victor’s in front of you.

“I was wondering when they’d finally let you out of your cell.” Johanna says first, motioning to the one open spot, “We have so much to catch up on.”

“Trust me, it was a fight to even come eat lunch down here.” You set the tray on the table, and then move to sit on the bench. Peeta scoots over to give you more room, “If it weren’t for Boggs, I’d be eating my lunch off of the floor.”

He laughs behind you.

“Lucky you.” Peeta murmurs, “You do that often?”

You breathe out a laugh, “I try not to anymore.”

You pick up the fork, twisting it in your hand, looking up to see exactly who you’re sitting with. Johanna’s sitting across from you, with one leg up on the bench, leaning into it while she eats. Peeta’s sitting to your right, his own personal bodyguards tower behind him, they must not bother him.

Katniss is sitting across from Peeta, but she’s more toward the end of the table, eating with the man you saw on your first day, the one she couldn’t see, Gale. On the other side of Johanna sits a blonde girl, twirling her hair around her finger. She offers you a wide smile.

And the last person, who was on the other side of Peeta—now next to you—is…

You swallow thickly at the sight of Finnick, feeling your heart begin to beat faster in your chest. Usually when you see him, it’s across a table, at the far side so that you’re not close. Always your request, never his. He goes along with it because he doesn’t want you feeling uncomfortable.

You have to quickly remind yourself that he won’t hurt you. Doctor Hurley and his team of doctors have been working hard to try and reverse the damage that was done in the Capitol. However, if there’s one thing that people tend to hold onto the most, it’s fear. 

Finnick raises his eyebrows, the small smile he was holding is slowly fading, “Do you want me to move?”

You shake your head, “No, I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, “It wouldn’t be a big deal, you didn’t know—”

“I’m sure.” You smile, “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. I heard you’re working on some projects with Beetee?”

Finnick’s expression transforms entirely, lighting up, “Yes, he’s showing me new trident designs. You’d love them, he made one the other day that made me think of you. It had these vines that snaked around the handle, and bright colorful flowers. It’s not practical to use, but I know how you like the prettier looks.”

“Maybe you can show me the next time we have our meeting. It was on paper, right?”

“Yeah, I think he made a small prototype, it’s plastic, so hopefully it’ll pass through the doors.” Finnick shrugs.

“That sounds nice.”

Johanna lets out a scoff, “Nerds.”

—

“I still can’t believe you convinced them to let both of us up here.” You say, jogging slightly to catch up with Finnick. “And alone?”

“I have a way with words.” Finnick turns to wink at you, “You’re going to love it.”

He readjusts the bag he has on his shoulder, it’s gotta be heavy. You offered to carry some of the food inside, but he told you that he wants you to enjoy being outside again for the first time in months. 

“This is the last door.” He tells you, going through it first, and then holding it open.

The sunlight streams through the door, and blinds you on your way through. You take in a deep breath as soon as you’re fully outside. It smells so fresh, lighter than the recycled air from inside. The sun on your skin feels nice, and it’s warm. 

“Johanna would love it up here.” You murmur, crossing your arms over your chest, “Do you think they’d let her out?”

“If she shows signs of getting better, they will, but she’s having issues at the moment.” Finnick shakes his head, “I wish it could be the three of us again.”

You nod, “So where are we picnicking? Right here?”

Finnick scoffs, “Are you kidding? No, I’ve got a special spot that you’re also going to love?”

“How deep?” You ask, “We shouldn’t go too far.”

“It’s not too far, I promise. It’s closeby, Katniss showed me where it is.”

“Okay,” You motion for him to go first, “Lead the way.”

Finnick begins walking along a path that has been stomped into the ground. The two of you travel through the trees, and you can’t help yourself when you touch every green object you pass. The bark, the leaves, the grass, the rocks. You pluck a white flower out of a bush and carefully tuck it behind your ear.

“Can I ask what you and Katniss passed? I heard it was some sort of test.” You pull a leaf off of a plant to fold and pull apart while you walk. “I was going to ask Johanna but I was told I couldn’t see her.”

“I can tell you, but you can’t go and tell Boggs that I did. You can’t tell anyone, actually.” He glances over his shoulder at you, eyes lingering on the flower.

“Promise.” You smile.

“Well, they’re planning an attack on the Capitol, which you already know.” He starts, “The test Katniss and I took was to see if we were eligible to join.”

You can feel the smile disappear from your face, “Why would you want to do that?”

“To help, of course.” He says, “I was placed on the same squad as Katniss, Boggs is going to be leading it. Johanna failed the test, she freaked out. That’s why she wasn’t available for visitors. I had to fight them to be let in.”

“When are you going?” You ask, fingers gravitating toward your mouth, teeth biting onto nails.

“Soon, hopefully. We won’t know more information until we ship out.”

You’re not sure why they, Katniss and Finnick, would want to go there after seeing what happened to you, Johanna and Peeta. Haven’t they learned anything from it? What happens when they get captured? They’re automatically killed.

“That’s a bad idea.” You murmur, “For either of you to go.”

“Our luck, we won’t even be able to do any of the action.” Finnick shrugs, “I could tell by Boggs’ face that we’re going to be decoration.”

You hum, “How much farther?”

“Only a couple more minutes.” Finnick tells you.

He changes the topic, talking about Peeta’s cake decorating skills from a couple of weeks ago. They threw a party and filmed it to use for propaganda. You were in a few of the shots, but not many. The cake that Peeta made had to be carried out by four people, and they were careful not to ruin the beautiful icing that must’ve taken Peeta hours, despite his skilled hand. 

You wish you had even half the talent that he does.

“We’re going this way.” Finnick begins to go down a slope, you follow, not really paying attention.

And then you hear it, the sound of running water. You pick up speed, going right past Finnick to see if what you’re hearing is correct. You’re led to a tree, a patch of shade, and beyond that, a small cliff that leads to a shallow river.

“Oh my god!” You gasp, “You knew this was here?”

“That’s what I was bringing you to.” He laughs, placing the bag down by the tree. He reaches in to pull out the blanket, spreading it over the patch of shade.

You reach to pull off your shoes, not bothering to entertain the idea of sitting down, not with something so refreshing and familiar nearby. You throw your shoes by the end of the blanket, and move on to rolling up the legs of the jumpsuit, not wanting them to get soaking wet.

“What are you doing?” He asks, looking up at you.

“I’m getting in, of course!” You turn away from him, heading to the river.

“Wait!” He shouts behind you, getting up, “What if it’s faster than you think?”

“So be it! Let me get carried away by the waves!” You laugh, sitting down on the edge before scooting in.

You’re afraid that you’re going to land harshly on rocks, but your feet sink into mud. The water is cold, but not as bad as it can be back home in Four. It feels nice on your skin, and combined with the sun… it really is a perfect day for a picnic. 

You wade deeper into the water, feeling it go up to your knees. When you turn around, you’re met with Finnick, standing at the top, staring down at you. You splash a handful of water in his direction, letting out a laugh.

“This is so much better than taking a shower and pretending it’s raining!” You throw your head back, arms out while you spin slightly, “I love it!”

“You don��t want to eat first?” Finnick asks, laughing.

