#Grimmer Intentions

[therandompagesblog]

Hunting Your Soul Chapter 2 🫀Y/N🫀

Trigger Warnings: Stalking, Haunting, Elderly vulnerability

My Grandmother always said that things crept in the dark. She believed in creatures that preyed on the living and consumed our souls. A devoted supernaturalist, she embraced everything from out-of-body experiences to fanged predators of the night. Her beliefs fascinated me. Sure, vampires were entertaining in fantasy novels, but in reality, they were morally ambiguous killers with heightened emotions. Werewolves? Just humans cursed to become wolves that hunted the living. That was my take on it, anyway. Despite my scepticism, I was intrigued. I lived in a quaint town called Bude on the English coast. It boasted a lovely beach, frequented year-round, and a rich history steeped in the supernatural, thanks to its perpetually grey skies. Coincidence? Perhaps. Bude's eerie reputation inspired countless horror stories, much to the amusement of locals. The influx of tourists, especially around Halloween, boosted the economy. The downside? It took nearly two hours to drive to the nearest city, Exeter. That was where I was heading, intent on visiting a new library to find supernatural books for my grandmother.

The library loomed ahead, a stark white building with towering windows, a beacon of knowledge in the dimming light. Inside, the scent of old paper and forgotten dreams enveloped me. Shelves towered around me, groaning under the weight of countless volumes. My fingers brushed the spines as I searched for the elusive "Supernatural" section. I found myself chuckling at some of the titles: "The Vampire's Guide to Etiquette," "Werewolf Yoga for Beginners," and "Witches' Brew for Dummies." Absurd, yes, but strangely intriguing. The pages held a certain allure, a promise of the unknown, the forbidden. I imagined myself immersed in these fantastical worlds, battling vampires in moonlit graveyards, outwitting cunning witches, and experiencing the thrill of the hunt alongside a pack of werewolves. Of course, I knew the reality was far grimmer. Vampires were not romantic figures, but bloodthirsty predators. Werewolves were not noble creatures of the wild, but savage beasts driven by primal urges. But the allure of the unknown, the thrill of the forbidden, was undeniable. It was a dangerous fascination, a siren song that whispered promises of adventure and danger. As I finally unearthed a stack of dusty tomes, a strange sensation washed over me. A prickle of unease, a shiver that had nothing to do with the chill in the air. I glanced around, heart pounding. The library, once a haven of quiet contemplation, now seemed to hold a sinister energy. Shadows danced in the corners, whispering secrets in the language of the night. A low growl, guttural and menacing, echoed from the depths of the library. I froze, every sense on high alert. My breath hitched in my throat as I searched for the source of the sound. Nothing. Silence. Just the eerie creaking of the old building settling under the weight of the night. I realised then I should probably stop listening to my sweet grandmother. My mind was now playing mind tricks on me and I was now starting to believe in the eerie haunting horrors of the supernatural. I quickly packed up the books and scanned them out before heading back to my car. Walking back to my car. I could have sworn the air had changed. The calmness of the wind smelled different. It smelled heavy. I picked up my pace as I twisted and turned down the streets. Listening to the unusual sounds in the air. I could have sworn I heard something animalistic behind me. I could have sworn I heard its footsteps but maybe I was paranoid. It was the evening after all. Once I was in my car I drove straight to my grandmothers to drop off the books. Whatever was out there I wasn't going to stick around for it. I wasn't going to be killed out in Exeter. My poor grandmother wouldn't be able to get my body. She didn't drive. Bless her heart. She was old and could barely lift things. Partly because she was slightly too lazy but at her age I think it's acceptable. "Here you are Grandmother. I got you some new and obscure book." I called out as I headed into the living room to see Grandmother on a step ladder trying to fix a light. "Grandmother are you mad! What if you fell." Sometimes this woman surprised me when she wanted to. "Don't be foolish." She huffed "I wanted to read my book and the bulb blew. Can't always rely on you can I Duck." "Now now grandmother! You can always rely on me." I chided. She waved her hand and asked me to put the books down so she could see them. Satisfied enough she took them all to her room while I was left with the stories of Monica. A creepy story about Monica summoning a demon and having paranormal activity. It was a good read for now while it distracted me from what was outside.

🫀🫀

This was not how I imagined spending my Sunday morning up in the attic. Grandmother asked me to get some photos down as she decided she wanted to redecorate the entirety of the living room. She wanted photos from her trip to Venice on her walls rather than me and my siblings. It was cute but the attic wasn't. The attic was filled with cobwebs and spiders. I was ready to give up on finding these photos as crawled across the attic going through different boxes until I found the right one. Aha, there it is! I grabbed the dusty old box and dragged it towards me when I heard a knock on the door. I cursed myself as I realised I was the only one in the house as my grandmother had gone to meet her friend Avis for coffee. I slowly climbed down the steps with the box and tried to steady myself as I was about to hit the ground when a knock came from the door again. "One second," I called out with a huff. Slightly sweating from carrying a box. I headed down to the stairs to open the front door to see no one was there. I looked out and around but the street was quiet. Empty. "Weird," I mumbled. I was about to shut the door when I noticed a small box on the floor. My name was written across it beautifully. That was unusual to me. I didn't live here. I only visited every other day to help my grandmother out when my parents were working. I took the parcel inside and opened it to see a note: to enlighten your mind little petal. C I frowned at the note before looking into the box to see two books inside about vampires. One was Dracula and the other was on The Crimes of Vampires. I rolled my eyes and looked into the box again to see if there was anything else. Weird. So weird. I didn't know how to feel about all of this. I didn't know who the person was that sent me this or why. It felt creepy. Sinister. It could be harmless but in this world, you didn't know. All I knew was they would eventually show themselves when they were ready to.

18+ Taglist for those who are not turning back

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[pigcowboys]

what i'm tryna say is . . .

pairing: percy jackson x gn! reader

summary: you make a point to finally confront percy about why he's been acting so distant.

warning(s): slightly angsty at the start, mutual pining, idiots in love, interrupted love confession.

part 2 part 3

when it came to feelings and relationships, you had to admit. you weren't the best at them.

you weren't stupid. you knew when someone's intentions weren't as platonic as they wanted it to seem. television taught you that -- though tv wasn't the same as reality and sometimes things aren't as forward as they usually were made to be, people just don't work like that.

you kind of hated that fact, actually. the fact that people were so complicated annoyed you so to speak. especially when it came to the various relationships in your life. your relationship with your mother was..rocky. so, the fact that your father was that of an immortal all powerful deity didn't help at all. you hated the fact that the gods were so fickle with the way they spoke to their demigod children.

they'd abandoned them, yet couldn't even offer them a direct sentence or word of advice. it seemed so bittersweet to you. the existence of camp half-blood was a comforting thought yet, challenged you with hard questions at the same time.

why couldn't the god protect their children themselves? why the hell would they just their put kids in danger knowing there was monsters out to get them? and most of all, why didn't they care enough to stick around?

these questions were built on nothing but anger and hatred yet, you couldn't stop them from popping up whenever you had a moment to yourself. this kind of stuff was complex, hard to understand. it was probably why you even hated thinking about it for too long.

you tried your best to avoid bringing up complex feelings, you really did. but.. sometimes you had to face your fears. or -- something like that you figured.

you idled in front of the poseidon cabin, an unnerving feeling in the pit of your stomach as you tried your best to put on a brave face. you had nothing to be scared of, honestly! it was such a stupid situation you'd found yourself worrying about. it'd only been a few weeks since percy, annabeth, grover and thalia had returned from their quest to find artemis.

you practically busted your ass making your way over to find percy and the others, a comical grin on your face being met with the tired and shaken up faces of the group. thalia left with the hunters, nico was informed of the death of his sister and everyone in the camp seemed to be in grimmer spirits than before.

percy included.

he seemed..distant -- in a way. it made you wonder about what the hell happened on the quest. what he had to witness while he was out on the open road. it made your heart hurt for him. i mean, how could it not? percy was like a shell of his normal self and you hadn't a clue what it was about, especially when he started to avoid your presence around the camp.

it was the main reason you were situated outside his cabin, hesitating to knock on it as your head raced with questions. something in the back of your head told you to just go back to your own cabin and hold your tongue. a part of you wished you'd listened to it, sucking in a breath as you knocked earnestly on cabin 3's door.

you exhaled shakily,

“hey,” you started, pausing as you tried to find something to say. you and percy hadn't spoken in weeks, what could you say..? he looked back at you with wide eyes, like he hadn't expected to see you here at all. you couldn't blame him -- you didn't expect yourself to be there either.

“uh, can we talk..?”

percy shut the door behind you as you strolled sheepishly into his cabin, looking around the practically empty cabin as you stood in the middle of the room awkwardly.

percy walked over to you nervously, leaning against the frame of cabin 3's bunk bed as he turned to face you with a concerned expression. “what did you wanna talk about?” you paused, analyzing percy's worried gaze

“are you avoiding me?” you blurted out suddenly.

percy blinked a few times before his eyebrows furrowed. “..what are you talking about?”

“i mean.. i haven't seen you in so long? are you like” you cleared your throat. "do you not wanna be friends..anymore?"

“no.” you turned to him. percy's face was slightly flushed though, you couldn't pinpoint if it was because of the fact the sun was boiling today or for..another reason.

“it's not like that.” he added, rubbing the back of his neck. “i've just been..feeling weird, i guess.”

“and you didn't feel the need to tell me about it?”

he paused.

silence fell over the two of you as you began to regret ever coming to cabin 3 before percy spoke once more.

“i don't think i feel the same way i did..” he trailed off. "about..us."

your heart pounded in your ears as your eyebrows furrowed. “what you don't wanna be friends anymore?”

“are you." he sighed in frustration. “no, that's not what i meant.”

you felt slightly jittery now, it must've been your body growing tired of the still position you were in. the vagueness of percy's words were starting to cause thoughts to race in your head as well. why couldn't he just be honest? what excuse is so great that it makes up for the fact he's been ignoring you all this time?

“then,” you mumbled. “ what did you mean?”

percy sucked in a sharp breath, shifting on his leg as he crossed his arms impatiently. he looked like he was trying to psych himself up to say something. he locked eyes with you before shuffling over sheepishly and gently directing you to a sitting position on his bed.

you tapped against the frame of the bunk bed absentmindedly waiting for percy to continue.

