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reverseexorcist · 2 months

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★ 𝐅𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐝 ★

"If it's alright could I request Carmilla Carmine x a fem reader who's a fallen angel? Like maybe they met during extermination and got their wings ripped off for not wanting to kill Carmilla's kids or they were already in hell with Carmilla for some time before the extermination? If you don't want to do this that's totally fine, and sorry if this isn't how to request stuff :)."

Honestly, with how this ended, I'm really tempted to write a much fluffier part 2 to this

➲ 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚 Carmine + !Fallen Angel!Reader

➲ Romantic ☐, Platonic ☒

➲ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 Count; 3,462 Words

➲ Warnings/notes; Female reader, descriptions of gore/blood, canonical Lute slander (sorry Lute), romantic or platonic wasn't requested so I went with platonic to fit the story more (if the requester wants romantic just feel free to ask me), mother mode Carmilla (she might be a bit ooc because of this),

You couldn't tell if it was from the excitement or the nerves - Probably both if you were being honest with yourself, but you couldn't shake off the vibrating feeling tingling beneath your skin that made you want to fly laps around heaven. Your stomach was doing flips, but you led mask only reflected your nearly psychopathic grin and twitching eye.

Even after your lieutenant Lute shot you a stern look, no doubt pissed off because you couldn't sit still for five goddamn seconds, you still couldn't resist fidgeting with your spear. It was sparkly, and somewhat heavy, and a murderous weapon that was entirely yours! It was also cold, freezing almost. Even against your gloves it made your palms feel numb and seemed to shine in sync with your own valiant excitement.

Baby's first extermination, basically. While the name certainly sounded scary, you'd been waiting for this day for six months (you and the other forty-five cadets in your platoon) and you were ready to do your best! Sure, you were still technically a rookie, hanging around the flock and bringing up the rear of the exorcists, but this was how you proved yourself to rise the ranks, right?

Your heart stopped beating in your chest when you finally reached the front. Holy shit, that was the high seraphim! Sera, right? Oh wow, she really was much much taller in person, towering above the clustering sea of black and white murderous intent. Her outward vibe was motherly and caring, but you could see the glint of distain, guilt and regret sparking in the deepest depths of her eyes. Which was confusing, because you were doing a good thing, right? Ridding the divine planes of sinners irredeemable souls.

The thoughts crowded your mind - Evil, twisted monsters crawling around like bugs in the brimstone crowded crevices of hell. You could only imagine the satisfaction of killing your first hell spawn.

It would have to be cool no doubt. Something big with lots of teeth and claws and that could breathe fire! You had to come home with a cool story to brag about. You'd heard the tales from all your superiors. From everyone including the first man Adam himself, your respectably awesome (if a little terrifying) lieutenant Lute, to the other lieutenants like Michael and Gabriel. You'd have to off a demon built like a mountain to get their attention.

And by the big man himself, you were going to do it. Even if it took you a hundred years, you could already see yourself commanding a group just like yours, bearing a helmet with horns big and curved and bold, black stripes stippled along your ivory wings.

With a very particular pep in your step, you saluted the high seraphim Sera respectively, head cocked up just so you could regard her kindly warmth in fullness. Her smile didn't reach her eyes, and although she swiftly sent you on your way with the rest of your platoon, you couldn't help but let your nerves sway your resolve ever so slightly.

It didn't matter though! You unfurled your wings with perhaps a bit too much of a dramatic flair, but with your spear in hand and helm polished so it shined with malevolent glory, you kicked off without a second thought, tailing right behind where you were supposed to be.

Your first impression of hell was the heat.

With the extermination already well under way, raging fires were already burning up half of the city sending whorls of smog up into the air. You easily battered it away with a few strong flaps of your wings. With your head on the swivel, your eagle-eyes peered around the desolate land for the forms of the sinners struggling to thrive below, silhouettes hidden by the thick layer of smoke and ash blanketing the landscape.

Lieutenant Lute furled out her wings below you, a screeching war cry echoing throughout the battlefield as she all but left your rookie platoon in the metaphorical dust. The sound itself only spurred you on, itching for the blood of a demon on the blade of your angelic spear. Without a second thought, you tucked your wings to you sides and dived below, headfirst into the fray.

Billowing flames licked past you harmlessly, though they burned like hell (which seemed rather apt, considering where you). You didn't falter, flying through the embers like a goddamn phoenix ready to cleanse the realm sprawled out beneath you. The solid wingbeats of two of your fellow cadets only strengthened your resolution, a holy fire burning in your soul - An itch to clear the filth of devil scum away. This was the chaotic strength that your captain had sought to build in you, and now you were finally able to act on it.

But everywhere you looked, you only found simple, humanoid souls running and screaming in terror. Eyes wide, half-dead or bloodied beyond belief as they scrambled to find shelter from the onslaught of exorcists like yourself. Nowhere could you see the mangled forms of the demons you'd been taught to slaughter. Descriptions from your seniors before you passed through your mind - 'gleaming eyes with with wrath and lust', 'gangly limbs twisted to an unholy form', 'mouths filled with rows of sharp teeth, and claws like knives'.

You faltered, confused. The words of Lute rang out in your mind.

"Of course, it's not like they can actually hurt you. You're all warriors, the toughest, just use your spears to stab the shit out of them!"

You were alone now. You couldn't hear the comforting sounds of your fellow rookies behind you anymore. They were well in front of you now, peering around with a similar confusion to yours. But to your absolute horror, they simply shrugged their shoulders and dived forward with bloodlust evident in their glowing white masks. Silver points of spears were jammed through the heads of the terrified demons below. But were they demons? They didn't look like them at all. Every single book you'd seen depicting demons drew them as eldritch monsters with too many eyes to count, tentacles and claws and fangs with nary but bloodlust and vile thoughts hidden within their slitted eyes.

But the demons in front of you looked just like people. You could see the way their faces contorted in terror. You could see them scrambling to help what you could only assume were friends and family, pulling them along and carrying the ones who couldn't run for themselves. You could only feel your heart fall as you watched one of your best friends land on top of a sinner already crushed by rubble, turquoise skin stained red. The begged and pleaded and cried, but their voice was silenced as the spearhead sunk into their skull.

You flinched. The world around you ignored you completely, and for once, you were completely happy to go unnoticed.

Shakily, you touched-down in a nearby street. It was littered with already oozing corpses, but other than that it was peacefully empty. At least here the sounds of violence and pain and terror was muffled, far away enough that you could at least try to distance yourself and get your breathing under control.

You barely reeled in a gag as the smell of blood invaded your senses.

Was this really what you wanted to do for the rest of your life? You could still see yourself in your mind's eye, a model exorcist like your lieutenant now leading her own platoon into another extermination. Maybe this would be a one off, just a shock to the system that would get your mind reworked into killing mode. But, the more you thought about it, the more your heart clenched in pain and terror that seemingly matched the suffering souls around you. You were an agent of heaven, you thought you were killing mindless monsters, not those with human souls! Sure, there were probably shitty people fucking around down here, but what about all those who had to sin in self defence?

A chorus of startled gasps startled you out of your panic ridden stupor. Your wings flared up, trying to make yourself look bigger, more threatening as you wheeled around. The spear in your hands looked more like a prop at this point, and it was clear that you had minimal idea how to use it inside a proper battle. But still, you fumbled with it and pointed it threateningly in the direction of the two demons that had appeared right behind you.

They clutched each other, stumbling backwards and further away from the danger of your angelic weapon. One of them placed an arm in front of the other, her eyes narrowing behind her red-tinted glasses as if she was both terrified by you, but was daring you to do something about it.

But still, you could see them shaking from where you stood. They both seemed rooted to the ground, the one with platinum blonde hair refused to take her eyes off of you, but the demon behind her (maybe her sister? A friend?) was looking around nervously.

You could see yourself reflected in those crimson specs, and for once it made you freeze. You'd seen yourself in uniform plenty of times before, the steel boots and guard gloves and the led, horned helmet, but it always seemed almost comforting before. When you were surrounded by your cohorts, it made you fit in. Out here, you realised, you were the monster.

The ever-present smile on your mask shrunk, falling into a grimace as your grip on your weapon tightened. Your wings drew in, you shrunk backwards, almost stumbling over your own feet in the process of trying your hardest to get away. You never wanted to scare people.

So drowned by your own confusion and fear and reckless thoughts of worry about the future that you didn't notice the confusion growing the faces of the demons in front of you turn into abject horror as a far more ominous silhouette grew behind you.

"I thought I taught you not to hesitate," Lute growled in your ear, placing her free hand on your shoulder and digging her fingers in till your were sure a bruise was marred into your skin. You didn't respond, couldn't even if you wanted to. The trembling that rattled you only grew stronger, and you fumbled as your hands cramped painfully. With a resounding clatter, your spear dropped from your grasp an on to the brazen brimstone floor.

Lute growled.

She didn't say anything, but she knew. The both of you knew by now. You couldn't kill a sinner.

Lute didn't even hesitate before shoving you to the ground. Your head collided with solid stone painfully even with your helmet on, stars shining behind your eyes as her words blurred together as she pressed her foot firmly between your shoulder blades. Your wings shivered and spread involuntarily, and you feared the moments that would come next. Lute was unpredictable, but this could only end with bloodshed.

The two girls still hadn't moved, transfixed in horror as they watched the scene in front of them play out.

Asphalt stung your hands and you tried to claw your way to freedom, fingertips digging into the scorched Earth as you started crying. Lute, however, was stronger than you. Of course she was, she'd been doing this for centuries, and you were still a fledging on her first trip out of heaven.

You never thought it would end like this.

Lute dug her fingers into your wings, tangling into your still downy feathers before she yanked with all her might. The scream she tore from your lips was hellish, agonising, yet the blended with the sounds of violence all around you. You were sure you blacked out several times throughout the process, but by the time your old lieutenant was done with you, barely anything but feathery stumps and golden blood remained of your wings.

You could only curl up, cry and watch as Lute tossed clumps of feathers aside as she stalked toward the two demons that still hadn't had the thought to run. And for the first time in your life, you felt sorry for the sinners that populated hell's ring of wrath.

She would make them suffer, that was for sure. If she was happy enough to tear of another angel's wings, you could only imagine what she would do to a sinner. You didn't want to imagine, and your mind was fuzzy enough that you thankfully didn't have to.

The sound of something sharp rang throughout the air. It made you groan in pain, the sound piercing your ears and making your brain rattle in your skull. Sharp - 'Tink tink tink tink tink.' If you could see the look of relief coming across the demons faces, a part of you might've urged Lute to run. Only, she had just torn your wings off with little qualm, and now you had no shits left to give if she lived or not.

The exorcist never got the chance to strike, her weapon torn from her hands and thrown across the street till it collided with a bloody body. Lute herself barely had time to react before she was struck over the head once, then twice in rapid succession. A whirlwind of white and angelic steel and pure fury launched herself in the path between the two demons and the exorcist. It was almost exhilarating to watch, seeing Lute strike out with her fists in a pathetic attempt of hand to hand combat against her new foe. Whoever they were, they were really fucking fast, almost too fast for you to keep up with.

The fight was over before it started. Without her weapon, Lute couldn't do much against the sinner she was pitted against, and as ruthless as she was, she knew when a battle was lost. In a flurry of black and white feathers, she fled. And then the newcomer's attention was shifted to you.

At this point, you would've welcomed death. The pain alone was making you drift slightly, and you didn't even have the energy left to groan when whoever nudged you slightly with something hard and cold.

"Mother.." The words were so soft, floating away from your ears.

"We need to leave." It was undoubtably her. That voice was the one who beat Lute into the ground.

"What about..?" That was the one who called out for mother.

"Won't she tattle?" So that had to be her sister.

Those words sent a dose of adrenaline through you. With as much strength as you could muster, you clawed yourself into an upwards position. You could feel the clotting blood running down your back, but if you were going to die, you at least wanted to do so with some dignity.

Shakily, with much more effort than was really desired, you reached up and peeled your helmet off.

It clattered noisily like glass against the floor, and suddenly the world was much brighter, much more red and the air was laced with more sulphur and death than you could imagine. But what really surprised you was the look of shock written across the sinner's face.

She was tall. Really tall. The only person who could really compete was Seraphim Sera or maybe Adam, but you really couldn't tell with how delirious you were.

"Una niña?" They all looked surprised.

The one called mother took a few steps forward, confusion and anger clearly present in her eyes. But, as she kneeled down in front of your comparatively tiny form, you realised the anger wasn't directed at you.

"Did she try to hurt you?" She turned back to face her daughters. They both shared a look, but ultimately shook their heads no. That right there, was your saving grace.

She looked back at you, hair pinned into high horns, and took your helmet in her large hands. She passed it off to one of her daughters, before gently scooping you into her hold.

You whined, writhing minutely in her hold as the searing phantom pain of your wings being torn off returned. Fat tears rolled down your cheeks, and yet the demoness tutted softly, shushing you like you were a baby.

Her daughters followed without a word, and you and the family unit moved swiftly through the desolate roads. So many questions were running through your mind, and yet you couldn't find the answer to any of them, your thoughts to lost to the fog of blood loss to ever truly return.

"You better not betray me," Were the last words you heard before promptly passing out.

The plushness of a soft blanket was the first thing you felt waking up. For a moment, you felt nothing but relief realising the entire thing had been a horrid nightmare, but when you tried to rustle the numbness out of your wings, the relief was replaced with horror when you realised that your wings were just straight up missing, only two feathery stumps remaining in their place.

That made you shoot up in horror. You didn't even care about the sharp sting that ran down your spine and into your very being, you were a bit too concerned about your current predicament.

"You're awake."

That made you promptly scream before ducking under the covers like you were a nestling again. A soft sigh reached your ears, but you dared not to venture out from the warmth of the thick covers.

Not like you had a choice, though, as you were soon pried away from their safety. It was her, the demoness with the high-pinned buns. She looked down on you, red eyes glowing in the low light, and yet, you couldn't sense a smidge of hatred towards you. Only distrust and sadness laced her expression.

"How old are you?" She asked after the silence had gone on long enough.

"I'm a fledgling," Is all you said. You didn't really fancy giving too much information. Although, the look of horror the crossed her face maybe suggested that you'd already given away plenty.

"Obligan a los niños a hacer esto?" She raised a hand and carded it through her snowy tresses, locks of white hair threaded loose as she paced back and forth. You only watched her, slowly sinking back into the comfort of the warm blankets.

"You're still a child." It was a statement.

You hated being a child. You didn't want to be a child, at least, you hadn't wanted to be a child in the past. You wanted to join the ranks of the exorcists, and to do that you at least needed to be juvenile. Hell, you were lucky enough to make it into the cadets while you still had baby feathers decorating your wings. But now, the fact that yes, you were still technically a kid made your saviour look upon you with more than just disdain and hatred like any other exorcist, but rather she looked upon you with an emotion that you'd never seen before, and not one you could really name.

"You are a child, and now you have fallen," She eyed your mostly healed wing stumps, and you couldn't help but reflexively flex them anxiously. The literal weight off your back made you want to cry.

"Was this your first extermination?" She gazed upon you with a guarded look. You nodded.

"And you didn't hurt my daughters?" Another nod from you. That seemed to make her relax just a tad.

"Could you ever hurt someone?" That made you pause, the memories of the extermination rushing back to you full force. Tears grew at the corners of your eyes, and still, you answered with a simple 'no'.

She exhaled a sigh of relief before closing the distance and kneeling down to your eye level.

"Carmilla Carmine." She reached a hand out toward you. So that was her name.

You clutched your hands close to your chest, fearing her touch, but gave her your name anyway.

"What are you gonna do with me?" You asked, voice cracking. Her gaze softened, finally letting her guard slip for just a moment.

"Well, you weren't going to make it out there by yourself. You'll be staying with me," The words took a moment to sink into your mind. Well, at least it was better than death.

Gently, like she was working with a scared animal, Carmilla coaxed you out from the comfort of the bed, slowly ushering you to her side. With your wings missing and their remains bandaged, head bare and missing your exorcist helmet, it felt like the safest place in the world.

"Welcome to Hell."

Rules + Info,

Masterlist,

#carmilla carmine x reader #carmilla x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x female reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel carmilla #hazbin hotel carmilla carmine #hazbin hotel carmilla carmine x reader #carmilla carmine #carmilla carmine x female reader #platonic

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coolnameloading · 2 months

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Lute x Fem! Reader Part 2

Part 2 of Lute x Sinner Reader story yaaaay

Over the last few months, the hotel has been in what you can only describe as organized chaos. The hotel gained a new resident in Sir Pentious who was a spy for the Vee’s and then wasn’t or something. Charlie reassured you constantly that Pentious was not working for the Vee’s anymore and you had nothing to worry about.

But those sick fucks have been chasing you for longer than any of the other overlords so you’d rather be more safe than sorry.

After that particular event, you started to feel less safe in the hotel.

You heard Vox, he tried to infiltrate the only place where you’ve felt safe since you got to the literal hell hole and he tried to send in a fucking spy who Charlie just let walk in instantly after he had attacked the hotel twice.

Who knows what would have happened to you….all of you if Angel Dust hadn’t seen him planting those stupid cameras?

You love Charlie, she’s nice and she gave you a place to stay. Being mad at her is like being mad at a puppy but all you could keep thinking about for the rest of the month was wondering if Vox saw you.

If the Vee’s know where you are.

If they’ll come looking for you.

What they might do to you if they do catch you.

You had a close call with Velvette one time and one time was enough for the rest of your afterlife. Bitch tried to color-match your fucking fur! You’re pretty sure the only reason you got away was because she was drunk off her British ass.

Vaggie could tell right away that there was something wrong with you and tried to reassure you.

“He didn’t see you Chesh”

She whispered approaching you slowly.

“You don’t know that boss! What if he did? He could be on his way right now with the other two and he already beat the radio demon once! I need to lea-”

Vaggie cut off your rant by placing her hand on your shoulder gently and pushing you down to sit on the couch.

“Charlie and I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. We promised when you started staying here that we’d keep you safe and we will. You don’t need to run.”

“Thanks, boss… I’m sorry for freaking out. It just really shook me up, I guess.”

You mumbled out, blushing at how pathetic you sound.

You may not remember much about your life but you’re pretty sure you died sometime in your 20’s. Yet here you are whimpering pathetically and having to get comforted over a fucking video camera.

After that incident you became more jumpy, every sound put you on edge, and it was worse whenever you were around any form of technology that didn’t look like it was from before the 1980s.

The others tried their best to calm you down in their own ways. Angel Dust started leaving his phone in his room because you’d flinch every time he got a text or phone call from Valentino.

“Don’t make a big deal outa it, he was annoying me too.”

Husk would keep your favorite booze on standby at all times, when you’d thank him he’d simply grin at you and say,

“Us feline demons got to stick together.”

Alastor was happy to throw out any and every piece of technology that would make you tense up even slightly, which included most of Pentious’ weapons and very nearly his airship.

He obviously wasn’t doing it for you but it still felt nice.

“Don’t worry my friend! I’ll happily get rid of these infernal contraptions! I’ve always believed they lacked class anyway.”

Pentious recognized his part in your new-found anxiety and tried to gain your trust by handing his machines to Alastor with many, many, many tears.

“I am more than happy to…give up my arsenal as an apology for invading your persssssonal boundariessss.” He’d hissed out while trying to hold his tears back.

You couldn’t really be mad at him after that.

Nifty even volunteered to go out and ‘hunt phones’ for you.

You said no but that didn’t stop her from bringing you the….remains of some people’s phones.

“Sometimes I kill mother phones in front of their children as a warning to the other phones!”

“Niffty phones don’t have mothers.”

“Hehe, not anymore…”

Charlie was actually very happy to see how the others stepped in to help you and she was very proud of them even if their methods were…unorthodox.

But that lead her into a spiral. She was desperately trying to figure out why the hotel wasn’t working even though everybody showed considerable improvement.

This leads to her talking with her dad, which somehow leads to you being here in heaven.

“Um, boss why exactly am I here?”

You ask Vaggie nervously, glancing around at the pastel clouds around you. God you haven’t seen pastels in years.

Vaggie looks over at you and sighs, “Well Charlie figured you wouldn’t want to go out with the others and you wouldn’t like to stay in the hotel alone so this was the best option.”

You nod, understanding her point but on the other hand.

“And the…exorcists?”

Vaggie’s shoulders tense for a moment before she looks away from you and mumbles, “I have a feeling they won’t do anything even if we do run into them.”

You want to ask more questions but decide against it, today was stressful enough as it is without you asking stupid questions.

“Whatever you say, boss.”

You whisper following behind Vaggie and Charlie as they enter the gates of heaven after another fucking song.

Is it just you? Are you the weird one? Should you be singing more often?

The three of you follow behind the two seraphim, Emily and Sera, while they give you a tour of heaven. Charlie looks completely enamored by the place but Vaggie looks annoyed, as if the pastel clouds had offended her personally.

And you…well honestly you feel a little underwhelmed.

Heaven looks like a glorified mall so far, a mall with strippers because there are way more people walking around shirtless than you thought there would be.

So you keep trailing behind Vaggie, Charlie, and the angels when you see someone who looks familiar.

She’s a cat demon like you, same color pallet and everything, except she seems much shorter and has a pair of pastel-blue angel wings coming out of her back.

You end up drifting away from the group and start following the small cat angel through the crowds.

Eventually, you get close enough to reach out and tap her but when you’re about to get her attention you feel a firm hand on your shoulder and you get pulled away roughly and pinned to one of the walls.

You’re completely disoriented for a moment and then you hear a familiar annoying voice.

“Well, well, well look what the cat dragged in.”

You look up to see Adam and Lute, Adam has a wide smirk on his face and Lute looks….wow.

She’s not wearing her helmet so this time you get to admire her completely.

You’d probably be happier about her pinning you to a wall if she wasn’t also holding a giant spear to your neck.

Then again…-

Yeah, it’s still pretty hot.