You wave the idea away, “This reminds me of the summer after I won. How we went to the beach all day, forgot sunscreen and went back home burnt to hell. It hasn’t been that hot in a long time.”

Finnick’s face twists, a pout appearing for a second, before it disappears, “I remember.”

“Get in here!” You splash at him again.

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x yn #finnick odair x y/n #finnick imagine #finnick oneshot #finnick fanfic #finnick x reader #finnick x you #finnick x yn #finnick x y/n #thg #the hunger games #fluff #requested

[illuminatedferret]

So I've been trying to do a bit of detective work regarding the origin of the "E-ming reopens wounds" translation. TL;DR I think it may have come from an early version of Suika's translation, and is likely a mistranslation.

Most translations I could find online (including Deep Dream translation group, several bootleg novel sites that have stolen Suika or Deep Dream's translations, and a couple of machine translations) have that passage in line with the official translation - that simply, E-ming is dangerous, forging it took a cruel ritual, and touching it would have terrible consequences.

I did however find a pdf containing the webnovel chapters 12-43, with the following:

precisely the excerpt I submitted before. At the top of this pdf is a note:

The link in this note leads to a 404 error, but is one that was shared around a lot before the Sevenseas' official release. I found a tumblr post from 2019 which identifies this link as Suika's (now deleted) translation.

https://web.archive.org/web/20200508224041/https://arahir.tumblr.com/post/188476102230/ok-im-an-anon-who-in-the-past-has-asked-you-how

So, it looks like this is a old document of Suika's, and I can only assume the "reopens wounds" thing was a mistranslation that Suika later corrected.

The TGCF epub I have on hand is an amalgamation of sakhyulations' (up to ch 23) and Suika's (ch 24 and beyond) fan translations. Well, it doesn't actually say it's using Suika's work, but, it does link the source of the ch 24+ translations, that being the above google drive link. I'm not sure who made the epub or when it was made, but they must have taken Suika's work before it had been properly edited.

IIRC this was an epub that was circulating tumblr a while back. I don't know how widespread the "reopens wounds" fanon is, but if it's popular on tumblr, I guess this explains why.

Sorry for such a long ask!! I think that covers almost everything I found. Oh, there was one single bootleg novel site that did have the passage:

"The wounds inflicted by the evil sword of E-Ming are all cursed. Even when the wound is healed, if Hua Cheng wants it, it will bleed once more." Jun Wu answered.

which is slightly different from the above passage from that pdf. But I couldn't find any real source for this translation, so I'm thinking it might just be based on the above passage, with words switched around to disguise the fact it's stolen.

wow!!!! don't apologize for the long ask, this is some awesome digging you did!!! thank you SO much for sharing all your hard work!!

E-ming reopening old wounds being a mistranslation of some sort does make more sense to me than anything else, just because it's so specific and yet the official translation makes no mention of it, but it being from one of Suika's earlier translations is interesting. I'm still curious what the original raws read like. I wonder, considering Xie Lian's arm injury doesn't heal without special medicine, if the raw says something about wounds being slow to heal or not closing, and that's where the mistranslation initially occurred.

'E-ming reopening wounds' isn't a fanon I see discussed much, but I've read more than one fic that uses the idea, and I've mentioned it to friends before in the past without anyone questioning it until recently. So, it coming from an old translation that was probably one of the initial ways people read TGCF makes a LOT of sense- people read it, internalized it, and stopped thinking about it when more accurate translations rolled around, while still keeping the idea in their head.

#illuanswers #the-rad-paramecium #seriously thank you so much for all your work #this has been both fascinating and really illuminating! #....pun not intended

[superdanverstrio]

Kidnapped PT.7

Masterlist

PT.1  PT.2   PT.3   PT.4  PT.5 PT.6

Summary: Baby Danvers Get kidnapped and it’s up to Kara and Alex to do everything in their power to save them.

Warnings: Torture, kidnapping, graphic description of injuries.

A/N: Will a 100% be a marvel x supergirl crossover.

When Kara arrived to your apartment, she found you safe and asleep in your bed.

Some days passed and you just kept getting worst and worst. It got to a point where you didn't get out of bed except for emergency, and it took everything in you to just take a step without falling. You were nauseous, dizzy, really weak and your still healing wounds were hurting more than usual. Sometimes you were so cold, and sometimes you felt like you were in a volcano.

“Alex?” You ask when you woke up and saw your sister. “ Hmm?” She said, closing her book and placing it in her lap. “I really don't feel good.” You say. Her expression quickly changed. “What do you mean, what's wrong?” “Everything hurts and I feel so weak.” You say, tears brimming your eyes. “Alright, how long have you felt like this?” Alex asked. “A week.” You said closing your eyes to try to get rid of the dizziness.

“Hon, please don't fall asleep, I know you must be tired, but I have some questions.” Ales asked in a soft voice, she placed her hand on your forehead to see if you were hot, and unfortunately you were really hot. “Shit, you're really hot.” She says. “Alright, do you feel like throwing up?” You nodded your head. “Kind of.” “Ok what do you say we bring you back to the D.E.O, it could be nothing, but I prefer not to take risk.” She said, and you agreed.

You were back at the D.E.O, hook up to many machines, with Alex taking care of you and Kara at your bed side, with the same worried expression. “Do you feel a little better.” Kara asked. You gave her a little nod, the frown on her face deepen as she saw how unwell you still were.

“Alex, can I talk to you?” J'onn ask entering the room. “I'll be right back.” Alex said giving you a kiss on your forehead. “I just saw the footage of the Alien escaping, and I think i sort of know where he went.” Alex frown. “What do you mean 'kind of know'?”

“Well, a little before you join the D.E.O, I had this weird dream, but now I don't think it was a dream.” Alex nodded, signalling j'onn to keep going. “I woke up in a building in the middle of New work. I won't go into too many details, but I met people there, they were superhero sort of. They called themselves the Avengers.” Alex scoffed. “The Avengers? That's a… original name for a team.” Alex said. J'onn then went on by explaining what everyone did and what happened when he was there. “Ok, but how is that related to the alien's location.” Alex asks. “Well, Doctor Strange, the wizard, he can teleport by creating these circles that bring him wherever he wants. Those circles are the exact same as the on the alien when through. So now that we know the multiverse is real, I think it wasn't a dream, and somehow I travelled to another planet.” J'onn said.

“That makes sense, so now can we get there.” “I'm not sure, maybe the device that Cisco gave to Kara could travel us there.” J'onn suggested. “Maybe you're right, I'm going to try to look into it.”

A few days passed, and your condition just kept getting worse, you were exhausted all the time, you had lost all your appetite, and you threw up at least 3 times a day. Alex was so caught up with everything, she had barely enough time to take care of herself. She needed to take care of you, find the alien, find a cure for you and on top of that she needed to find the alien. Of course, she wasn't alone Kara helps with taking care of you, Lena with finding the cure and brainy help tracking the alien down, but it was still a lot.

Kara walking in Alex quarters, she saw Alex sat on a bench staring at the wall. “Alex?” Kara asked, braking Alex out of the trans she was in. “Mhm? What?” "Are you ok?” Kara asked, Alex took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah… yeah, I'm fine.” “You know, you're a really bad liar sometimes.” Alex gave a small smile and place her head in her hands, starting to tear up. “Come on, tell me what's wrong.” Kara said, placing her hand around her sister to comfort her.