“you're uh..” he paused again. “i don't want to just be friends.”

you shot him a confused look. “you wanna be..best friends?”

percy deadpanned. you felt slightly bad for still not getting what he was trying to say. though, what were you supposed to assume when he kept talking in riddles? percy's hand inched towards your own that rested on the bed slowly before he cleared his throat.

“i like - ”

“percy! you have to..” annabeth trailed off, observing the scene in front of her with calculated eyes. she bit back an amused grin, shaking her head slightly. “did i..walk in on something?”

“no!” percy exclaimed, moving his inching hand away from yours to rest in his lap. his face was red and his lips were folded into a thin line. “uh - we weren't doing anything.”

you eyes percy curiously before turning to annabeth. “what's going on?”

“chiron's asking for him..” her eyes shifted between the two of you. “i can tell him you're busy..”

“you don't have to,” you stood up from the bed, dusting yourself off. “i was gonna..leave anyways.” you turned to percy. “catch you later, i guess.” percy nodded his head, waving at you robotically.

you shut the door behind you, trying your best to shake off the awkward conversation.

you weren't able to decipher what percy was saying to you, nor did you even get a straight answer about why he'd be avoiding you. you squinted your eyes as the sun shun over your face.

why were people so complex?

[matthew2641]

"They know."

The entanglement between Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter is one fraught with manipulation, empathy, and a gradual dissolution of moral boundaries. Among the many manifestations of this dynamic, few are as structurally and thematically potent as the phone calls between Hannibal and Garret Jacob Hobbs in Aperitif, and Will to Hannibal in Mizumono. Although temporally and circumstantially disparate, these moments are deliberately interwoven, functioning as temporal markers in the evolving narrative of their mutual ensnarement. By examining the layered substrata embedded within these interactions, we discern the cyclical nature of influence and manipulation that constitutes the linchpin of Hannibal’s ontology: wherein power is neither imposed nor seized, but transacted—an unspoken recognition of each other’s latent capacities for violence, empathy, and control.

In order to grasp the profundity of both circumstances, there must be an understanding of the motivations that precipitated them. Hannibal’s call to Garret Jacob Hobbs, though executed with pragmatic brevity, belies a far more intricate set of intentions than initially suggested. At this stage in the narrative, the dynamic between Hannibal and Will is embryonic, subsisting on clinical curiosity—a regimen of dispassion Hannibal had grown accustomed to maintaining within the structure of his professional life. However, Will’s exceptional capacity for empathy was an anomalous force disrupting the measured architecture of Hannibal’s world, compelling him to consider avenues of a far more intimate nature. He saw in Will not merely a mind of peculiar brilliance, but a mirror—a potential companion. A conception potent enough to stir the abyssal ache of loneliness lurking beneath his polished exterior. This metaphysical hunger did not seek communion through the banalities of camaraderie, but the language with which he is most conversant: brutality. Crucially, this longing is filtered through Hannibal’s inability to engage with intimacy in any customary sense. Those loved by Hannibal are transformed, Abigail, Will, and even Alana endured respective reshapings under his hand. Love, as he conceives it, is not an act of gentle affection, but of sacramental violence—of devouring, refining, and rebirthing.

The phrase, "They know," offered under the pretense of courtesy, serves not Garret Jacob Hobbs, but Hannibal’s design. Affording Hobbs all the information necessary to ensure that his reckoning would be one of ferity, Hannibal sets the stage for the inciting act of Will’s initiation. Merely witnessing atrocity was insufficient—Will, no stranger to bloodshed, had to be implicated in its logic for the grimmer recesses of his psyche to resurface. The murder committed in the wake of the call is not merely an act of violence but a rite of passage—a trial by blood marking Will’s induction into the realm of existential violence Hannibal inhabits. 

By the second season, the perilous symbiosis between Will and Hannibal has undergone an irrevocable shift, with Will now occupying a position of greater understanding and, to some extent, complicity. No longer a nescient pawn in Hannibal’s artifice, Will found himself reshaped by betrayal, incarceration, and the slow insidious seep of Hannibal’s influence—beholding his former confidant with tragic appreciation. What was once a relationship predicated on deception and power now throbs with an unsettling intimacy, of knowing and being known in a way that strips pretense to the bone, heedless of the ruin it invites. And so, as the loom of Hannibal’s retribution tightens its threads, Will acts in yet another betrayal of his espoused ethics, warning Hannibal with the very words that heralded his undoing: “They know.”  

These mirrored phone calls do more than establish a warped parity; they elevate betrayal into an act of profane devotion. Superficially, the phone call suggests mutual recognition, a begrudging respect of each other’s prowess, their intellects so utterly interwoven that opposition and alignment have become indistinguishable. Yet, beneath this veneer of mutual acknowledgment roils an emotional undercurrent of unbearable complexity. Will’s call is not a simple warning—it is a moment of existential confirmation. Betrayal, in its conventional sense, implies a sundering. Though, in the case of Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter, betrayal is the mechanism that binds them. The call provides more than just a warning, it’s a gesture of terrible, inexorable recognition. Granting Hannibal something far more ruinous than treachery: understanding.

There is an aching irony in Will’s final call, a cruel paradox woven into the fabric of their bond. He, who has been both victim and agent of Hannibal’s machinations, now mirrors his adversary so exactly that the distinction between captor and captive collapses into irrelevance. In this fleeting moment, Will is not simply playing a part in the narrative Hannibal has orchestrated; he becomes its co-author. His warning is an unspoken confession, a testament to their enmeshment. Whatever semblance of love remains between them has been flayed to its barest form, pulsing with raw, excruciating knowing. Similar to the ouroboros, they are both devourer and devoured, their betrayals spiraling into one another in an endless recursion of destruction and genesis. There is no resolution, no terminus to their dance—only the certainty that in wounding one another, they are made whole, bound ever tighter in the embrace of ruin.

[thedeaddummy]

Satan X Christian reader

Prompt: Satan finds himself at the hands of an empathic innocent girl.

You, a young Christian girl. Who would’ve thought all those days of endless wandering and yearning would bring you here.

Others would call you possessed, an unknown demon following you causing chaos wherever you go, this was your life now. A life that was usually your suffering now causing the suffering of others out of your control.

But here you were, comforting the demon all called evil.

The demon that religions were built against, were built upon.

His horns rest gently on your chest, sharp teeth visible by his parted lips. Scars and scratches on his body by his life of ruin, reddish hair and a chiseled chin. Here you were, trying to get him to show you the real him. The version of him that had horns, red skin, a tail, the eyes that glare, a stare that burns iron into coal.

Your eyes were gentle and soft, reminding him of the days he used to be wanted. Could you believe it? The devil didn’t like his own sinners. At the hands of a Christian’s girls mercy, empathy.

Following his father’s path he had left behind.

‘Satan, Lucifer.’

He loved when you called him by his name. Not by the title that was given to him.

‘Show me you, and do not fret for I will not run away.’

He looked up at you, your soft honey skin cushioning his face. Careful of his horns so they would not cut you. You knew the devil was evil, that he caused nothing but ruin. That the dastard life you had now was because of him. But isn’t this what the lord wanted? To forgive. You forgive him, you forgive God. He looked at you as if he could see through you, as if he could see your trust and pure intentions. So slowly but surely he stood, his skin turned a dull red. His teeth sharp and nearly poking out his mouth, eyes black, a slight burgundy grimmer in them. His hair no longer held the ginger red but a deep black. A tail grew from beneath him, his ears once flat now large and pointy. A scowl on his face.

‘You’re beautiful.’

Surely you had to be lying, but how could you be? The way you stood and cupped his face once again. His now bigger posture causing you to stand on your tip toes. His eyes grew wide at your acceptance. He would cry if he could. The outside was dark, but demons came rushing. The feeling that their prince had been weakened; yet only if they knew this was all he desired.

He watched your lips plucker, watched you lean in and as much as he wanted to reciprocate it he couldn’t he didn’t want to turn you into ruin. He’s already done enough damage.

‘Do not kiss me, for your life will turn to ruin and chaos wherever you walk.’

‘Then let it.’

Surely you couldn’t be serious is all he kept repeating to himself yet he could feel your emotions. Feel your softness, your forgiveness for what he had done to you, what he had done to others. The lives he had taken, the chaos he caused, the wars, the killers, the pain, the death.

Suddenly, a snake wrapped around your foot. A black python soaking in the comfort you gave his master. Whispers from the shadows and demons arose all around you. He expected to see fear, to watch your confidence falter but no. Your eyes stayed locked in with his, he could feel you trembling with fear but that just made you all the more brave. You were scared of snakes, scared of spiders, but here you were letting them seek refuge in you. He didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve you.

‘Lucifer?’

Your voice was soft as you shakily picked up the snake, you knew it was him. Who else made eve infamously eat the apple. You let it slither up his shoulder taking in the comfort the devils ego was too big to openly give you. He took a step towards you, you wanted ruin. He’s warned you, he tried to instead be the angel of light and music instead of doom and horror. But you wanted it, you called for it. You accepted it.

His lips softly brushed against yours, trying his best not to hurt you. It was as if he could feel his father proudly looking at him, telling him to let the anger go and accept the gift he has given him. That he forgives his son, that he’s proud of his son, and that there’s nothing he wouldn’t do even if it came at the sake of Gods name.

His father loved him and he knew it; everyone always said if god loves humans so much why didn’t he just throw the devil away. Because he was there first, Satan was there before the humans. And despite what he’s done, he was still his son. Despite what he’s done, he’d call God father and late at night while he causes blood shed all he wants is to go home.

But this was his father’s gift, he brought home to him.

His hands carefully traced the outline of your body, eyes eagerly trailing every part of you like this was all he ever asked for. Suddenly he stopped as blood was drawn, he felt your lip leaking. Just like always he had ruined you, he had cut you.

‘It’s okay, it’s okay.’

You continued the kiss, reassuring him throughout it. His soft possessive growling as he pushed you to the bed. He wasn’t going to commit fornication. It was the least he could do to repay his father.

To marry you first.

His deep laugh filled the room alongside your giggles. As demons welcomed themselves as if they had returned to a home they didn’t know they belonged to.

‘Marry me’

Your mouth widened in surprise. But you knew it wasn’t a question.

So now instead of the Christian girl, you were a Christian girl who was the wife of the devil.