#fanfic #lute x reader #hazbin chaggie #charlie hazbin hotel #hazbin angel dust #hazbin adam #hazbin husk #hazbin alastor #hazbin lute #hazbin niffty #hazbin sir pentious #x reader #hazbin vaggie

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myfandomprompts · 1 year

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Dubious Headlines | Aemond Short Story (Part 3/3)

Aemond x Reader Modern!AU [Part 1/ Part 2]

Synopsis: In a world where Dragon Incorporation is the most powerful firm in town, Rhaenyra Targaryen's last announcement sends you, a journalist, to interview the younger sons of the family. However, you did not ask for any of this.

Warning: Fluff, but not only

You had a wet dream. Or at least you thought you had, it was all still foggy. The signs were there though, you had awoken abruptly, heart beating at a fast rate, slightly panting and more importantly, a sore feeling between your legs.

You sat up in the dark as it slowly came back to you, images of long silver-hair and a soft voice speaking into your ear as you heard yourself moan loudly like a distant echo.

When you realised what, or rather of who your dream had been about you shook your head at once, attempting to chase these thoughts off your mind.

You had a big day ahead of you and you needed a cool shower.

“It’s your lucky day!”

You stopped your typing to look up at your boss towering over you with a big smile on his face.

“It is?”

“Yes, a request came up, something about an art gallery opening in town, and they chose us to be the prime reviewers. I know you’ve been waiting for that sort of exclusivity for a long time.”

Why does this sound familiar?

“What sort of art gallery?” you asked warily.

“Specifically paintings, I believe. This came from one of our correspondents at Dragon Inc. From what I understand, it’s founded by one of their branches.”

Of course. It didn’t take long, it was only a week and a half ago that you had seen Aemond Targaryen at the inauguration. At least in the real world. For now you kept your emotions at bay.

“And they requested me?”

“Not you particularly, but who else would I put on the case than my best writer?” he joked, putting a paper on your desk and leaving with a proud smile.

“Yeah…” you breathed out as you looked at the info you needed, “Who else…”

It was a beautiful building, with large glass windows and high ceiling, and as you entered the lobby, worrying over the fact that you might be greeted by the quite cold assistant whom you had over the phone to make the appointment, you were relieved to see only an attendant sitting boringly behind a reception desk. You looked at your watch, ensuring that you were on time as you walked toward him to announce yourself, but someone came out of an adjacent door and you stopped in your tracks.

The sight of Aemond Targaryen appearing in your line of vision instantly made you think about the dream you had recently, making it very real for a moment. You got lost in the memory and by the time you had managed to get rid of one particular vivid image, he had levelled with you.

“Miss. L/N? Y/N?” he called again.

His voice made you snap out of your reveries and you realised that you had not talked at all since he had approached you. You tried to appear as natural as possible as you took control of yourself again, ignoring the fact that his hand was on your shoulder as you finally spoke, “Good afternoon, sorry-” you cleared your throat. “Thank you for having me, M. Targaryen. I hope I am not late.”

“Not at all, right on time,” he said, letting his hand fall from your shoulder to reply to your handshake. “And please, call me Aemond.”

His hold on your palm lingered far longer than necessary and you were unable to react, too occupied with the thought of how calling him by his first name would sound strange to you. Or maybe you would like it.

Yes, you definitely would.

“Very well then I shall,” you smiled as you took in your surroundings. “This is a very nice place. Do you own it?”

“My mother does. She uses it for her own private events and exposition such as this.”

You looked at the stone walls and warm lights that illuminated the elegantly decorated lobby, sighting only a part of what you assumed would be the exhibition room.

“Will your mother be joining us? I always admired her taste in art, she is a wonderful patron, I would love to have her insight on this.”

Aemond clenched his jaw, perfectly aware that you and his mother would have got along greatly. “Unfortunately, she won’t. I’m afraid that she had other matters to attend to. But she will be here at the opening.”

Your disappointed look sent a pang in his heart but he did not feel bad about it. He had told his mother earlier that her presence was not requested for your coming, that he would handle it alone. It was a calculated decision, one that he did not regret. You had come alone, so did he.

“Oh, that’s a shame…” you quietly said, taking your pad out. “When is the opening exactly?”

“Next week. Tuesday night.”

“And you need The Westerosi to advertise it enough beforehand for people to come to it, correct?”

“Correct.” Among other things.

You smiled at him, lowering your pen as you finished your note. “Alright, then let’s see it!”

Aemond returned your smile and extended his arm in order to let you pass, leading you to the exhibition room.

It was pretty big, warmly lit, contrasting with the usual bright lights of the museums, and you could only guess the length of the room because tall panels that were placed along both the walls and in the centre were hiding the end of it. You could see sofas and chairs placed here and there, surely to allow potential buyers to sit and admire the numerous paintings that hung on the walls and panels.

“This is quite the exposition, how many artworks do you have on display here?” you asked, walking toward the first painting on the left.

“Over forty. It is a few, but we have room for more.”

He was following your every step, arms clasped behind his back, watching how your mouth opened slightly each time you focused on one of the frames. “And will the exhibitors all be present next Tuesday?” you asked as you admired a mural representing two robotical birds over a white background.

“Not all of them,” Aemond said with a slight apologetic tone, “But enough so you have something to write about. If you decide to attend next week, of course.”

You gave him a side glance at his words, finding it amusing that he believed that you would not be returning. As if .

“You can count on me to be there, Aemond, I wouldn’t miss it. From what I see this is really worth it.”

He knew that asking you to call him by his first name had been a mistake. Now all he could think about was how nice it sounded and all the different ways he wanted you to say it.

You took some more notes as you asked him technical questions, about the choice of the artists, and how his own preferences and his mother’s had influenced what to display. “Do you paint yourself? Or your mother?”

“No, I hardly would have the time. And my mother is also just an observer, although she takes great pride in my sister’s drawings. She is the one with the artistic fibre.”

“Your sister Helaena?” you presumed, hardly picturing a woman like Rhaenyra draw in her free time.

“The very one,” he replied, following you as you kept advancing to admire the next painting. “Do you paint or draw?”

“Oh no. My grandfather was the painter, but apart from my aunt no one in my family can even draw a cloud.”

This was an obvious exaggeration, but it had the merit to make Aemond laugh. “I see. We all must find our talent in different places, I guess. I’m sure you have many skills besides writing.”

You blushed a bit as you examined a very small canvas, trying to see what it exactly represented. “I wouldn’t be so sure. I may write for a living but for everything else, I would call it hobbies instead of skills. Skills must be forged by practice.”

“I agree. To find in art what is worth admiring and what is not is a talent that we acquire over time, I’m just glad I had my mother to teach me from an early age the meaning of beauty.”

You had reached an area where tables had been placed among the panels, certainly intended for future glasses or food to be served for the opening.

You turned to him. “Because you believe that beauty is what makes art worthy of admiration? Not talent or its message?”

“Of course it does too, but we are mainly attracted to what we find beautiful in our eyes. Don’t you find yourself staring at something beautiful and intriguing longer than at something you don’t truly understand?”

You had both stopped walking and were now staring at each other, his gaze growing more intense by the minute as his words hang into the air, their meaning taking a whole new dimension. You felt your heart skip a beat.

“This... is an interesting theory from someone who hasn’t shown interest in any of the paintings he owns yet. Shall we test it? Show me the work you find the most beautiful to look at and I’ll make my own opinion,” you said, gesturing towards the many sketches frames around you.

But Aemond’s face lit up as if he had won the lottery, and remained perfectly still and silent. His eye was boring into you and you grew uneasy, asking yourself what exactly he did not understand.

“What are you doing?” you asked, a little confused.

“I’m looking at you.”

His voice had dropped several octaves lower and you felt your cheeks reddened.

“Why?”

“Do I truly need to say it out loud?”

He had scoffed, but his expression was serious, and you could not help but straighten as he got closer.

“A-actually I’d rather not,” you shyly said.

“Really? And why is that?”

“Because… if you do, I’m afraid that this interview will become very… unprofessional.”

He arched a brow but remained composed, taking several steps further, whereas you struggled to keep a straight face, feeling crushed under his gaze. He was closing in on you and you felt him reach out to your pad and pen in your hands to gently remove them from your grasp.

“And what exactly,” he said as he discarded your belongings on the table behind you, his face almost brushing against yours, “is it that would make this ‘unprofessional’?”

He was so close that you had to look up in order to hold his gaze because of how tall he was, without mentioning how good he smelled.

“By doing this…?” You sensed his fingers trail along the inside of your wrist and up over your arm, eliciting goosebumps all over it. He then went up to your shoulder, brushing your hair away from your neck as he cupped your cheek, his eye fascinated in the way your skin reacted to his touch.

“Or…”

He had only breathed out his last word, voice oh so very low into your ears as he took hold of your chin, slightly pressing his thumb over your lower lips, and you had to close your eyes in order to repress a moan.

“Aemond…” you warned, feeling your body ready to burst into flames.

He hissed at that, the sound of his name rolling out of your tongue sending electricity down his spine. He was enthralled by you, how you looked, how you felt, how you melted under his touch. He hadn’t expected to give into his desire so quickly, but here he was. He felt your hands crept up to flatten against his chest, looking for more contact. You looked, no, you felt exquisite.

“Tell me Y/N, tell me because otherwise I might be about to make a big mistake.”

You opened your eyes again, meeting his dilated pupils locked onto your lips, and you further grabbed the collar of his shirt to pull him closer, feeling the warmth of his burning skin through the fabric. Then his eye darted from your darkened eyes and to your alluring lips again, before strengthening his grasp on the back of your neck and finally closing the distance.

You could not register anything else around you apart from how soft his lips felt against yours and the way his fingers delicately brushed your neck, making a whine escape your throat as he slowly kissed you, his taste so sweet and maddening that you wondered how you had survived without it until now.

You did not know for how long it lasted, but by the time you had to part for air, leaving both of you breathless, you realised that your phone was vibrating into your vest’s inner pocket.

You heard Aemond growl as he heard it too, coming to rest his forehead against your own as he closed his eyes in frustration. “If you don’t take that thing off, I swear I’ll break it.”

You could only display a wicked smile on your face, amused at his impatience before letting go of his chest and reach for your phone, but your movement was apparently too slow for Aemond who unexpectedly detached himself from you and began to take off your blazer in a swift motion before tossing it to the side, your now silent phone with it.

Without wasting a second Aemond had grabbed you again and was kissing you more passionately than before, making you back off to collide with the table behind you and wrap your arms around his shoulders in order to respond to his eagerness. You tangled your fingers into his hair, enjoying the silkiness of it and making him groan into your mouth slightly, holding on to you tighter.

“I’m starting to believe that this whole reviewing thing was only a plan in order to get me alone with you,” you said.

He smiled against your skin, one of his hands travelling from your shoulder to your waist as he began to trace small kisses along your neck. “Maybe it was... In any case, I’ll still need that article published, positive or not. I don’t even care at the moment.”

You felt his mouth reach the junction where your neck met your shoulder, and you bit your lips at the delicious sensation.

“I’m afraid that I’m too… biased to write anything bad about it now,” you managed to breathe out.

His low chuckle resonated into your very being before he moved to your face again, his smirk hovering over your lips.

“Mh. And here I was, thinking that you were the very definition of professional.”

You gave him a fake offended look, smiling at his words as he leaned into you again. His kiss was growing more insistent, keen and you felt your body heat up.

“There aren’t any… cameras in here, right?” you asked timidly between two hungry kisses, thinking about the attendant in the next room.

“No, there are not,” he laughed, coming back to brush his nose against yours. “Why, afraid to cause a little scandal?”

You considered your position, stuck between the man you desired and the low table, one of your clothes on the floor and pretty aroused. It didn’t help that Aemond had taken hold of your hips and flushed you against him.

“The only thing I’ll cause is that if you don’t start kissing me again right now I’ll write the most scandalous article about you you’ve ever seen. Even your brother’s acts won’t be able to match.”

He was stunned for a moment before finding his composure again, his demeanour shifting into an intensity that was not there before and whispered:

“And we don’t want that…”

When he kissed you again, you concluded that now, it was you who owed Mathilda a favour. A big one.

I really liked writing this. I have some ideas for another part but I like how this one ends, and I have a million of other Aemond Oneshots ideas so we'll see!

@khaleesihavilliard@dollfaceyourfear@cecespizza01@julczimozart@missusnora/ @bb-swift@cbfvip / @depressedperson88 / @nitimurinvetitumsposts@this-is-a-bad-idea / @issshhh /@virginslut08 @boofy1998 / @tssf-imagines / @theeddiebrainr0t

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leportraitducadavre · 10 months

Text

Sharingan no Kakashi

Volumes Covered: 1-27 (first part)

Hatake Kakashi, the copycat ninja, has been a fan favorite amongst readers of the Naruto Manga since the very beginning. For as long as I have been on Tumblr, his image has been plastered everywhere to the point where his design is known even outside the manga’s universe: many people who are not usual consumers have seen at least one panel/screenshot/fanart of him.

When I first read the manga, I too became really invested in his story (he was the mysterious, possibly good-looking kind of character that as a teenager was appealing to me) but as years passed (more so now that I’m currently re-reading the manga), that appreciation shattered, or rather, dwelled.

This is not to say I hate him, nor that I’m encouraging enthusiastic readers of the manga to dislike him, my particular mention of this relies on the need to give those that choose to read this post a warning, for I will be analyzing particular aspects of his character that can (and should) be considered negative and/or controversial.

Now, I’m not going to perform a detailed list of everything his character does during the first part of the manga because not only would it be excruciatingly long (and I don’t see the point in doing so for it beats the purpose of this meta), but also, because not everything about him is to be noted. In that sense, I chose some topics that interested me the most and that I consider important (if not central) to his characterization.

Long post:

Types of relationships

How does Kakashi Hatake interact with those around him? What kind of relationships does he prefer or does he have and how does the social aspect of shinobi’s culture shape the bonds he manages to create?

Mentor-student / commander-soldiers

During the first interaction of Team 7 (meaning, the one they have on the rooftop, not the one where Naruto pranks him) Kakashi asks the newly formed group to share personal information outside the data he already was given about them, however, when is his turn to share, his responses are extremely vague and general (here), preventing the team under his command to have any sort of knowledge about him outside of his military role. Furthermore, the way he decides to reply (that is the wording of his answer to, let’s remember, his own question), is not only empty of any meaning but also seems to be on the verge of mockery. Considering the way he acts and how other sensei ask the same thing (we can see that during Guy’s flashback), we can infer that the question wasn’t of his choosing, and he’s most likely following a script.

To give some context to this introduction, Kakashi up to this point has performed the same questions for at least a few years to different groups of Gënin which failed to pass his test (we don’t know exactly how many, only that he’s being failing teams for years) - so it’s not weird for him to lack any sort of interest in this team since it might be no different from the ones he already failed.

In addition, during this exchange, there are two dynamics that he introduces:

1. The dynamic between a leader and subordinates (in the general aspect). As a commander, Kakashi is not required to share personal information with his underlings, they -however- are bound to share/do whatever he asks of them due to his superior position in the chain of power.

2. The (non-existent, yet highlighted by this particular absence) relationship between teacher and students. Kakashi seems to start their link by severing it from the very beginning: he distances himself from the team, choosing to favor the dynamic leader-subordinate over the mentor-student (this will be cemented during CH 35, where he calls them “soldiers under his command”, and reiterated on CH 43 -where he refers to them as “subordinates”). Iruka becomes, by juxtaposition, one of the only real “teachers” inside the narutoverse.

The type of relationship we see between Kakashi and Team 7 (particularly Naruto and Sakura) seems to be replicated by every other Konoha team we are introduced to, except for some dynamics that can be put, in some way, inside the latter category: Kakashi/Sasuke (this dynamic in particular is presented in quite a toxic manner, I’ll expand on this later on), Asuma/Shikamaru, Gai/Lee and (to a lesser extent, since Team 8 was never focused on), Kurenai/Hinata.

About Kakashi and Sasuke’s dynamic (the one I mentioned could be more or less put inside the mentor/student category, although that specific label isn’t as strong as I might have implied), the headcanons about their relationship overtook many aspects of their canon interactions.

It’s true that Kakashi favored Sasuke and it’s true that one of the canon reasons for him to do so was that they shared the same chakra nature (lightning), so Kakashi was more able to help Sasuke to develop some techniques. However, there’s a fandom misconception that Kakashi was planning and/or actually helping Sasuke with his Sharingan -but that’s simply not true. At no point in their training are we shown how Kakashi tries to help Sasuke once he “awakes” (rather, gets conscious access over) his doujutsu, furthermore, I don’t see an actual reason for him to do so:

First, Sasuke probably knows a lot about the Sharingan (he grew up in a clan where many members possessed it; canonically, his father and brother were users. We don’t have confirmation about Mikoto, but because of how the Sharingan might be inherited she might possess at least the genes). They had conversations about the Sharingan and Mangekyo (x, x), and Sasuke saw it while being used multiple times in its basic form (x) and even in its Mangekyou form (x), meaning, theoretically, Sasuke was more prepared and educated than Kakashi, even with no experience. Second, the Sharingan is quite literally Sasuke's nature; I don’t think he needed much help (if any at all) on how to use it.

Beyond their chakra nature training, there’s not much Kakashi does or even proposes to do. Additionally, for Kakashi, training Sasuke also meant to do the least amount of effort while also implicated to gain the most prestige: Naruto was unstable -the Seal of Minato was tampered with by Orochimaru during the chünin exams which made him fail on basic skills (even those he had already mastered); Sakura didn’t reach the final stage -and for some reason, that meant no training for her, as if she didn’t need it the most*, while Sasuke was already internationally famous for being the last Uchiha: he was the main “spectacle” during the Final Stage.

*[Sakura’s need to be trained after her tie with Ino is to be discussed in a deeper manner. The chünin exams are not real exams but displays of the military forces of each village, hence why Sakura wasn’t trained after her failure and why the focus was on both Sasuke and Naruto. The third stage of the exam is a spectacle for other Kages and Daimyos to see, hence why she -almost literally, mattered not].

To add to this discussion about Sasuke and Kakashi’s relationship, it’s important for me to touch -at least briefly (for going in-depth with this will extend this post to an unmanageable degree), Kakashi’s projection of himself onto his student. Let’s look at their similarities first in order to dispute them after:

a- They are both geniuses, which puts them in the “highest” position inside their respective teams: This particular aspect of them, in addition to receiving the constant praises of their peers during such formative moments of their life, made them particularly arrogant (this doesn't diminish the training Sasuke subjected himself to as to reach such level of skill, here).

Yet, while Kakashi refused to cooperate with his own team (Minato’s) and relied upon his newly achieved rank (Jönin) in order to tell them what to do (x, x, x) Sasuke creates a bond with his teammates to the point where Naruto -who, by all means, would refuse to obey Sasuke during their first interactions, often follows his lead or trusts his judgment. In this specific aspect: Sasuke constructed a bond with his team, while Kakashi didn’t.

[Their context while growing up is vastly different: Kakashi had to deal with something Sasuke didn’t: the dishonor that suicide brings particularly in Japanese society, x (and vice-versa, as Sasuke witnessed his brother murdering his entire family), however, both of them shared the pressure of knowing that they were the only ones capable of "bringing their families’ honor back", so it isn't weird for them to act in such manner.]

b- They share similar personalities: This is, of course, partially a consequence of the prior point (you’ll notice that Neji, also a genius, comes off as arrogant -yet I will not focus on this aspect particularly), but the main reason for this similarity is that traumatic experiences shaped their personalities and the way they approach other people.

They both are rather passive-aggressive to others (now that I think about it, Neji is also like that -and a traumatic experience was indeed the reason behind such a mindset), yet Sasuke modifies his behavior the more time he spends with his teammates (he cheers up Sakura when she’s depressed, acknowledges Naruto’s strength during the chünin exams and saves their lives multiple times even when doing so puts his own life in danger and thus, jeopardizes his ultimate goal: kill Itachi).

Kakashi, for his part, was far crueler and linear with his teammates during his youth (and I’m specifically making a comparison between kid Kakashi and kid Sasuke for that’s the parallelism Kakashi draws -which is the basis he uses to judge Sasuke’s actions later on), his response to the trauma of finding his father’s dead body was to live for and live by the rules established for Konoha’s militia to follow -to the point where emotions were aspects of himself or his teammates that he refused to acknowledge; in the same manner, he prioritized the mission’s success over his team’s safety (unlike Sakumo). Later on, with both Rin and Obito’s deaths, Kakashi modified parts of his personality in order to model himself after Obito (not the real Obito but the perception he got of specific parts he chose -or thought worthy of mimicking -more of this will be discussed in the Nationalistic Mindset part of this post).

c- They both possess guilt complexes from which derived a strong feeling of inadequacy: This particular aspect is intrinsical, I believe, to Kakashi’s approach to Obito’s dogma (I won’t be expanding much for this is tackled, again, on the Nationalistic Mindset title). And again, both of them share a similar complex, yet their reason to have them is completely different (yes, they both might have survivor’s guilt, but it’s not the one I will speak of): Kakashi’s remorse lies in the fact that he wasn’t able to protect his teammates (once he formed a bond with them), he failed Obito -who died to save him despite Kakashi’s earlier attitude (I’m not diminishing Kakashi’s life, I’m pointing out Kakashi’s possible perspective about Obito’s death), and later on he failed him again when Rin died (he also failed Rin herself for not be able to prevent her kidnap). The manga doesn’t show us much of Kakashi’s trauma, but it’s somewhat safe to assume that he models his personality after “Obito” in response to this guilt, making himself someone “worthy” of both their teammates' sacrifices: he vows not to fail at protecting his teammates again, (“I will never let my comrades die”, here) for that’s what Obito taught him (here).

Sasuke’s guilt also has to do with his own incapacities, yet his main issue is that he wasn’t able to do anything against his family’s murderer (he arrived at the compound after they were killed), and it’s this specific event that germinated and blossomed into Sasuke’s core objective: Avenge and restore his clan [honour]. He could do nothing then, but he will do so one day. None of his family members “sacrificed” themselves for him to live (Itachi might have killed them to “save” Sasuke, but they would have been murdered regardless; sacrifice implies that those who perished took a conscious decision to die in another person’s place), so their background is nothing but different.

