#I really should stop cramming all the post in one day

[massivebadonker]

I'm uhh listening to 'lotta songs these days

I have given up on the guitar at this point

[ohbueckers]

TWO CAN PLAY THAT GAME. you dope, have a player ‘bout to choke, i was at a loss for words first time that we spoke.

CHAPTER ONE! pairing, paige bueckers x teammate!oc. notes, new ju series just dropped who clapped… i’m so excited for this so please let me know what you think and what you wanna see!!! it’ll feature a few different tropes (these bitches are complicated as hell) and i’ll be using different songs. this was also supposed to be out yesterday whoops. warnings, not much just some slight rivalry.

april, 2022

paige sat on the floor, her back pressed against azzi’s bed, eyes staring blankly at her phone screen. the dorm was packed to the brim, all of her teammates crammed into the room, waiting for the news to drop. she wasn’t sure why her palms felt clammy, or why her heart was hammering harder than it should be for a thursday night in late april… or she was completely sure and refused to come to terms with it.

we’re really doing this again, huh?

it had been weeks since the national championship loss, and yet the sting still hadn’t faded. south carolina. dawn staley’s generational ran gamecocks who got almost everything, including that damn sana caruso.

for years, their careers had paralleled each other, both rising basketball stars, always in the spotlight, always part of the same conversations. and yet, for reasons paige couldn’t quite figure out for the life of her, they had never crossed paths. sana was stubborn, that much she knew. paige remembered the day south carolina landed her—it had been all anyone could talk about. opinions flew in every direction: sana should’ve gone to stanford, to ucla, anywhere but there. paige couldn’t lie—part of her had wondered why uconn hadn’t even been in the mix, but it was now, and the blonde felt like she was reliving that evening in 2019 all over again.

wherever she ended up, it would be some news that would flip the script. impact their season, because sana was undoubtedly everywhere. the defensive mastermind, the one who didn’t care if she was 5’10 going up against post players towering over her. she locked them down, put up numbers, and somehow always found her way into the conversation, even when paige tried not to pay attention.

they were talked about like rivals, the head of every one of their matchups, but there had never been any real competition, at least not on the court. paige couldn’t remember a time they’d even properly interacted. but despite how much they were constantly compared, sana had made it painfully clear that paige might as well not exist in her world, and it was infuriating as hell.

“you think she’s really coming?” azzi asked, her voice soft and almost like she didn’t believe it herself as she cut through paige’s thoughts. no one did.

aaliyah, sprawled out on the floor, rolled her eyes. it’d been pushing 10 o’clock, and almost everyone had class in the morning. what had that been stopping, though? absolutely nothing. “if dorka doesn’t hurry up with the article, we’ll never know.”

“hey, be patient.” dorka threw her hand up, shooting her teammates some tight-lipped grin as she furiously scrolled through her phone. “they’re slow with these drops.”

“thats that uconn wifi,” aubrey mumbled, sending everyone into different variations of a laugh.

nika snorted. “nah, she’s right. it’s either that or we’ve got like, fifty million people trying to figure out where sana’s going.”

“bro, you know espn’s probably crashed by now,” aaliyah chipped in, leaning back on her elbows.

paige didn’t know why, but it bugged her that sana had never really acknowledged her—like, at all. not a comment, not a follow, not even a glance her way during games. paige wasn’t used to that. she wasn’t used to being ignored, and their minimal interactions only made the internet have more of a field day with that non-existent rivalry, and if sana weren’t to say anything, why would paige?

and now here they were, possibly about to be on the same team. paige had no clue how that was going to play out, but the thought of it made her stomach flip. it was like some cosmic joke.

“yo, i’m serious though,” aaliyah said, slowly rising from her spot on the floor. “how wild is this? if she really comes here, we’re stacked. that chip is ours this year.”

the blonde suddenly felt defensive. they didn’t need sana caruso to get that chip for them. “she’s not coming here,” paige blurted, half to herself, shaking her head. “no way.”

“why not?” azzi asked, narrowing her eyes. “i mean, all signs point here, right? unless i’m crazy.”

“yeah, but it’s sana,” paige replied as if it were the most obvious thing, running a hand through her hair. “she does what she wants, she’s the type to pick somewhere else just ‘cause everyone thinks she’s coming here.”