[scarletwritesshit]

♚ Jing Yuan x Reader ♚ All's Fair

You stared intently at the chessboard, carefully deciding what course of action to take. You were at a major disadvantage, as you have lost quite a few pawns, a rook, and a knight this early into the game, but you weren’t willing to let your seemingly hopeless situation discourage you. It was quite hard to focus on your next move, however, with Jing Yuan staring intently at you. He seemed to not be in a desperate rush to carry on with his turn, but his piercing gaze pressured you in ways beyond the losing situation in front of you. He smiled softly with half closed eyes, which you found impossible to completely ignore. With your head still leaning over the chessboard, you would occasionally move your eyes up to catch a glimpse of him, hoping that he was unaware of your staring.

Every time you refocused on the game, your situation looked increasingly hopeless. You knew exactly how he would counter every possible move that you could make, yet you couldn’t quite piece together a strategy to manipulate him into falling into a trap and turning the tide in your favor. It’s one thing to know your opponent’s every move, but the knowledge is ultimately useless if you cannot prepare a counter in any way.

Instead of pondering your move while being out of ideas, you simply chose to play passively and move a pawn that was previously left behind the rest of the group. Jing Yuan narrowed his eyes at your choice of action and his gentle smile got a bit larger.

“Interesting. A rather defensive move relative to how you’ve been playing as of late,” he noted.

Without any words to spare, you merely nodded your head, struggling to maintain eye contact with his demanding gaze.

Jing Yuan did not hesitate a moment to make his move. He moved one of his two dull white rooks towards you, once again putting you in danger of losing pieces.

The shininess of your black pieces seemed to reflect the glare in Jing Yuan’s eyes, once again diverting your attention to him. With how intensely he was staring down you and the chessboard, you were quite astounded that he had not lost his patience with you. Then again, when a man has lived for as long as he has and has yet to discover something new to look forward to, time is not of the essence, and so his stoic gaze was a mere quality of his.

Snapping your focus back to the chessboard, a fresh, new look at the situation only looked far grimmer than it was as you were watching him make his move. Jing Yuan watched you as your eyes darted from piece to piece, attempting to carefully consider his potential actions while plotting what would be the best course of action for you to take.

It was rather difficult, however, as Jing Yuan was constantly distracting you. Every time you tried to focus, you couldn’t help but glance back up at him. The way his eye seemed to pierce your soul, despite how unusually gentle his stare was, always drew your attention away from the chessboard.

If only you could think clearly, then maybe you could have a shot of showing him what you’re made of. Plus, you’d have to have something to show after playing with him practically every day. Repeating the same mistakes time and again would not only disappoint him greatly, but bore him of your presence. And if he got bored, then all chances you had with him would be gone, departing as quickly as they arrived.

Ultimately, you bothered not with stressing over your next move. You simply picked up a piece and moved it forward, capturing his rook.

“Not bad, but I had a feeling you would play right into that,” he said, capturing yet another one of your pieces.  

“You really know how to stay a step ahead, don’t you?” you said.

“Of course…it comes naturally after years of practice,” he said with a yawn.

No matter what you tried, your situation kept looking more and more hopeless. His remaining pieces were well over double of what you had, and it was at the point where any move you made would only endanger you elsewhere on the board. Aggression, defense, Jing Yuan knew how to counter it all.

And no matter how many times you looked back and forth between him and the chessboard, it only seemed to get worse with every glance. You picked up one of your pieces and simply moved it forward, out of options, but still willing to see it through till the very end.

His last move must’ve been made when you weren’t paying close enough attention, but he moved his queen towards your king and set it down one space away directly in front of it.

“Checkmate,” he said with a soft smile.

You couldn’t do anything but look at the chessboard in complete defeat.  It felt as if through the entirety of the round, pieces were disappearing right before your very eyes, with Jing Yuan eliminating them with such cunning swiftness. Almost felt like a real battle, with you and his own squadron facing off in an intense sparring round.

Strangely enough, he didn’t jump at the opportunity to claim your king for himself.

“Jing Yuan…you won this war against me. Why haven’t you taken my king?” you said, puzzled.

“Hmm…this isn’t a battle of brute strength that I aimed to win against you,” he said, picking up one of your shiny black pawns and rotating it around his fingers.

“What do you mean by that?”

“You have quite the ways to go,” he said, “Your focus is clearly lacking, as your soldiers were disappearing before your very eyes.”

Come to think of it, your pieces were disappearing awfully quickly, but you have no idea where they could’ve gone. They weren’t off to the side of the table, nor were they around Jing Yuan in any way.

“You have an awful lot fogging your mind, but if you paid attention to the little things, then perhaps you would have noticed,” he said. Jing Yuan reached across the table with the pawn still in hand, and gently pried open your lips with it. You were expecting cold stone to clash against your teeth, chipping them if you so as much dared to try and chew it.

The pawn tasted like…chocolate?

It was very fine, indeed, but why was it made of literal chocolate?

“Surprised, aren’t you? When you directed your focus elsewhere, I would slide one of your pieces off of the board. You were far too focused on me to notice what was happening in front of you,” he said, resting his hands on his legs.

“You noticed? But how?”

“You truly have yet to fully understand. A seasoned general pays attention to the entirety of their surroundings, not just what is set in stone before them. In the face of a real war, rules are not going to be upheld, meaning anything can happen for any reason,” he said, sliding another one of your pawns off of the board and slipping it under his tongue.

You were paying attention…just your focus was directed at the wrong thing. It was impossible when Jing Yuan had such a demanding air to him that you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. Not only that, but he was simply too gorgeous for you to resist attempting to sneak a peek.

“If you weren’t so distracting, this wouldn’t be an issue for me,” you said.

“Me? Distracting? How so, might I ask? I have merely been observing you in silence.”

That was the exact problem here. If he wasn’t looming over you constantly, then perhaps you wouldn’t be having as much difficultly taking action…or allowing him more opportunities to eat your pieces, apparently. Would he even believe you, if you told him the real reason why you were so fixated on him? Would he even remotely consider your words as being honest, rather than a poorly attempted excuse? Even worse yet, has he already figured you out himself?

Rather than respond, you averted your gaze from him, trying to hide your face noticeably burning up.

“Hmmm…I see,” he said.

“What? I didn’t even say anything?”

“You don’t have to. I’ve seen that look from you far too often myself, meaning words are not necessary for me to understand.”

Once again, you said nothing, as you merely glanced at him for a brief moment before once again looking away. Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw as he nudged his queen ever so gently onto the space where your king was located. Still, he didn’t knock it off the space, which you found to be even more unusual.

“While you were most vulnerable, I took this chance to wipe out everything that stood in my way for a total victory.”

“Isn’t…that how chess is supposed to work?” you said.

Jing Yuan shook his head gently. “Not just chess, my dear. You simply obliterate what’s distracting you, and strike when their guard is at their weakest. It is true for board games, war…”

He reached across the table and lifted up your chin so that you were now staring him directly in the eye.

“…and love.”

Struggling to find words, you very nervously asked him, “So…you knew all along, or was this your idea of a confession?”

“With the way I have seen you act, there was hardly any room for doubt that you had quite the interest in me. I was hoping that you would fess up and confess yourself, saving me the trouble, but I had to resort to ensnaring you in a little trap of mine and giving you that little push that you needed.”

With how he had put you on the spot, you found it hard to refuse his demands.

“You’re a skilled general, and I am nothing more than one of many that work under you. I wouldn’t have had a chance no matter what I said or did for you.”

“I fear you may be misjudging the situation ever so slightly,” he said, leaning his face in closer to yours, “I only have so much free time in my day between my afternoon nap and whatever it is Yanqing requests of me. Do you really think that I would have the time to meddle around with those that I do not care about?”

“I suppose not.”

“Precisely. With that being said, I think I have truly won our little game here, exposing not only your king for the taking, but more importantly, your heart. Am I correct?”

“You caught me in the act Jing Yuan, because I really do like you, but I’m not sure how I can prove to you that I am worthy of staying by your side.”

“You just did,” he said, with an ever so devious little smirk.

“But I didn’t-“

He moved his finger up to shush your mouth, preventing you from saying anything further.

“An explanation would simply cut into my nap time at this point. You are more than welcome to come join me, that is, if you accept my feelings for you in return.”

In return?

Jing Yuan never showed obvious signs of any sort of feelings towards you. However, he may have been right about one thing, and that was your failure to focus on the minute but equally important details that reveal the full story. These chess games of his held a deeper meaning than exercising his mind as a way to pass time. It was his way of growing closer to you without giving you an easy chance to catch on. It may have taken you a while to realize it, but even the cunning Jing Yuan wasn’t safe from the truth eventually becoming unraveled. And, if he planned for you to never figure him out, then he was out of luck, as now you had an understanding of him greater than before.

Luckily, you could count on him never showing any mercy just because you two officially became an item in a sudden but pleasant turn of events. Deep understanding of him comes with both the advantage and disadvantage of him understanding everything about you in return.

He’s managed to capture your king, but who’s the real winner here?

[thesiltverses]

absolutely obsessed with making a propaganda saint and making it not be fully controlled by the government, symbolizing how real propagandas go out of control very easily once people start spreading them around and sometimes even turn into a mutation of the original to turns into the general consensus.

i also think val is scary but LEAGUES less horrifying than carson because holy FUCK 0_0

The intent was very much, 'ok, let's have Val murder a bunch of people horribly and erase them from existence, then see if we can spend the last ten minutes exploring whether she's really the worst person in the episode.'

The blatant uncontrollability of Val and the refusal of anyone to acknowledge that is an interesting point because it felt like a relevant jab at the condition of real-life politics right now (specifically here in the UK, although certainly it's very applicable elsewhere) where from Brexit to COVID to austerity to the environmental to the collapse of social care, there's a desperate collective refusal to accept the facts of how horribly things have gone wrong (and a constant media denunciation of anyone who wants to get us to pay attention to it as obstructive or treacherous).

And it feels less like 'just' propaganda at this point, and more like a desperate, horribly successful continued worship of deeply-embedded fantasies about Britain's status quo that could go on ignoring the far grimmer realities indefinitely no matter how many deaths are involved or how bad things get; the superstructure of a nation ploughing on as the base rots.