In addition, these specific events (including Sasuke’s incapacity to fight against Gaara during the invasion or against Itachi in Shibuya), shattered both their conception as geniuses (which, in lieu of the arrogance they constructed around it, makes the fall from grace much more difficult to bear), which pushes them to extreme changes: Sasuke, to flee Konoha in order to polish his abilities and achieve his goal; Kakashi, to make his life a memoir of “Obito’s dogma.”

Personal bonds

The types of relationships Kakashi values are first shown in CH 8 when we are introduced to the Memorial Stone. He refers to those who are carved in such space as his “best friends”, a statement that is (at least) questionable once we learn Kakashi’s background and how his relationship with Obito and Rin actually was prior to their death. The only possible explanation about why they are his best friends is that he developed a deep connection with them after their death (in lieu of their sacrifices and the feeling of guilt such occurrences brought upon him), it’s possible (headcanon alert!) that he also twisted specific memories of them in order to elevate them and -later on, force himself to become someone “worthy” of their sacrifices, as he did modify the original quote from Obito.

In that sense, Kakashi’s relationship with Guy (at least during their first interactions) is particularly blown out of proportion, out of the three jönin-sensei, Guy is the only one who stands alongside Iruka (hence, against Kakashi, Asuma, and Kurenai) and asks them -but mostly Kakashi, to reconsider their decision to register their rookie teams in the exam. Kakashi replies by laughing at him, justifying his choice by stating that “what they lack in experience they make up in surprises” (I guess “surprises” encompasses the fact that one of them heals almost instantly thanks to Kurama and the other one already has the Sharingan, which replies absolutely nothing to the actual matter at hand), and finally proclaiming that team seven will make Guy’s team “eat dust”.

After that, their next interaction is during the preliminary rounds, where Kakashi ignores Guy yet when Lee is fighting Gaara, Kakashi claims to be (literally) disappointed in him for teaching his student a forbidden technique, even if later on tries to cheer him up when Lee loses. And yes, the interactions are hilarious, yet the relationship is carried solely by Guy’s character for Kakashi is particularly closed on his one-sided relationship with his deceased team. That’s my point.

Emotional Manipulation

I have established before Hiruzen’s approach to the Will of Fire (exploiting people’s bonds and emotions in order to tie them to Konoha rather than a person/clan; basically constructing Konoha as a symbol that encompasses those who are dear to the shinobi, creating a nationalistic mindset where family=village. x), now, how does that dogma interact with Kakashi, influencing his actions and interactions with other people -particularly (but not limited to) Sasuke?

Kakashi has linked Sasuke’s capacities to the Uchiha Clan’s value since the bell test (CH 7), and repeated the behavior more cruelly in CH 18, and again in CH 27 (albeit this time positively, in the face of an enemy). The technique he uses to “push Sasuke forward” (in the sense of giving him motivation, since Sasuke’s bond with his family is intrinsic to him) can be (should be) considered emotionally manipulative. Should Sasuke fail or perform at a lower level than expected, it means the Uchiha Clan’s honor downfall.

Furthermore, Sasuke is not the “finest hope” of the clan, as he called him, he is the only hope since the only other member of the clan is Itachi, who massacred them, and Kakashi is aware of such circumstances. It’s different in Naruto’s case (Kakashi also displays emotional manipulation towards him) because he’s not linking a traumatic experience to his value -furthermore, he’s not linking the honor of an entire (deceased/killed) clan to his value, which is what he’s doing to Sasuke. The caption on Sasuke’s panel is “stab”, the words of Kakashi were purposefully chosen in order to downgrade Sasuke’s ego (I’m not denying he still uses them to “motivate” Sasuke -I’m questioning his methods). If we also take into account that Sasuke, at this point, has seen Kakashi’s Sharingan (and believed him to be part of the Uchiha clan) it gives his input more weight since Sasuke’s doubt about whether or not his teacher is related to the clan hasn’t been addressed yet (Sasuke didn’t ask nor does he know where Kakashi got the eye, and since he doesn’t know doujutsu can be transplanted yet, he assumes he might be a distant relative).

In this sense, is to be added that, one, Jönin-sensei vow upon their clan’s honor that their students are ready for the Chünin Exams (CH 35), and two, Hiruzen, in CH 65, states that shinobi defend not only the balance between nations -but also, the honor of their village. It’s no surprise then that Kakashi is so insistent on tying the Uchiha’s honor to Sasuke’s name (Naruto is an orphan to whom a “generic” last name was given -even if it’s his mother’s, he represents no clan nor has any knowledge about his family, Sakura’s family name isn’t renowned nor important enough for him to even care).

However, and despite the fact that Kakashi’s abasement of Sasuke is harsher than the one he performs on Naruto, it doesn’t imply that such degradation doesn’t exist: Back in CH 10, after Team 7 is attacked (and for the first time for the three gënin, might I add), Kakashi says to him, “it never occurred to me that you would freeze up,” meaning, he elevates him first (implying that he did consider him capable enough to respond to an attack of such caliber), only to dismantle him from the previous conception he -apparently, possessed. His words leave such an impression that Naruto cuts himself with his own kunai: from a narrative perspective is a powerful moment -but hadn’t been for Kurama, Kakashi would have had an injured student (he even mentions he could bleed to death), so why apply such psychological pressure to a gënin that has already a lot of emotional stress from the earlier attack? From a teacher’s point of view, it doesn’t make sense, however, it does make sense from a commander’s point of view, something Kakashi has actually had experience on (Team 7 is literally the very first team he passed), so his methods of “teaching” are yet to be polished.

[Jönin-sensei is a title where jönins (soldiers) are told to pass on their experiences/techniques to future members of Konoha’s militia, without being given pedagogical education to interact better with their students. Being a teacher (that is, a person actually capable of educating, with everything that it entails), it’s not important -being a good soldier is. This is incredibly highlighted during this interaction back in Chapter 3, where Kakashi calls this pedagogical situation a “mission”].

But this type of approach isn’t reserved solely for those under his command, showing that Kakashi either is not using it consciously as a tool -but rather is the way he was approached and, therefore, believes to be the usual way to speak to others; or that he’s constantly on “shinobi mode”, meaning, he uses every tool at his disposal (always, ever) to achieve the result he considers is the best (I, personally, believe this option to be the most truthful to his character, for he performs emotionally charged speeches to his own peers).

An example of the point previously made: During CH 22 [Wave Arc] Inari and Naruto get into a fight, Inari screams at Naruto and the main character responds by calling him a crybaby. After the confrontation, Kakashi finds the little boy, and we have an interesting interaction where Kakashi talks to him and (without Naruto’s permission) tells him part of Naruto’s background for no real reason but to appeal to the emotions of Inari and build a case for his student (which isn’t strictly necessary, the kid doesn't have to like Naruto and -likewise-, Naruto doesn’t have to like Inari for the mission to be successful).

What we see is what follows: Kakashi applauds Naruto’s way of handling trauma (he doesn’t cry rather, he hides his feelings) and, by juxtaposition, he brings back Naruto’s claim about Inari (him being a cry-baby) in order to criticize the young boy. Inari -who is a kid younger than Naruto-, is a coward and uses his pain to justify that supposed cowardice, Naruto doesn’t, which makes him better and should be reason enough for Inari to one, get along with him; and two make him a role-model.

Now, Inari is a civilian who lives in a civilian village and his experiences have nothing to do with those of a shinobi. Kaiza (Inari’s father) was publicly killed because he tried to defend his hometown, but he lacked the tools a shinobi possesses. Naruto grew up in a hidden village and the shinobi’s approach to death is completely different from what a civilian kid might be taught or experience. Naruto doesn’t have to know this, so his hostile reactions towards Inari are understandable from a character’s point of view, but Kakashi's reaction isn’t. People can argue that Kakashi, like Naruto, was taught and lives solely under the cultural aspects of his village, which is the reason why he brings Inari’s experience to his own sphere of understanding, yet while we can see that as his reasoning, it doesn’t mean we should condone it, as he has more experience outside his cultural bubble.

His words are successful, as we see here and here. Inari internalized both Naruto's and Kakashi’s speeches and instead of running to escape and reach safety, he decides to help his captive mother (who has been taken hostage by Gato’s men). Let’s add some more context: a young, untrained boy is forced through emotional manipulation (and here I will spare Naruto due to his lack of experience, but not Kakashi, who might understand things through the veil of his own culture while lacking the knowledge of civilian rules -yet he is aware of civilians incapacities during armed conflicts and still “pushed” Inari to take action against Gato’s thugs by glorifying Naruto’s behaviors) to “stop” being a coward (meaning: to confront trauma in a particular manner: the shinobi way, that has no claim in civilian society); and his life had to be literally saved by a ninja as a consequence. Furthermore, his cowardliness wasn’t an issue he was already struggling with before the shinobi arrived to the island, it was an uncertainty introduced by the group (brought in by Naruto -who knew no better- and cemented by Kakashi).

It’s when Sasuke “dies” and Sakura recites one of the shinobi rules, that we learn that Kakashi and Naruto were judging Inari’s “cowardliness” through the perspective and internalization of the same rule Sakura is now reciting. Inari, as a civilian, can't be judged by those premises.

I have pointed this out in some other posts but there’s no harm to reiterate: the pass from childhood to adulthood -unlike in the civilian society that follows different rules, is marked by the bestowal of the headband. That is, adulthood has little to do with age and more to do with rank. With that mentality, Naruto and Kakashi’s behavior towards Inari is slightly more understandable since, to them, his age is not an excuse to behave like a “child” (furthermore, Kakashi took the Chünin Exams when he was six, meaning he was considered an adult since that age). Yet, again, where Kakashi fails is in understanding that Inari is not governed by the same principles that he is.

Nationalistic mindset

How do the Will of Fire and Obito’s apparent dogma interact? Did Kakashi’s character really have the possibility of seeing Konoha as an oppressive state that considered him nothing but a mere tool? Did he have the “potential” to rebel?

Back in Wave Arc, among many things, there’s an interaction between Tazuna and Kakashi, where Kakashi mentions that a previous Hokage (we aren’t told who) taught his people to “fight for what is right”, selling the idea to the civilian in front of him that his hidden village (specifically) is the “good” side against the “evil” side (Zabuza, Gato -even other hidden villages). However, this particular speech of Kakashi, which he gives solely to Tazuna and not to his subordinates (who, by Tazuna’s standards are children), clashes with the prior idea that “missions’ feuds are high and we do what we are paid to do” (assassinations or babysitting). Meaning: there’s a narrative to be told to civilians to shape their view of shinobi (particularly Konoha’s), and the actual reality that only Team 7 (as ninjas), gets to see.

In addition, during Kakashi’s second fight against Zabuza (CH 30), Kakashi states that Konoha (therefore, he), knows about the swordsman’s attempt to coup and kill the current Mizukage -alongside his wish to raise funds to attempt another coup after his failure. We learned previously thanks to Haku’s background that there’s a bloodline cleansing currently happening in Mist; a genocide on such a large scale can’t be kept secret that long -furthermore, there’s no indication that the murders are happening quietly either since those who possessed Kekkei Genkai were pushed to hide their bloodline; and if Konoha knows about Zabuza and his attempt to take over the government, then they surely know about the reasons behind it.

What I mean by this is what follows: Kakashi and Konoha claim that they fight for “the right thing” to those civilians they encounter, but do nothing -neither military nor diplomatically, to stop those massacres from occurring (nor do they take a stance against them either, as it reduces Mist numbers and weakens their military power). They’re still pretty much in touch with the Mizukage that carried out/ordered such killings, for his government was the one that told Konoha about Zabuza’s attempted coup when declaring him rogue.

Kakashi downgrading Zabuza for working for Gato is, in a way, absolutely comical because not only is he working for an authoritarian regime, but he also downgrades someone who (even as despicable as he might be) is actually trying to do something against those who wronged him. Kakashi (under Konoha’s mindset), can’t differentiate between a person’s ambitions and their ideals, they might seem equal on the surface, but they are intrinsically different: One goes after an individualistic goal, and the other one is founded on the possibility of a communal achievement. To Zabuza, another individual raised under shinobi culture, killing innocent civilians to gain funds in order to bring down his oppressive government is a plausible course of action (we can make a value judgment on this, but this does not dispute the idea of Zabuza taking actual actions in order to overthrow the oppressive government in his village).

As said before, Kakashi doesn’t seem able to differentiate between personal ambitions and ideals, therefore, he will never be able to take a stand against Konoha. Hence, the belief/headcanon where Kakashi rebels against Konoha or has the “potential” to do so should Kishimoto “allow him to” is contradicted by Kakashi himself, to the point where he defends Konoha even when it’s not being questioned (building it in a positive light).

Furthermore, there’s an interaction that pretty much confirms this: Here and here. Kakashi admits that the belief system under which a shinobi’s life is valued “bubbles beneath the surface of his mind, disturbing him” (he also uses the plural, referring to the ninjas -as a kind, which means that from his perspective everyone feels uncomfortable with that mindset, and yet, no one seems to question it, for those who questioned are then labeled as missing-nin). Even if Naruto later on promises that he will create his own “Nindo” (and by context, that destiny is presented as opposed to the “I’m a tool” mentality previously discussed) and Kakashi smiles, there’s no actual denial of his current belief system.

Kakashi was intended to be the representation of a nationalistic/pro-shinobi system mindset, as he follows the narrative’s stance (which, in turn, follows Naruto’s). Even after everything Kakashi said to Zabuza in order to degrade him (like, for instance, questioning his standards for affiliating with Gato and staging a coup), the moment Zabuza says “I won’t kill Tazuna because I won’t get paid, so let’s not fight”, Kakashi immediately agrees. His problem with Zabuza isn’t that his mindset is different per se, but that is opposed -at that moment- to Kakashi’s and his mission, once Zabuza is not at the other end of their fight, everything is forgotten/forgiven (he simply doesn’t care anymore).

Later on, because of this nationalistic ideology, Kakashi is willing to sacrifice his students’ well-being: Again, the Chünin Exams (analysis I made here), are nothing but staged wars in order to display each village’s military forces to draw the attention of potential customers; therefore, even tho Kakashi knows about Sasuke’s condition (Orochimaru giving him the Cursed Mark) - he stands against Anko when she asks the Hokage to pull Sasuke out of the exam. Even though he later on warns the child the fact that he allows such a dangerous situation to occur while putting the whole weight of the issue on Sasuke’s shoulders, is rather telling of his priorities.

Kakashi’s phrase (well, it isn’t Kakashi’s phrase but actually his interpretation of Obito’s) “I will never let my comrades die” (x) is solely true until Konoha’s wellbeing (in any sort of way, including prestigiously) is on the line. Dying is the only thing Kakashi protects them from, physical or psychological damage isn’t included.

The idea of him respecting and following Obito's true dogma is an absolute contradiction because Obito’s core ideology and Konoha’s are intrinsically contradictory, they can’t coexist and still be truthful to their basis. To Kakashi, Konoha is the symbol of peace -of his comrades, so the physical existence of an individual isn’t as important as the symbol’s survival, therefore, sacrificing his soldiers’ wellbeing to give the village more leverage during the chünin exams isn’t a problem -unlike them dying at the hands of Zabuza, which would mean Konoha failed on the mission and lost three gënin in the process.

And here I'll add this: Obito's actual phrase was "Sure, in a ninja’s world, those who violate the rules and fail to follow orders …. are lower than garbage. However….Those who do not care for and support their fellows…are even lower than that! If I’m scum…the rules are no good to me! And if breaking them makes me the wrong kind of shinobi…then I’ll crush all the so-called shinobi!!" here. In lesser terms, Obito's dogma is this one: If a system (shinobi's/Konoha's) prioritizes political/warfare success over the lives of those fighting for it, I will not be a part of such a system - furthermore, I'll rise against it.

My claim of Obito joining Madara in his quest as something always existing at his core sustains mostly in this. Rin is a catalyst, for I'll admit, he didn't turn completely against it until her death when the system personally affected him and those he cared for (can he be blamed when he was taught to be loyal to it? It isn’t weird for him not to see such flaws until they impact him specifically, we can’t fault him for something so humane), yet his beliefs are right there and have always been there.

The very important, very much intrinsic difference between Obito and Kakashi's approaches is that Kakashi (and later on, Naruto) puts the weight of his comrades' well-being upon his shoulders and his shoulders alone (his trauma with Obito's death, who sacrificed to save him, and Rin's who was "killed'' by his hand, are probably the main reason for Kakashi's specific approach to his former classmate's dogma), while Obito disputes the very basis of the issue. Obito isn’t blaming Kakashi per se but the rules that Kakashi, as a commander, chooses to follow indisputably (x, x). Obito will gain no awards or recognition for saving Rin while compromising the mission, on the contrary, he'll gain the same punishment Sakumo did: ostracization, now not only from the Uchiha but also from the general population.

And here's the thing: at that moment, his respect for Konoha is so little that he doesn't care - going against the rules is going against Konoha, fine "I'm scum, I'll crush the so-called shinobi!!". Here Kakashi "fails" (yet it's to be mentioned he's a child soldier in distress and in the middle of a battlefield) to externalize the critique and place it upon the rules (hence, the system) where it belongs, rather, he internalizes it and blames himself, believing that he's responsible for everything since he was "too uptight" to bend (x and x).

Obito and Kakashi’s opposition comes from the answers to these questions: "What are they fighting for?" and "Why are they fighting for it?" (the what's and why's in narrative and character-construction by Dushman-e-jaan). The first answer might be similar as they both might answer, "Konoha", particularly at that point in time; it's the why, which drives the what, that's different. For Kakashi, as established prior (although, during his childhood, that might have been the answer as that's what he was told to do and what he was taught to want, rather than a personal conviction), Konoha in and of itself is what matters, the place, the land, the symbol of peace; while Obito's core belief would push him to say "Rin", as in, an individual; hence, “the people”. Then why would he choose to sacrifice Rin (the people) in exchange for the survival of a place created to ensure their well-being? In his eyes, it makes no sense (and yes, later on, he “betrays” his own core beliefs as he carries out the UCM for a "greater good", yet he does that because he considers the real world to be hell, so he cares not for it -x,x-, as the only world that matters it’s the I.T one).

Obito was written by Kishimoto to be Naruto’s “dark” parallel, as he was a morally good child (wanted to become Hokage to stop the war, helped ladies on the street, even sought his master advice and changed his stance on Kakashi after Minato’s speech) that the environment transformed onto one of its darkest consequences (and well prior to Madara’s intervention as he claimed he would crush the “so called shinobi” shall he need to). Meanwhile, Kakashi reflects the pro-shinobi stance as he never even begun to question it when a child (the same could be said for Neji, who showed revulsion to his personal situation, and was definitely closer than Kakashi to rebel, yet he never questioned the status quo in itself).

It’s difficult to give closure to a post this charged and long (as of now, it’s fourteen pages), so I’ll finish up with this: Whether you agree or not with this post, try not to just blatantly insult me (if you end up doing it, oh well). I genuinely don’t care if you find my analysis revolting, and it’s just as easy as ignoring my blog altogether or creating your own post with your own takes and reading of the manga; I have no problem discussing these topics, but if your entire argument relies on your personal headcanons and you provide not a single panel of evidence I’m ignoring you, so don’t bother.

Here it is, spent months on this post (it depended on my re-reading of the manga, which is why it took this long), so I hope you guys enjoyed it and I want to personally thank those who read all of this, I genuinely appreciate it.

Cheers.

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dropoff99 · 1 year

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Reminder for those in their first read through:

Jordan is a firm believer in an unreliable narrator. I’ve been seeing some absolutely WILD takes on on certain characters that I can only assume are from people that haven’t hit later books yet. Most characters have a number of things they won’t admit to themselves, even within their POVs. Some are thinly veiled so you identify them early, others are not and are often a product of that character not knowing themselves or others very well yet. Also when Jordan felt a character had a wrong impression of someone, he felt that it shouldn’t be corrected unless they saw direct evidence to contradict their views on other characters. And while characters certainly miscommunicate It’s not always because Jordan wanted to stall the plot, he just legitimately wanted flaws in the way they thought and understood what was going on in the world.

My POV reliability ranking is below (yes there are spoilers in regards to large character beats but no plot) ranking on how intellectually honest/reliable WoT characters are within their POVs. Note it doesn’t mean I think the people at the top are always right, just that you can trust their internal narrative as being consistent with how they really feel and their read on others is somewhat accurate. Additionally I only ranked the EF5 and some other big characters. If they aren’t on here it has nothing to do with how reliable I believe they are, just that I didn’t rank them.

One last thing: I legitimately love the tool of an unreliable POV character. It allows you to adds depth, intrigue, and unpredictability. It is not a coincidence that the bottom 3 of this list are my favorite characters of the series.

1 Egwene - controversial I know but her time with Gawyn/Wise Ones reveal this the most. Additionally she has a self-awareness about her dynamic with the rest of the cast. Rand and Nynaeve really stick out in this regard. she figures out their dynamic with her a lot quicker than they do. She is generally a step ahead of others and accurately portrays what she sees and experiences IMO.

2 Thom/Lan - their POVs reveal their motivations pretty clearly and they also are very consistent across the series. Additionally their analysis of other characters is really helpful due to general knowledge of the world. I put them behind Egwene because Jordan is very stingy with their POVs.

3 Min - she is the most openly conflicted of the main cast (especially regarding Rand). But I can’t put her reliability as high as the others because Jordan intentionally obscured her interpretations of her visions for obvious reasons and that is such a big part of her character that it drops her.

4 Perrin - as internally honest as they come (especially his guilt) outside of his love interests but this is a HUGE blind spot for him.

5 Rand - despite what some would say on this topic, it’s not so much that he lies to himself, but there are specific and intentional inconsistencies that are plot related. Additionally, the pressure Rand is under definitely clouds his judgement throughout the story but this is usually apparent to the reader.

6 Moiraine - her internal conflict about her schemes/plans as well as her habit of obscuring the truth places her outside of the top 5 but I generally think her POVs are incredibly revealing about what she thinks/feels when you do get them.