“you sound so stupid! and in denial,” nika snickered, throwing herself back into the couch. “just admit you want her on the team, paige.”

paige shot her a look, but couldn’t quite hide the smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. “i don’t care what she does.” she pointed at her chest, sinking further into her spot. “she could go anywhere.”

“sure,” dorka added, inserting herself into the conversation. her eyes didn’t leave her screen as she continued to refresh her browser, almost like she didn’t have to. “because that’s exactly why you’ve been all up in your head about her this whole time.”

“hey, wait. don’t do that.” but it was too late, her teammates had already been throwing out their ‘ooh’s,’ like this were some kindergarten class. but the truth was, she couldn’t deny it. there was something about sana that had her all twisted up, more than she cared to admit. maybe it was the way she carried herself, like she didn’t need anyone’s approval, or the fact that she always seemed to be a step ahead. and it didn’t help that she was ridiculously pretty. like, stupidly pretty. the kind of pretty that got under paige’s skin and made her feel something, even when she tried to act like it was no big deal.

maybe that was what really irked her all these years.

“nah, for real, though,” paige said, trying to keep her cool, “she’s different. she’ll probably pull some wild move and end up at notre dame or something.”

“notre dame?” azzi shot her a confused look. “you’re reaching now.”

“i’m just saying!” paige replied through a laugh, although it was mainly just a gesture to defend herself. shrugging and throwing her hands up in surrender. “she doesn’t follow the crowd. everyone thinks she’s coming here because it makes sense, but you know sana—”

“you don’t know sana,” aubrey cut in with a laugh. “that’s the problem.”

“you sound really passionate about this, paige,” nika laughed out, always the one getting the biggest kick out of things like this. she was always in the mood to tease her twin.

paige opened her mouth to argue, but she stopped short, because aubrey wasn’t exactly wrong. she didn’t know sana, at least not personally. she’d known this version she made up of her in her head, the one that frustrated her to no end, the one she couldn’t ever figure out. and while she did that, sana, with her perfectly highlighted curls that framed her perfect face that always held that stupid fucking smirk probably hadn’t even thought twice about paige bueckers once in her damn life.

“you’ve definitely thought about this way too much,” azzi said, chuckling herself. “like, more than any of us.”

paige threw her head back, groaning. “why is this about me all of a sudden?”

“‘cause you’re acting like she’s been living in your head rent-free for years,” nika teased again, her next laugh coming out in a sputter. this entire thing had clearly been amusing someone.

“yeah, okay, whatever,” paige mumbled, crossing her arms.

“hey, don’t worry,” dorka said, eyes glued to her phone as she moved her hand to rest on paige’s thigh comfortably, consolingly. “you’ll have plenty of time to figure out what’s going on in that head of hers.”

paige raised a brow, lifting her head and turning to the other blonde. “what do you mean?”

dorka’s grin widened as she looked up, everyone’s attention turning back to her. “because she’s coming here. she’s ours, guys!”

for a second, the room went dead silent, the words hanging in the air like they needed time to settle in.

then, chaos.

sana caruso is a uconn husky, meaning paige bueckers could finally figure out what made the girl tick.

july, 2022

the gym was full—more than usual. everyone was there for the first day of summer workouts, even the players sitting out due to injuries. there was the familiar sound of sneakers squeaking against the hardwood floor, and the faint trace of cleaning solution still lingering from the early morning scrubs. july in storrs was hot, too. the kind of heat that clung to your skin and didn’t let go, even inside the gym.

the team was standing around near the sidelines, waiting to start. geno had the new recruits huddled, running through some preseason talk, but all paige could think about was sana—standing a few feet away. they’d obviously been in the same room before, the same gym before, but today felt all too intimate. as it should, though. they were teammates now. hell, they’d be sharing the backcourt.

this would be the first time she’d see her up close—really up close—since everything went down. the transfer news, the headlines, the pics of sana decked out in uconn gear flooding her feed (a sight paige needed to mentally prepare for because damn, did she look good in white and navy blue). it had all felt surreal then, but now, it was about to be real real.

what’s she even thinking right now? paige wondered, feeling a slight pinch of annoyance. because as much as she wanted to believe this was just another day in the gym, it wasn’t. not for her.