So it was very much deliberate that the entire meeting room voluntarily goes along with these absurd, blinkered lies (that Val is under their control, that this is a groundbreaking new kind of god and not just, as Shrue says, the same dangerous and reckless stuff that's come before, that it's unpatriotic and unhelpful to raise some fairly basic concerns); they don't need a liar's god to rewrite their own reality.

[just-a-carrot]

Can I just say, (as someone without a vision impairment mind you, so I’m perhaps not the best person to speak on this matter), it is clearly evident that you’ve done research into rural living accommodations for blindness. I can’t exactly say whether the portrayal is flawless as, again, im not that well versed in the topic, but the good intent is clearly there and the realism is nice

(Broomtail related btw)

ahhh I have done a lot of research and put a ton of thought into it yeah 💦 even though it's been mostly a silly comic so far I want to show some realistic moments too. it will probably actually get grimmer as it goes on (not related to this specifically but just in general with both realism and some plot ideas I have). like not dark dark but just with some drama and angst a bit

I really just want to make sure that despite the light-heartedness that it does feel immersive and thoughtful and that I've put a lot of thought into the chars' needs and situations and the realities of the time and environment

[lord-squiggletits]

This might be bc of my personal reading of exRDI/OP bc I'm pretty sure the authorial intent was to just write Optimus as having some fall from grace/borderline tyrannical edge but like

I really kinda wish the story had been written as more of a political intrigue, almost GOT-esque thing (sorry for the cliche) where like, instead of Optimus being written as the narrative's scapegoat to be condemned both by the characters in universe and the meta narrative, he was just written as...morally gray? With more of a focus on "this is a shitty situation where no decision is good" rather than having Optimus just be some sort of white guilt stand-in of how oh, he's a Prime so that means the most important part of his legacy is how Cybertronians are awful and he's no better than the other ones etc.

Like Barber doesn't write Optimus as EVIL or in a way where he's unilaterally condemned as a person who did more harm than good, it's just imo the vibes of the story is more of a dark political/war story where no person is clean and there's no solution to the war that doesn't involve moral compromise. Instead Optimus is forced to make these moral compromises but then everyone else in the story loses their absolute shit and immediately starts calling him a tyrant or a fascist or something.

Like idk, it was partially an issue of the set-up. Because for one, it was really hard to take it seriously when the humans went "omg he's annexing Earth the Autobots were literally the colonizers all along!" (I think the dialogue was written almost exactly like that too sjdjsidn, so bad dialogue was also another issue) yet were perfectly fine working with the Decepticons led by 1. Soundwave who personally helped execute the attempted invasion of Earth and 2. Galvatron who constantly talks about wanting to kill these puny organics. I feel like I would've been able to take humanity's fears of being colonized again more seriously if like, they hadn't literally teamed up with The Colonizer Faction just bc Soundwave promised they were good guys again. So really it's just execution + plot holes + bad dialogue.

And another thing about the annexing of Earth specifically that I wish got talked about more (mostly by the fandom more than in universe) is that like. Basically the reason Optimus did that was because the neo-Decepticons were planning to invade Earth again, but since he's not actually a formal political leader any more he has no power to actually force a war to stop them/request military back up. But also, Starscream didn't give a shit about Earth and neither did the Council of Worlds, so appealing to the government for help defending humanity wouldn't work either. So Optimus annexing Earth was an absolute clusterfuck yes, but in a way it was also kind of a shrewd political move to force Cybertron to dedicate a spot in the government for humans and thus grant humans a say on Cybertronian politics.

What I mean is that in a story/with an author like that of GOT, where the setting is grimmer and every character is morally ambiguous, I feel like Optimus would've had way more room to be an interesting and compelling character. Bc then instead of the story immediately screaming "ALL HAIL OPTIMUS DID YOU KNOW OP ANNEXING EARTH TO THE COUNCIL IS BASICALLY THE SAME AS MEGATRON ATTEMPTING TO GENOCIDE EARTH," Optimus could have been played around with more as a political figure making the shitty decisions in an effort to stop another genocide. Instead of just unilaterally condemning Optimus and immediately comparing him to fucking Megatron of all people, there could've been more focus on the politics of it with maybe some sort of theme of how "being a leader in war is an inherently unethical position where every decision you make will lead to death/conflict/hate."

Like idk I just think it would've been more interesting if the narrative spent less time going "zomg Optimus is totally a tyrant now" and instead went all in on exploring the political conflicts and how far politicians (Optimus now being one, since he's declaring wars and forcefully acting as an ambassador that no one asked for) can go on manipulation and forcing people's hands for the sake of an ultimately good cause. I mean, Windblade was doing shit like covering up for Chromia who killed people in a bombing, making backdoor deals with Starscream, and conspiring with Optimus to bypass Starscream/overthrow him as Cybertron's ruler somehow. The difference of course is that Windblade and exRID were written by two different authors with genre/thematic differences, but as a reader it is really disappointing to see two different political narratives where "a hero turned politician turning to morally gray/unethical methods to outmaneuver a deadly opponent" is treated as clever and heroic for one character, but tyrannical and worthy of ostracization of another character.

Like for God's sake this narrative where Optimus gets lambasted at every turn sometimes by people who work with/are literal tyrants/terrorists themselves is so fucking exhausting. I'd rather read a story that focused more on the idea of, well what Optimus did was unethical but on a political level it was actually advantageous in several ways. Then you could write a story that really dives into a view of like, idk... Does power inherently corrupt or is it just situations like war that allow leaders to seize power and become tyrannical? Are politics an inherently dirty field where the only way to beat your competition (and secure a decent future for the nation) is to become underhanded and manipulative yourself? Is it okay to bypass or work against rightfully elected officials when those officials are turning a blind eye to things like war and invasions and historic racism?

ExRID did somewhat touch on these themes to be fair, but I feel like in Optimus' case they were either poorly executed or just thrown away in favor of having every other character talk shit about him and how he's the worst person ever. Bc like goddammit, I do think Optimus' polarizing and sometimes bad decisions as a character DO make him skirt on the edge of tyranny and shouldn't be downplayed, but on the other hand, I feel like no one (fandom or in-universe) ever tangles with the OTHER side of the story, which is just... Would it have been unethical for Optimus to NOT have done anything? Cybertronians literally put a colony on Earth, injected Earth with alien technology and sleeper agents, used Earth as an incubating ground for dangerous elements like Ore-13, invaded Earth and killed 1 billion people-- after all the shit Cybertron did to Earth, is it not fair (even morally obligated) for Cybertronians to clean up their shit and help Earth defend itself against a crisis that Cybertronians caused? And if Cybertron's government/the individuals within are racist enough that they don't care about Earth, don't see it as their problem, and don't even see human life as meaningful since they don't live that wrong anyways... is it not, in a way, a good thing for Optimus to have overstepped his authority and forced diplomatic relationships between the two planets? So that humans had an actual political channel to go "fuck you, we're in your Council so you'd better ally with us" and so that Cybertron would be forced to go "welp can't write off these humans as Not Our Problem, guess we have to help them." Doesn't forcing Earth to be part of the Council in a way legitimize Optimus' fight to help Earth, since without a formal political office he's just a rogue general fighting an unauthorized war, but with the government involved, defending Earth now becomes a politically sanctioned act?

Like idk. I guess exRID and OP did get into some of this stuff, but as a whole it felt like the story underutilized its political elements and got bogged down in shit like pointless crossovers, and constantly pausing the narrative to have Side Character #2847 talk about how Optimus is a fascist, and having Optimus go on white guilt-esque monologues about how maybe all Cybertronians should die and are unworthy/unable to ever have a peaceful society because their society colonized other planets.

Just so much wasted potential honestly. ExRID/OP as written felt like it was going way too hard into "omg Cybertronians bad and Optimus is actually a tyrant" instead of just writing a complex story and letting readers come to their own conclusions. And also lambasting Optimus for doing things that other characters did (or characters who did even worse things), but letting those characters exist in peace while Optimus has to just be some allegory for colonialism that has to be torn down at every turn because that's Deep and Intellectual.

I just like the kinds of stories about politics that play around with the ethics of it all, like, "this politician is a shitty person but their policies actually prevented some sort of disaster from happening" or "this person did something illegal and defied the law but they did it because no one else was doing anything" or even "everyone hates this person for forcing them into a political deal they didn't want to be involved in, but the fact that they were all forced to become allies actually allowed them to cooperate and save themselves in a way they wouldn't have been able to alone" (which is pretty much literally how the annexing of Earth ended up going).

Like man I don't want to sit here being lectured/having my favorite character be lectured about how much tyranny is bad. I want my favorite character to do shitty things and then go "whoa that was shitty...but also kind of smart...but also caused a lot of problems...but also solved some other problems that could've turned awful if he hadn't forcefully resolved them."

[takadasaiko]

Fractured Gold in the Storm, Chapter Two

Story Summary:

When a set of Time Lords show up to arrest the Doctor, Tentoo and Rose are thrust into Pete's World's version of the Last Great Time War, which may have an even grimmer ending if they can't find and stop the Moment from fracturing everything.

Chapter Summary:

Rose jumps into action to go help the Doctor and they land themselves in a dangerous situation on Gallifrey.

Read on AO3

----

The logical side of her mind told her that he’d done what he’d done to protect them, but the other side was bloody pissed. They’d had such a nice evening and she’d had every intention of making it even better until they found two uninvited Time Lords in their home that had stunned her mum and taken off with her Doctor. 

Jackie had come ‘round a few minutes after they left and Rose had felt terrible rushing her to it. She couldn’t just leave her, but she couldn’t just leave the Doctor either. They’d mistaken him for someone else - possibly the Doctor of this world - and had hauled him off to who knew where. He needed her help. 

“How ya gonna get to him anyway, sweetheart?” Jackie asked from her place on the couch, a cup of tea in her hands as she curled a little deeper into the oversized pillows. “You haven’t got a way to follow him!”

“Just let me worry about that,” Rose answered, checking her phone again. Where the hell was he?

As if on cue, a knock came at the door. Rose launched forward and down the narrow stairs, flinging it open when she reached it. Pete stood there, a bit startled, but softened almost immediately. “Sorry it took me so long. Had to drop Tony off at my mum’s.”

“They’re all gone now. You coulda brought him,” Rose said, but brushed it off immediately. She tipped up on her toes and kissed her dad’s cheek. “Mum’s upstairs. Got stunned by an alien gun, so better get her checked out. I’ll be back soon!”