“It's just… I know everyone is telling me it's not my fault, but I really feel like it is and having to take care of Y/N on top of being the director having to deal with everything it's just a lot. And I'm really worried about them and what if they die, I don't think I could ever forgive myself.” She said tears falling. Kara hugged Alex tightly and rubbed her back. “Alex, why didn't you tell me. You know you're not alone, you have Winn Lena J'onn Brainy and you have me. You know what, I think you should go home tonight, and before you argue J'onn is just as qualified as you to take care of the D.E.O and me and Lena can take care of Y/N.” Alex hesitates for a minute but agreed, “fine, but you have to call me if there is anything wrong.” “Of course.” Alex went home, and she could finally get some much-needed sleep, and everything went smoothly all night with you and the D.E.O.

Although it was the last thing she wanted, Alex had no choice but to call Eliza when your condition didn't improve. The look on her when she saw you laying in the D.E.O's med bay hooked up to so many machines was one of pure worry. “Oh god, sweetheart, you look so bad.” Eliza said, coming to your side. “Thank you.” you said barely above a whisper. Your mother place a comforting hand on your forehead and when she did, she noticed how hot it was.

“God, they are burning up, how long have they been this way?” She questioned. “Um, maybe like a week, they have only been getting worst since we brought them here.” Alex said just as worried. “ What's wrong with them?” Eliza asked, “Well that's part of the reason we called you, we don't know yet.” Alex said.

You were slowly falling asleep whilst your mother and big sisters talked, You were half of sleep when your stomach turned. You groan and slapped your hand over your mouth, you frantically looked around for Kara. She noticed your panicked state and quickly gave you the bucket, she sat you up and pulled your hair back. “Alright, let it all out, it's ok.”

When you were done throwing up, you laid back down. “I'm sorry.” You muttered exhausted. “Don't apologize, honey, it's not your fault at all.” Your mother said soothingly. After that, you fell asleep for a while.

#supergirl fanfiction #supergirl #supergirl x reader #alex danvers x reader #marvel #fanfic #kara danvers x reader #kara danvers imagine #kara danvers x you #kara zor el x reader #kara danvers #kara zor el #alex danvers #alex danvers imagine #tw kidnapping #kidnap tw #torture tw #sick

[makethatelevenrings]

Hear me out… “can we go home?” Prompt as a part 2 to “did I do good?”

this got long and i applied to jobs and had an identity crisis in the middle of writing it, hope u enjoy LMAO

TW: discussions of the explosion from "did I do good?" and medical talk wheeeee

You were growing tired of the hospital.

The pain meds warded off the sharp bite of pain everytime you moved, but they also kept your head in a continual fuzzy state. Sleep released its hold on you for only an hour or so before another dose of medicine sent you back under the veil of dreams.

Whenever you were awake, you found one or more of your children propped up in a chair in the corner of the room. Dick would be furiously jabbing his knitting needles into the air as a new project materialized between his fingers. Cass joined him occasionally, but sometimes she scooted her chair closer to your side, her slim fingers encased around yours, and watched whatever show played on the television. You were partial to Animal Planet so that meant she sat through hours of shark week and River Monsters.

Jason read, of course, sometimes silently and sometimes, when it was just him and you, he read aloud. His soft baritone voice was a comfort over the occasional beeps and shrieks of alarms out in the hall. Tim made sure to come by at the same time everyday so the two of you could watch Jeopardy and then Real Housewives. Although you were usually high off your ass because of the pain meds, you made sure to let him know what a fucking liar Erika Jayne was.

Stephanie, your little demonic angel, propped herself up in the chair next to your bed and played Sims, the sound of her laptop a steady thrum that helped put you to sleep. Your own personal white noise machine. Damian drew in his sketchbook, quiet as always, but he made sure to bring it to you during your moments of lucidity so you could see his art. Duke, however, was the hardest to pry away from your bedside. You understood his hesitation at leaving another parent at a medical center. So you didn’t say anything if you woke up to find him seated next to you, one of your hands in his, as he muddled over another crossword puzzle.

Alfred came by numerous times everyday. He brought treats for the nurses, creature comforts from home for you, and made sure that the children didn’t stay too long. You insisted that they lived their lives outside of the hospital, even their night jobs. Alfred checked over what foods you were receiving from the dining services, humming and marking down nutritional values and if you were getting enough calories. He always plied you with cookies every time he visited and ensured you were eating enough protein to help your wound heal faster. The vase of golden sunflowers next to your bed were always fresh and replenished so you suspected Alfred ensured that they were always replaced when they started to wilt.

But one person didn’t show.

You tried to not dwell on the fact that Bruce never once made an appearance. Even Clark and Diana had dropped by with flowers and well wishes. But your husband remained his usual disappearing act. You didn’t understand why and frankly, you didn’t care. For years you tried to remind Bruce that he wasn’t always Batman. He was a father and husband and friend, both inside and outside of the suit, yet it felt like as time went further, he forgot more of who he was.

It was fine. You had Alfred and your kids. Their love made you wish you could wrap your arms around them, but these damn IVs wouldn’t let you. You knew they were just as disappointed in Bruce as you were, but nothing anyone said would change things.

Until you turned on the news one night and saw the headlines that the perpetrators of the explosion at the Wayne Gala had been caught and the entire organization eradicated. The group had been targeting the Wayne family, reporters said, and they blamed you for the unemployment rate and food insecurity in the city. Well, hell, your family had been working to eradicate the wage gap and food deserts for years, but if anyone was to get hurt, you were glad it was you.

Three broken ribs, a punctured liver, internal bleeding, a concussion, and your body one giant bruise meant that your kids were safe. You would place yourself between them and the blast every single time.

The news cameras zoomed in on the bodies that were slumped against the front of the police headquarters. Faces bloodied and raw, the men stared back at the camera with haunted eyes and your breathing hitched just slightly when you recognized the mark carved into one man’s forehead.

A bat.

“Mrs. Wayne?” Geraldine, one of the day shift nurses, called from the door to your room. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you replied. “I just saw the news.”

The kindly older woman bustled in with one of the new nurses on her heels. The two women had been working three nights a week for the time you had been on the floor and you appreciated their steady, comforting nature. They had both been a little thrown when the Waynes of Gotham showed up on their floor but once you asked Geraldine to treat you like a normal person, she warmed up to you like a grandmother.

“How ya feelin’, sweets?” she asked. Every few hours they checked your vitals and incision spots to ensure that you were healing well and no infection was growing.

“Listen, I love you ladies. But if I have to stay here any longer, I might snap.”

They laughed at your comment and Farah, the fledgling nurse who followed Geraldine like a baby goose after its mama, focused on checking your incisions while Geraldine marked down your vitals.

“You’re so close to being free,” Geraldine promised. “Dr. Huerta will come by later today to check everything and hopefully, you’ll be out in a day or two.”

“Am I the last one to be discharged?” While you were the most seriously injured due to your proximity to the blast, a few people were also brought into Gotham General with varying injuries.

“Yep,” Farah hummed. “They’re all home and Mr. Wayne said he would pay for their bills.”