when handshakes started, paige couldn’t even hear her own thoughts due to the loudness as everyone went through the routine of greeting the new faces. paige made her way through her teammates, exchanging quick daps and nods, her focus drifting back to sana more times than she’d like to admit.

the blonde was normally more noisy, doing everything in her power to get on with the people she’d be spending the season with. but right now, her interaction with sana would either confirm or deny every assumption she’s ever had, and that was quite frankly the only thing consuming her mind.

she could feel the intensity in her chest when it came time to shake sana’s hand. she stepped forward, hand extended, ready to make some kind of connection, but sana barely looked at her. it was quick, almost dismissive. no eye contact, no words exchanged. paige pulled her hand back, clenching her jaw as she watched her move into conversation with azzi, who seemed to earn a more genuine response than paige could get. a smile, and a giggle that could’ve been mistaken for music.

seriously?

the team broke off, moving toward the court. this’ll be a long practice.

they lined up, and as they went through the typical routine—light shooting drills, ball-handling, footwork—it became clear that sana wasn’t just good. she was a standout. and for someone who was only 5’10 in the basketball world, she carried herself like she could take on anyone, work with anyone, too, no matter the size or position.

“she got handles,” nika muttered under her breath. the comment was meant for the girls around her to catch and respond to, but paige just stood, eye squinted and arms crossed.

“handles? she got vision too,” ice brady, a freshman added, eyes wide as sana weaved through a defense drill, her speed and precision on full display. her ponytail swung perfectly on her head, lip tugged tightly between her teeth as she moved to make a layup. the ball went in, and ayanna moved to grab her rebound. the group cheered her on voluntarily, and paige only moved to turn her head as sana jogged past her to the back of the line, her demeanor as calm and collected as ever. and damn annoying.

the players gathered at the top of the key, forming a loose circle as they got ready to start a more structured scrimmage. paige found herself standing across from sana, their eyes meeting for the first time that morning, but the moment left as quick as it started. sana had her hands on her hips, listening intently to geno as if she didn’t already know what they’d be doing, because the blonde wasn’t supposed to have caught her looking.

“let’s run it!” geno’s voice snapped through the gym again, clapping his hands once, and the team split into two sides as directed, ready to play.

as the scrimmage began, paige tried to shake off the weird tension and focus, although it wasn’t really working. nothing had ever managed to get her off-game this bad. it was the escape, after all, so why did it feel like it would be causing her more problems now? she ran the court as a point guard, eyes scanning for plays, calling out switches, directing traffic. but every time the ball moved to sana, paige noticed the same thing—she’d find a way to dish it to someone else. anyone but her.

what the hell?

on a fast break, paige found herself wide open again, just outside the three-point line. she threw her hands up, calling for the pass. sana had the ball at the top of the key, and paige practically begged for some type of acknowledgment that she didn’t get. but instead of passing, sana faked it and lobbed it to aaliyah under the basket for an easy layup. paige didn’t even move. she just stood there, hands still raised, eyes burning into her ponytail.

“alright, switch it up!” geno called, and the team rotated.

the ball was in her hands now, and she dribbled down the court, eyes searching for a play, trying to shake off the irritation in her chest. the worst part was that no one seemed to notice, because sana had a way of singling the blonde out in a way that made her think she was fucking crazy. she passed to nika, and they rotated again, the pace of the scrimmage picking up.

it finally came to a head when they were working on a transition drill. paige had the ball, racing down the court, and sana was on the wing. paige pushed the tempo, looking for an outlet, but sana cut her off at the last second, forcing her to pull up and reset the play.

that was it. paige lost it.

“yo! if we’re gonna work the backcourt together, you’ve gotta work with me,” she snapped, her voice only turning a few rather concerned heads. she stopped dribbling, staring at sana, her breath coming out in heavy bursts.

sana finally turned to face her, full body and everything, their eyes locking for what felt like the first time all day.

she wasn’t angry, wasn’t startled by paige’s tone. she was calm like she always was, and the slight tilt of her head only pissed paige off more. she was looking right at her now, really looking, and all the playful cockiness that always held some undercurrent, yet always came so naturally to paige, was just gone.

damn.

she didn’t know why she was still standing there, seething, waiting for sana to say something after her outburst. and when she finally spoke, it wasn’t the apology or acknowledgment paige might have been expecting.