“Wait, Rose!” he shouted as she darted past him  and out the door. It was fine. No matter how long it took, once she found the Doctor they’d be back in five minutes. She just had to find him. Somehow. 

Her boots grabbed at the pavement as she circled into the alley, the familiar blue police box waiting for her. She burst through the front door, an upgraded palm reader with her imprint successfully tested in real time, and the TARDIS purred to life around her. “I need you to take me to the Doctor,” she instructed, circling around to the console she always saw him enter coordinates into. It remained blank. “Oh, c’mon,” she murmured lowly, “don’t do this to me. Can’t you work for me too?” Her fingers brushed the console and it lit up. “Oh. Okay. Right then.” 

Coordinates needed, was scrawled across the screen. She’d never seen the TARDIS communicate quite so clearly before, but she wasn’t going to knock it. 

“Where… he said they were Time Lords, so they’re from Gallifrey, right? That’s a good place to start if you can’t track him. Take us to Gallifrey.”

The TARDIS lurched into motion, the wheezing of the engines filling Rose with hope. The TARDIS understood her. It was working with her, and if it’d work with her, she could find the Doctor. 

There was a jolting feeling of being hurled through what the Doctor called the Time Vortex. It felt like it left half of her behind and took a few moments longer than it should to catch up. Or maybe that was just her nerves. She’d jumped into this without a plan, without weapons or ammunition. If she needed to fight to get him out, she had nothing. Instead she’d done what he would have: hurled herself through time and space to protect the one she loved. She’d figure out the rest. 

The TARDIS settled down, dropping out of the Vortex and coming slowly to a landing. With each pulse that would have made it visible from the outside, a terrified scream came into range. She knew that voice. 

Rose jumped forward, all thought of strategy left behind as the Doctor’s cry rang out and she slammed through the doors of the TARDIS to empty out into a strange, otherworldly chamber. Lit in green with foreign, circular writing etched into its walls, it looked like it should have held more than the handful of people in it that stood around. In the center were two men, one she didn’t recognize in very fancy robes, and he had a hand against the Doctor’s temple, the latter’s cry dying out as he staggered a bit when the fancy man released him. Rose stood frozen for a moment, watching it play out, and the Doctor didn’t seem to know she was there. He appeared to be locked in place, knees half bent as if they were in the process of giving way but never quite getting there, and his head tilted up a little. As Rose finally moved and circled around him, she saw his eyes wide and staring unseeing at the ceiling above. He blinked once, a strange and haunted look lingering as he slowly  locked eyes with the other man. “I didn’t know it could be worse,” he croaked, and his knees finally finished giving way and he crashed hard to the floor. 

Rose rushed over, dropping instantly to his side. “Doctor?”

He was completely out, limp in her arms and eyes closed. Rose heard the man in the robes shift his stance. “He was… overwhelmed… by what he saw,” he said, sounding a bit overwhelmed himself. 

“And what was that, exactly?” Rose demanded. “What’d you do to him?”

“He will be well in time. I viewed his mind to verify the story he told. He spoke the truth, which makes you…” There was a fraction of a pause, as if he were searching for her name or trying to decide which one fit best. “Rose Tyler.”

“That’s me,” she answered, though the confirmation sounded more snappy than she’d intended. 

“We do not allow aliens in our city walls,” the man said and she finally looked towards him. “But for you  - because of what you are to him - we will make an exception.”

“Oh gee, thanks,” she grumbled. “Can we leave then? Now that you’ve gotten what you wanted?”

“His last regeneration seems to have left him… weaker in some ways. He needs rest. I’ll have our people prepare chambers for the evening. Tomorrow I will speak to him about what he saw and how we can work together to resolve it.” 

“Resolve what?”

“The fractures in time and space that the Doctor of this world has created.”

Rose swallowed hard. That’s it. Her clever man was always chasing the problem down to its source, even if he had to get himself arrested and mind melded to do it. She looked down and saw his eyelids flutter as if he were struggling against some unseen enemy even in unconsciousness. She bent over, her lips brushing his forehead. “Don’t you dare leave me,” she whispered. “I love you.”

A soft breath left him and she could have sworn she heard his response back. 

Boots on polished marble sounded as men in ornate robes surrounded them. The one that had done this took a step forward. “Rise, child.”

“I’m not leaving him.”

“No. Not this day.”

The words echoed ominously as she stood, but didn’t dare move more than was needed to gather the Doctor up and move him to a place where he could rest. 

—-

It felt like he was floating, weightless and drifting. He couldn’t be sure, but in the distance he thought he could hear the hammering that had filled the year that never was and he wondered, just for a moment, if the same madness that had taken his oldest friend-turned-enemy was creeping up to his own mind, threatening to drag him down into its depths. 

His eyes snapped open and he found his feet beneath him now. He squinted against the blinding twin suns, shielding his face from the hot breeze that seemed to always be blowing outside of the protective dome encasing the Citadel on Gallifrey. He could feel the gritty sand against his face and the mental touch on his mind, just out of reach. A whisper locked away, but maybe with just a few more steps he could reach it… One, then another. He felt like he was sinking, but just ahead, through the swirling, bright sand he could see a box with someone sitting on it. He blinked and she was gone. Again and he was in front of her, all golden hair and flaming eyes that reminded him of that horrible day that she’d been willing to soak up the Heart of the TARDIS itself to find him. To save him. 

This wasn’t Rose, though. The figure tilted her head, her lips pouting, but they didn’t move as he heard her voice swirling in his head:  No more. No more no more no more. 

Then, like any good nightmare, the landscape shifted. 

Everything was burning as he stood on the streets of Arcadia, droves of people fleeing on all sides as Daleks swooped in, taking aim with their extermination protocols taking out every man, woman, and child in their path. He remembered this, even if he often tried to disassociate himself from it. This was the last day of the Time War. That final day when he’d sealed the fate of friend and foe alike. To stop the killing, he’d massacred them all. 

“Can you do it?” a small voice startled him, drawing his attention down to where a child stood before him. One of 2.47 billion that would simply cease to exist before they’d even truly begun to live. “Did you stop it?”

The answer died in his throat, choking him, and he felt his vision blur, but this time it wasn’t from the smoke and the dust. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.”

An explosion stole his attention and when he looked back, the child was gone. All that remained was fire and ash and death and his head was pounding with each breath he took. Today was the day it all ended. And no. He didn’t stop it. He’d been the one that ended it for them all.

Doctor?

The voice cut through the noise and the smoke, drawing his gaze up to the burning skies of his home planet. He knew that voice. He would know that voice. He would always know that voice. Somehow it was so different than the woman that had worn her face just a few moments before. “Rose,” he breathed, her name riding out on his breath and shattering the nightmare around him. 

He blinked, a room coming into focus. White and sterile and far too bright for his aching head. The Doctor groaned, but looked over as a gentle hand pressed against his forehead to smooth his hair back. Despite everything, a smile touched his lips. “Hello.”

“Hi,” she greeted back. “How’re you feeling?”

“Rotten,” he acknowledged before he could think to lie about it. He squeezed his eyes closed, pointlessly trying to will the headache away, and she pressed a kiss to his forehead. That seemed to help a little. 

“I was startin’ to think he’d really hurt you,” Rose murmured, forcing the Doctor to struggle through his memories to follow back how he’d gotten there and who he was.

 That’s right. Rassilon. He’d sent a TARDIS worth of Time Lords to Earth to pick him up think he was — 

“But you’re alright, though?” she pressed.

“Oh yeah. Nothing like a psychic overload to knock ya straight off your feet, but --” he looked at her, holding her gaze and intentionally softening his tone -- “I’m alright.”

There was a moment he was sure she was weighing that, but in the end she gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Alright. Answers then. So who is he? Is this really Gallifrey?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, shifting in the bed and trying to get a better view of where they were. A medical facility. Brilliant. The next to last place he would have wanted to wake up in. He felt a tug and reached up with his free hand to pull at the medical equipment attached to his temples that had been giving the physician a read out of his brainwaves. An alarm began to beep and he ignored it. “As to who… Pompous man in fancy robes?”

“That’s the one.”

“Rassilon. Current Lord President, founder of what we know as Time Lord culture.”

Her dark eyes widened as she shifted back, giving him room to sit up on the bed. He found more machines connected and systematically started removing them as he did. “You’re over nine hundred, so how old’s that make him?” she asked as the doors to the private room gave a subtle click of a lock being undone and a female physician entered, looking simultaneously relieved and irritated at what she saw. 

“Oh, no one quite knows,” the Doctor answered with a shrug, ignoring the Time Lady as she fussed with the equipment. “Doesn’t help clear it up that he died at some point and that lot brought him back for the Time War.” He winced as the machine gave off a shrill sound that wasn’t doing his headache any favours. He leaned forward, elbows against his bent knees still under the thin sheets. “Blimey! Bit obnoxious, yeah?”

“Next time, don’t just start tugging at wires,” she snapped, flipping a switch that silenced the machine. 

“Why’d he arrest you though?” Rose asked. 

The Doctor’s expression darkened and he turned to the physician, finding her gaze snapping back from where it had been on Rose back to the equipment. Well someone didn’t want to be caught listening. “Don’t guess there’s a chance of gettin’ an audience with him, is there?” 

“The Lord President is indisposed. He left you in my care.” She squared her shoulders and her gaze shifted past him and to Rose. “He needs rest. We’ve never seen anything like this form of regeneration before. We don’t know his limits. If you need anything, this intercom will reach us.” She motioned to the panel she’d used to turn off the equipment, waited for Rose to nod, and turned on her heel to walk out the doors. They gave a soft, audible click behind her after they’d shut. 

“Not how I thought we’d be spendin’ the evening,” she grumbled.

The question died on the Doctor’s lips at the pointed look he found himself on the receiving end of. “Well, might I offer you the next best thing?”

“What’s that now?”

He tossed back the sheets, thankful to find that he was still dressed in his trousers, even if he was missing his shoes, jacket, and tie somewhere around the room. “A daring escape.” 

“You’ve been unconscious for hours.”

“But I’m fine now.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and his sock covered feet touched the cool floor beneath it. He pushed himself off the bed, holding his breath, and found himself… mostly steady. Steadyish. Steady enough. “See? Right as rain.”

She lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “Do we need to be escaping?”

“Oh yeah.”

“But he knows you’re not who he thought you were.”