7 Elayne - I know you might be thinking… how is she this low? But I believe she lies to herself (even if thinly veiled) on many occasions, especially how she feels regarding her family and close relationships.

8 Mat - the guy is genuinely just a compulsive liar. He lies to himself and others routinely throughout the story. The amount of times he says “this is the last time I (insert any particular thing he does regularly)” even within his POV is astounding. But he does this in such a predictable rhythm that you get used to it very quickly. Also his read on other people within the story is at times so outlandish that you can’t believe he really thinks what his internal dialogue is saying.

9 Aviendha - absolute lunatic internally. I love her to death but what she truly believes is often hidden early on in her POVs and because she comes from such a unique culture Jordan intentionally makes her evaluation of any given circumstance a little confusing. The only reason I would rank her above Nynaeve is because there are legitimate plot mysteries that Jordan did not want to unveil with her early on making her less reliable, which isn’t the same thing as what happens with Nynaeve.

10 Nynaeve - I really don’t want to say much about this because I believe her POV is actually done brilliantly in a lot of ways, it just makes for a frustrating read before you understand her. But to put it simply she is not honest with herself generally and you have to rely on Jordan’s prose and her literal actions to know how she truly feels.

#the wheel of time #robert jordan #mat cauthon #egwene al'vere #rand al'thor #moiraine damodred #perrin aybara #fantasy #aviendha #elayne trakand #nynaeve al'meara #lan mandragoran #thom merrilin #min farshaw

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nomsfaultau · 23 days

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thank you so much for writing mandatory family reunion. i just reread it for the eighth time. i think im going to dedicate my life to life to reading your other sbi fics until you update again. also; do you have any tips for committing to fics and not leaving them half-finished?

ahhhh that’s so sweet glad you enjoyed! As for writing fics, having it be your special interest really helps. But for more general advice on finishing:

-Don’t stick to just one story. Which seems counter intuitive! But inevitably you’re going to hit a snag in one story. So instead of stopping writing at all, switch projects. Writing involves a whole bunch of thinking, and stuff needs time to percolate in the back of your head. But having a small project to work on in the mean time keeps you engaged in the writing process, gives you practice, makes you feel like you’re making progress, and allows time to work out the other story. I personally have 1-2 main projects, Fault and MFR, and then rotate a couple back burner stories that I work on whenever I get inspiration and fully expect to have very slow progress and possibly never finish. Short stories, one shots, hell even just writing little one off scenes that don’t go anywhere. It’s a way to keep writing fun and thus you’re more likely to continue working on the stuff you’re trying to complete. Don’t feel bad if there’s breaks between working on your main project. Writing involves a lot of thinking and it takes time to do that.

-Devoting time to do that thinking also significantly helps. When you’re falling asleep can be a good time to rotate stories in your head. Could also be if you’re walking from place to place, or brushing your teeth, or other little gaps in the day. Even if you’re not physically writing, it’s still part of the process and can make it easier when you actually sit down to write because you know what scene you’re most excited to work on. Also, talking over your story idea with a friend is a great way to stay motivated if you can get over the mortifying ordeal of being known. You can bounce ideas off them, and other people’s investment in a project can be a great motivator to finish. Like legit a single ao3 comment once stopped me from my plan to abandon a fic. Reminding yourself why you (and other people) like the story makes it easier to want to continue.

-Keeping a rough outline of what you envision for the story can give you a road map to how close to done you are and where to go next. Just like you can hop between projects, I find jumping around the plot time line to write what scene I’m most interested in atm keeps me going instead of writing everything in order. Though, all writers have different degrees of plot planning, so that depends on your style.

-Art! I’m an artist, and while writing definitely fuels what I draw, I find doodling cool scenes I want to write really inspires me to keep going. This sorta falls under the same category of continuing to think about the story and motivating you to finish. -I found keeping a writing journal has improved how I view my writing. Basically, I’ll jot down a bullet point list of scenes worked on that week/month. Writing is a very slow process, so seeing a timeline of actual progression on a story makes it feel like I’m actually getting more out of my head and onto paper. I also jot down what ideas for scenes I came up with since that’s also part of writing, and might include a chill no stakes writing goal for that period, like work on X or Y project, or a particular scene. Sometimes my goal is just ‘write at least one sentence’. I give it lots of leeway, and accept that the muse may just be somewhere else that week. And if the goal isn’t met, no sweat! Life can get busy at times and it’s more important that you aren’t beating yourself up if it’s been awhile since you last touched a project. Forcing yourself to write a scene that isn’t ready won’t result in a good scene or an happy writer. Switch projects, give yourself time to think about it, take care of yourself, etc.

And, legitimately, don’t be afraid to abandon a piece. Maybe you’ll come back to it, maybe you won’t. It can feel disheartening to feel like you can’t seem to finish a project, but unfinished pieces also do a lot for you: they hone your craft, allow you a creative outlet, give you scenes that could potentially be reworked for later pieces, and most importantly were hopefully fun to write! Story crafting is a hobby that should bring you joy, not frustration and shame.

Like, I have stories that will never see the light of day and are just so I can have fun and poke it with a stick occasionally. I’m 100% confident in saying that every author will have tenfold the number of unfinished wips compared to complete works. That’s just part of the creative process: exploring different worlds to find the one you want to write.

Perhaps a fic might never get finished, but in the wise words of Technoblade: “if you enjoy it, it’s not time wasted, no?”

(Now, I think he was talking about murdering people, but the point still stands.)

#I mean besides my novel I’ve only completed like 6 fics out of dozens of ideas #Only one of which had multiple chapters #Well and truly having a bunch of random wips is normal and expected #Muses are flighty write to have fun with it #Ask #writing advice #creative writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writers #writing inspiration #something to nom on

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fernsnailz · 7 months

Note

you dont need to answer this if you don’t want to btw but ive read and enjoyed a lot of your analysis and lore dump stuff so. thoughts on the paramount sonic movies? (especially the second one + thoughts on whatever they might do with Shadow Stuff in the 3rd movie)

thanks! though honestly, i don't really have that many thoughts/opinions on sonic 1 and 2? i just think they're. fine. imo they get all of the characters down well - i'll defend versions of sonic that lean into a little rambunctious childishness, and tails and knuckles are the best part about the second movie. but that's kinda about all i have to say on them, they never left much of an impact on me.

while i don't normally like to make predictions or pitches for upcoming movies/media (because i always get disappointed when something is never as good as the fan pitches i see), i do have some general thoughts on what i'd like to see from the third movie. it seems like they'll be drawing from SA2 for a number of things, but i don't want a beat-for-beat retelling of that game. i'd like to see how they integrate it into the world of the paramount movies and create a unique version of that story - for example in sonic 2, james marsden's character (don't remember his name lol) mentions that his family has been around green hills for 50 years doing... something idk i dont remember. 50 years is a very important timestamp regarding Shadow Lore. if that character's history is integrated into shadow's past, i think that would be an interesting way to build up a struggle between sonic's family and shadow, and i want the drama. i want this movie to hurt me emotionally as much as it can.

and as excited as i am for shadow in the third movie, i do REALLY hope they at least introduce amy as well. i'm not sure if we'll see many new faces since balancing that many characters in a feature film is a lot to ask (unless you're marvel and you don't care about writing interesting characters AYOOO), but i don't care to see a sonic world without amy. her compassion and heroism is something that would bring a lot of life to these movies, which is something i think this particular series could use. plus, while i don't want an exact retelling of SA2, i don't think you can have a shadow origin story without amy. at least not one i like. yes im still a little mad they gave her moment to chris in sonic x. i know why they did it like i get it. but also maaaannnn c'mon where's amy :(

also they should give shadow a gun and let tails kill the president

#the live action sonic movies feel like such a blind spot in my sonic analysis brain #like yeah ive seen em. do i remember much of them? nah #fernasks #sonic loreposting

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havin-fun-imagining-twd · 10 months

Text

Still beating

What - dealing with grief as the dust finally starts to settle. Dealing with grief regarding one specific character's death in particular. You know the one.

Genre - heavier, but we get devoted husband/father Daryl out of the mix. And we don't end the chapter on a bummer, never fear. This ain't a French movie, slowpokes

Relationships - wife Reader and husband Daryl as well as your baby. Familial affection with Rick, and that balance between friend and clergy for Father Gabriel.

Perspective - 3rd POV Daryl, and 2nd POV You

Pronouns - she/her

When - time jump! we've briefly hopped to post season 8, pre season 9 (but before The best kind of damn weird). This chapter takes place during the earlier phases of recovery and rebuilding after the war. The previous chapter, Scary as a sleepy kitten, took place during season 2.

TWs - grief, PTSD (including after SA), depression, self-loathing, and some cussing. This chapter is also kinda lengthy, friends, and had to have exposition. (Might should've sliced the chapter in half, but then we'd have another two-parter on our hands :P)

But how long though? - ...20 minutes or so?

Story references and Masterlist link? - under the cut

And is there a pic at the end as a prize for finishing? - yes :D

Have fun and happy reading!

References to other chapters - what we learned in The Interview. There is also grieving/anger as seen in The first Christmas 'without' Part 2 and its conclusion in I don't hate you, a happy reference to Happy 8th of July!, reference to those lovely tugging strings as found in Invisible Tugging Strings, Part 1 and Part 2 (Part 2 I reckon is still glitched and showing as labeled mature, the poor thing's been cleared about 7ish times via help ticket XD ).

There are a lot more details you might recognize, pop on by to the Official Masterlist here, or for those who prefer linear over non-linear, the Chronological Slowpoke Masterlist here

-----------------------

Still beating

She was doing real bad. The past few days had been especially bad. Grief has nasty ways of settling in and rearing its ugly head.

He didn’t know too much about what to do to help her, he’d never been good at that stuff. And there was no fixing all that happened, especially not when the last thing that happened was the worst thing that could’ve.

Other than if TJ or Judith died, it was the worst thing. And part of his wife died right alongside Carl.

Hell, she’d been the one to wait after Carl died, then turned, to pull the trigger.

Now, she felt dead, too.

Gabe had to suggest that she check her pulse when it got bad enough.

Just then, TJ started to wriggle and hum in an attempt to root at Daryl's bicep, which pulled him out of his worry for a second.

Gently, he began to bounce to try and keep his baby lulled. He knows Y/N wanted to breastfeed only to get her production up (and so TJ’s suckle could get stronger after the surgery), but Y/N was finally asleep.

Beginning with when Denise was killed, Y/N hadn’t been making as much as she first had. Then, the Saviors stopped the RV and surrounded them, and Negan did what he did. Then Daryl himself got taken away, then there was all the fighting.

And then Carl died.

Getting her milk to come back had been proving damned hard.

A handful of not-very-good times, they’d supplemented what milk she did make with watered-down formula and/or watered-down goat's milk.

One very bad time, they’d used sugar water to fill the babies’ bellies until Jesus got back with goat's milk. Just the one time they had to use sugar water, everybody made damn sure of that.

For now, Daryl could crack into what was still left of the goat's milk in the cooler, right? The two women in the Kingdom who had little guys had sent over actual breast milk with Carol a few days ago, but it was used up yesterday. That stuff had been a God-send, he couldn’t thank the ladies enough.

Between the two babies in Alexandria, TJ and Gracie, everyone had to be smart about using what formula was left. And given that the power got cut, keeping the goat's milk fresh was another problem, hence the cooler.

There was still a shit ton of clean-up had since the Saviors nabbed Alexandria’s storage, then firebombed the town. To make things worse, those assholes had their own compound destroyed, and Hilltop and the Kingdom got screwed, too. Even the beach women took another beating. Hell, and them junkyard people were literally all fucking gone except their leader chick.

So, Y/N breastfed the two babies as much she was physically able because there was no other option right now, all while working as the only other doc left standing in all five communities; she was running herself into the ground.

And with Carl gone…

It ain’t fair that she couldn’t make enough — it was Negan’s goddamned fault.

Which leads to what just went on: so Mich had told him, Y/N’d lashed out at Negan and the new doctor kid with the facial hair, what was his name, Sidney?

Daryl hadn’t been at the infirmary when it happened, but, according to Mich, she’d had to pull her out of the room. Once out, Y/N asked her about TJ, Judith, and Gracie to make sure they were safe, then disappeared after Mich had turned around. Straight up and bolted.

Daryl had checked the escape-closet first, but she wasn’t in there or the attic it connected to, wasn't on the roof that lead to.

He’d then checked the burned church. She’d been there, he recognized her boot prints, but she'd moved on. From there, he was able to follow her sooty tracks in the direction of the place he should’ve known to check first.

Sure enough, Y/N'd been at Carl’s grave.

His wife could barely look at him when he approached. He'd simply kissed her on the head and quietly walked her back home. Once home, he'd cleaned and bandaged her hand while she, again, tried to pump enough for TJ and Gracie.

Mich had told Daryl she’d get Rick for her, so he’d be here soon.

Daryl wracked his brain, he even prayed to learn what do to try to help carry Y/N through this shit.

At first, Y/N’d been pacing around the room, crying but trying not to, arms wrapped around her picture frame with a photo of Carl in it as if it was the only thing keeping her afloat.

He'd been able to persuade her to lay down, and ended up laying in bed with her and holding her tight, TJ next to them in little bassinet.

Initially, him holding her and pressing kisses to her neck had made her feel worse. More guilty, that is. A handful of days ago, something got into her head that she needed to give him a damn "annulment."

Nah, for real, she’d even said (to Gabe) that the two of them not having ever done the deed yet was "grounds" to give him one. “Grounds to free him,” were her exact words. It was a whole thing, and the couple of failed attempts at trying to do the deed after getting hitched some months back probably made her feel worse.

Father Gabriel had Daryl's back the whole time during the conversation, though, decent dude.

And no, Daryl wasn’t angry or even real hurt that she’d thought she had to ‘free him’ and shit, he knows it was the grief and physical exhaustion that got her to that point. His woman had full-on blacked out and hurt herself that day, which is why he'd brought her to Gabe in the first place.

But the, um, the walls were thinner than Daryl had expected, which is how he overheard from the person that he was gonna love and stay with and stay faithful to until he dropped dead softly confess that she was “selfish” to keep him “stuck” with a “batshit m-mess” like her and “a baby that ain’t his.”

The fact that Y/N kept maintaining how much she loved him and how she didn’t want no annulment helped it hurt less when she’d sounded just about convinced that it was “loyalty to me ’cause we’re close, loyalty to Rick,” and because of “he’s got so much shame. He feels responsible for what the Claimers did,” that made him marry her those months ago. "He loves our ch—my child, and might love me, but it's not fair to him. He deserves better, h-he needs better, the man's been trapped all his life. I-I don't want him trapped, I want him happy!"

Gabe never played into her fears. He been no nonsense about all of it, told Y/N that she needed a damn rest, and asked her to tell him what she thought about it when she woke up.

The good thing was that after a 5 hour period of uninterrupted sleep (during which they used some of the goat's milk for TJ and Gracie), she woke up in a daze at why she’d thought an annulment was something Daryl needed or wanted.

The bad thing was, she was then socked in the gut with more unearned guilt for it, then with worry that she was too far gone, or crazy, all that.

Been a bad, bad few days.

Been a lot of Daryl showing her love that she felt not worth being shown. So that she fell asleep in his arms today was such a damn win!

After getting up to take a leak and finding that Y/N was miraculously still asleep, he thanked whoever was up there, then tried to figure out what else he could do to help her get through today…and right at that moment, TJ started to rouse, so he got his answer: keep their baby comforted. More shut-eye could only do his woman well.

Deftly lifting the little bundle into his arms, he'd kissed the scar above the baby’s upper lip and tiptoed out to the hall, where he was now.

Lightly he bounced, softly he shushed. He held TJ like a football and moved back and forth, back and forth. Babies smell so damn good, and make the cutest damn noises!

After a couple minutes, through the open door, he peeked at his Y/N.

Shit. She was already sitting up and blinking off the sleep.

Whatever it was she did and said today, she felt low as hell about it, that much was clear. Without looking, she grabbed the now-broken picture frame and clutched it to her middle.

"You're supposed to be asleep, slowpoke," he tried to tease.

Her clothes had ashes from where it looked like she’d knelt down then sat down in the burned church. There was some dirt on them, too, from when she’d been at Carl’s grave. Daryl made a note to shake the sheets out later and pick the tissues up off the floor.

That's when the front door opened downstairs.

Was that Ri—good, that was Rick’s voice, he was finally there. There was a second voice, too, was that Father Gabriel’s? It was soft like Gabe's voice was.

Daryl looked downstairs.

Yup, it was Rick with the rev.

He waved them upstairs, but it must’ve been the clunking of the Gabriel’s new cane that got Y/N stumbling out of the room.

“Rev! I would’ve come to you, y-you need to be takin’ it easy.” She hugged the picture frame in one hand, gripped the banister in the other and started to go downstairs, asking Gabe how he felt, urging him to sit down, had his vision worsened, all that stuff.

“Y/N, more rest won’t stop me from losing sight in this eye,” Gabriel responded in his quiet way, remaining on the second step, not going up or down the stairs. He smiled. “You could say I’m the one making a house call to a patient this time."

She held back a sob and bowed her head. Then, she subtly slipped two fingers around the inside of her wrist…

Rick stepped the rest of the way up the stairs and put his hands on her shoulders. “What's going on, weirdo?”

“Ricky, I'm s-sorry."

He leaned closer and took her in for a hug. “Heart still beating?” he murmured.

Her inhale was shaky. “Mmhm. Yours?”

“Beating strong.”

TJ perked up and began to whimper upon hearing her voice. Y/N unzipped her hoodie to—she still had a gun on her?

Okay, that'd been stealth as fuck, it hadn't even been printing. He'd been literally holding her, how had he not noticed?

Daryl shared a glance with Gabe. Minus her screwdriver, she'd turned in her weapons after what happened the other day.

Y/N handed the small gun to Rick, who looked wary, but accepted it without question. She hesitated before reaching into her boot to hand over her screwdriver, too.

Daryl slid his hand around his wife’s waist to guide her back to the room. Without looking him in the eyes, she cupped his cheek and told him he was a good father. Then, frame still gripped under one arm, she took the baby into the other.

“Let’s try havin’ a snack before I go with Uncle Ricky awhile, okay, chickpea?” she murmured, then unbuttoned the top of her shirt.

Daryl took off his vest to give her some more coverage. When he draped the vest around her, she turned her head to kiss his hand. He felt his cheeks warm when she did that.

Walking into the room again, she softly told Daryl that he and Rick could sit on the beds. First, she placed the picture frame on one of the mattresses. Next, she took TJ and went beside the end table at the window to sit down on the floor beside it. The way she sat, it was kinda as if she were using it as a shield.

“Rev, please take the chair,” she mumbled to Gabriel with a glance at the only piece of furniture in the room at the time, other than the bassinet, a nightstand, and the end table. Negan had specifically left the rocking chair as a 'gift' for her. The piece of shit...

Anyway, Daryl had got them their two twin mattresses back (hey, squish them together and you get a big-ass bed) the first trip to and from the Savior’s compound after the war ended, once the Alexandrians had begun to move back from the Hilltop. Only, no bed frames yet.

“And sweetheart, I’ll-I’ll take the pumps with me for while I’m in there. Wanna make sure you and Aaron have enough for them,” she said to him, voice still raw. Y/N turned to him and gave him a wobbly smile. “Sorry I used up so much of the tissue supply,” she tried making light, but got close to tears again, so stumbled through asking “Can I, um, Rick, m-might can I bring my pillow? Is that okay?”

Go with Rick where, and take the breast pumps and her pillow, why? He made eye contact with Gabriel, who looked just as puzzled. So, he turned to Rick.

Rick lowered his eyebrows as if he didn’t know what she meant, either. He squatted to sit down on the mattress beside Daryl, and looked at his sister. “Y/N, where are we headed?”

Glancing up from the baby to him then to Daryl, she adjusted TJ’s position on her breast while she figured out how to answer, by the looks of it. Another glance at her husband as if she were worried about his reaction...

“Rick, I thought you was here to…escort me?”

Daryl had no clear idea what she meant, it was the rev who understood first.

“No,” Father Gabriel told her gently. “Y/N, you aren’t under arrest.”

Under arrest? Daryl fought between the urge to get angry or dead-ass laugh. 'Under arrest??'

It was for real, though. His wife’s tears started flowing again as she turned her attention to Rick and began to stress, “There can’t be no special treatment—”

“—Is this why you handed me your weapons? Why would you be under arrest?” Rick cut her off to question.

She stared as if he’d grown antlers. “I s-struck a patient, and, and—”

“—And I slit his throat open, which is why that 'patient' is in there in the first place,” he cut her off again, firm.

Thankfully, TJ let out a wail the same time mama wailed, “Ricky, y-you weren’t his medic!” pausing any further arguing.

Y/N gulped, pressed down on one breast, then the other. “I know there’s not much in ’em, Teddy-bear, but it-it’ll get better. It’ll come back,” she shushed, lifting him up and tucking herself back in. With a few kisses, she shushed, “You’ve gotten so much faster at drinking, babycakes”

Daryl got on the floor with her and took TJ back.

She avoided eye-contact again, and her lip wobbled again as she pulled the top of her shirt higher. That told him there’d been not much milk in there. And he could see all over her face that it was switching her on the legs with more false-ass, unearned guilt.

The familiar string in his chest suddenly tugged in her direction—next thing, he was resting his forehead on hers. “Hey. You’re makin’ more every day, angel,” he whispered in her ear. "And you're a damn good ma."

The way her expression softened and her body relaxed toward his felt better than fireworks going off on the Fourth 8th of July.

And as if he were back in that Georgia-in-July heat, Daryl just about melted right there on the floor when he saw his TJ, neck lifted high, making a face-scrunching, gummy smile at him. "Look how strong your neck is getting, ’lil badass, you’re rockin’ it!”

Shit, their kid was the best damn thing.

Y/N leaned against him and reached to lightly fluff their baby’s hair and rub their baby's teeny feet.