“you’re pressing,” sana said, her voice maddeningly casual. like there had been no heat from the beginning. “you’re rushing everything. it’s like you’re trying to do too much.”

paige blinked, caught off guard. rushing? she almost laughed. her jaw clenched, fingers tightening around the ball. she hated how calm sana was, how she managed to deliver criticism like she was just making an observation. “too much?” she shot back, stepping closer. “i’m just trying to get us moving, trying to get you involved. but it seems like you’re more interested in doing your own thing.” she hated that every time she tried to connect with sana on the court, it felt like she was hitting a wall.

but she also hated that she cared about it so much.

sana didn’t break, expression remaining composed, annoyingly unreadable with her short manicured nails digging into her hip. “you think running the floor means you’re the only one who gets to call the shots? that’s not how i play.”

paige blinked, trying to regain her footing, mentally and physically. “you’re not even trying to work with me!” her voice raised a bit as she addressed what had been bothering her before, causing a few heads to turn. the exchange didn’t look entirely friendly after all. “every time i’m open, you’re looking the other way.” she pointed to the court.

sana’s eyes narrowed slightly, some kind of look crossing her face—was it amusement? “it’s not personal, paige. it’s basketball.” it was the first time the blonde’s name left her mouth, first time she felt like an actual person to her, and it still didn’t feel good.

sana, on the other hand, was watching her closely, reading paige’s reaction like she was still deciding how much of this back-and-forth was worth it. she knew she was poking at her ego, but she also thought that ego could use a little deflating. everyone talked about her like she was the second coming of basketball itself, and while sana could respect her talent, the way everyone hung on her every move grated on her.

sana wasn’t jealous. not even a little bit. she wasn’t wired like that. but that didn’t mean she was going to be another cog in the well-oiled bueckers machine. she never liked to make things more complicated than they needed to be, and basketball? basketball was supposed to be simple. play smart, play efficient, make the right decisions. that’s why she was here. that’s why geno recruited her. she didn’t bring flash—she brought results. she played smooth, and if she wasn’t in charge, she sure as hell wasn’t going to let anyone treat her like a sidekick. especially not paige bueckers.

she was willing to work with her, of course. sana was well aware of what her transfer meant, how good it would be for the both of them if people stopped pitting them against each other. but it didn’t mean she would warm up straight away. they’d make an unstoppable duo—if they could just figure out how to coexist.

“look, i’m just saying, you’re pushing too hard. sometimes it’s about playing smart, not playing fast.”

paige’s stomach churned at the implication. she wasn’t just some showboat out there. it felt like a direct shot to everything she stood for.

“you think i’m not playing smart?”

sana raised an eyebrow, her lips curling just slightly. “i think you’re playing like you’ve got something to prove.”

and that stopped paige cold. she’d proven enough. but the way sana was looking at her, cool and detached, like she could see right through her, made her feel small despite her taller figure. it wasn’t anger that sana was giving her—it was indifference. like she didn’t even care enough to be mad.

“run it again!” geno yelled, and they did.

paige inhaled sharply, chewing on her lip as she clutched the ball to her side, watching as sana jogged off, obeying orders immediately. she could feel the eyes of her teammates on her, especially nika, who was biting back a grin from the sidelines, one hundred percent sure her best friend just got schooled. dorka raised an eyebrow at her, silently urging her to keep her cool.

they lined up for the play again, the ball bouncing back into paige’s hands. she hated it, but sana’s words echoed in her head. pressing… rushing… trying too hard. as much as she didn’t want to admit it, maybe she was pressing. maybe she was letting this whole situation get to her in ways she shouldn’t.

when the whistle blew, paige instinctively took control again, charging down the court. but she couldn’t stop herself from hesitating for just a second, looking toward sana on the wing. without overthinking it, she passed the ball to her, her hands moving almost against her will.

sana caught it, knees bent and ready before driving to the basket. she didn’t hesitate, didn’t flinch. she just played, like she always did. the ball went in, and the play was perfect, but paige didn’t feel satisfied. if anything, she felt worse. it felt like they were already at odds, and the season hadn’t even started yet.

it had worked. but it was because she’d done what sana said. and if it wasn’t personal before, it definitely was now.