“Oh, I doubt he’s given us much more thought other than how to keep us preoccupied. Didn’t help I was flat on my back for… however long. Sorry ‘bout that. Where’d you leave the TARDIS?”

“It was in a big green room.”

“Council chambers. Brilliant. They’ll have had to physically move it down to the bay to try to pry it open. Good news is that coming from another universe they won’t have the override codes and she’ll keep ‘em out for a bit. Buy us some time.” He was up now, having found his jacket and tie - shoving the latter in his pocket to deal with later - but not his shoes. He tossed the jacket back on the bed as he dropped to his knees to search for it. 

Rose cleared her throat and he looked back and up, finding his trainers under the same chair she’d been sitting in. He flashed her a smile and she shook her head, her own amusement leaking through. “You gonna fill me in on why he wants the TARDIS?”

He sat on the floor to tug his shoes on. “Oh, I imagine they’re looking for a way to track the Doctor of this universe. If he’s anything like me, he’d have found a way to turn the recall off first time they dragged him back here without warning. That’s off the table, but if they use our TARDIS -“

“Our?” Rose asked slyly. 

“Never get tired of that, do you?”

“Nope!”  She extended a hand down to him as he finished tying the laces on his right shoe and took it, popping to his feet and offering a wink. “So they’re going to use the readouts on our TARDIS to bypass any safeties he has, huh?”

“They’ll try. Have to get inside first.” He shrugged on his jacket, patting his pocket to find it empty. 

“Looking for this?” Rose asked, holding his sonic screwdriver up with a grin. “Thought they might try to take it off ya.”

His smile grew to match hers. “Clever girl,” he praised and took the sonic to the door, readjusting the settings several times.

“Do you really think he’s behind all the tears between worlds?” 

Well, Rassilon had filled her in on some of it. Interesting. 

There was an audible click from the lock.

“That’s what we’re gonna find out.”  He held a hand out. “Ready?”

“Always.” She took it and they were off. 

——

Rose hadn’t memorised where they were going when they’d brought the Doctor back to the medical area. She’d been a bit preoccupied between watching his hitched breathing and the unknown people that surrounded them that she had had to rely on to help him. No one had introduced themselves. No one had bothered to acknowledge her after the man the Doctor called Rassilon had spoken to her. She was just the strange little alien girl to them. It had likely worked out in her favour,  no matter how frustrating it had been. It had let her snag his sonic and had allowed her to stay by his side without any fuss as long as she gave the medic that had been looking after him room to work. 

Thankfully the Doctor seemed to know where he was going, or at the very least he was acting like he did. She hadn’t run like this in a while, her hand fit perfectly into his and following behind as they moved through the strangely empty, windowless halls. 

They came to a corner and the Doctor slammed to a stop, motioning like he expected someone to be just around the corner. From running to creeping silently forward, he didn’t release her and she followed right behind as he risked a look around the blind corner. “That’s not right,” he muttered, moving so that he stood fully in the side hallway. 

“Are we lost?”

“No. Well, mostly not. Should have run into someone by now though.”

“I take it we’re not just lucky?”

“Not sure.” He was on the move again and she watched him grow more and more agitated with each empty hall. They wove what Rose hoped was outward, though the further they walked, the more uneasy she felt. Like the chamber she’d arrived in, everything was built on a grand scale. A grand scale with no one to fill it. She tightened her hold on his hand. 

“If it’s built the same way our Citadel in our universe was, we should have a sky bridge that leads us to the maintenance bay right past —“ He slammed directly into the doors he’d clearly thought would slide open for him. He shook it off, shooting it a skeptical look, and pulled out his sonic to start working on the control panel. 

“I’m just gonna ask it,” Rose said after a minute.

“Please don’t.”

The request startled her and she leaned against the wall, giving her a quick view of where he was crouched down as well as the long and empty hallway.  “But it’s all wrong, isn’t it? It feels all wrong.”

He made a non-committed sound and gave the panel a hard smack with the palm of his hand and the door slid open. Hot wind gushed in and somewhere in the distance Rose could hear an alarm sounding. She turned, a strange dread filling her up as she peered through the now-open doorway. It was bright and warm. She squinted, seeing two suns, one dipped lower in the sky than the other. They lit the sky in fiery tones of red and orange. They were beautiful, but as Rose turned her gaze down, she saw the destruction.

The door might have led to a skybridge once. If she squinted she could imagine the domed glass that simultaneously protected the pedestrians from the outside elements and provided a view that was must have been beautiful once. She wondered, for just a moment, what kind of wildlife Gallifrey had. If the Doctor had run through those hills below as a little boy or played in the trees there. Was his childhood home amongst one of the ruins that she looked down on now from the open door? The crumbling towers that looked like they’d been bombed, half fallen into cracks in the earth that had swallowed some up whole. Everything below them was quiet. Abandoned. The fields were burnt and the trees looked like metal put through fire. She swallowed hard, looking up. The glass itself was only partially shattered, sharp edges still hanging jaggedly from the beams that had once supported the windows. The stone floors must have been what saved portions of it, but the hall was mostly blown away as well, leaving only a narrow and often unsteady looking path right next to the interior wall. Between it and where the glass would have met was a sheer drop down that would kill them both. 

Rose risked a look at her Doctor who had come to stand with her at some point. He stared down at the wreckage with his expression somewhere between fury and unbearable sorrow. Her heart ached for him and she reached out, fingers softly touching his and startling him out of whatever dark thought he’d been drowning in. “Hey. Let’s find another way.”

He glanced back at the alarm that was still sounding, tilting his head to the side as if he might hear something she could not. All at once, he snatched up her hand and started forward. “Stay directly behind me. Not a step out of place.”

Footsteps finally began to echo in the distance and she realised what he must have already known: there was no other way. Not one that didn’t land them in some sort of holding cell or worse. Rose gave a sharp nod and followed him forward. 

The hot breeze whipped around them and he took the first step out. He paused, shifting his weight, and then continued forward. Rose followed behind, careful to watch his feet and take note that he was avoiding all of the cracks in the masonry. Each step of his was steady, even when he gave a short jump over a particularly crumbly part of the walkway. Well, short for him and his long legs. Rose sized it up as she heard shouting behind her. 

The Doctor turned around when he realized she wasn’t right with him and reached a hand out. “C’mon!”

Rose pulled in a deep breath. She’d been to the furthest edges of the universe and crossed dimensions to find this man. A little hop over a several hundred foot drop was nothing. 

“Halt!” a guard yelled behind her and Rose could feel the shaky ground beneath her shift as they added their weight. She held that deep brown gaze that she knew so well as she jumped.

His hand grabbed hers and she felt her right boot land. Then she felt the stone beneath it give way. The walkway dropped out from under her and she followed, her own startled cry choked off by the sudden drop. The Doctor’s fingers tightened around her wrist and she felt herself slam to a stop. Then swing. Then dangle. She risked a look up because she didn’t dare risk a look down. He was seated now, struggling to keep himself tumbling after her with the momentum in her direction.  “Doctor!”

“I’ve got you,” he promised, his own sneakers slipping against the stone as he leaned back, desperate, but he got one foot wedged against a protruding piece of the walkway to brace himself. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” he muttered, and she wasn’t quite sure if he was talking to himself or her, but he shifted and finally met her eyes again. “Grab my hand with both.”

As she did, part of her mind flashed back to that goofy smile he always got when he talked about losing it. Or gaining it, maybe, in his case. Regeneration really did make it hard to keep track. 

“Somethin’ funny?” he asked in a strained voice as he started to pull.

“Love that hand,” she teased and, despite the fact that she was dangling over a several hundred foot drop, he gave her that grin she loved. They worked together and Rose clambered over the edge and halfway landed in his lap as she fell onto somewhat solid ground on the other side of the crumbling walkway. “And the man attached to it.”

“Stay right where you are!” the guard called from the other side, though he hardly looked intimidating with the distance he was keeping from the ledge.

“Right. Time to go,” the Doctor told her and hopped to his feet, offering her the same hand to help her up. She took it and they started forward, but a couple of steps in he slammed to a stop, turned to look at her as if he’d forgotten something very important, and said, ��And I love you, Rose Tyler.”

And then they were off. Running away from a handful of Gallifreyan guards into the ruins of the city she was sure held a deep connection for him. But he had hold of her hand and she wouldn’t dare let go of it.

---

She’d been right in that the whole Citadel felt wrong. Part of it was the emptiness of the halls, the ruins of the city and fields that surrounded it. He’d known on an intellectual level what releasing the Moment had done, but seeing it unfold in fractured pieces of reality was like being caught in a time loop and being forced to watch it happen again and again and again. He remembered the days, weeks, and years that followed it in his own timestream. The dispair and the regret. It hung heavy in the air with every breath he drew in in this place, and he wondered if that too was leaking through the fractures or he was just reminded of his own necessary sins.

But that was only part of it. The other part wasn’t quite as easy to catch ahold of. Sometimes he thought he ran so fast that he ran right past what should be staring him in the face. It wasn’t until they hit the maintenance bay and found it almost as empty as those halls had been, the TARDIS sitting out in the open, that he knew.

The guards had been for show. They hadn’t been faster than the few available guards, they’d been given a clear path with a few play actors to keep them from being too suspicious. 

“The one thing you can count on the Doctor for: a ruckus,” a voice echoed in the bay and Darkel stepped out of the shadows to stand between the Doctor and the TARDIS. “From this world or another.”

He turned back the way they had come to see her partner in chase - Chalmirraflexon - coming up from behind. Rose squeezed his hand before reluctantly releasing in, ready for whatever came next. It was moments like this that he was reminded of everything she’d been through, everything that she’d been forced to become, just to find him. She’d learn to fight and she’d learned to survive. He touched her hand subtly, the unspoken plea of wait causing her to relax the stance only slightly.

“You can’t get in,” the Doctor said as he looked between the two of them. “And you need my TARDIS to find his.”

Chalmirraflexon took a step closer, the movement conveying the underlying threat. 

“We have no interest in harming you,” Rassilon’s voice echoed from the bay, drawing part of his attention back that way. “You’ve seen what the Moment has done. What it is doing. What it will do. You swore an oath once to protect Gallifrey.”