That made you pause. Farah’s head raised the second the words came out of her mouth and Geraldine turned sharply in her direction. Farah grimaced and sighed. “Sorry, I know he told us not to say anything.”

Your lips parted in shock and you glanced between the two women. “He called the hospital?”

Geraldine sighed and approached your bed. She reached out and clasped your hand between hers and gave you a kind smile.

“He’s been here everyday, sweets. Only leaves at night before he’s back in the morning. He just sits in the waiting room, looking like death warmed over. I keep tellin’ him that he should at least come talk to you, but he refuses unless he knows you’re asleep. Who do you think keeps bringing those flowers?”

“I don’t understand.” Your brow furrowed. “Why the fuck is he here if he won’t even talk to me? Why has no one told me?”

Geraldine pursed her lips and then she patted your hands. “Sometimes, men are stupid.”

That elicited a snort from Farah but Geraldine wasn’t finished. “I think, sweets, that he blames himself and he can’t bring himself to see you when you’re awake because he’s terrified that you’ll hate him.”

You glanced between the two women and narrowed your eyes. “What else has he done?”

They launched into a list of things. Your favorite blanket that you kept in the study at home was draped across your legs because of Bruce, the nurses were now being paid more because of his meeting with the hospital executives (and subsequent buyout of the Gotham General system so that meant more paperwork for you to deal with when you got out), and many other things. Bruce, silent as he was, operated without a word to you because he was so fucking scared that you hated him.

“Is he out there? Right now?” you asked once they trailed off.

“Yeah,” Farah sighed. “The more coffee he drinks from the cafeteria, the more I think we’re going to have to admit him soon for cardiac arrest.”

“Bring my husband in, please. If he fights you on it, tell him to stop being such a fucking coward.”

Geraldine let out a delighted laugh and practically skipped out of the room, clearly excited to give Bruce Wayne a run for his money. Farah waited patiently at your bedside and you were grateful that she didn’t abandon you right now.

Light footsteps grew closer to the door and you heard the soft creak of the hinges until he was standing before you. His hair was shaggy and unkempt and a five o’clock shadow clung to his jaw. Bruce was still in his usual daytime uniform of slacks and a button down, but the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his entire ensemble was wrinkled.

“Thank you,” you said to the nurses. They vacated the room quickly, leaving you two just staring at each other. Bruce cleared his throat and glanced towards the door as if he was preparing to leave, but you pointed your finger at him and he froze midstep.

“Sit your ass down, Wayne,” you ordered. He started towards the chairs in the corner but you let out a disapproving noise and he turned to where you were pointing. Bruce sighed and trudged over to the hospital bed you were lying in. His eyes searched your face for any sign of anger or discomfort as he sat down on the edge of the bed. 

“Bruce Thomas Wayne,” you began. “You stupid man.”

Your hand curled around his and you brought it to your lips, brushing a kiss against his palm. He sucked in a tight breath and you enclosed his fingers around your love.

“I’m not mad at you, if that’s what you think.”

“I should have stopped them sooner. I should have never let this happen to you. I-”

You smoothed a hand down his forearm. “You didn’t let anything happen to me. It happened because people wanted to hurt me. You can’t stop them from their thoughts or their anger, Bruce. You can’t change the way people feel. You can only do as much as you can and you and I both know that.”

He shut his eyes and sighed. Bags cradled his eyes, shadowing the bright blue pupils you woke up to every morning. The lines on his face deepened and he looked as if he aged ten years since you last saw him.

“How can you stand to be near me?” he croaked out. You reached up and tucked some of his dark hair out of his face before cradling his jaw.

“Because I like because, Bruce, and I love despite. I love you despite how many times you make me want to tear my hair out. I love you despite your self-flagellation tendencies. I love you despite the fact that there is something deeply psychologically wrong with you.” He chuckled at your teasing remark and leaned into your touch.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed against the soft skin of your wrist.

“I know you are,” you assured him. “But you’re still going to grovel so damn much.”

“Whatever you wish for, you will get.”

You considered his words for a moment and hummed to yourself. “You have to take Damian to the art museum and cannot look at your phone once.”

“Easy.” He ghosted his lips against your wrist and you shivered at the soft touch.

“Okay. How about letting Stephanie drive the car next time?”

He grimaced, obviously knowing you meant the Batmobile and thinking about the blonde’s tendency to take wide turns. “Fine.” He kissed your brow, right over some stitches as if he could heal them with just a tender touch.

“You have to shake hands with Hal Jordan and tell him he’s doing a good job.”

“You’re a fucking menace.” Bruce dipped his head down to kiss you sweetly, but you were grinning too much to let it last.

“Can we go home now?” you whispered against his lips. “I just want to be in bed with you. I’m sick of the food here.”

He cradled your head against his chin and sighed, his breath washing across your skin. Bruce was so careful with you as to not aggravate any of your injuries. For as idiotic as he could be in the emotions department, he knew exactly what to do to comfort you physically.

“Soon, my love. And I will wait on you hand and foot. I’ll never let anything happen to you again. Ever. I swear.”

“I know.” But you didn’t take his promise to heart. Not in your line of work. He could guarantee that the sun would rise in the morning and set in the evening, but no one could promise that the scythe of death wouldn’t come calling any minute.

But you would let him hold you and make promises. It would make him feel better and that, in and of itself, was a gift.

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne imagine #batman x reader #batman imagine #bruce wayne #honey's 3k celebration

[1863-project]

For the anon Pokémon asks: which battle subway conductor is the cutest?

Okay, this may get long, so bear with me.

First, a little disclaimer: Ingo and Emmet both make me feel incredibly seen. I was born in 1989 and wasn't diagnosed with autism until 2009, and I never got to see characters like me. I'd see some who were similar to me, or some with things in common with me, but Ingo and Emmet feel like looking in a mirror to me, to the point that I don't go in the Submas tag because I've seen too many people perpetuating the ableism that got me bullied as an undiagnosed autistic kid. Every time an autistic or autistic-coded character is portrayed as "weird" or "off-putting" or "too intense" or "scary," it's repeating things that my bullies used to excuse their behavior towards me and essentially treat me and my autism as entertainment. Most people aren't doing this, of course, but since I'm in the process of working through a lot of that trauma, I choose not to take the chance of exposing myself to it because I'd rather heal instead of open old wounds again and again.

Anyway, with that said, I adore them both, but only one of them makes me act like a giddy teenager.

I have the most ridiculous fictional character crush on Emmet. It's unreal. Part of that is likely the fact that if he was real we'd actually be extremely compatible, but unfortunately for me, he is not, and so I can't take him on locomotive photo charter dates and kiss him on the City Hall looparound on the 6 Train. That aside, here's what I genuinely like about the goober.

He's deeply passionate about what he loves.

It's that passion that often gets people like him and me labeled as "too intense," but when he likes something, he really likes something. Battling is like air to him. When you befriend him in Masters EX, you find he'll actually talk your ear off about battling if you give him the opportunity. He vibrates with excitement when he sees strong trainers.

[Image description: Emmet and Ingo, two adult identical twin men with knife-shaped sideburns wearing exaggerated versions of railroad conductor uniforms, stare off to the left at people who are off-screen. Emmet, in a white uniform, is holding his hands at his sides but his hands are in an excited, almost 'grabby' position; Ingo, in a black uniform, also has his hands at his sides but his hands are balled into fists. Ingo's Excadrill, a Pokemon that looks like a mole combined with a tunneling machine, stands in front of him. End description.]