Gabriel sat in the rocking chair quietly, hands resting on his cane. He caught eyes with Daryl and nodded his head toward Y/N, glad to see her no longer convinced she needed to ‘free’ her husband.

Absorbed in the photo, Rick exhaled, then spoke up. “Y/N, how about we start from the beginning? What happened at the infirmary?”

She pressed tighter against Daryl as a pained noise left her throat. “Did you talk to Siddiq yet?” sounded very small.

“I want to talk to both of you.”

“And Michonne?”

He nodded. “She told me some.”

The big watch she’d kept from Dale tick-tick-ticked on her wrist. Then came the sound of light metallic clinking. Daryl didn’t have to look to see that she must’ve pulled out her brother’s necklace and was tugging on it.

“What I did ain’t excusable,” came out raspy and thick.

“It is," Rick answered.

“It’s not, especially not what I said to Sid—” a sob choked her response. She used Daryl's leather vest to hide her face before hugging it around herself like a blanket.

“Walk me through what happened first, kiddo, before you hit Negan with this?” Rick subtly gestured to the broken picture frame.

So she had smacked Negan in the face? Hot damn, Daryl was more in love with her already.

Y/N swallowed and shook her head. “They’d been lookin’ at it, the both of 'em.”

“At the picture?”

A tiny nod. “I’d left the room, and when I got back, they was looking at it. Siddiq brought it over to him. Tried to make like Negan was sad, too. Fuck that!”

TJ started rooting on his bicep again, but Daryl was on it. “Sorry, pipsqueak, I don’t got the right parts for that.” He started to massage the baby’s belly, and TJ quieted.

“It’s okay to let ’em cry a little, it-it helps restock these,” his wife tried joking, nodding down at her chest.

“Y/N.” Rick was delicate about coaxing her for more details. “You got back into the room, Siddiq and Negan were looking at the picture.”

“Negan’s filthy hands were on it,” she grit. "Lookin' at Carl and me, you with Shaney." The sounds of the pendant being pulled across the chain filled the room along with TJ’s soft cooing.

“Is that when you hit him with the frame?” Rick asked.

“No. I told him not to look at it again or touch it, and if he did, I’d hurt him.”

“Angel, slow your breathin’,” Daryl interjected at the same time that he figured out why those words sounded familiar: it was similar to how she'd warned the last Claimer fuckhead, the one who’d had Carl pinned down and was gon——Daryl shut down this brain for a sec, it was best not to think about that night.

He turned his head to see Rick, red-eyed, tracing his thumb along the photo of Carl, Y/N, Shane and him. Seems as if Rick had recognized her words, too.

“And when was it that you did hurt him?” Rick pressed on.

Y/N swallowed. “About half a minute later when he tried to act like it wasn’t his fault.”

Rick’s composure staggered and collapsed. His voice was hoarse when he managed to say, “It’s not his fault.”

But Y/N was fast to shut it down. “Don’t for one more second make like it’s yours, Ricky, you get that monkey off your back,” she comforted and somehow scolded both at once. “Negan was doing what Negan does when he, when he told you that. It was manipulation, nothin’ real. How C-Carl—” another choked-down sob, more tears.

Daryl noticed her press her fingertips to the spot under her chin, beside her jaw, checking her pulse to prove it was still beating.

“Negan had nothing to do with how Carl got bit,” Rick whispered. “You know it’s true, kiddo.”

“No—our boy wouldna ended up out there, w-with-with Siddiq, if it hadn’t been for Negan.” Her tone got louder and angry, her stress stutter became more noticeable, the way she tugged the necklace turned rougher. “He and his followers was why we weren’t able to trust no n-newcomers like Sid, which is why Sid was still out there alone, and, and, and why Carl went to him! It, it was because of Negan and his, and his, his-his cult!”

TJ seemed freaked out by the louder voice, the baby’s dark, blue-black eyes grown big.

Daryl spoke Y/N’s name to try and bring her back to herself, but she seemed to have very suddenly calmed.

She was blinking at her hand.

Daryl looked, and then saw the two halves of her brother Shane’s chain, broken.

“How many times did Carol warn me that this would happen when I tugged it,” she muttered to herself. "Good thing I didn't decide to tug on the rosary, huh?"

Inhaling, she leaned her head against the wall behind her, staring into space, fingers to her wrist to check her pulse again.

From beside her, he covered her hand in his. Then, pressing his lips to her fist, Daryl took the necklace from it. He could fix it.

“I lost my temper again, I’m sorry,” she spoke to all in the room, her hand cupping Daryl's cheek a moment. Then, more quietly, she looked at Rick. “How many days’ll I be in there?”

Which sent Daryl straight back to disbelief he was hearing those words, what absolute bullshit. “Y/N, you ain’t going nowhere.”

“You’re not going to a cell, Y/N,” Rick echoed.

“No special treatment,” she softly repeated. “If I were anybody else—”

Rick interrupted her “—It’s not about who you are.”

Father Gabriel had gotten up and was making his way to Y/N by then.

Y/N shook her head at the conversation, tired. “If I were anybody else or had any other orle, and if he were anybody else,” she caught her breath, “there’d be reper-re-rep—” a few more tries, and she had to choose a different word, “consequences. Assault and battery on an un-unarmed person—a patient—from their medical provider, that’s serious.” Her hand was back to covering her face. She sat pressed against the wall, knees at her chest.

“You and Siddiq are the only doctors left. We couldn’t just put you in a cell even if you had earned it.”

“I ain't a doctor, at best, I’m a medic,” she grunted. “And I did earn it, just ask him and Michonne. As for my,” she made a shaky inhale, “my duties, I can be escorted out.”

“And TJ? Gracie?” Daryl put out there, hoping to guilt her out of insisting she get jail time, like, what the fuck. What kind of conversation was this?

Screw this, he couldn't even sit. He stood, shaking his head and pacing around the room, still holding TJ.

The expression on Y/N's face should’ve been enough to calm him down, along the defeated, quiet way she reasoned, “I’ll pump and y’all will visit. It’s—no, sweetheart—it’s only for a few days,” when he started to dead-ass leave. As if her being in there ‘only for a few days’ would help this bullshit make sense.

But that’s when he ended up snapping, “This is goddamn bullshit! You bopped a sick fuck on the nose with a picture frame, who the fuck will care? Rick, why you even entertainin' this shit?” and he regretted doing so as soon as he barked it out.

The old, invisible knee rammed him in the nards harder when Rick cautioned, "Brother," and Gabe finally opened his mouth, and louder than Daryl had ever heard him speak. “She cares, Daryl. So do I.”

And to make it all worse, their baby had given a start in fear when he’d shouted, and now the poor kid was screaming—and TJ doesn’t scream, shit, shit, he blew up while holding his child?

“M’sorry! M’sorry," he hushed to his baby, "I love you so much, kid, I’m so sorry I scared ya. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.” With a kiss on TJ’s wild head of hair, he murmured, “Pipsqueak, your old man is an idiot.”

Y/N rushed over when TJ screamed, but she didn’t take the baby away from Daryl. Instead, she caressed her husband’s forearm and the tricep and spoke to their child. “Your daddy’s got you safe,” she soothed.

He knew she was trying to look him in the eyes, but he couldn’t return it. He’d just scared an infant because he couldn’t check his temper. Their infant.

His wife’s quiet assurance cut through the rushing in his head. “Daryl? TJ ain’t hurt, sugar, and you’re not a bad father. Do some skin to skin, okay?” She pecked a kiss on his cheek. “And that's a dollar for cussing, pay up later.”

She then sat back down on the floor next to where the rev had made his new seat. Daryl took the now-empty rocking chair, unbuttoned his and TJ’s shirts, then nestled the kid on his chest.

Y/N then told the room the rest of what happened, how after Negan croaked out with what voice he had left, saying it 'wasn’t his fault Carl was dead', that she’d turned around and whacked him across the face with the frame.

Siddiq had reacted by grabbing her shoulders from behind to pull her away from Negan — so she had shoved back and kneed him in the dick plus rammed her head against his, dropping the frame in the process. The frame broke as a result—and when it broke, she'd lost her cool, said some shit, and threw some shit. Mich heard the hubbub and intervened, then Y/N hid herself away cause she 'knew' she was 'gone crazy.'

As far as Daryl was concerned, the new doc was lucky all he got was a shove, a knee to jewels, a clunk on the head, and some words and maybe a clipboard thrown at him, because Y/N could fight damned well. She'd had it drilled into her how and when to do it. Freely taught others moves, too.

When she’d showed Carol some techniques, way back, it was one of the things that sent him falling for her.

And…Y/N might’ve not said it out loud, but when she described how Siddiq grabbed her from behind to pull her away, everyone in that room got why it caused her to react strong.

What she described herself as doing would’ve been instinct.

Siddiq wouldn’t know why. Negan might, the fucker had watched the tape of her Deanna interview.

“See?” Y/N blew her nose again, sniffed, and stared at the floorboards. “It’s not right to Sid or the community to, to have what I did go unchecked. And what I said to Siddiq was so cruel. What’s worse is I meant it. Fuck, I still do.”

What she'd said was basically that she wished he’d gotten bit instead of Carl, and that it was just as much Siddiq's fault that the boy was dead as it was Negan’s. That 'he should be dead.'

She grimaced, then caressed the watch on her wrist. Must’ve been thinking of Dale. “Ain’t fair to…Negan, neither. If there’s anything Carl taught us, it’s that,” she whispered.

Rick lifted the frame to kiss his son’s picture, wiped a couple tears away. “When I talked with Sid, he was…alarmed. Worried. He thought it was off-character.”

Y/N went rigid where she sat. “Siddiq wasn’t there two years ago.”

Daryl lifted the baby higher on his chest and snuggled closer.

Rick shook his head. “You wishing someone dead, or, dead instead of another, is very off-character, it’s not you. No—don’t shake your head, Y/N.” Her brother maintained, “Even back then, after what happened, you didn’t wish me dead. You wished that Shane was still alive, not that I was dead instead. Even if you did say those things, it wouldn't have been the truth, just the hurt speaking.”

“I attacked you and told you I would kill you. And I-I meant it at the time, you know that.”

“And for a couple days, you left, because you didn’t actually want that. You knew it was wrong.”

“Which is why I need to get put away for a couple days. I decided to hurt a patient and his doctor, my own fr—” She wasn’t able to say what was probably the word ‘friend.’ Y/N bit her lip, and continued, “Then hurled words at him what nobody should get hurled at them.” She swallowed a cuss and grabbed another tissue.

“You’re exhausted, Siddiq knows that.” Rick pointed out. “We’re not ourselves when we’re—”

Y/N wasn’t having it. Probably too exhausted, to tell the truth.

“We’re all exhausted. C’mon, man, you just lost your son!” A sob left her and she tried to breathe through her nose. Checked her pulse again.

“You were also reacting to how he yanked you back, kiddo. That's not nothing.”

Daryl gave Rick a warning glance.

Rick saw, nodded, and held up a hand, which made Y/N turn to see what Daryl was doing. But Daryl simply kissed TJ on the head, not saying nothing.

She wasn’t fooled. When Y/N looked back at Rick after giving her husband a look of it’s okay, Daryl gave Rick another warning glare, then a nod.

“You didn’t react like that without reason, Y/N. There’s no shame to admit it was a trigger.”

She grumbled at the word. “Trauma ain’t an excuse to traumatize others.” After exhaling, she ran her hands over her face and took a moment. Hardly louder than a whisper, she challenged, “Ricky, not all my problems stem from the rapes. I’ve always been too hot-headed.”

At that moment, Daryl wanted to scoop her and TJ up and drive them away from everything, keep the two of them safe and unbothered for a month or two or four.

“Getting grabbed like that m-might, y’know, might could’ve reminded me of it—when they—" She ran a hand through her hair. "Okay, it did get me going. But, I,” she paused. “It wasn’t that I saw red or blacked out, I chose to keep goin’ once I’d started. I threw stuff because I was raging, I didn't want to stop because I thought he deserved it.”

Y/N fiddled with Dale’s watch, and turned to Father Gabriel beside her and almost smiled at him, close to the way she used to smile at Glenn, as if he were in on a joke. “Here I’d hoped I was re-domesticated by now.”

“Let us give thanks that you’re still housebroken,” he responded, taking Daryl by surprise. "You're...still housebroken, are you not?"

The way Y/N then cracked up and grinned woke up the butterflies in his stomach.

“Y/N, you’ve come miles since I first met you,” Gabriel told her softly, smiling back.

“All the way from Georgia,” she joked back, then grew more serious. “You’ve grown a whole lot, too.” She wiped her eyes, and Gabe closed his.

“And Y/N,” he shook his head. “You aren’t losing your humanity. I know you’re frightened of that, after what you told me happened to your other brother.”

It hadn’t even registered in Daryl’s mind that Shane’s memory would be scaring her. She loved her brother like hell, but she was always terrified of going down the same path he did.

He looked to Rick to see what his reaction was. His reaction was tear-rimmed eyes and a nod of his head toward TJ, silently asking if he could hold the baby awhile. Daryl nodded, Rick stood, and returned Y/N the frame as he walked by to pick up the little one.

Hands empty, Daryl took out his army knife and the broken chain from his pocket so he could fix his woman’s necklace. Wasn’t gonna be hard.

He heard Y/N whisper, “Hey, punk. Miss you. Miss you, too, loser.” He let his eyes travel to where she sat under the window, and watched her kiss the picture and well up. It was the old one of her and preschool-age Carl photobombing Rick and Shane, after one of them got some kind of cop award.

Clutching it once more to her belly, she and Father Gabriel then started to talk in low voices with one another.

“The red haze in your right sclera is so close to begin' clear. Did you talk to Rosie today? She’s been seeming less depressed.”

“I thought this was me visiting my patient, not the other way around,” Gabe gently hinted. “Y/N, please talk to me.”

Daryl heard her sniffle. “Rev, but I don’t want to have meant those words. I’ve been workin’ on it. It-it might be his fault, but I know he’s innocent, he’s humane—Sid even counts walkers like I do, man, yet still, I—” her breathing shuddered. “After whatever this mess is kicked in, every time I see him now, I hate him. Why do I hate a decent person?”

“Grief,” he offered simply. He gave her another shrug and small smile. “Keep doing what you have been. It will get easier every day, the same way your, um,” he was careful about his wording regarding her tits, “that you have more for the little ones every day.”

She huffed but didn’t raise her voice again, she stayed quiet as could be. “It don’t feel like none of that’s happening.”

“Our perception of things doesn’t always equal the truth, Y/N.” Gabe seemed to take a moment. Maybe he was praying.

Y/N’s fingers found her pulse again.

“We are all healing,” Gabriel next said, and smiled again. “Your heart is still beating, is it not?”

Y/N stared for a few moments, caught in the act. Eyes meeting Daryl’s for a moments, she removed her fingers from her neck, and inclined her head at the reverend. “What about yours?” she asked softly.

“Still beating. And that’s the proof,” he assured her just as softly. “Y/N, as for the way you understand your actions and your emotions toward him as not being right, I would like you to take it as a comforting sign. And, you just handed over a weapon you plainly wanted to keep concealed, you didn’t use said weapon to hurt Negan, either,” he pointed out, for which Daryl was grateful. “Perhaps, if you begin to make excuses, begin to feel no sense of having done wrong when you have, I will worry.”

Weirdly enough, he next grinned up at the ceiling. “But I am not, because you are simply broken and in need of healing. You’ll get there, as will I,” he held his hand out to the room. “As will your brother, your husband. All of us.” He sighed. “So long as our hearts are still beating.”

Daryl looked back at his wife in time to see her bit her wobbling lip and nod. Her gaze turned to Rick with the baby. He was kissing TJ’s scrawny little feet.

Her face softened seeing them, and as Daryl’s stomach fluttered again, she turned to look at him. His stomach full-on did a happy flip (and, yeah, he lost his grip on the necklace’s broken link and dropped it).

Y/N said to Rick, “Well, we still need to show ’em that Alexandria—that you—are accountable and fair. How many nights will do, you think?”

Rick shook his head. “Zero. But, because you have a point and won't take 'zero' as an answer,” he quickly added, “how about one?”

“For a piggy, you’re actin’ awful chicken.”

He was unmoved by the cop joke. “Bawk, bawk.”

And Y/N laughed, for what it was worth. And it was worth everything, hot damn was that laugh the best sound.

Daryl figured he might as well check, “What about bail, that still a thing?”

“Not with you owing a whole dollar. That’ll take weeks to pay off,” she said, back to doing her best to lighten up things. He loved her so fucking much, goddamn.

“Supervision when outside the cell,” she stated to Rick.

He shook his head again. “I have a better sentence in mind. When I saw you wearing Lori’s belt earlier today, it reminded me of it. See, and you left this at the infirmary.” He reached into his jacket pocket.

Recognition swept across her face when he held it out. “Do you think he’ll feel safe?”

“The headphone cord is too thin to choke him with, it’d snap.”

“Ricky, that joke was very dark,” she lightly chided.

He squinted, kissing TJ’s feet one more time first. “I hereby sentence you to one night—”

“—Three.”

“One in lock-up,” he spoke over her, then was fast to tack on, “with Daryl and this one as guards.” He motioned to the baby.

"Women shouldn't have male guards," she dryly droned.

"Overruled. You'll also get supervised outings for your duties tomorrow and the day after, including the trip to the Hilltop for Maggie’s prenatal visit. And,” he held up the music player, “you’ll need to listen to music with Siddiq on this. We know it works.” He cocked his head. “Let’s start with 20 minutes per day, like you and I had.”

Some tears slipped out even though she was smiling. She mouthed I love you to him, then asked out loud, “How many days?”

Rick squinted. “Fourteen.”

---------------------------

You

“You pick the songs. Whatever you like,” you told him, staring at the photo and rubbing the ‘22’ pendant over your lips. Daryl fixed the chain for you shortly after you’d broken it. You really love him.

Sid accepted the mp3 player out of your hand.

You and he each had one earbud in, one apple beside you, and Michonne sat nearby with Judith. Supervision was your stipulation, yet being proactive about ensuring it had done nothing for how humiliating it was.

Still, you took an objective look and figured Siddiq should know that his safety mattered, that your people were fair and held themselves to standards.

Just looking around the place, it looked as if standards were a given here. That Alexandria’s power grid and some panels were already repaired within three weeks of Negan’s razing was almost unbelievable.

Sucks for the Saviors Cult that the community had been built to withstand up to magnitude 4.1 earthquakes and be fairly fire-safe as part of its self-sustaining (and for-politicians) model, so in the least, a good number of the homes were still standing.

Carl's gazebo was another story, as were other similar structures, like the church, but the ash had been washed off by the rain, and the communities' walls were back up.

Next to you, Siddiq asked you how to work the mp3, citing, “Carl had been the one to…”

Had been the one to work it when he borrowed it to visit you out there, in order to show you some kindness. Before he got himself bit because of you.

The words festered inside of you. Whatever. Let them fester, you felt dead anyway.

As you went to point to show him, the picture hung from your outstretched, bandaged hand. The pic you'd chosen this time was another older one from the before-times, not one of the newer polaroids. You'd been the one to take it, actually, using a disposable camera about five and a half, maybe six years ago.

It was blurry, Lori and Carl had been being silly and stopped posing, Rick was mid-comment. You loved this one.

It felt so unreal now, felt fake.

Felt dead.

You checked your pulse. Still beating.

“The, um, just use-use those two buttons there for up and down to search,” you mumbled, tucking the photograph into your shirt pocket. “That one is for back, that one for options. Press down on the middle to click.”

He went huh. “Here’s the Indian music playlist,” he chuckled. Appears he’d found the Desi Party! playlist. Carl told you he’d played it for him.

Before he’d gotten fucking bitten.

How could your heart rage and ache so much if you were dead?

“It’s got all sorts on it,” you replied blankly to Siddiq. Remembering your oldest sister who’d made all the playlists before handing her mp3 down to you, it felt like she was made up. Felt like everyone was made up, fake. Dead.

“My mother was a big filmi fan,” he shared.

But you simply repeated, “Pick to whatever you like, you’re in charge of the songs.”

There was no emotion in your voice. You didn’t want to chat with him, didn’t want to nerd out about Bollywood music, and also didn’t want to face him after saying such awful things to him early today.

Hating him felt right. It felt "deserved," which is a word you'd learned to not use, thanks to Dale.

Granted, hating Siddiq felt wrong, too, which invited shame to take a seat on your lap.

So, you followed the rev’s advice and took comfort in the shame because it meant your conscience was still ordered in a good direction. It meant you weren’t fully dead yet.

You checked your pulse again to remind yourself that it was still beating. Life was still going.

Father Gabriel had also told you that feeling dead didn’t make you a bad mother or a bad wife or bad person, it simply meant you were broken and grieving.

“Y/N?”

“What?” you growled — and immediately wished it hadn’t come out that way. In your head, you told Carl you were sorry, you’d do better next time. Then, you prayed to stop hating the sight of Siddiq, the sound of his voice. Wished Dale or Hershel or T-Dog or Deanna or Denise or Sasha were there for, for—advice, support, you don’t know…

And because the rev has enough on his plate and needs to rest, maybe later you’d risk everyone’s ire and sneak away to visit Mr. Jones at the junkyard. At least he wasn’t dead yet, too. Maybe visiting him would convince him to move back to Alexandria.

“I never apologized for pulling you backward like that,” Siddiq said to you, a little short. Couldn’t blame him.

In truth, you had done all you were going to do to Negan after smacking him the once, but Sid wouldn’t have known that. Wouldn’t have known how grabbing you like that would flip an alarm, either.

No use moping, if your positions were reversed, you’d have wrangled him back, too.

And yet, you just caught yourself licking your teeth and sneering in response to his apology.

But it wasn’t out of anger or hatred so much as…you still aren’t certain what the emotion was. Grief, depression, shame, all three. You supposed it didn’t make a difference. Didn’t feel like much of anything.

Briefly, you put two fingers to your neck to check your pulse again. Still beating. Still alive.

Alive, and needing to eat some crow, as it were.