“You saw what happened in our universe. The only difference is a glitch in this one,” the Doctor answered, his voice rougher than he expected with all the old anger that came with those dark memories. He watched Rassilon carefully, the ancient Time Lord’s stoic expression cracking only slightly at that. What in all the worlds had he expected? He saw it. He knew. The man he’d been during the war was hardly different than the man they were desperate to chase down. “I won’t help you kill him,” he said firmly. “There’s been enough death in all of this.”

“And if the Moment remains open, there will be more,” Darkel chimed in. 

“Then I’ll close it.” He could feel Rose’s eyes on him from behind and oh he wished she’d watch the threat on her left.

“They’ll try to stop you.”

“They?” Rose asked and Darkel glared at her with the same disdain that so many Time Lords had for what they deemed to be lesser species. 

Rassilon, strangely, did not. Oh, he looked at her, but there was none of the irritation the Doctor would have expected there. “He’s not working alone.”

“That’s my problem to solve,” the Doctor answered, wondering what familiar face from his past he might see. In his own time, he’d been alone by choice, drowning in his own regret and pain and loneliness and feeling that he deserved every second of it. He wasn’t sure who this Doctor had aligned himself with, but it didn’t change anything. “Those are my terms, Rassilon, and the ones you'll have to agree to if you have any hope of using our TARDIS to track down his. Even if you pry the door open, she’ll never fly for you. You need us.” He looked back at Rose. “Both of us.”

There was a beat of silence as the demand hung in the air. If Rassilon denied it, this was going to turn into a scuffle and he really wanted to avoid that. 

“You’re running out of time,” Rose said, her voice steady and determined, despite the ancient creature she was staring down. Of course it was. “We saw what it’s doing and if Gallifrey’s ground zero, whatcha gonna do when somethin’ opens and swallows you whole?”

Rassilon pushed a frustrated breath out through his nose, as his gaze swerved to focus on them. Finally, he nodded. “Close it, Doctor, and we will handle the rest.”

“No. You’ll leave him to me. That’s non negotiable.”

“Very well,” he ground out and took a symbolic step aside. 

Behind Rose, Chalmirraflexon also stood down. She came to stand next to the Doctor and, together, they moved through the bay, and in an impulsive moment, he snapped his fingers and the doors to the TARDIS - the same that he knew they’d been struggling to open -  flew open with ease. Straight backed, squared shouldered, they entered, those same doors shutting behind them and leaving them alone inside. 

“Don’t think we’re not talkin’ ‘bout that --” she started, already moving to the opposite side of the console as he was hopping to.

“-- but he’s not going to just let us handle it,” the Doctor answered the question she hadn’t had a chance to ask yet. He pulled the lever that sent them flying away. “First thing’s first!”

“Where’re we going?”

“Anywhere but here. We’ll break out, do a quick scan-sy on the ol’ girl and --” A violent shudder interrupted him. 

“I’m all for a good sci-fi bit, but I swear if they’ve picked us up in some sorta tracker beam…”

An alarm screeched out.

“No, it’s just…. Nope.” Well that definitely hadn’t been the right move. He jumped to another control. “No, not that. If I just --” 

Another shudder. Then another. Then a jolt and he heard Rose swallow a scream as she tumbled from her feet. He landed hard on the other side of the main console, rolling to pop back up to his feet in a practiced motion as the ship smoked around him. His hands flew across the buttons and the levers, working and adjusting as he made his way around. “Rose, pull that --” He stopped abruptly as he stood from his bent position to find himself face to face with someone that was very much not Rose Tyler.

And as he stared, he realized what Rassilon had said: If he had laid a trap. Not the other Doctor. Not him. Rassilon had been talking about the Time lord in front of him, the one that they hadn’t dared name that had somehow aligned himself with the other Doctor. Slowly, the startled look that he wore at having been thrust into another TARDIS without warning melted into a vicious smirk as the Doctor breathed his name: “Master.”

[ghelgheli]

Genuinely confused what you are talking about. The “majority of us” was not hidden, it was very intentional. There will always be people out there who use “transandrophobia” in shitty, untrue ways the same way there will always be people who use “transmisogyny” in shitty, untrue ways (including ones Serano has addressed). “Transandrophobia” isn’t even a unified theory so much as what unites a bunch of transmascs asking to be heard and taken seriously. But I haven’t seen a single person use it to say the transphobia we experience is completely disconnected from transmisogyny entirely in the past year I’ve been engaging in the subject. Of course the two are interconnected. We only take offense at the idea that transandrophobia is *entirely* misdirected transmisogyny. I feel that anyone can talk over anyone identities aside, so I’m not sure what you’re taking issue with there. It’s not clever, it’s just what seems to be happening to me.

it's interesting that the "majority" of transmascs are alleged to endorse transandrophobia-language (which majority? this is what i meant by hidden. where are they? this would make for an even grimmer world, by the way) and yet only a minority of these are doing so in "shitty, untrue ways". the pie chart gets to shift its proportions as is convenient, when even brief experience (which apparently you are not talking over, but i am) makes clear the investment that the transandrophobia-"bunch" has in transmisogyny. this is a commitment not to being heard, but to grounding their experiences in essentialist claims that their oppression is unique by dint of biological fact

it isn't sufficient to acknowledge that anti-transmasculinity and transmisogyny are "interconnected": as the article i linked argues, the former is a trojan horse for smuggling in the latter. serano's understanding of transmisogyny, as i have pointed out at length, is limited at best, and i am unconvinced that the specter of "shitty, untrue" usages of transmisogyny represents any systemic harm against transmascs in particular; this, of course, is unlike transandrophobia rhetoric which is leveraged against tma people here on the daily. either transandrophobia is a framework with specific and precise claims that get to be evaluated on their own terms, in which case these claims typically amount to afab wombyn-ism about experiences that are supposed to be unique because of ostensible biological truths that only apply to ppl who were afab; or it is "what unites a bunch of transmascs asking to be heard and taken seriously", in which case it is the manner of this bunch's engagement that must be evaluated—and this, unambiguously, has been engagement that derogates tma people and is uninterested in addressing transmisogyny, while constantly visiting empty accusations upon their inboxes.

[alarrytale]

He has a Section 28 tattoo//

No queer person in the UK would dream of commemorating that evil law with a tattoo of a plain 28. If they do refer to it, it's a 28 which is crossed out.

Since I believe Louis is gay, the 28 stands for his Doncaster Rovers number.

https://www.tumblr.com/larentyouglad2/747673846189064192/do-you-think-louis-28-tattoo-is-a-reference-to?source=share

No other Larries think his 28 tattoo is for Section 28. I'm a queer Brit and we would never ever get that number tattooed on us or name a fun clothing line after it to somehow make a reference Section 28. You're not British so maybe you don't know the full horror of that legislation. Louis isn't stupid. He has the tattoo for his football number with Donny Rovers.

Hi, anon! (yes, pretty sure you're the same anon...)

No, i was lucky enough to be born on the other side of the north sea the year it was introduced. Here is what section 28 entailed;

"Local authority shall not intentionally promote homosexuality or publish material with the intention of promoting homosexuality" (source)

Why does it bother you so much that i have a different opinion than you? I also consulted with my tumblr bff (who's a brit) and she agreed with me that Louis would. So does plenty of others, just look it up.

I think it's more than plausible, likely even, that a harshly, unwillingly, closeted man has a tattoo to represent that he isn't allowed to promote homosexuality. His contracts prohibits him from doing exactly that. He's got a fake kid to hide his homosexuality. He's also got a triangle tattoo which is a consentration camp badge given to homosexuals in WWII. That's even grimmer than a section 28 tattoo so... But maybe you don't know the full horror of what happened there?

Everything Louis does means something and if he says it doesn’t, or he does a "it's just a boat" and dismissing it and playing it down we know he's lying. I don't believe he'd get his football shirt number tattooed on his ring finger or name his queer, androgynous fashion company after his football shirt number. Also why would his football number be 28? Just a random number he tattoos on himself and names his fashion company after?

Also why is he always showing his fingers and attracting attention on his 28 tattoo when he's got to deny larry or stunt? It's as if he's telling us he isn't allowed to promote homosexuality... Even if he didn’t get the tattoo for Section 28, he knows that a lot of people think that he did, so this is significant.

It's totally fine if you don’t agree with me. But don’t pretend like this isn't a plausible theory, and i personally believe this over 28 being his football shirt number. I know some people think the 28 is for "To infinity" where the 8 is the infinity sign. I'd believe that over the football shirt number story too.

[shadowmaat]

Neuralemon

I am filled with dread. The first human test subject has been implanted with Melon Husk's brain chip. They have survived, inasmuch as detecting a "neuron spike" implies some level of aliveness. I sincerely wish them all the best, whether that's a full recovery or a painless death.

I understand the importance of medically-implanted devices to help improve someone's life (pacemakers, bionic eyes, neuromodulation devices for epilepsy, etc). I agree that they're important. However, I've also heard stories of, for example, companies going out of business and leaving the owners of those implants without any chance of software upgrades, tech support, or support of any kind. If someone's implant glitches or stops working, there's little anyone can do to help. There are so many ways that things could go wrong, even if a company has ethical intentions.

When a company only cares about maximizing profit and will cut as many corners as they can, well. It gets grimmer. And when the CEO of that company has proven over and over again he has no idea what he's doing (other than making money) and won't listen to the smart people he hires to run his businesses for him? A brain chip exploding or burning the flesh around it is not outside the realm of possibilities. I also wouldn't be surprised if it gets turned into some kind of subscription service: if you want your chip to continue working, you'll pay up or suffer the consequences. What happens if there are connectivity issues, as happens frequently with his cars? What kind of support network will users have, especially once the trials are over? And if the company folds, what then? Do people have until whenever the chip fizzles out to enjoy the benefits of its use and then they revert back to whatever state they were in before? Does he cut them off immediately? Will he have his people go in to remove the chips so no one can "steal" proprietary data? That's IF the chips even do what they're supposed to, which is a pretty huge IF.

I'm appalled that the FDA gave the go-ahead for this, but not overly surprised. Their credibility has been on a steady decline for a while, now. E-lon's was never high to start and just keeps digging itself deeper into the sewage.

May the gods help the recipients of these chips, because E-lon sure won't.