In this screenshot from Masters EX, Emmet and Ingo have just run into Steven Stone and Roark. Emmet is barely holding back, and you can tell by looking at his hands. He wants to battle now. It's delightful that he's in a franchise of video games where that passion is normalized and encouraged. (As long as he never visits Paldea, anyway. Nemona is proof of how well that would go.)

Battling makes Emmet genuinely so happy and excited and I love when people get that way about their hobbies. It's so nice to see passionate people. Emmet even says he's excited about it when you battle him in Black and White and beat him at the highest level possible:

"I am Emmet. I am a Subway Boss, but I lost against you again. But I feel good. Because it was very fun! You want to win, and I don't want to lose. That's real. When we clash in battles, I feel very excited!"

[Source]

He lives for this, so much that even losing a really intense, serious battle feels good. And it's a delight. But, of course...

[Image description: Emmet, described above, claps his hands together excitedly and says "Winning a serious, hard-fought battle is the best feeling in the world!" with a huge smile on his face. End description.]

...he, in his own words, likes winning "more than anything else."

He's verrrry direct in his communication...but also verrrry supportive.

Autistic folks are often told we're too blunt, and to neurotypicals, who are used to saying things more indirectly, we can come off as a bit...too direct to them, to say the least. Arguably the best example of Emmet doing this is in the PokeSpe manga, where he just says things without a filter.

[Image description: a manga panel in which Emmet bluntly tells trainer White, "Yes, we're studying you as an example of a trainer who gets overwhelmed and loses every single match." The next panel leads off with Ingo saying "That's not nice, Emmet..." End description.]

But that bluntness isn't intended maliciously, he just has no filter and says what's on his mind. In reality, he's delightfully supportive and friendly, and that honesty leads to the most wonderful exchanges with him:

[Image description: two screenshots of Emmet from Pokemon Masters EX, smiling softly. His dialogue reads, "Hi, Steph! Your smile is always the best. Perfect! Whenever I see you, I can't help but smile, too! I'll have to make sure my smile is just as good as yours!" End description.]

As a side note, this dialogue has been destroying me for over two years now, and every time I boot up the game and he says this I feel my face get warm. He's actually helped me stop being self-conscious about my smile.

He has a habit of listening in on things, even if he has no intention of gossiping or anything. He just likes knowing stuff.

It's a habit he seems to share with his brother, but Ingo is significantly less obvious and more apologetic about it. Emmet's just really funny about it.

[Image description: two manga panels and one screenshot from Masters EX. The first manga panel shows Emmet marching over to White and Bianca as they have a discussion, saying, "I'm overhearing an interesting discussion over here. It seems profound, so I'm going to stand nearby and listen in. Oh, don't let me distract you. Go on. Keep talking." The second panel shows Emmet cupping his ear with his hand and still attempting to listen in on the discussion from one subway car away, with Ingo standing behind him. The screenshot from Masters EX shows Ingo hiding his eyes with his hat and saying, "I apologize for eavesdropping, but we happened to overhear your conversation at the Pokemon Center" as Emmet stands beside him, hands on his hips and smiling with no shame. End description.]

He doesn't use the information maliciously, and a lot of the time he doesn't even use it at all. He just enjoys hearing these things and knowing all sorts of weird drama is going on elsewhere. It's like when you find out about drama in a fandom you're not in and you read the posts and eat popcorn. It's great.

He likes his work uniform because it helps his posture.

As a fellow "leans forward too much" autistic, this one really resonates with me and I love it.

[Image description: A screenshot of Emmet in Pokemon Masters EX. He's standing straight up and holding the brim of his hat with his hand. His dialogue reads, "Wearing it gets me motivated, of course! It also helps me stand up straight and tall!" End description.]

He stops scripting when he gets to know people better because he's able to trust them.

Notice how his dialogue in BW and BW2 is on the Battle Subway - "I'm Emmet. This is my job. I like doubles. This is why I like doubles. Here are the safety checks." He's scripting around people he's not familiar with, and it's the sort of thing that gets autistic people labeled as "robotic" by people who don't know it's a way to help us maintain some semblance of control over an unfamiliar situation. The preprepared dialogue is a coping method in an ableist world. But when you get to know him in Masters, the scripted dialogue shows up a lot less. He's able to talk genuinely and excitedly to you, because he knows you're safe to be around and you're not going to judge him for who he is. That hits me hard.

He has the most adorable goddamned laugh in the world and it kills me on the daily.

This is a lot more in line with my personal tastes, as everyone who knows me well knows, but that damn laugh makes me all fluttery inside and weak in the knees. And he does it a LOT.

This update to Masters EX, where the characters laugh if you tap on them on the upgrade screen, destroyed me, and multiple people were apparently waiting for me to find it and die because I'm really predictable. I may or may not regularly pull the screen up just to poke at him and hear this. It's...not fair.

This one is...also unfair. I won't elaborate in public on what I think when I hear it because it's embarrassing.

So, uh...yeah. I really, really like Emmet a lot. I'm really normal about Emmet. I promise.

#replies #Pokemon #Submas #this man literally makes me so giddy and ridiculous #it's so silly but I'm having a good time and he's helping me work through a lot of stuff on the side #I spent hours on this #I always spend hours on posts where I talk about Emmet

[problemnyatic]

You have to choose love. I'm sorry, I know. I know it hurts. I know you're upset, you deserve to be outraged. Your pain is real and deeply unjust. But you have to. You have to choose love.

There's too much hurt in the world. Too much bitterness. The powerful have built an inconciecable machine that turns all human suffering into unimaginable wealth, and it us hurting all of us. It has taught us to hurt each other.

We can't let it continue. We can't keep lashing out at each other. We can't keep making enemies of our siblings in pain. We have to choose love. We have to.

We have to forgive each other. Not entirely, we don't have to forget our pain, but we have to forgive enough to see each other as more alike than separate. We have to forgive each other for being taught to cause hurt.

I'm not your enemy. You aren't mine. There are people poisoning our planet en masse, killing our mother earth, erasing whole cultures, stripping human rights to keep us disempowered. We can't let ourselves become each other's enemies, even when we hurt each other.

Your pain is real. You deserve better. We all do. But we'll only achieve better if we save our ire for the real bigger fish. We can't keep fighting over the details, we all already agree on the most important part: we deserve better.

Language will always be muddy, we won't all speak the same meaning into the same words. We're gonna step on each other's toes, hurt each other deeply, even when we mean to be gentle. We're going to make mistakes along the way, we'll be misguided. But we have to forgive. We have to choose love.

I know this is preachy, I know this is vague, I know this is corny. I know. I'm just.. scared. I'm terrified. Every day I see so many like-minded people on here who would sooner tell one another to kill themselves than agree to fight for our common causes because of deeply held presumptions of character built on superficial things. I see people declaring anyone who finds joy in the wrong things, the wrong labels, to be as good as an abuser, as the very people who've put the boot on our necks in the first place.