[rad1og1rl]

“Studying” With Jason Todd

Slumped over at your desk, in your messy dorm, your boyfriend Jason found you. You wish you were asleep. But you have an exam tomorrow, and if there’s one thing you’ve never learned, it’s that cramming is not a valid form of studying.

Can you really blame yourself ? It’s your second semester of your freshman year. You’ll learn eventually. Just not today. As you scribble away at your notes , glancing at the video for reference, you don’t notice the stealthy footsteps of your boyfriend. You’ve got headphones on and you’re in the zone, something which Jason realizes as he approaches your hunched form.

He taps lightly on your shoulder , announcing himself quietly as to not disturb you. At the interruption , you pause the video and place your headphones on the cluttered desk, turning to face him. He grins boyishly , and offers a hot cup of cocoa.

“Oh, Jaybird, thank you.. I didn’t realize you’d be stopping by tonight,” You say, graciously accepting the cup and lightly tugging his shirt, which he obliges by leaning down to meet you for a quick peck.

“I didn’t originally plan to, but someone didn’t answer my texts or calls.” He says, giving you a pointed look.

You grin sheepishly and set the cup on the desk. “Sorry… I think my phones been on Do Not Disturb. I’ve been studying for this exam for hours…. I’m really worried I’m gonna fail.” You admit, pouting slightly. Jason quirks a brow and glances at the video on your laptop, the open textbook, and various notes. He then sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Alright, I get it. I didn’t like chem either. But that’s no excuse to make me worry the way you did. I know you didn’t mean to.” He says, then glances back at you. “But I also know you’ll do fine. You’ve been at this all day. Take a break. Go to sleep. You’re smart. And you studied before this, so you’ll be fine.” You smile and nod, turning off the laptop and shutting the textbook, pushing the notebooks and scattered papers to the side.

“I hope you’re right, Jay.” You sigh, standing up and pushing in the desk chair. You lean against your leather-clad boyfriend, and he embraces you tightly. He pushes you to the bed and you sat down, and he handed you the cup before sitting next to you.

“Trust me. You’ve got this. And I’m tired of seeing my baby stressed over this.” He says, peeling off his leather jacket and tossing it on the chair in front of the desk. He kicks off his boots and makes himself comfortable on your bed, while you sip the hot beverage quietly beside him.

“How was it tonight ? … Out there, I mean. On patrol.” You murmur , still clutching the paper cup with both hands as you stare off into space, post-cram haze and lack of sleep hitting you full force. Jason glances at you as he’s leaned back and propped up on his elbows, eyeing your dazed state.

“Same old. Few goons here n’ there… kicked their ass, got the info, then went to that café you like on 33rd Street and picked up that cocoa. Figured you’d appreciate it…” Jason says, thoughtfully. “I always do. You’re the best.” You say, smiling and finishing the drink, setting the empty cup on your bedside table. “And to think… you even got me something when you were upset with me?” You ask, crawling up further on the twin bed and lying on your side, waiting for him to join you.

Jason catches on and mimics you, lying down to face you with one arm under his head and the other resting between the both of you. “You’re right , I should only get stuff for good partners that pick up their phone.” He says, half-joking. You roll your eyes at his playfulness and reach one hand to his between your bodies, and lightly trace the rugged scarring littering the rough hand.

“I know you’re kind of joking … but I really am sorry I didn’t answer. I know that it really makes you worry.” You say, tiredly. Jason sighs and brings a hand up to pet your hair, placing it on the crown of your head and pushing your face towards his own for another kiss. “Just… try not to do it again. Please.” He huffs, stroking your cheek with the hand he trailed down from your hair to face. You snuggle closer to him and reach behind you onto the bedside table, blindly searching for your remote . Upon finding it, you shut off your lamp and set it behind you once more, cuddling into Jason’s broad chest once darkness settles over the two of you.

“I love you, Jay.”

“I love you too,” He says, kissing your forehead. “Now please , go to sleep. You’ll do fine on that exam.”