[nanabrainrot]

Could you write about Kim confronting Lalo and / or MC about the relationship dynamic ? I just know she’d want to help MC

YESS ive been a bit busy this week but heres the version with Kim confronting reader - if u want a kim vs. lalo focused version u can just send an ask about it! But here it is </3

Solamente Una Vez

Summary: Kim just has a question. HMMC True Route WC: 1168

There were less grotesque horror movies, Kim was convinced, looking at the sight. You didn’t go out much, this was abundantly clear in the way you posed yourself against him, looking lightheaded and unsure with flitting eyes and a jittery posture. You looked distraught and lost alone, but only really at ease with another woman. It was depressing.

It took a lot of convincing that the men needed to be alone to have Lalo have you in a room he wasn’t in, but it was okay since it was a mild-mannered married woman like Kim was. She watches you, like a hawk, the way your shoulders lower and heighten calmly in a fashion different from the way you carry yourself with Lalo: stiff. The basic muttering through the wall about business between Saul, Nacho, and Lalo is far off with the intent Kim has; it’s like a scientist observing an endangered animals in the little room. You sit on a chair by her shared bed, sipping some tea with cream and sugar. Quiet. Wordless.

Silent.

“So, how was your day, Mrs. Salamanca?” the blonde gulped, trying to tug a smile out of the other woman.

“Good,” she replied shortly, “and yours?”

“Good,” Kim replied, almost gulping with a brief nod of her head.

Sip.

Wordless, quiet, silent.

“How long have you and Lalo been married?” Your face twists a little, doing the math in your head. A pause.

“Twenty-four years, since 1980, Ms. Kim,” you responded, before sipping again.

“How about you and Mr. Saul?” you mumble, almost like a whisper in case Lalo could hear you through the wall. It goes noticed.

“A few months.” You hum, acknowledging it. Your brows knit, perfectly plucked and the tails filled in.

“First few months are really hard… hope you’re okay, Ms. Kim.” A sip. Noticed.

“It isn’t really. Same as before but a ring this time,” Kim replied. A sip. You seemed to really savor every sip of the tea, like it was a dessert. Your mousy face seems to remember something, then put it down.

A clank.

“Why are the first months hard for you, Mrs. Salamanca?” A hum, no clank nor sip, but your face seems to twist in displeasure at the thought but only for a fleeting moment before replaced with a face of contentment.

“I didn’t really have any boyfriends before Lalo. We got engaged within a week and got married a day or two later. It was hard not knowing what to do or living with a guy you don’t know well, but it turned out fine,” you grin, so hopelessly stupid, “I love him now.”

Every word was dripping in honesty and you meant every word; you loved him so much but every piece of context to your relationship only made her gears turn faster and grimmer. The hum of the men talking next door feels like the hum of an airplane taking off: deafening.

“Only a few days you were engaged?”

“Yes.”

“Was that normal, where you’re from?”

“Mexico? No, it just…” you seem to pause, looking for the word, “happened.” The consideration of what happened crosses your face, so brief you could blink and miss it as the contempt immediately transitioned to gratefulness, like reminiscing a happy memory.

“Do you love him?” It leaves her mouth before she can consider it, the implications and the man next door. Brows knit, mouth twitching.

“Twenty-four years and I love him. More then my life,” your voice cracks. A quivering of the lip.

Her eyes widen, realizing the territory she was breaching before stuttering, “I-I didn’t mean it like that. I was just thinking of you guys not really dating before -“

“I didn’t need to date. He already to chose me before I realized,” you quip, gathering yourself. Cross of the legs, the sundress bunching at the thighs and the thin fabric brushing your ankles. No part of you was out of place, the way she carried herself at work was the way you carried yourself permanently. There was no waver in you any longer; any moment of weakness was immediately covered up and veiled with the prim and proper pout of your pretty face.

“Is he good to you? You can’t look Saul or Ignacio in the eye for him and this is the second time I’ve seen you and you look so withdrawn,” Kim starts quietly, “do you think you’d be this withdrawn or stiff if he didn’t - treat you a certain way? Don’t you want to act like yourself without worrying about what a man thinks?”

 It is a feeling of fear, like when blood runs cold, Kim admits to herself internally. Your brows knit, then relax, eyes squint, then relax, lips purse, then relax. Your throat bobs with a gulp. You have this look of contemplation and consideration about it; every action revolved around Lalo. It was natural as breathing. To consider Lalo was integral to your routine as if it was brushing your teeth. Did he like this dress, the fabric and color? Did you smell like his favorite peachy perfume? Did you chew gum or mints before he came home to kiss you? 

Did you drop everything at a word to keep him happy?

It is a consideration, but it leaves you only with a sense of agitation. Of course she couldn’t understand. The lady with her college degrees and husband whom she was free to leave if she pleased and survive alone dragging any decision you made through the mud of her judgment thinly veiled as concern. She would never understand that there was no real choice with Lalo. In the forced marriage and the decades that passed were lost to the wind. What else could have been done? College? Dates with boys or crushes on tutors or waiters? Picking foods at the farm? It all seemed mundane and ludicrous to consider. To brew on the concept of shaping your own identity seemed pointless, redundant, and insulting. 

Loving Lalo was like winning the lottery, you surmised around year 9 on the marriage.

The crickets chirp a little louder as the door opens, your eyes glued to Kim until Lalo’s voice chimes in: “Ready to go home?” 

Your frame subtly relaxes, something that only puts a sense of unease in Kim as she watches you as your breaths level like you were finally calm. Being around Lalo was as natural as a fish in water or breathing air. 

It was depressing.

“Si,” you replied, smoothing the black sundress as you rose. The clavicles pressed taut against your skin and the flesh of your decolletage was framed by the low dip of the dress clinging on like a second skin. There’s the letter ‘E’ dangling off a chain and hovering over your heart. 

It’s like watching a magnet draw to another, the way he holds out his hand with tentative fingers like about to pick up a rose with thorns and careful to prevent pricking. 

He does look like a man in love and she looks like a woman in love 

It’s sickening.

[arayashikiii]

I'm a little worried, so I'll explain, but the post was written with quite playful intentions. I'm a bit embarrassed that someone mentioned my post(To be honest, it's a bit on the unpleasant side.), but I explain it in advance to avoid any misunderstandings.

I don't think Urasawa created the original story with any specific intent in terms of the relationship dynamics between Grimmer and Runge. The post is just a subjunctive statement. I just wanted to express my thoughts in a somewhat playful way within the Grunge fandom, and it is not the result of serious consideration.

[prince-everhard]

Weekly Oneshot Challenge - week 8

Title: Implications Rating: gen Fandom: Naruto Word count: 552 Summary: The Hokage isn’t kind. How could he be, with an entire village to protect and an entire army to command? Kakashi will do his duty, but he won’t forget. [strike team au]

-

Kakashi looked up from the file in his hands to his Hokage with an expression that could generously be called mildly treasonous. He felt more than mildly treasonous; in that moment he felt betrayed down to his very core. “Is this seriously…?”

The this that had Kakashi so shaken were the files in his hands. His soon-to-be genin team. A genin team was bad enough in Kakashi’s opinion. With the curse that followed him every time he dared to care about someone, giving him genin was like giving them a death warrant. Bad enough to risk Minato-sensei’s son in this way. Bad enough to risk the last loyal Uchiha to the village. Bad enough to risk a natural born mokuton user. All three of them together? When they could be so valuable to the village when fully trained?

As if that wasn’t enough, the three of them being on the same team painted a grim picture for their futures.

“You know what a team like this means, Kakashi.” The Hokage didn’t even have the decency to look apologetic for thrusting this kind of responsibility onto Kakashi. He puffed on his pipe for a moment. “I wouldn’t trust this kind of power with just any of the rank and file.”

Kakashi looked back down at the files in his hands. Two smiling faces and one grimmer than his own at that age looked back at him. They were still so young- all prepubescent baby fat and unscarred skin. An Uchiha, powerful and adaptable. A mokuton user, capable of both defensive and offensive abilities. A jinchuriki… paired with the two bloodlines historically known for being able to control the tailed beast’s power. Kakashi felt sick. He was being asked to train and mold what could very well be the most powerful strike team in the five great nations. He was being asked to bring his curse to bear on three children who would have targets painted on their backs for the rest of their lives.

Kakashi looked up at the Sandaime again. “Hokage-sama, I-”

“Consider what would happen to them without your guidance,” the Hokage interrupted him, as if he hadn’t even begun speaking. “They will be put together, surely you understand why. But who else would you have me teach them?” There was a calculating glint in the Sandaime’s eye. “I suppose they could be taught through more unconventional methods. Konoha hasn’t strayed too far from its roots, after all.”

It would have been kinder for the Hokage to have executed Kakashi right where he stood. Fury and absolute fear tore through him, and he struggled to keep his expression as clear as he could. Not that it would matter. The Sandaime wouldn’t have even hinted at ROOT without knowing what havoc it would cause Kakashi.

The paper crinkled as Kakashi’s fists clenched. He was trapped. There was nothing he could do except accept this responsibility and train those kids so well that they couldn’t fall victim to his curse. “I understand, Hokage-sama.” 

“And?”

It was only his iron control that kept Kakashi’s killing intent from leaking out. “I will train them to the best of my ability, and protect them until my last breath.” And when they shook the world, he vowed to himself, he would make sure nothing could stop them.

[funnywormz]

imho an example of what made DS9's grimmer moments appealing and enjoyable to watch was in Sisko himself: Despite starting the series on a very traumatic note and having to think over or even bend his own scruples throughout the series (esp 'In the Pale Moonlight'), he still ends the series as someone who's ultimately trying to do the right thing. And I feel like it made for a good example of having balance between allowing for nuance and moral ambiguity in Star Trek while still being a setting where the human race as a whole has gotten its shit together and is trying its best to do the right thing, y'know?

(Tangentically related but Sisko's 'it's easy to be a saint when you live in paradise' quote is so fucking raw and wouldn't have hit nearly as hard if it wasn't for the above stuff imo)

YEAH you're very right, i think in general the reason why ds9 works is bc it's emotionally and politically nuanced but also optimistic, and sisko is a rlly great manifestation of that you're right......... i like the depiction of starfleet/the federation as being imperfect but still trying their best, or at the very least being full of people with mostly good intentions, yet still occasionally genuinely fucking up anyways. sisko is much the same like....... he isn't perfect and he has to do some fucked up stuff for the greater good but he's TRYING and he wants to do what's best for everyone and to me that feels way more compelling than a character who's just a perfect paragon of virtue and heroism all the time imo, it's the effort that makes it meaningful