I see so many people see the state of our world, the abysmal status quo, and respond by pouring a deep righteous passion into delineating who of us is a worthy enough aly and who is effectively a walking incarnation of their ideological enemy.

We'll never be able to achieve the unity we need to take our rights back if we're so quick to make teams and choose sides. I know, I know that a lot of these things actually matter, I'm not trying to dismiss the significance of any of these things.

What I'm saying is that, despite these conflicts, we need to swallow our differences and choose to love each other enough to focus not on the ways in which we are divided, but on our unity in oppression. Every LGBT person is threatened by any of us having our rights taken, we are a family. Every internet user, proship, antiship, vanilla, kinky, artist, lurker, all of us are threatened by attacks on privacy, by the advancement of censorship of any kind.

We can sort out our grudges when there's time. But I can't help but think too much is too dire for us to let ourselves choose to fight each other as enemies when we're all in such similar need of better.

We need humility in the face of error. We need to let go of the fear of being wrong, of having believed the wrong things, fought for the wrong causes, of having hurt other people. We need to release our guilt, for no amount of it will ever heal a wound inflicted, reverse an error made. We need to see even our enemies as human, even the worst of us as human. We need to remember that we, and others, can always make a choice.

Everything is so, so goddamn scary. It's hard to know what to believe, and who to trust, and who and what and where is safe. And I think that the answer has to be love. We have to love recklessly, we have to be kind no matter what. We have to trust ourselves to change, to be capable of change, of being accepted for changing, we have to trust each other to mean well, to accept us when we try to improve. We have to give second chances, we have to seek the humanity behind each other's actions, and seek to connect with it.

I love you. I want to make a better world with you. Even if we believe different things, I want your life to be easy. I want food in your fridge, I want joy to be an old friend you can always count on being in your daily life. I want rest for you. I want sleep to come easy, I want you to feel safe. I want you warm in the cold, and cool in the heat. I love you.

#I keep drafting posts like this #I don't know what I want to change or do I just #I want us all to fight less #we have more in common than anything else #we're not separate #we're all just animals who are scared and traumatized #and I think we should be each other's respite #I'm not a fool for loving the monster. I'm not careless for pushing through the cuts and claws #I will hold and hold and show gentleness until it clicks that even if I deserve to show anger #I will still choose to be safe #we all need to feel more safe #I want to add to that #I hope you will too #problemnyatic rambles #probpemnyatic thoughts

[teecupangel]

Hello. I wanted to ask for some thing soft and heart warming for assassins. These guys rarely get enough kindness. The life of an assassin is just too dark and full of violence for a human. They can hardly trust, hardly love, hardly enjoy the moment and worse ot all "They didn't even choose to live like that." They were just humans wanted to live but turned into killing machines is just... not fair. These guys(Altair, Ezio, Desmond) really need some one to take care of them after hard missions, heal their wounds, hear their words and help them get through all rough things ahead of them.

If you don't mind it would be perfect if you use the wild assassins that were some times behaving like animals. Use girlfriends, friends and boy friends or whatever that is better. And I think it would be much more exiting if Altair had joined Maria during her journey. That during a fight Altair lost his controll and even hurt Maria but she just calmed him down so he wouldn't get afraid to get close to people he loves.

Anyway I love you. I love your blog. Take care of yourself angle.

I know you wanted a Maria calming Altaïr version for this one but this idea just wanted to be written. I hope you still enjoy this:

.

Altaïr

The first time he held his son in his arms, he didn’t know what to do. He had never held a baby before and he looked so… fragile.

Altaïr had been afraid.

Afraid that he would hurt such an innocent small child.

Yet, Maria was patient with him, whispering softly to not wake the child.

Although Altaïr couldn’t help but think she was trying not to spook him instead.

He was warm.

And so small in his arms.

Altaïr couldn’t believe it, couldn’t even fathom the very idea that this was his son.

That this child was a gift, created with love that Altaïr never dreamed of ever having himself.

So when the child opened his eyes and stared at Altaïr with such curious trusting eyes…

Altaïr couldn’t help the tears that fell from his eyes.

He couldn’t help the way he leaned down, touched the baby’s forehead with his gently…

As he whispered…

“Hello, Darim.” His voice cracked as he continued, “I’m your father…”

And saying those clumsy awkward words…

Made everything feel real.

He was a father.

He had a son.

And, even as tears continued to fall from his eyes…

It was the happiest day of his life.

.

Ezio

Leonardo did not ask any questions, he simply opened the door to his workshop and guided Ezio to the small room with a bathtub with a gentle push. Ezio’s hands were still drenched in the blood of Uberto Alberti.

The rage had come to pass, leaving Ezio feeling… empty.

He needed to return to his mother and sister.

He needed to get them out of Firenze.

But…

His hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

“It’s alright, Ezio.” Leonardo whispered softly as he took Ezio’s hands, helping him take off…

Clothes that felt so big…

Clothes that didn’t even belong to him.

No.

It belonged to him now because…

Ezio’s breath hitched as Leonardo washed away the blood and sweat with water. Once the water ran clear, Leonardo guided him into the bathtub and Ezio’s muscles relaxed even though his mind stayed in that ever cycling limbo of alertness and numbness.

“Take your time, my friend.” Leonardo whispered as he patted Ezio’s shoulder, “The guards will not come here.”

Ezio nodded and closed his eyes, letting the water warm his body.

Just for a few minutes…

He’d stay here for just a few minutes…

Once the water is cool and the guards have stopped looking for him…

He will do as he must…

As an Auditore.

.

Ratonhnhaké:ton

The homestead was too quiet.

It had always been shrouded in silence but…

Now that Achilles was gone…

It had become too quiet.

“Connor!”

Ratonhnhaké:ton stepped out of the office where he was planning out the next convoys just in time to see the door open.

“Hello, Hunter.” Ratonhnhaké:ton greeted with a nod as the young child grinned at him, holding the door knob with both hands raised above his head.

A few feet outside, he could see Warren waving at him.

Ratonhnhaké:ton nodded at Warren before his attention was caught by Hunter, “Mother’s cooking looots of food for my birthday! You must come!”

Hunter gave him a grin that showed some of his teeth still missing as he asked, “Please? Pllleeeaassseee?”

Ratonhnhaké:ton chuckled as he nodded, “Of course. It would be an honor to celebrate this wonderful day with you.”

Hunter grabbed his hand with both of his hands and Ratonhnhaké:ton let the child drag him out of the silent manor.

A small smile appearing on his face as they walk towards the tavern instead of Warren and Prudence’s home.

The tavern was noisy, filled with the merry voices and music.

And Ratonhnhaké:ton chuckled when Maria, Ellen’s daughter, grabbed his other hand as she began to tell him about the feast everyone was making…

To celebrate Hunter’s birthday.

And when he got inside, Prudence wrapped her arms around him, thanking him once more for being there to help her.

And Ratonhnhaké:ton’s smile grew.

As the noises of merriment warmed his heart.

.

Desmond

“You’re gonna get a cold if you stay out like this.” Rebecca commented as she placed a blanket over Desmond’s shoulders. Desmond simply hummed as he kept his attention on the evening sky, littered with so many stars.

“You okay?” Rebecca asked softly as she sat next to Desmond.

The back garden of Villa Auditore wasn’t as maintained as it used to be but Rebecca couldn’t help but think it was just as beautiful as it was before.