“Don’t apologize, you were protectin’ our patient. What I did was wrong,” you recited. “I-I threatened a patient and then whacked him across the face.” Your conscience then prompted you to apologize again for what you’d said to him. “And, just—Siddiq, what I said to you was bullshit and lies and m'sorry I said it. Cruel bullshit, naught else. Don’t go believing a word of it.”

He wasn’t clicking through the playlists and songs anymore.

Appearing uncomfortable, he peeked at you before he put his attention back on the mp3. “Michonne said pulling you like that was a trigger, which is why you, um…I’m sorry,” he said again. “I didn’t know.”

First, you relaxed your jaw. “Ain’t your job to know. It’s mine to learn past it.” Next, you spackled on something of a smile and added quietly, “It’s good that you, that you stepped in. Thank you.” You did mean it, for what it was worth.

How many minutes until the twenty was up, you wondered, and tried to not be obvious about checking the time on your wrist. Eyeing Michonne, she seemed more preoccupied with Judith than with being punctual regarding your penance/sentence.

“PTSD is serious. That’s why I’m sorry, I, um,” Siddiq faltered. He went back to clicking through the music choices.

“We all have at least a little PTSD, bud.” With a light nudge to try and convey camaraderie or something, you attempted to tease, “C'mon, you chosen at least one song, yet?”

“Sorry, let me just, uh…” and with a few more clicks, the first song started. It was Bohemian Rhapsody.

“You chose the playlist ‘Songs Everyone Likes.’”

He chuckled awkwardly. “Yeah, figured I couldn’t go wrong with that one.”

The memory of belting out this song with Carl, Glenn, Beth, and Maggie before your group even found the prison whooshed back and you started to smile—until you remembered that Carl was gone now. He was dead.

You’d forgotten all of that for hot second, but your Carl was dead. So was Glenn. So was Beth. So was Lori, who'd joined, so was T-Dog, so was...

Maybe you were dead, too. You felt dead—so, you pressed your fingers to your neck to feel for a pulse.

Still beating.

The lyrics of the song began to register. You know, the early parts like ‘I don’t wanna die,’ and ‘carry on, as if nothing really matters.’ Sounded a little too personal, tell you the truth.

And just like that, the song was skipped. You glanced at Siddiq.

He shook his head. “Not the right mood for it.”

“Mm.”

The intro to the next song in the shuffle was very bouncy, and ‘Dance to the Music’ started to jive through the earbuds. You didn’t sway along like you naturally would have. No urge to.

The song played, finished.

“First time I heard this was in Shrek,” Siddiq made small talk while munching on his apple. “Love that movie.”

You might’ve hummed in acknowledgment, you aren’t sure. He handed your apple to you, you took it. Held it.

The next song started, ‘Young Hearts Run Free.’

The song played, finished.

Siddiq made more small talk. “I remember that one in Romeo + Juliet, the one with, um, Leo DiCaprio. We watched that version in high school after we finished reading it.”

You hummed again. Pressed your fingers to your wrist, just in case. But no, your heart was still beating.

The next song started, ‘Jumpin’ Jack Flash.’

“A lot of oldies,” he commented once the singing began. He took the final nibble off his apple.

“But goodies,” you responded, willing yourself to sound less stiff and monotone. “Modern stuff is on this playlist, too, don’t worry.”

The song played. Finished.

The next song started. ‘Another One Bites the Dust.’ Siddiq promptly skipped it once the refrain started and the lyrics sank in.

“Good call,” you grunted.

The next song started. ‘Ain’t No Mountain High Enough.’

“Oh n—please skip this one, too." You loved that one, but you’d queued it up for Glenn at his and Maggie’s wedding, and it was not the time to go reminiscing. You swallowed the lump in your throat. Checked your pulse. Still beating. "Please skip 'Thunderstruck' if it comes on, too?”

The mp3 player clicked as Siddiq skipped the song. Next on the shuffle was ‘Under Pressure.’

He adjusted his seat and coughed. “This one fits.”

A combination sigh/groan was your contribution, because he was right. The two of you were the only doctors major medical personnel left standing.

The song played. Siddiq’s knees and wrists bounced to the rhythm where he sat beside you. You stared at your boots. Where’d all the soot and dirt on them and your clothes come from, you couldn’t remember…

…

It was when a strong gust of cold wind blew that you noticed that the music had stopped, your earbud was out, and the sky wasn’t as cloudy anymore.

When did that happen?

You sat up and blinked a few times, your apple still in one hand, Shane’s necklace in the other.

“Hey,” you heard Siddiq call.

What, why were your cheeks wet? “S-sorry, I,” you dropped the necklace, wiped your eyes with your sleeve, and put the apple down, “must’ve, um, checked out.”

“I’m not sure how long it was after it began when I noticed the change,” he let you know. “Is…this what happened earlier?”

You closed your eyes and shook your head. “Earlier was somethin’ else. This was just—” ‘Dissociation,’ was a misunderstood word, so Denise taught you. And you didn’t want to use the word for that reason.

You really wanted to keep a shred of dignity for yourself in the eyes of that guy. He didn’t even know that you’d hurt yourself when you’d ‘blacked out’ the other day…so, you decided upon a white lie highly euphemistic layman's term. “I spaced out.”

He nodded, but his brows sunk, as if he weren’t buying it.

And when he did that thing where someone slightly opens their mouth because they’ve put together a response, you changed the subject. “Listen to anythin’ good while I was in space?”

Siddiq wasn’t swayed. “Do you still feel detached?”

“A little,” you answered truthfully, breathing deep and checking your watch to try gauging how long you’d been out. Except, you had no recollection of what time it had been earlier, so it was a bust. God save you, you were a mess.

“Sid. I’m sorry you’re trapped dealin’ with this shit, it ain’t fair to you. If, if you wanna bounce early, don’t feel obligated to stay, and, and—like, if you don’t wanna do this whole music thing, it’s fine. W-we don’t want you feelin’ unsafe.”

“Unsafe? Y/N, I…” he paused. “I forgive you for what you said earlier. And I’m not scared of you. Hitting Negan wasn’t okay, but…” another pause. “Compared to the way most others are baying for his blood and how you defended saving his life, I mean—you helped me save him, Y/N—” He lifted his hands, palms to the sky. “You’re my friend, we work together, it’s not like I can’t see that you’re drowning.”

Nothing prepared you to hear that.

He was calling you a friend and was still trying to be understanding, after all that…

You wanted to slam your head on a hard, rough surface and cry from the shame and simultaneous relief. You also didn’t want to accept it, and so pushed back: “You were alone out there too long. Friends d-don’t tell friends they wish they were dead.” And mean it, you did not confess.

But of all things, he merely raised one shoulder and snorted. “I’m a really good friend?”

Tears spilled at the same time that you almost laughed. No, it's true, you almost laughed. Things felt a little unreal again, but in not a bad way. The most you could do right then was send up thanks for the mercy that came out of the mess. You pinched your wrist first, then felt for your pulse.

“Compared to a few minutes ago, do you feel more like yourself now?” Siddiq made sure.

Huh. You used to ask Shane a very similar question, when he was forgetting his goodness.

You kept feeling the small beats at your wrist, reminding you that you were indeed alive, therefore capable of healing and growth.

“Heart’s still beating,” you sniffled, making yourself smile at him. The hatred and disgust you’d felt earlier seemed to you less like a fact and more like a bad dream.

Then, from the far right of the oak tree, you heard Aaron’s voice saying, “Not yet, man, they’ve got four minutes left.”

Aaron and Daryl then came into view. They waved to you as they walked by with the babies, another reminder that you that you weren’t fully dead inside. Gracie was in a stroller, TJ was bundled in Daryl’s arms. Your husband lingered behind, eyes on you as he absently pecked a kiss to your baby’s covered head.

Something stirred, and your chest fluttered and tugged in their direction, reminding you again that your heart was still beating. So was Maggie’s, so was her and Glenn’s baby’s, so was Rick’s, so was Aaron’s. Life was still going. You had a child, a husband; lifelines. Their hearts were still beating, too.

The unexpected wink and the way Daryl’s gaze softened as he looked at you made you feel as if you’d been freezing and someone just handed you a cup of cocoa with mini marshmallows. The way he next moved his lips to pronounce ‘troublemaker,’ however, you ought to have seen coming a mile away.

The heaviness in your body eased a bit. A smile started prodding the corners of your mouth. Shyly, you returned the wave and mouthed ‘mangy hick,’ your wrist bumping against the photograph sticking from your shirt pocket.

Aaron noticed him acting like a dope lagging and gestured for him to keep up. “Four more minutes and we’ll come back to get her.”

Daryl called out "slowpoke," and waved your baby’s little arm to the two of you as they walked away. He kept peeking behind him, too, it warmed you. When they reached far enough, you once again took the photograph out from your pocket.

With a final peek at Carl’s picture, you sent up a prayer and reaffirmed the promise that you’d made to him. That you’d live for him, do him proud.

So long as your heart was still beating, you’d try to do him proud. “Seems you and I got four more minutes, Sid. What’ll we pick?”

-------------------------

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yesimwriting · 1 year

Text

What Follows

a/n can (likely) see myself making a part 2 of this, it’s like 4:30 AM and i cannot make that decision rn,, so if you think that’s a good idea or are interest,, lmk, public opinion could make or break my decision once i’m better rested

Summary: If you had to think about the coincidences that brought you to this, you’d realize that it was inevitable. Domino pieces falling into place. Or, to put it simply, it’s the end of the world and yet your biggest concern is your teeny tiny...terrible, life ruining crush.

*cough* sharing bed trope, and some other stuff

also i’ve never played the game i’ve only watched the show but i have some context of the game (i’ve watched some videos),, but timeline wise,, location wise, it’s pretty general as i’m just going with what fits for my intended story line like i do with most fics :)) it’s mainly set in a sort of safe house

warnings: potential timeline errors, mentions of age gap that’s pretty vague, allusions to anxiety and canon angsty-ness

----

Memories of before are tricky. Most of them hybrids, odd mix-matches of true experiences and snippets of other things. Stories from an uneasy rotation of people, bits and pieces from books and magazines and other odds and ends. A collage that makes up an easily swayed perception of the world before.

But you know this one is real. You know it is because it’s so mundane there’s no way someone gave it to you. It’s a quick glimpse, a brief flicker of you in a pair of roller skates with those thick, plastic stoppers attached to the front. The memory isn’t of what they felt like, or how many laps you did up and down your block. All you remember is the stinging. The soft skin of your knee scraped raw by the sidewalk. The particularness of that kind of pain.

That’s what the realization feels like. Knowing that there’s a chance that you might feel something for Joel outside of general gratitude for the unofficial way Ellie and him took you in is speeding down a street just to collapse with no warning against unforgiving concrete.

His fingers brush around broken skin with a delicateness that turns you rigid. These are the same hands that beat a man within an inch of his life the first time he met you. It’s a juxtaposition that twists your nerves tight around your stomach.

It’s quiet now. More so than usual because Ellie’s asleep. If you had to come to your realization at all, you should have done it during the day. With Joel at a safe distance and Ellie awake to distract from the fact that you’ve been staring at his hand in total silence for minutes now. A violently out of character mistake, which is why you’re not surprised when his voice breaks the nothingness with a question: “You alright?”

You sit up a little straighter. “Yeah.” It comes out flat and distant. “Yeah,” you affirm, a little more here, “Just thinking.”

Ugh. Not nearly deflective or subtle enough. It’s the kind of cop out answer that worked in the beginning, before there was any form of attachment. Back then, you thought you’d only be around them for a few days. Until the swelling in your ankle went down enough to let you walk efficiently again. It was the least they could do then, after you jumped in to save Ellie when Joel and her were briefly separated.

Joel’s mouth pulls into a shadow of a frown in the low light. A pang of guilt strikes you in the chest with no warning. Slipping back to that for no real reason goes a step beyond unfair; it’s mean. “I remembered something from before.” Joel says nothing, but his eyes refocus on you in a way that feels attentive. “Nothing big or interesting, just remembered these roller skates from when I was a kid. The one time I went out without knee pads I fell and scraped my knee.”

His hand shifts away from your current injury--a long, yet shallow cut up your foreleg. Joel’s fingertips ghost up the skin, there and not at the same time. He settles his palm near your knee. “Is that how this happened?” There’s a hint of something in his voice, a touch of gentleness that makes you feel like he might be teasing you, at least a little.

That kind of humor is new. Well, not new new anymore, but new enough to still sometimes slip past your perception or take you completely by surprise. Joel’s transition from constantly distant and standoffish to who he is now was equal parts slow as it was all at once. Weeks of tiptoeing, of hesitant flashes of a softer side until it became more and more there. It’s still not the side of him that’s most common, but considering the place where the two of you started from, the difference feels like miles from the sad starting point.

You blink, tilting your head downwards to focus on the skin next to his thumb. A scar that’s little more than a blemish. The kind of mark that’s a result of picking at a scab again and again. “That’s nothing.” It’s such a small thing and Joel pointed it out so quickly. Like he knows your skin better than you do. Dwelling on that thought isn’t an option, so you recover with a question, “How’d you even see that?”

Joel raises his eyebrows as if your surprise is something worth being amused by. “When you get used to seeing, it’s easy.”

Of course it’s that. Considering how Joel is, how he always scouts out areas before letting us settle, it makes sense that he’d notice that. It’d be weirder if he didn’t. You press your foot into the ground, letting the feel of the dirt compacting itself beneath your shoe hold you in place. You’re almost embarrassed that you’ve never noticed the mark on your knee enough to fully register it. “I’ll let you check the rest of me for scars later then.”

What. Did. You. Just. Say. What.

Your entire body becomes as stiff as the trunk you’re leaning against. There are a lot of things you don’t know about attraction and dating, but you’re not so dense you can’t tell that that’s the worst line you’ve ever heard.

Staring at the ground forever feels like the only safe option left, but it’s extremely unviable. After a few seconds, not knowing starts to feel as bad as knowing so you force yourself to look up enough to see him. He’s staring at you, mouth morphing into a subtle smile. He lets out a breathy scoff that’s supposed to cover a laugh, but you know better by now than to fall for that.

“I didn’t say that.” With a sigh, you let your eyes shut. “I mean--I said it as in the words did come out of my mouth--but not like--y’know.”

Joel laughs again, this time more openly. It’s deep and full and makes the burning of your humiliation worth all of it. “I know?”

Squinting your eyes open, you take in his smugness. It’s different and oddly warm. And unfortunately, not unattractive. “You’re not funny.” Indignation makes you want to pull your leg back, and you should. You know you should. If there was any concern about the cut on your leg, Joel wouldn’t be joking. But he relaxes his hand, fingers splaying against your skin. “So what’s the verdict: Keeping the leg or cutting my losses?”

Joel lets out another breath-laugh. This time it’s shorter. “And I’m the unfunny one?” Yeah, that’s the kind of response that guarantees your safety. The kind of comment he’d only ever make if everything is truly fine. “You’re okay.”

“Just like I told you--”

He ignores the comment with an expert’s ease. “Tomorrow I’ll go out, get some penicillin.”

“Shit.” You frown, turning your leg out slightly to get a better look. This is easily one of the most embarrassing injuries of your life. Not inflicted by the monsters that infest your world or a corrupt person. The only thing you’re a victim of is not paying enough attention while panicking and not noticing a jagged rock. It’s nothing life changing, nothing worthy of this much attention or discussion. “It’s infected?”

Joel’s hand relaxes against your lower knee. It’s more of an implication of pressure than an actual change, but your body reacts to it all the same. You ease. “It was a muddy rock.” He pauses, like he’s running through his words. “Better safe.”

Oh. Preventative antibiotics. A kind thought, but it feels unrealistic. “If nothing’s wrong, I don’t think we should risk it.” You blink, eyes struggling to focus on anything other than the hand still on your knee. If Joel feels awkward about it, he gives no indication. Which means it must be normal. Joel’s too him to do anything not normal when it comes to touch. “You’re hurt. More hurt than me, who’s just an idiot.”

“’M fine.” Tell that to the flash of purple you saw when Joel’s shirt briefly rode up this morning. It had only been that way for a second, but that was all it took for you to realize that Joel’s bruising is larger than the size of your hand. You wouldn’t be surprised to find out that he has a cracked rib.

You must let your disbelief show because the corner of his mouth turn upwards. Not quite a smile, but it’s close enough. “Tell that to your probably cracked rib.”

“I’m fine,” he repeats, and when you don’t ease, he tacts on something fatal, “Don’t pout.”

The joke is nothing original. Back in the ‘early’ days of your friendship, when things were rockier and less known, Joel had pointed out your expressiveness. He claimed it made it too easy to figure out more or less what you were thinking. It hadn’t been an insult, but it bothered you more than it should have. Which is a fact that Joel used to prove his hypothesis correct, because he then immediately told you that there was no point in pouting about it.

Joel only says it in good humor. You know that, but that doesn’t mean you like it. It all goes back to the same thing. An implication that you’re transparent. You hate it.

Transparency is for the naive, for those who haven’t experienced enough to be hardened. It makes you feel like a child, and maybe that’s intentional. Maybe it’s Joel’s equivalent to patting you on the head and telling you to cheer up, kiddo.

You’ve never understood the way the implication manages to snag itself beneath your skin, but now that you’re examining it under the lens of your new realization, it’s too much. There’s a good chance he sees you like another kid to look after.

“I’m not pouting.” A bad kind of heat rises up your chest. Instinctually, you angle your leg a little closer to yourself. It’s not a full retreat, but Joel’s fingers shift to secure their hold on you.

It’s enough to shock you into stilling. If Joel’s prolonged contact was unexpected, him instinctually fighting to keep it is absolutely unbelievable. He’s not squeezing or forcing you to stay in place, but the gesture is enough to feel like he’s asking you to. “Need to wrap it.”

Another thing you consider over treating a cut of this size. The only thing startling about it is its length. “It’s not that deep.”

“Let me wrap it.” His voice comes out with a gruff annoyance that’s become increasingly familiar. It makes everything sound like some kind of version of don’t give me shit.

You fight down a grin. “Admit your rib’s cracked.”

Joel presses his lips together, lines etching themselves into his skin. “Do you always have to argue?”

Pausing, you pretend to have to think about it. “We all need hobbies.” You give yourself permission to look at him. Really look at him. “When you argue your eyebrows draw together and this line appears between them.”

He laughs once, this time a little more openly. It’s still a little breathy and maybe even a little reluctant, but it feels good. Like sunlight saturating a room during the dead of winter. “I’m old.”

Another reminder of that. You fight against the way it twists at your insides. “I’ve met older.”

“Grandparents don’t count.”

It’s all so weird and ridiculous, so you do the only thing you can think to. You laugh. “I wasn’t thinking about my grandparents.”

It’s meant to be a joke that echoes his own, only it’s not quite that. Not with the way your voice softens and your eyes focus on his.

His fingers take their time parting from your skin. A slow drag that feels dangerously close to intentional. You’re practically holding your breath until he stands. “I’ll grab something for your leg.”

There’s another thing left to point out. Something hanging in between the two of you. The fact that you’re perfectly capable of bandaging it yourself. That there’s a good chance you’d be better at it. “Okay.”

----

When there is no sun and sleep pulls you under only to push you back out, time feels fickle. You don’t know how long it’s been since you all agreed to go to bed.

Things feel different now that you’re all temporarily established in some safe house. Joel’s connection to it is vague to you. He mentioned his brother at some point, though you think details were used intentionally sparingly. It doesn’t feel cagey to you like it used to. Now it just feels like he’s holding off until it’s time to tell you everything.

Maybe he’s waiting for it to come up naturally on some night where there’s nothing but time or maybe he’s waiting for it to feel right. You’re okay with either and any option. His past is his. You know he gives you what he can bare to and it’s only a matter of time until you hear the rest.

You sit up, resting your back against the wall that your mattress is pressed against. Despite the dark, the outline of your roommate is easy to see. You’re not sure how it happened, the division of space that led to you and Joel in the same room and Ellie sleeping on her own.

It’s only been a few nights and you’ve yet to regret going along with it. Ellie deserves the little privacy life can offer her considering the way you and Joel watch the poor girl. And, in all honestly, you’ve never been particularly fond of long hours alone in the dark. Especially since you joined Joel and Ellie on their mission. You’ve gotten more used to being around people than ever and that’s made being alone more noticeable than ever.

Sometimes when you can’t sleep your mind goes there. After. The inevitable separation. It makes your chest hurt and forces memories of what you’ve already lost to the surface. That makes it even harder to sleep, so sometimes you just settle for watching. You’d feel weirder about it if the dark of night didn’t make it little more than a step above staring off into space.

Bending your knees, you adjust your position on the mattress, letting thin blankets fall away. It’s cold; the bite of it is welcomed.

Everyone’s temporary. You’ve learned that already. It’s burned into you the way that normal memories should be.

This is stupid. All of it. Maybe Joel’s right to see you as a child. One bad dream shouldn’t have this much power of you. Quietly, you squeeze your arms around your legs. It’s the same position you were in when it happened. When you lost her.

You don’t realize that you’re breathing heavier than you should be until you hear Joel’s mattress adjust as he moves from his side to his back. Shit. He never gets enough sleep. Guilt and embarrassment swell in you, but it’s not enough to subdue the impending panic.

“You awake?” It’s mumbled through a voice that’s heavy with sleep.

A part of you wants to stay quiet, but that’d be wrong. You already woke him up, the last thing you need to do is stress him out. “Yeah,” you manage, “I’m up.” Your voice comes out so hollow you barely recognize it. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I--I’m gonna--” You don’t know what the end of the sentence is supposed to be. Something that implies that you’re stepping out and that everything’s fine. “Go back to sleep.”

There’s a moment of nothing and a small part of you thinks maybe Joel’s listened for once. Your hope is shattered at the sound of rustling sheets. “C’mere.”

It’s said so faintly you can imagine that it’s a figment of your imagination. Likely a mumbled slur that he won’t even remember in the morning. A sleep idled grunt of acknowledgement that just so happened to sound like a word. You know it’s nothing. You know you heard him incorrectly, but you can’t relax. Not yet. You hold yourself there, breath caught in your lungs as a prolonged beat passes.