[pomefioredove]

heyyy! i really love your writing🥹🥹 btw can i request a hc with riddle and jamil (separated) with gn!reader who’s very lazy and they have a test and only study the morning before the test? but somehow pass?? i wanna see their reaction

anyway sorry if i made any mistakes, this is my very first request and english is not my first language😔 it’s fine if you can’t do it!!

-🎲

no worries! this is a great request, their reactions would be very funny

summary: reader miraculously passes a test they last-minute studied for type of post: headcanons characters: riddle, jamil additional info: platonic or romantic, reader is not specified to be yuu, reader is gender neutral, not proofread

Jamil knew that it wasn't his place to judge

after all, being raised with the al-Asims, he'd been taught to keep his bitter thoughts to himself

but something about your carelessness reminded him all too much of Kalim

...okay... maybe you weren't exactly partying, or spacing out, but your complete lack of conviction is almost identical

and, so, Jamil decides to give you a word of advice the day before the big exam

"Worried about tomorrow's History of Magic test?"

he even gives you a big smile, trying to play it off as a casual question

you shrug. "Eh, not really,"

"If I were you, I'd be a little more concerned. The grading system is very strict at NRC,"

and with that, he's gone

his sly remark, spoken as if in friendly conversation, leaves him feeling a little more satisfied with himself

he doesn't even feel irked when Kalim nearly sleeps through the test, or when he forgets his notes, or when he absent-mindedly reads the questions aloud during...

in fact, Jamil is quite confident that in any case, you'll do much worse than Kalim, which saves the both of them

after the exam scores are posted in the hall, you find him

"What did you get?"

Jamil hates answering these kinds of questions, especially knowing that he could be in the top of the class if he was allowed to try. "Passing. And you?"

"Well..." you smile. "I really thought about what you said, so I studied this morning."

Jamil's sour mood at his own score seems to lighten

you studied the morning of the exam? oh, this was going to be rich

"...And I got full marks!"

...what.

you show him the paper and it takes all his strength to keep his usual poker face

otherwise, his jaw would drop

"How did... how?"

you shrug. "Good study plan, I guess,"

"Hmph," he crosses his arms. "Well, then... you'll have to come tutor Kalim sometime. What works for you must work for him,"

Riddle spends the entire week pestering you about studying

"I just don't feel like it," you groan

goodness. you sound just like that terrible Floyd...

"It's not a matter of want, it's a matter of need. This exam counts for a significant amount of your grade!"

"Eh... I'll just wing it,"

wing it?! oh, now you've really done it

"Consider yourself lucky for not being a part of Heartslabyul. I would have your head for that!"

and then he storms out. how graceful!

when he sees you the following afternoon, that calm, unbothered look of yours is still on your face. it drives him mad

"If I were you, I'd be praying," he says. he's almost smug about it

Riddle earns full points on every exam- it's just a given. he's sure that the two of you will be on polar opposites of the grade spectrum once the results are posted

you shrug. "Yeah, about that... I thought about what you said, and decided that I don't want to have to retake this class. So I studied this morning,"

he almost smirks. "One last-minute cram won't be enough to raise your grade above failing, I'm afraid. But perhaps this will serve as a lesson, next time you-"

Riddle stops dead in his tracks as Trein posts the exam results on the wall behind you

his eyes widen

"Full... full marks?! We're in the same percent!? How is that possible?!"

You chuckle as his face goes all red, both frustrated and flustered

"Hey, you should count this as a victory for yourself. You give great advice,"

[duckimate]

GRUMBO WEEK DAY 3 - " Nightmare " @grumboweek

"read more" at your own discretion. messy+wordy explanation of the concept coming:) .

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pardon me for being late but i really couldn't stand leaving this looking unfinished so. had to spend a bittt more time on it (might even post for grumbo week even after the event's over if thats okay!!)

we all got over the progression from their friendship to their betrayal of eachother in Last Life too soon. i need people to mourn with me

"Nightmare" made my mind immediately jump to the series that waffle duo really got their share of angst from, Last Life. How an unbreakable bond of friendship strengthened by literally passing eachother something as valuable as a life so quickly crumbled into them both betraying eachother in the end, a Nightmare scenario that the two of them would've never even considered for sure. even grian, who upon turning red was still clinging onto the hope that their bond was so strong that mumbo would join him as a redname. (concept) even red mumbo, who in his last ditch desperation tried reigniting post-red yellow life grian's humanity by giving him the spyglass, the southlander's physical embodiment of their friendship, only for grian to crush it mercilessly ,,,,,,,,,

anyway for this piece i tried real hard to cram in as much symbolism and imagery and intent behind my lines and colors as possible, so heres some of it! (theres more but thats on you to figure out!)