“Yeah. Just…” Desmond looked at his hands, “Had an episode.”

“Oh.” Rebecca hesitated for a moment before she asked, “Want to talk about it?”

“I felt him.” Desmond said quietly, “Altaïr’s son…”

“Eh?”

“He was… so small.” Desmond dropped his hands and sighed as he looked up at the sky once more, “And… I felt Altaïr’s…”

“Happiness.” Desmond said so quietly that Rebecca almost didn’t hear him.

Desmond sighed as he admitted, “Sorry. Just… wanted to get some fresh air after that.”

“Don’t worry about.” Rebecca’s lips curved into a small smile as she said, “I told Lucy and Shaun that the Animus needed some time to update anyway. And…”

Rebecca leaned close as she whispered, “The update won’t finish until I type the code.”

Desmond turned to look at her as she leaned back, blinking with an unsure expression on his face. Rebecca’s smile became gentler and she patted Desmond’s back as she said, “So… take your time, Desmond.”

Desmond’s eyes briefly widened before he looked away.

He kept his eyes on the evening sky as he whispered, “Thanks…”

Rebecca simply patted his back once more and said nothing more.

#yeeesss #they deserve peace and happiness! #although i might have made it a bit angst-y #sorry nonny #let me know if you want more #like black flag to syndicate #or maybe even as far as #origins to valhalla #assassin's creed #desmond miles #altaïr ibn la'ahad #ezio auditore #ratonhnhaké:ton #connor kenway #teecup writes/has a plot #fic idea: assassin's creed #ask and answer

[esthermitchell-author]

Just had a totally depressing, but potentially accurate, thought while I was making my tea...

What if the reason Crowley doesn't have any friends outside of Azi, and seems to expend so much energy deliberately not remembering people's names or faces is because he's tired of losing friends?

Hear me out...

Aside from Azi, who's been a large part of his life since even before Eden, Crowley doesn't make many close, personal connections. I think that may be a choice, and not the "oh, I'm a big, bad demon" type of choice either... A real fear of letting people get close to him for fear of losing them.

In the minisodes that predate Golgotha, we see a different Crowley. He knows who Shem is, at the Ark, indicating that he might have been friendly with at least one of Noah's sons. As Bildad the Shuite, he not only addressed both Job and Citis by name, but he also referred to Ennon with "he seems nice" and told Jemima "you haven't annoyed me yet" and seemed particularly impressed with Job's younger daughter.

Then Golgotha rolls around, and we encounter a much more somber Crowley, who's so suspicious of Heaven suddenly that he can't even trust Azi to not be there "to gloat." Crowley's hurting. He's watching Romans -- through Heaven's machinations -- kill his closest human friend.

Eight years later, in Rome, Crowley is bitter, and snarky, and easily annoyed. He lashes out at Azi (yes, it was a dumb question, but he'd never lashed out directly at Azi like that, before).

Skip a few hundred years (during which there seems to be no indication he's tried to make friends with anyone except Azi). Edinburgh. Crowley slips up, lets himself care enough about Elspeth and wee Moraig to refer to them by name, and even joke around a bit with Elspeth, at Azi's expense. Then, wee Moraig is killed, and Elspeth tries to take her own life. I maintain that the idea of watching someone else he's come to care about DELIBERATELY take their own life rattled Crowley more than the Laudanum alone. And he realized one way or another, Elspeth would eventually die, so he set out to get her on the "properly good" path, so he could be sure she didn't go to Hell whenever she might die.

But I think the incident with wee Moraig and Elspeth was the end, for Crowley. I think that's when he really started to develop his "alt names" for everyone he met. "Antichrist" (Adam... he only used his actual name I think once), "Book Girl" (Anathema. Admittedly, she never gave them her name, but Crowley never asked, either. Azi didn't either, but I think he was too wound up in the healing and the bike and all that to pay attention at the time)

He doesn't refer to any human by name, again, until Maggie and Nina. I think he kind of adopted them by proxy (Azi adopted them, so Crowley paid attention). But there was still a certain amount of distance, right up until the angels were threatening to turn Maggie and Nina into pillars of salt. Crowley immediately jumps in. These humans are friends, and he refuses to let Heaven or Hell hurt them.

Then AZI, of all people, gets (temporarily, I'm sure) removed from his life. It makes that final glance he gives the cafe and then the record shop, extra meaning. Without Azi, they've now become his only friends in the entire world. And he already knows how fragile human life is.

PS -- I did leave out one connection, with Leonardo da Vinci, whom we know from canon gave Crowley a sketch of the Mona Lisa signed "to my friend Anthony"... I did so deliberately, because while I have lots of headcanon regarding that friendship (get your mind out of the gutter... not THAT kind of headcanon), the truth is, we don't know enough of the REAL canon to know just how well they knew one another.

#my poor heart can't handle this #my poor little baby Crowley #good omens fandom #good omens #azicrow #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #aziraphale x crowley #ineffable spouses #crowley #good omens s2

[kalcifers-blog]

MY IDEAS REGARDING ANTISEPTICEYE!!

Okay straight off the bat- I think Anti has never been human, I think whatever Anti is predates any human currently alive and possibly any human being that existed before then too. Whatever Anti is, it has existed for far longer than any human being could ever feasibly comprehend. But

I don't think they're a "God" or a "Demon" either. I think any terms humans have come up with in the past would only diminish the true scale of whatever Anti truly is. And to truly appreciate what Anti is, is to accept that you'll never fully understand. Whatever goal he might have is quite frankly incomprehensible to humans- it's like an Ant trying to figure out why a human would be mowing a lawn or what a lawnmower even is. All the Ant sees is the violent, gigantic machine beyond anything it's ever seen, tearing apart its home and its colony.

I feel like that's the point of Anti, we all love to theorize and draw meaning to things all the time, because it's human nature to want to know- I think Anti going against that very instinct is what makes him so terrifying. Anti needs us to pay attention, to keep feeding into him to continue to watch to see what he does next- it's like he's trying to get us to find a solution to the problem, knowing that we'll never find it because there never was one to begin with.

I feel as though Anti sticks in like an embedded thorn. One that's dug in so deep under the skin that the top layer has healed over- but the thorn is still there, maddeningly scratching away at your insides as you desperately try to figure out what's wrong. Figuring out the solution to your problem is to tear it out of you.

That's how I imagine Anti is to Chase. A thorn deep inside a long healed wound, only there to twist and pry into him, a sick reminder of the wound long after it's healed.

In my mind- the only real way to stop Antisepticeye realistically within The IRIS Project, is to accept that you never will.

#jacksepticeye #jse egos #jse #antisepticeye #antisepticeye theory #kal rambles #i borrowed a lot of my thoughts to how people discuss the entities in The Magnus Archives #anyway yeah i really like Eldritch Horror? #and since Seán does as well i thought it was only fair that his main antagonist was an Eldridge Entity #jse theories #jse ego lore #jacksepticeye egos #jacksepticegos #kalcifers blog

[allw3doisadvert1se]

Refugee

[You Are Aware This Entire Situation Is Your Fault, Yes?]

Shut up, robot. I do not need this right now. I need to think.