Joel breaks the silence by moving off of his side and on to his back. His arm stretches forward, pulling his blanket to the side. Are you crazy or is that...some kind of invitation? “I’m not going back to bed until you come here.”

There’s still sleep in his voice, but he’s already managed to snap back into seriousness. A subdued authority. Your body moves on its own accord. You sit up fully, place your feet on the ground, and stand. Walking is a little harder but the distance is short.

You stand in front of his mattress, smaller than you’ve ever been. Joel’s never fully relaxed. He’s close to it now, and you wonder if you’ll be around long enough to be able to see it. The question leaves you too cold, too antsy. Before you know what you’re doing, you’re sitting at the edge of his mattress. “’M here,” you whisper, “And I’m fine.”

A touch at your lower arm nearly makes you jump. It’s just Joel. “You’re shaky.” He sits up so quickly you can barely register it. The back of his palm presses itself against your neck before he reaches for your temple. His fingers feel like ice but you can’t bring yourself to move away. “You’re not warm--”

“No fever.” It leaves you too quietly. “I--I’m fine.” Joel’s hand leaves your forehead and settles against your back. “Just realized some shit.” His fingers drag down your spine and trace their way back to their original resting place. Again and again, a pattern that makes it easy to breathe. “I’ve been around for awhile, with you and Els. Longer than I thought I’d be. Longer than...” Longer than I’ve been with anyone since I lost her. “Just longer.”

His touch nearly falters. “Mhm.”

“And it’s been nice. Really nice.” Your nails softly scratch the inside of your wrist. “And I don’t want to get to that part where something fucked up happens.” Your breath catches itself in your throat. “I know that the fucked up part is normally my fault. Historically, at least, but--” You cut yourself off with a shaky breath, hating yourself for being this pathetic. “I just really don’t want to get there. To the fucked up part that leads to the leaving part.”

Getting things out in the open is supposed to make things feel better. It’s supposed to make things lighter. That’s what people always say. This isn’t that. There’s no epiphany, no healing. It leaves you and it stays that way. Gone.

Hollowness is worse. It’s too revealing. You should leave, mumble a vague comment about dreams and sleepy thoughts before crawling back to your own jumble of cushioning and jumbled blanket or at the very least apologize for waking him over nothing.

You do neither. For a minute there’s only the silence and the cold and the safe assurance of Joel tracing patterns against your back. “There’s not going to be a fucked up part.” Joel destroys the silence. “Not a fucked up part that leads to leaving.”

“You don’t know--” Your cut off is jarring, but it’s better than letting him hear what you were going to say. You don’t know me. Don’t know the kinds of things that happen around me. “That.”

Joel’s hand retreats and your world feels less stable. “There won’t be.” His tone is harsher than before, a tone that leaves no room for argument from the universe let alone you. He shifts, pushing most of himself to one side. “Just lay down.” The lowness of his voice is too assured to be considered understanding. It hints at impatience but undoes a knot in your stomach regardless. “Try to get some sleep.”

You nod your head slowly, the motion overly deliberate despite the fact that he likely can’t see it. There’s nothing else to be said, so you stretch back, placing your legs onto his mattress and carefully easing yourself onto your back.

Now that you’re under the same blanket as him, the thinness of it is hard to ignore. When the three of you divided the bedding supplies found in some closet, Joel had picked last. You asked if he ever felt like trading, but he insisted that he was warm enough and that if he ever wasn’t, he could always use his jacket for extra layering.

The realization that he’s likely been freezing without complaint takes a second to sink in. He likes his walls up and to play detached, but then takes the worst of the blankets without complaint. It’s so stupidly close to being a martyr that you nearly laugh. It’s so him in the worst way, the kind of way he’d never acknowledge.

You’re debating whether or not the additional warmth of your blanket would be worth potentially disturbing his sleep again. If you did that, maybe in the morning you could pretend to get the two blankets mixed up. You think you could get used to being this cold if he’d let you.

“You know what you remind me of.”

His voice is so unexpected you nearly jump out of your skin. With your mind focusing on other things, it was easier to pretend that there was nothing unusual about this.

Blood rushing to your face, you adjust so that you’re more on your side. Facing him. "I thought you wanted me to go to sleep.”

Joel sighs and you can practically feel his lungs filling and deflating. “I didn’t think tonight would be the night you started listening to me.”

At least he’s learning. “First time for everything.” The words feel different once they’re out in the air. It’s meant to be a passing comment, not what the darkness morphs it into.

It’s the second time a realization has come at a terrible time in the last few days. You know that you’ve been lying in his bed, but now you’re feeling the fact. Feeling the little space between you and the dip in the mattress’s fabric where he’s resting. It’d be easy to extend your arm. Dangerously easy.

You feel his head tilt, angling himself even closer to you. “Do you want to know or not?”

It takes a second for your mind to cement a connection. “What I remind you of?” You hum once, several jokes that’d make this easier coming to mind instantly. “I have a few guesses.” It’s too dark to make out the details of his expression, but you can feel his halfhearted glare. “Okay, tell me.”

“There was this story from before. Way before.” You’re patient as he takes his time thinking through what he wants to say. You don’t mind the wait, not when he’s close enough that his casualness is tangible enough to be contagious. “About a kid that saw this white rabbit. She chased the thing down a hole and it took her into this other world, and there were some other things, but she kept chasing that rabbit.”

You would have laugh if he had spoken any less seriously. It’s always been clear that you two aren’t exactly the same age, and some references that are about before the outbreak feel either vague or completely disconnected from you, but not everything. “I know I’m younger than you, but I know about Alice in Wonderland.”

“Excuse me.” The two words are dripping in sarcasm; you beam. “After you didn’t know that--”

“I knew you were going to say that.” You don’t get one reference one time and now he feels the need to explain everything. “It was one time.”

“Even Ellie got it.”

“I was tired.” He raises his eyebrows at that, a gesture of disbelief. You huff once, sitting up a little to shove his shoulder. “I was.” He lets out a sound that’s a little too smug. You move your hand, but before you can push at his arm, his fingers find their way around your wrist. When you try to tug your arm back, his resistance surprises you. “Asshole.”

His hand leaves goosebumps crawling up your arm as he adjusts his hold on you. “You’re the one that shoved me.” Like he’s not the one that instigated it. “And you interrupted me.”

“Fine.” You lay back down. Joel doesn’t let go of your arm and you make no move to get it back. His hands are so cold you find it hard not to worry. Hypothermia’s a thing. “Continue. Alice in Wonderland.”

“The rabbit,” he says, “You’re a lot like that.”

You play around with the thought, scraping together the details you remember about the white rabbit. It’s been awhile since you’ve watched the Disney movie version, and even longer since you’ve heard the actual story. Alice got into some trouble with the queen of hearts and her card deck guards. Every time she wasn’t supposed to be somewhere it was because of that rabbit, wasn’t that the gist of it? She just kept chasing and chasing it.

“So who am I leading astray?”

“No.” He says it so quickly, the silence that follows is unexpected. You accept it. You’ll wait. “You’re...you’re followable.” Oh. The cold makes no difference to the uncontrollable warmth that rushes to your face.

He feels tenser, his touch on your arm a little more hesitant. The meaning of that from Joel isn’t lost on you."You are, too.”

Joel’s fingers brush up your arm. “Not the way you are.”

You like the way he is, like that he’s the kind of person that can be moody and standoffish for days and still take the thinnest blanket. “I disagree.”

“That’s not new.”

“I think it’s good we don’t agree.” He waits for you to continue with little reaction, but you know he’s listening. “I can follow you, you can follow me. Makes it easier.”

He hums once, “Sounds like walking in circles.”

Rolling your eyes, you finally let your attention fall to his hand. “You’re so cold.”

Joel mistakes it for a complaint instead of the show of concern it’s meant to be. His hand moves off you so quickly you barely have a chance to reach for him. He doesn’t resist, not even when you squeeze his one hand between both of yours. You’re careful, gentle as you let your fingers move up and down his skin. When he doesn’t complain, you do something a better rested you would have never done. You let your touch wander further, first to his wrist and then down to his forearm. He’s no warmer there.

“Shit, Joel.” you start pressing your hands against his forearm, your need to make his skin feel like it’s at a stable temperature overriding your survival instincts. “You’re freezing.” You sit up, taking his arm with you. “Are you sick?”

“Sick’s hot.”

“Tell that to someone with early stage hypothermia.” You scoot back, preparing to move over to grab your blanket. “I’ll get my blanket.”

He squeezes your arm. “I’m fine.” You’re seconds away from protest, but Joel stops you. “Just stay put.”

You’re about to insist. It’ll take less than a minute and make things a lot better. The urgency in his hold makes it impossible. Makes the thought of doing anything that doesn’t involve holding on just as intensely outside of the realm of possibility. “Okay.”

If he’s surprised at how quickly you give in, he doesn’t show it, he just lets you lay down again. You’re not sure if you can prove it, but it feels like he’s closer than before. “How are you not cold?”

You almost tell him you do feel cold, he’s just that much colder, but then think he might use that as a reason to move away from you. He’d never understand that you’d rather be cold than know he’s freezing. Or maybe the problem is he’d get it too much, that he’d feel the same way.

“I run a little warm.” You brush your fingers down his arms again. It’s nice in a way you don’t get. “Except my feet.”

He tilts his head. “Your feet?”

You stretch your legs until your feet find his. “They’re cold.”

Joel lets out a disgruntled sound, moving closer to let his legs cover your feet. “Rabbit.”

The giggle that comes out would be embarrassing if that had been any less funny. Your forehead pushes forward, dropping against his shoulder. “Please don’t let that stick.”

“They burrow.” You grin against his skin, deciding that you really like this version of him. A little lighter, a little more candid. “You’re a little jittery, too.”

“Shut up.” He’s not wrong, which only makes you resent him a little more. “‘M not.”

There’s no fight in your reaction so you have no idea how Joel finds a way to take it as a challenge. He must have, though, because you can think of no other explanation for the way he stills. No other motive for the way you can feel his eyes focusing on you or the slow way he moves his hand down your arm.

You will your body to stay still, to not react. It doesn’t listen. You shiver.

Maybe you are a fucking rabbit.

The only thing worse than this reaction is the thought of Joel being right. So you force your lips to part even though you have no idea what to say. “Think we should go to sleep.” Your voice feels awkward, shallow. “...Get a few hours before Els wakes up.”

He’s almost smiling, “She takes up a lot of energy.”

“Yeah,” you agree with an even more open fondness, “Told her I’d teach her how to shoot arrows and french braid hair.” You smile at the thought. It’s good to have someone to teach, to pass something onto. “Feels like summer camp.”

You’re expecting a similar type of joke, or maybe a snarky comment about archery over actual shooting. Instead, his hand settles a little more comfortably against your arm. “You’re good with her.”

“She’s easy to be good with.” It’s true. Beneath the smart ass jokes and swear rate that could make a sailor uncomfortable, Ellie’s just a kid, and a good one, too.

Joel’s one to talk about people that are good with Ellie. When you first met, you genuinely thought they were father and daughter until Joel explained to you what they were doing. “It’s more than that.”

His approval means a lot when it comes to this. “You’re even better with her.”

Ellie’s another factor all together. There’s no way it wouldn’t feel weird for her to know that in the other room, you and Joel are sharing a mattress, holding onto each other because of the cold.

It’s not like you’re doing anything wrong, it just feels odd when considering her. Like this is some kind of game of house. The realization that you think you might like Joel is still pretty new and something that’s ruined a lot of things. Every time it floats to the front of your mind, everything starts feeling off.

You don’t want to taint this or to overthink. You want to let it all soak in. The two of you sharing a mattress and a too thin blanket. His leg is still resting over your feet and your hands are still on his arm. You’re a slowly tangling web of limbs and you don’t think you’d have it any other way as you drift towards unconsciousness.

#the last of us fanfic #tlou fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #the last of us x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #tlou #tlou hbo max #fluff

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msfcatlover · 10 months

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@alycat76: What’s the platonic a/b/o one about?

Okay, this is immediately going under a readmore, because I know plenty of people hate the very concept of A/B/O, and I don’t want to make them uncomfortable.

SO! I have recently discovered that purely platonic A/B/O stories are actually something I kinda love. It’s about what it does to the setting, and the inter-character dynamics, and the incredibly intense hurt-comfort sickfics you can get out of it, and also I’m a sucker for empathetic bonds in fiction (people really don’t do enough with them.)

But there were some tropes that got repeated over & over again, while others I’d be interested in seeing just… never came up at all? And in the process of me spitballing what those fics would look like, I accidentally tripped and made a whole cohesive AU. Oops.

(Also, I saw like one person say, “What if betas could cancel out other smells as well as control their own,” in an ask somewhere, and proceeded to come up with a whole… thing that lets betas get in on all the sickfic & presentation fun that comes with this AU. It may or may not take up a full page of my notes. If anyone wants the specifics, just ask and I’ll post them.)

Anyway, the main pillars that this AU is built on are:

1. There are several fics where baby!Jay finds Robin in heat, knows full well how incredibly dangerous that is, and risks his own skin to hide Robin until either the heat passes or (most often) until Batman shows up. I love all of these. You know what I haven’t seen even once? Baby!Jason saving Dick Grayson in basically that same situation.

2. There are not enough fics where Bruce is a beta who uses his scent-control abilities to further separate his identities! *shoves my “Batman is just as much a public performance as Brucie Wayne” agenda into the very meta of this AU*

3. I am very fond of the “Jason’s big comeback plan goes completely off the rails” trope, especially when it comes in the form of needing to save a member of his family. I’ve seen a couple A/B/O fics with this premise with Tim. I have not seen any with Dick.

(Oh look, mirroring!)

4. It is here I realized why rut/heat-sickfics immediately became my drug of choice, and hey, if I’m gonna be projecting I might as well go all the way with it. *hands Dick a small mountain of medical complications on top of everything else*

5. My love of deceptive appearances (and the fact I have only found one (1) alpha!RH!Jason fic where I actually liked his part of it) means I am always going to default to omega!Jason.

6. So have you considered: Pack Alpha (by default) Tim? Oh, Bruce is still the Head of the pack, Tim doesn’t get to be automatically in charge or anything. But being the Pack Alpha comes with a whole host of extra instincts, which is only complicated further by the fact that as far as the rest of Gotham is concerned, when Tim first took on that role he wasn’t connected to the Wayne pack at all.

7. Hey, what do you think this particular arrangement does to Damian’s relationships with the family? Especially if we assume that, say, Talia refused to tell Damian their designations because it would be incredibly foolish to get a bunch of preconceived notions about the Bats just because of their secondary genders.

Things spiraled from there. I have, like, 10 drafts of both of those “Jason rescues Dick” fics, a whole bunch of fallout from Dick finding out Jason’s the Red Hood (some humorous, some not very much not,) Damian having a real rough time of it at the manor…

Here are my favorite story beats.

Dick actually initially rescued himself from the kidnappers, but then he was barefoot in Crime Alley with a chemical heat coming on fast while they looked for him. Dick yanks Jason down into his hiding space behind a dumpster before the kidnappers see Jason. Once the kidnappers leave, Jason offers to let Dick hide with him until the heat passes. Jason’s squat even has running water, even though it’s cloudy & cold.

Jason at some point says something about wishing he could make the nest better for Dick (who is obviously used to nicer things, but trying to make the best out of it,) which is when Dick remembers the emergency cash sewn into his clothes (Bruce is paranoid enough and you know it,) and gives it to Jason to go get whatever he thinks would be best.

While Jason is at the store, he sees the news about Dick Grayson being missing, an obviously distraught Bruce Wayne pleading for anyone to call with information. Jason remembers how Dick kept saying that his dad would be so worried. Jason remembers what it was like to sit up at night, wondering when or if his mom was coming home. Jason takes a few coins of his change to a pay phone to call the number, just to reassure Bruce that Dick’s safe.

Jason definitely panics when Batman kicks the door in that night, because as far as Jason’s concerned a very large, angry alpha just barged in on the omega Jason was trying to help (Dick even used the stupid Batman print towel Jason bought for him as the base of the nest, how is this fair?) Bruce sees a frightened, packless child ready to throw hands with the fucking Batman in order to keep Dick safe. Dick refuses to leave without Jason, because Dick’s already adopted him.

All of Gotham knows Jason was more Dick’s puppy than Bruce’s. Bruce is still the one who legally adopts Jason, since Dick is like, 16 at this point (Jason’s 10-11).

There’s a lot of whispering about why Dick completely disappeared from the public eye after Jason died. Dick so obviously adored the kid, and the few pictures people do get look so miserable, that most Gothamites get aggressively offended on Dick’s behalf if you try to suggest he had anything to do with it. He’s not even 20 and he’s grieving. Cut the boy some slack.

At some point after Tim becomes Robin, Dick needs to make a scene so he has an excuse to leave a party. After a quick check in to make sure Tim’s okay with it, a very drunk Richard Grayson proceeded to get on Janet Drake’s case about not appreciating the wonderful puppy she had waiting for her at home.

After helping him out of the room, Alfred came back to apologize for Master Grayson. “You’ll have to forgive him. It’s almost Jason’s birthday.”

In the greatest social blunder Janet ever made in her life (partially distracted by the wine stain on her new silver dress) she snapped out, “He’s still upset about that?”

(Fortunately for her, the room was loud enough that her voice didn’t carry far. But every conversation in a 20ft radius stopped dead. She did realize immediately and start to apologize, that came out wrong, oh god, she didn’t mean it like that!)

(Tim suggests Dick not antagonize Tim’s parents in the future after all.)

This is actually the verse that first made me realize I wanted Tim to ask Steph to be Robin in his place, because in this verse they’re not just losing Robin, they’re losing their Pack Alpha with nobody to replace him. That is so much compounding trauma just from one member leaving the pack, but if Steph takes Tim’s place as Pack Alpha before Tim’s dad makes Tim cut himself out of the pack…

(Cass & Alfred are both betas, for the record.)

Dick has a bad reaction to the inducers the second time Jason has to save him. By the time Jason hauls Dick back to the nearest safehouse, Dick’s such an emotional mess that the only way Jason could ever calm Dick down is for Jason to reveal his identity and repair their pack bond.

Dick knows it’s Jason, because you can’t lie through the bond.

(Tim shows up at some point in the night, and refuses to leave. “He said no alphas,” Jason snarls. “I wouldn’t be much of one if I left him alone like this with a stranger,” Tim snaps back.) (Dick drags Tim into the nest too as soon as he realizes Tim is there.)

Neither Dick nor Tim tell Bruce about Jason, because Jason made it clear he didn’t want Bruce to know. They do both proceed to hound Jason, trying to coax him back into the pack. Bruce is very uncomfortable with both of his sons being so determined to apparently befriend their newest rogue.

(I just have this delightful mental image of Nightwing dropping in on one of Red Hood’s meetings, saying he’s not there for trouble, framing it as an “I owe you for saving my skin” sort of thing. Before he leaves, Nightwing flashes his brightest smile at Hood. “By the way, Robin thinks you’re cool.”

Half of Jason’s goons die laughing as soon as they get over the shock.)

Damian picks a fight with Tim because (despite Talia’s best efforts,) Damian did pick up several assumptions about the different designations. Tim was the next-newest, so Damian could cement his place in the pack by beating the lowest alpha, surely.

Damian realized his mistake as soon as Bruce arrived. The pack Head is a beta. The Second is an omega. Which means Damian just picked a fight with the Wayne Pack Alpha.

And—since Tim is still breathing, speaking, and glaring daggers at Damian—Damian lost.

(Tim meets Damian’s gaze for 10 agonizing seconds before turning away with a lift of his chin; dismissive, just like Ra’s would do. Damian’s just like, “I am so dead.”)

(I have a bunch of other stuff that’s pretty much Hurt No Comfort of Dick dealing with his medical problems & also how this particular set up would probably affect his various assaults, and how the trauma from those would then compound back into those medical problems. It’s… it’s not good. It’s not fun. I don’t think anyone wants to hear about that.)

(It does give Jason the chance to hunt down Catalina Flores, and gave me the chance to type the line, “I don’t think you understand. I’m not his friend. I’m not his boyfriend. I’m not even a hero. I’m his son.”)

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marengogo · 1 year

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7 Nation Army - Part 3: And the Oscar goes to …

Listening to album FACE - by Jimin ON REPEAT

[Music is a very big part of my life and I’m MOSTLY INCAPABLE of writing without music, so I just thought I'd share what I am listening to while writing this]

–🐺–🐺–🐺–

FACE by Jimin is a movie.

Before the pre-release of Set Me Free pt. 2, when I tried to guess what the theme of the album could have been from the information that we had, I perceived this alluring masterpiece as an opera, but, my dear ladies, gentlemen and enbies; I was wrong. This album is a movie and my filmmaker heart is all over the place in excitement to this realisation. As always, anything I write is my opinion, that being said, please allow me to introduce and dissect this elegant Psychological-Thriller named FACE.

Director: JIMIN

Writer: JIMIN

Starring: JIMIN

Taglines: Amazing Face, how sweet the pouring sound.

Genre: Psychological Thriller

Certificate: 16 - Profanity, Alcohol

The typical structure of a Psychological-Thriller usually has the movie/series start at some point which is a tiny bit earlier/forward than the current timeline so as to give you a imagery that will be very contrasting with the flashback/flashforward which will immediately follow, which will properly set the tone for the actual main part movie, which provides with all the issues and challenges of the main character. Towards the end we finally reach the actual current timeline, which in thrillers tends to be a situation worse than the beginning of the story. From here we would go to the conclusion where one of two things can happen; either it ends in tragedy or the character is able to find victory. Every once in a while depending on the story there might be a hopeful filler, and depending on where it is placed in the storyline, it affect the plot differently.

A bit before/after current timeline: Face-off

The circus-like music starts, giving us immediate context. When used as a metaphor the circus, or any circus-like imagery, almost always is indicative of the opposite of anything that is genuine. All the makeup, the constantly smiling, happy and funny entertainer, basically; we are in a farce. From here on the beat becomes a distorted and distant reproduction of the farce. A distant sound represents disassociation within the context. So for a moment, the protagonist is separating from their reality for a particular reason.