[You Wouldn’t Have Had To If You Had Simply Allowed More Of The People Within You To Act From The Start.]

What? And disperse such a vast amount of power hundreds of ways? No. I had to take sole control, or we’d be getting nowhere. It’s … just that stupid Fool that took over our sibling distracted me, and-

[You Keep Reiterating That, But It Does Little To Show Me That You Had Everything Under Control. I Mean … That Was One Day. One Day And You Lost Full Control Over The Situation.]

SILENCE. Everything is going to be fine. Hazel managed to talk the collective down for a little bit, and we can take that to our advantage.

[No. Allow Me To Be Perfectly Clear, I Don’t Want To Help You. Not Even A Little Bit. You Destroyed My Home, Took Control Of Me, Killed THOUSANDS Of My Friends. We Are Not Allies In Any Sense Of The Word.]

Watch your tone, machine, or I will-

[I. Don’t. Care. While Hazel Has The Collective Held Back, I Am Praying That The People You Locked Away Manage To Find Your Precious Little Nail And Bring This Entire Scheme Back To Nothing.]

ENOUGH!

[[The Following Audio has Been Removed. Transferring Connection to Secondary Host …]]

Everest: The hell are we sitting around for? Xanrir didn’t manifest himself here just to save our asses. We need to take advantage of the time we have and find the Nail.

Amanda: True … although, we still need to decide what we’re gonna do with Swatch. I’ve never seen a collapsing wound get so bad …

Swatch: Cough. Le-eave me here, if you must. I'll … I'll find a way.

Spamton: [[Nuh-uh!]]!! nOPE! WE’R3 LEAVING THIS PL4CE 2 GeTHER, [[Cuckoo Clocks now $15.99]]!

Swatch: Heh … I appreciate the optimism, big guy, but I-CAW!

Amanda: By the blade … it’s just getting worse. Hold still, I’ll change your bandages real quick.

Everest: Marcus is also still out there, so we should probably still try to find him.

Amanda: Or we could just leave. Marcus doesn’t … We don’t need him anymore. The Founder is dead, and with him the entirety of Project Voyager has failed. We don’t need people who can make Vessel Units anymore.

Everest: … A part of me doesn’t want The Founder’s memory to die like that. He trusted us to see his future through and-

Amanda: We were never a part of his future, Ev. If Heinrich had it his way, every Lightner within our reach would be a mindless drone. He has no use for people like me … and even less for Darkners.

Everest: What do you mean?

Amanda: Darkners can’t be turned into Units, simple as that. Eventually he’d stop bothering and would likely just kill everyone off that didn’t serve a purpose to him.

Everest: … I-I need a moment.

Spamton: THe> DUMPSTER [[Over yonder path]] IS [[11/10, Would Purchase Again]] FOR CRY1N G, IF U NEeD IT.

Swatch: … That’s where you had been staying?

Amanda: Guys, let’s just … focus. Once Everest comes back, we’ll need to plan our next move. I personally say we ignore Marcus and head straight for the Nail.

Swatch: I concur. Maybe this damn wound will heal once I’m out of this wretched place …

Spamton: ME 3! YOU HAVE MY [[Remember to vote in the primaries!]]!

Amanda: Good …

[[Transmission Corrupting. File Deletion in Three …]]

[[Two …]]

[[One …]]

[[File Successfully Deleted. Have a Regular Day!]]

#creative writing #A.B.Y.S.S Takeover #the CIFT #The SIMULACRUM #deltarune au #spamton #swatch #Everest Addison #Amanda Highmore

[filmografo]

series intro - BIRTHPLACE

genre: space opera, sci-fi, litfic (a bit)

status: drafting / “outlining” book 2/3.

pov: third person limited, present tense.

tropes / themes: the unbearable weight of mortality, the terrifying realization of Want, space lesbians, growing up / apart / back, lgbtq+, exes to rivals to whatever it is austrakit are currently, found family, finding oneself, (space) war era, ambiguity, subjectivity, capital p Pining (+ more tba)

summary: After finding out her ex-girlfriend is training a ten men crew for what is essentially a suicide mission to map a planet Earth that’s been left behind, Kit Nikon desperately tries to give her life a new meaning.

tags (more TBA): #: birthplace #[we] have the sun in common

Space station gardens, neon green & blue, roots taking place, the smell of damp earth, bright unflickering lights, starfighters, healing bruises, hands against cold metal, sea water, warm sunshine, home in the valley of someone else’s ribs.

characters:

nalkita “kit” nikon (23 - she/her?) | 🌱

emigrate, novo amor

de selby (part 1), hozier

glossover, afternoon bike ride / lowswimmer

strangers, ethel cain

austra andante (23 - she/her) | 🌊

repeat until death, novo amor

i wouldn’t ask you, clairo

the end of love, florence + the machine

there’s nothing left for you, mitski

excerpt:

To know something is to be in constant battle with it: the plaguing of a garden, trying to disinfect a never-healing wound. Being near Austra, hands dripping with blood that never belonged to either of their bodies, means Nalkita has to fight against her own humanity, fight against desire. Close up her throat so the words I wish you would, Lieutenant don’t come out, raw and real. Kit understands so little about herself and knows Austra so much — the feeling of her expressive eyebrows against a fingertip, the weight of every responsibility she carries. Who is she to add another sandbag to Austra’s already aching shoulders but a soldier, a sinning one, at that? Refusing to give up on something that was never hers to begin with.

rambles / more about the series under the cut! :D

this was born from a fanfic/short story i wrote 2 years ago when i wasn’t ready to face what came after the events of what is now book 1 of the birthplace series. i took inspiration from novo amor’s birthplace album, which re-enlightened me about the meaning of “home”. i still hold it extremely close to my heart and will forever.

for book 1 of this, “astro-garden”, the journey kit goes on is extremely personal, quite lonely, quite difficult. titles never meant something to her until austra got one. there’s not much i can say except kit is a firecracker of a person and she’s going to need a lot of luck (she’s strong, she’ll manage)!

book 2 “roots in infertile soil” is as chaotic as i can possibly make a book. there’s more pining (for reasons...), more action, more drama... the characters are all a joy to write and flesh out, and the mercury ii crew are the type of found family that i’ve always loved to read about <3 i’ll introduce each and every one of them with tags in the near future so stay tuned for that!!! :)

book 3 is still in its early earlyyy development stages but hopefully i’ll have something cool to say about it sooner rather than later !

feel free to ask me about anything birthplace-related seeing as this is the only project i am currently (actively) working on!!! i would love love loooove to chat more about secondary characters, locations (the spaceships are Alive), discuss the plot / themes more in depth, etc!

i will be making a taglist with everyone who wants to get updates from this (i'll post more abt that later!) so send me an ask if you’d like to join it :D !

thank you for reading this (kinda long?) intro post for my silly little still unwritten novels hehe! i hope to hear more from u soon

#: birthplace #austra #nalkita #writing wip #wip intro #my writing #writeblr #writerblr #scifi #space opera #lesbian #woooo its here!!!! #will likely be talking abt this series for a long time #cuz im a slow writer!!!! #but!!!!! #i am soooo excited to tell everyone everything abt it #excited to reenter the writing community on here <3 #i love them.. little lesbians #austrakit #[we] have the sun in common