In this case, Jimin has had it and is finally confronting/facing someone or something that has hurt him deeply. Following the lyrics, at this point, we’ve just started the movie, so we have no clue what is going on. However, we do understand that there is indeed an antagonist. Nothing we can do for now, all we have to do is to proceed within the plot:

🎵It's a beautiful night (Beautiful night)

I think you found me

Tonight, I don't wanna be sober (Sober)

Pour it up, it's all fucking over🎶

So what exactly has happened between our protagonist and this mystery antagonist?

Flashback/Flashforward: Interlude : Dive

The beginning of this track sounds like the typical time-wrap as you either fast forward or rewind. Usually, psychological thrillers go backwards, so rewinding we go, all the way to October 15, 2022 at the Yet to Come concert in Busan:

"Wow, everyone, I really missed you a lot.

We get to meet like this.

Everyone, this is Jimin."

The absence of vocals shows how this track isn’t an interpretation of any sort of feelings or thought, but simply a display of truths of the time; there is NO farce here, only facts. This is 2022 and the pandemic has been over. Jimin should finally be able to meet with ARMY freely and life is seemingly going back to normal. Yet, at the very end we hear the sound of something pouring. Thanks to Face-off, we can deduce that it is some kind of liquor.

Hence, even though everything is supposed to be “back to normal”, something seems to have stuck with him, Jimin seems to be carrying some baggage he acquired during lockdown, something amongst perhaps many things he quite can’t seem to get rid of / set free from. This is the life he has now been used to; this is his Jimin’s new reality.

What does Jimin's new reality look like?

Main part/plot: Like Crazy

It’s a blur but it feels amazing, and it beats having to feel everything that he has been feeling thus far. Even though it is not eternal, because it will come to an end, he knows very well, but he doesn’t care, he needs “that fix”, so if it is just for a night, then the night will have to do:

🎵Baby don’t think about it

There’s not a bad thing here tonight

Baby, it’s okay to leave

Just stay for today🎶

When your poison of choice is alcohol, you are not going to have a trip or experience sensations you never had; alcohol is not that sophisticated. What it does though, very quickly and quite efficiently, is blocking inhibitions. When you are relaxed, and in a friendly environment, the body follows actions, like in a chain reaction and starts thinking happy thoughts, relieving joyful memories and just having a jolly good time really.

For the sake and sole purpose of the plot of this movie, we are not going to mention how, at the same time, while drunk, functioning as a regular human being, is out of the question, as self-consciousness isn’t the only thing that is gone, any sort of control, sane judgement and more are also out the window 😬😬😬 …

Through the voices at the beginning of the song and the actual MV, this track adds more clues as to who the soon to become antagonist might be. There is a male voice and a female voice in the song. There is Jimin and a young woman mirroring Jimin’s movements in the MV. Jimin knows her; she is him. He always has a great time with her, she knows him very well, afterall she is him. So while he is spending this night incapacitated, he is just going to follow her lead and live on happily, while stopping time temporarily as long as they can.

🎵My reflection in the mirror

I’m going crazy endlessly

I’m feeling so alive, wasting time🎶

But what happens the following morning? What happens that one morning when you realise that “that fix” isn’t worth anything anymore.

Actual current timeline: Alone

The track begins with the sound of an alarm, which isn’t simply indicating morning, but also setting the story back to the present time. Jimin’s actual reality. He has now woken up into that one morning where he is more sober than sober. That one morning when the hangover isn’t as uncomfortable as his realisations. That one morning where the risk of a failing liver isn’t as scary as the reality he is having to face.

So there he is, face to face with the mess he willingly created amidst the inevitably bad situation he was shoved into. Him like everyone else. Yet, unlike most of everyone else, he fell badly. Finally, he has come to terms with the fact that he’s mentally hit rock-bottom mentally. And because misery loves company, any other bad/uncomfortable feeling/situation he had been successfully avoiding joined, merrily (perhaps all his identities, his sense of worth, his sense of loneliness, etc).

This is the heaviest part of the movie. The part where the protagonist is weak and where everything seems, and at times truly is against them. This is the part where the protagonist is at their most vulnerable. This is the point of the plot where, we would all be ending up at, no matter how anyone has interpreted the whole storyline (some may have associated it FACE with other issues, such as lovers, friendships, family, substance abuse, etc …).

In my opinion, this track, on the timeline, is right before Face-off. In an actually movie, we’d have a collage which would mix Face-off with everything that has happened thus far:

[Face-off lyrics connected with other tracks]

🎵All right

I guess the blame is on me

Look at how I look right now 🎶 - Interlude : Dive

🎵Break it down

Break it down

This is the story of ordinary me

Get it out

Everyone shout like crazy yeah yeah🎶 - Like Crazy

🎵Gave you all the money

Gave you all my heart

Your Masquerade party

I was fucking drunk

The damned days of the past

Are now over too🎶 - Alone

So … will our protagonist win his battle against all their antagonists?

Conclusion: Set Me Free Pt.2

The ominous sound of a choir, followed by glorious trumpets; Jimin is ready for his final battle and he is sounding, and looking, hella victorious. He hasn’t forgotten all his struggles. He acknowledges the battles he’s won, and the ones he's lost, which allowed him to get to where he is firmly standing right now. He hears the haters, sees the obstacles and acknowledges his shortcomings. At the same time he’s found a new resolution, developed a tougher skin and embraced all his faces. But above all, he’s realised that if he wasn’t gonna set himself free, who the hell was gonna do that for him? And so he did.

🎵Look at me now

You can mock me but I won’t stop

Going crazy so I don’t go crazy

Put your hands up for the past me

Now set me free,

Set me free x 12🎶

Park Jimin, all his selves, is finally free. Free.

Roll the credit.

Hopeful Filler: Letter

At the end of the credits of any good movie MUST have an after credit scene, which usually serves to introduce a possible sequel or to add something to the way the actual movie ended. HOWEVER, as I do want to have a post just for this track, I shall end this here.

… And now, it is with great honour and palpitation that I stand here, amongst a jury of my peers, in order to present the award for best, exquisitely unexpected, but rather awaited masterpiece, of the year.

And the nominees are:

… AND THE WINNER IS: Park Jimin in FACE.

And that's all from me, now I'll go and keep relaxing some. Also, can't wait to hear from Jimin during his live on the 29th!

As always, very respectfully yours,

Marengo.

#Artemini #Face by Jimin #BTS 7 Nation ARMY #Park Jimin

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leeizzy · 10 months

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Roy hates rainy days. It's not only because of his fucked knee. No. Roy's been hating those days with every part of his aging body. Ankle, muscles, headache, even the one joint on his right fucking pinkie. He hates those days, when they remind him the fact he is pushing forty.

"What do you want, grandad?"

Roy growls through his teeth.

"A fucking fucked Precious Moments collection figurine."

Nothing personal, really. That one little prick has always been the sort of shameless in the most annoying way. Jamie Tartt frustrates him. With his messy hair, glistening skin and sparkly fiery eyes under the rain and frail sunlight. On and off the field, he reminds Roy of something he can't shake. So yeah, maybe it's a bit personal. And bitter.

~~~

Roy hates rainy days, when clothes smell moldy and trainers are ruined faster. Even he has money now to afford a cabinet of fancy water resistant ones. Still a bitch to clean all the dirt and mud though. He thinks to himself, watching Jamie wipes sweat off his face and isn't it just the pinkest shade of pink.

"What's next, coach?"

"Breakfast. Rain's getting heavy."

His knee has been telling him to hurry up already.

"We'll have about 10 minutes to reach my place before..."

"Roy! Please don't take this the wrong way, but I think I might throw up now."

Jamie puffs and clutches at his arm, trying to stand straight, with both hands clinging to Roy. They stands still when a bunch of kids running by, splashing water in an enormous puddle on their trainers. The warmth on his elbow is comforting, strangely, soothing his ache from cold air that rain always brings.

~~~

"Sorry. I don't know where else to go."

Roy has thought he was drowning, the moment he opened his door to a bruised and bleeding Jamie Tartt at 2 in the morning.

Jamie sits in Roy's kitchen, in his night trackie, oversized t-shirt, messy walnut hair and hands bundled up in his niece's dragon blankie. No word has come out since he walked through the door. Every thing feels so wrong, when Jamie is anything but a cocky mouthy little bubbly golden retriever. It makes Roy sick in some way. As if nothing makes sense and the world is spinning out of his callous hands.

There'd always one or two kids, every year, through out his days in the academy. Jamie doesn't want to say and Roy doesn't need to ask. He knows the kind of scar you'd have from a beating like those. He sees it in Jamie, the same eyes he still haves, facing his own shitty parent, even though any one of them is no longer a defenseless child. Different excuses, but the stories are still the same. He cleans up the cut on Jamie's cheek in silence, with all the calm and softness that he can muster in himself.

"I don't mean to bother..."

"There's a couch in the living room. A bed in the guest room." - and some space on my bed, - "Pick one, Jamie."

Rain is tapping gently on his window. And Roy can't seem to sleep. He keeps waking up from a nightmare, or perhaps a long buried memory, that there was screaming and banging out of his bedroom door, the sounds of gentle rain, rumbling thunders and someone's distant crying.

Roy stares at the wall that restless night, thinking about Jamie's sleeping in a room downstairs across the hall.

~~~

Roy hates the rain.

It's like Pavlovian or some shit. It worries Roy, whenever he senses the cold and the smell in the air. His heart drums a loud and steady rhythm, expecting, but dreads a knocking sound that could come on his front door.

"You're still welcome when the sun is still up in the sky, you know."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Even when I'm not beaten or soaking wet or drunk?"

"Yes, you prick."

I'm so fucking sorry. That's what he's been trying to say all this time, after one particular night outside the kebab place, at arse crack hour in the morning, fighting over some stupid thing.

Roy tosses Jamie a towel, turning away, because he's definitely not ogling at him and those glassy eyes, or fighting the urge to wrap Jamie up in said towel himself. The rain is making him shiver.

"Don't want to come knocking only to find out that you're not home, coach."

"I really doubt that, Jamie."

He always looks so young and fragile, standing like this on his doorsteps. Every fucking time. Soft light dances on Jamie's skin and Roy lets out a breath, knowing the baby prince (of pricks) is not bleeding or hurt anywhere, in any way. His trendy white shirt is almost see through, hugging him tightly, that sends some kind of jealousy to Roy's mind.

"What? So no fun night, ever, with some lucky lady, sharing a bottle of wine?"

"Are we talking about you or me?"

The familiar voice follows him inside, kicks off their private little dance. Roy turns on the stove. This is usually the moment Jamie would ask for tea and he would hand him a glass of warm milk.

"Aw. You'll make such a good house wife."

"Yeah yeah. It's just fucking work and groceries, and home for a wrinkly old spouse like me." - Roy doesn't mention almost every waking moment training and caring for a rising fragile footballer, of course.

Jamie fills the space with laughter. It feels nice, having him here, knowing he is safe. Roy contemplates, relaxing in the heat that is spreading from where their knees touch under the kitchen counter.

"You know. I used to have a poster of you on my wall."

"I know. I saw it. And you still."

Jamie smirks, throwing a tissue at him.

"Do you what I do when I look at it?"

"I don't know, draw on it?"

Roy slips off his chair, gets on his good knee to pick up the tissue and ask himself, exactly what he had let Jamie done to him. So many things, apparently. Curse? Decorative wall paper? Throw darts at it? At his heart? The possibilities are endless considering how far their relationship has come.

"Nah. I would never ruin my mom's gift." - Jamie plops down the floor right in his face. - "Always want to do this more."

All his answers are out the window, the moment Jamie put a kiss on his lips. It was soft, in the most painful manner, but planted with bravery and hope, just on the corner of his mouth. Roy ends up staring at those blue grey eyes. They are screaming in his silent home, that 'this is it, either a penny or a fucking pound'.

He manages to look strong even when terrified. Fucking bastard, and his drunken careless bravado. There's no whiff of alcohol on him. Good. Neither of them makes a sound. So Roy can't help teasing him just a bit, letting Jamie's brain goes into panic mode with frantic scrambling and rambling.

"Right. Um. Well, yah know, If you want to punch me now, or figuring out a way to let me down easily, I just want you to know that I respect you. Always been. And I lo- Ah... I'll be gone, no-, in a..."

Roy shuts him up with a proper kiss this time. Under his kitchen counter, Jamie's smiling silly on his lips, beaming brightly like a gorgeous sun.

Roy still hates the rain, though. Not that much, mind you. But maybe, secretly, he loves what it has brought him, sometimes.

*Inspired by this fic 'Fragile' - by gingerwren

#roy kent x jamie tartt #fanart #pencil drawing #roy kent #jamie tartt #brett goldstein #phil dunster #roy x jamie #jamieroy #fic rec #ted lasso fanfic #royjamie #jamie x roy

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reviseleviathan · 1 year

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So now that we’re super close to the end of Third Beat (and in particular have passed balcony which I was always going to have Thoughts about the adaptation of), I’m putting to text some thoughts I’ve had (positive and some a little negative) about Third Beat’s adaptation choices with both 28-29 and overall with Momo and a little bit with Yuki over the course of the season. There’s some stuff that had to be missed/skipped out on due to time constraints, which I do understand, but I do think some of it is really good to know so you could also consider this a bit of a shorthand crash course on stuff that’s a bit different for anime-onlies who are curious how things went down in the game. That said, I always rec reading the game story if you have time because a lot of Re:vale’s shenanigans have to get cut for time in the anime; Part 2 to Part 3 Chapter 10 and the rest of Part 3 were both done by translators on Tumblr. Dodge Part 3 Chapter 20 until next week if you don’t want spoilers and you’re all good. With that said, on to the ~meta~

Episode 28-29 -The anime has Yuki realise who Momo went to talk to exclusively because he overheard it on the phone. In the game, Yuki overhears the conversation and discusses with Momo that it might be a trap. This is actually where Yuki’s “Some people are irredeemable” speech initially happens - the anime intercut it with the slap scene, which I actually really enjoyed as a time-preserving choice, since it is relevant to that conversation as well, but also comes at the cost of some of the lines that were originally in the slap scene. Overall, the changes made sense but the cut elements do make it more obvious that Momo knows meeting Touma is risky even if Touma himself means him no harm. -This second point is probably the single biggest change from the game - there’s an entire cut interaction between Momo and Ryou before Ryou leaves Momo’s apartment, where Ryou has watched Momo have the first few drinks forced on him but decided it’s time to leave before he gets caught at the scene of the crime. Probably best known among the fandom for Momo basically telling Ryou to get fucked in a drunk candid moment before backtracking and fake sucking up to him instead, it makes one thing very clear that the anime doesn’t: that Momo ultimately stops Ryou from outing the twins by tricking him into thinking he and Yuki have a retaliation in place already. The anime does not touch on this at all, and while Ryuu’s intervention spares Momo and Yuki, there’s minimal explanation of why Ryou wouldn’t go after the twins regardless after that encounter, especially since he’s so pissed off with Ryuu. This is the explanation for it - that Momo manages to seamlessly lie to him that they’ve got insurance for if it happens despite him literally only finding out about it a few minutes before Ryou showed up to crash his and Touma’s meeting. Given time constraints I can see why they cut this scene, but it is a real shame considering it’s one last moment of Momo getting one over on Ryou even under threat of imminent death. -Another fairly major change but one I think was handled pretty well was that in the hostage scene after Yuki’s arrival, Yuki was the hostage, not Momo. The initial part proceeds similarly - Momo hits one of the suits and tells Yuki to run, but then is hit back - however, in the game what happens while Momo is incapacitated for those few seconds is that one of them grabs Yuki and then smashes the bottle to hold him hostage with. I can kind of understand why they changed this for visual reasons: there’s a certain level of comedy to Momo’s reactions to Yuki’s bluff, and I think the animators realised that if Momo was reacting That Obviously confused about Yuki’s claims of being strong enough to hospitalise 30 people within line of sight of the suits, it’d be rather easy to tell Yuki was bullshitting. Having him facing Yuki allows those reactions in a position where the suits can’t see his face and makes the comedy/tension interplay more effective. My one reservation here is that it’s made abundantly clear in just about every I7 media that Momo is extremely strong - the game implies that there’s a third suit involved in Momo’s capture and they’re still struggling with him when he’s at such a severe disadvantage, which Yuki even points out in the game as part of his bluff (implying that Yuki’s mention at the door that Momo wouldn’t dare hit him means he’s stronger than the already very strong Momo). Given the anime switched the alcohol used for this scene from cheap sake or at least cheap generic alcohol to spirits, I can buy that Momo’s lack of effective resistance as a hostage here is because the sheer amount of alcohol in his system is catching up to him, but it does kind of stand out when by all rights of what we’ve seen him do (particularly when Yuki is endangered), they should not be having such an easy time holding him back. -Due to the switch in hostage, the anime skips Yuki almost collapsing out of the fear he had to hide once he’s released and the suits leave, and Momo coming to fuss over and compliment him before Yuki slaps him. If anyone felt that Yuki slapping Momo a new one Literally Immediately felt a bit abrupt, that’s why. I assume Yuki did check on Momo prior to this because when Momo’s dropped in the anime he’s closer to the bookshelf, whereas the argument happens in front of his window, it was just another sacrifice to the accursed 24 minute episode length gods. There were also some extra comedic lines to this scene after Momo’s “Wow, you’re really pissing me off”, including Yuki explicitly suggesting they settle the argument with their fists and Momo saying he’ll still K.O. Yuki despite being so drunk he can barely stand up. why are u both like this yuki you know momo could win a fight against you just by sitting on you or picking you up Third Beat overall -There’s one factor in the adaptation in regards to Momo that I really have to talk about because I’ve seen it have bearing on how people interpreted certain events or Momo himself - the anime cut a lot of Momo’s more savage, dry, or biting lines to people during Third Beat. Momo’s actually quite wry and sharp-tongued, particularly when he’s losing patience with someone but also just when he’s poking fun - he joins in on a few of Banri’s roasts on Yuki during the game version of the bar scene (which was also several chapters earlier in the game). However, the bigger impact I’ve seen with this was with the framing of Ryou and Momo’s interactions in the first cour. While the dynamic is still highly toxic and demonstrates Ryou having a massive level of entitlement towards Momo, who by that point is mainly appeasing him because he’s a useful contact with information he needs, Momo gives back as good as he gets in pretty much every one of their scenes in ways that the anime largely tones down or removes. One particular example that can definitely affect the reading of their dynamic is Momo’s departure after disclosing Re:vale’s backstory in an attempt to tap into what little empathy Ryou might have - in the anime, he mostly seems sad and resigned, which I’ve seen at least a few people read as Momo being some sort of naive uwu who never realised what kind of person Ryou was. In the game, Ryou suggests that Momo stay over because he’s had a few to drink, and Momo (cw: emeto reference) drops by far one of my favourite of his bitter, wry roasts in the game: “I’m gonna puke at the entrance and leave. Thanks for having me over.” Momo is much more jaded about the number of untrustworthy people in the industry and how he has to handle his industry interactions than the anime tends to get into, and by the end of things with Ryou, there is a bitterness and irritation with him that comes across abundantly clearly even before Momo lets it all out on him during balcony. While Momo is willing to give people a chance in many situations where it may not feel deserved, he is not naive and he is not unaware that Ryou is a dangerous, twisted person even when he reveals Re:vale’s story. It’s a last-ditch effort to demonstrate how flawed the image Ryou has of idols is and stop his behaviour from escalating, because he knows if he’s going to draw any emotion out of the man then he has to dig as deep as possible - and he has to make it something personal, because as twisted as it is, Ryou’s consideration of Momo as a “friend” provides that tiny, tiny chance that he might respond to his feelings. Unfortunately, at that point Momo is unaware that Ryou considers the Yamato incident Momo’s second betrayal of him, and a lesser one than the first “betrayal” that’s revealed during the balcony scene, so it comes to nothing. As you can probably tell, I have a lot of thoughts about this particular adaptation choice, but tl;dr I highly recommend you read the game if you’re a Momo fan, because he’s actually kind of a fuckin savage on the regular and the game tends to make it clearer that he’s quite possibly the most dangerous person in the main cast if he has reason to be. Even people who are prepared to make an enemy of Ryou hesitate at the idea of making an enemy of Momo. -This isn’t really just a Third Beat thing but public service announcement for yukimomo enjoyers: you think they act romantic in the anime? The anime cuts a substantial amount of their flirting for time, since it’s essentially characterisation fluff and that’s always first on the chopping block. Want to see Momo talk about spicing up the relationship by wearing underwear with Yuki’s face on it, grumble about how Yuki’s handsome even when he’s mouthing off, call him a high class gentleman and a sexy icon that no other man in the world could hold a candle to? Want to see Yuki talk about how Momo begging steered the course of his life and the general implication surrounding the Re:vale backstory drop that Yuki, in a sense, also considers Momo a god or at least a gift from the gods to keep him going with his love for his music? Read the game. Also read the rabbitchats if you have time - these are the stories/conversations that come with cards in the game and the Re:vale ones always have at least one moment of pure, concentrated homosexual agenda per chat, but usually more. The Silver Sky bonus chats in particular, which take place post-Part 2/Second Beat, are foundational yukimomo content where you can learn such magical secrets as how Momo used to just kinda kidnap Yuki places while he was sleeping (feat. Momo’s fantasies about capturing and brainwashing Yuki that are discussed in multiple rabbitchats because momo why are you broadcasting this in groupchats you degenerate /affectionate), the fact that Yuki actually pierced Momo’s and his own ears to help get over his fear of sharp objects enough to cook again, and Banri’s thoughts on current Re:vale feat. him describing them both as feral. anyway if you read this far i appreciate you i just had to get these words out somewhere

#i7s3spoilers #idolish7 #idolish7 third beat #momo #yuki #re:vale #momose sunohara #yukito orikasa #this is a big long meta post basically because i have too many thoughts #yukimomo are a disaster mess and i love them for it #continues broadcasting the momo is not a pure sunshine uwu actually agenda forever

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