Composition + just some of the details : the main concept that i really wanted to drive home is the use of the SPYGLASS as symbolism for the progression of their bond throughout Last life, up until the end. yellow-side grian holds up a spyglass, looking towards the right

day4 past and future concepts ahead the spyglass extends through the past to the present, like a solid line of sight into the future before its unfortunately crushed by red-side grian (him shutting down any friendship or reconciliation from mumbo) mumbo, back against the future, faced twoards the past, reaching his spyglass out looking for who his friend was, only to see a cracked figure of him staring back grian, faced towards the future in both drawings, but also looking back at mumbo, with different emotions but both with the same desire to move forward, one with adoration and another with the desire to move on from mumbo's dead body and focus on self-preservation. he knew he had to move on, and he was right.

SOUTHLANDERS BADGE: mostly for visual interest! but also unlike the spyglass, is an unremovable physical reminder for post-red grian (literally lodged deep into his shoulder)

CLIPPED WINGS: i felt like i had to mention that they're supposed to look clipped in the second drawing:) "HE NEEDS TO LEARN" was a real quote that was directed at both jimmy and mumbo, but we gotta adapt pfft ,,, this post is long. LOng long. i should stop. special SPECIAL thanks to my dearest @justrelaxhere for their hours worth of dissection of my drawing! god i could always count on them to squeeze every drop of symbolism out of my work. without them i wouldn'tve been able to fully articulate my ideas! okay thanks for reading people:D

[heartfullofleeches]

delivery person reader always delivering pin from one new owner to another

really weird how this doll keeps getting given away all the time, makes you wond-ah! i have a new delivery due aaa! *forgets about it*

"Y/n, hold up."

Foot hanging on the steel step of your truck, you shift your attention to your superior as they near the back of the vehicle. Parking a trolley as they open the back, they thumb through a list on their phone. Something in you predicts the next chain of events.

"Got a last minute addition to your route. I'll load it in then you can head out."

You could buy a lottery ticket with your luck - if it hadn't been so poor. The box is worn and cardboard taped at various ends, but you knew it, and its contents well. You packed the doll in it when it was returned to the office on its own two feet. Which shipment was that - the third or tenth? While putting a date to that specific instance was hard, what you did remember was that your little friend had been with you for some time. Location to location; following you pass a personal move to a new residence and job placement. You felt bad for the not-so little guy; the doll reaching the ceiling of your office when it wasn't crammed in a box.

"Alright. Let me know when you're done." You wait in the driver seat for your co-worker to finish up. You can see the box getting shoved in the corner out the overhead mirror. They round to your side following the slamming of the back door.

"Before you leave, you left all the updated info for your address in the breakroom like I asked right, right?"

"Yeah. Left it on a posted note under a salt shaker like you asked."

"Cool, just thought it'd be easier since I'm heading out early today, and wanted to get the prize from that raffle sent out soon. See you tommorow."

"See ya." You roll the door shut and start the truck's engine; speeding off to make up for those few seconds you lost. The day goes as smoothly as possible for someone worrying about their inanimate tag along could. Throughout your shift you have to arrange the box around due to movement during the drive. After a while, it just sits in the little nook behind your chair no matter the bump or slide.

Your time together ends the same as your shift. As the last stop on the roster, you march up the darkened driveway up to the front porch. It's a little rough around the edges, but you managed to find equal ground for the box to stand on. Saying goodbye to a piece of mail is the last thing you existed to mark off your list, but it feels right in this situation. You pray its the final one and that its found its loving home, but it's almost a bittersweet farewell.

"Hope things work out for you this time."

You load into your truck and drive off with only the occasional glance in your side view mirror.

-

"What the hell did you order, Y/n?"

Halfway through swallowing, you choke out a reply. "What- do you mean?"

Your coworker shrugs, making a rectangle with their hands to get their point across. "Well, not that I was being nosy, but I saw the note with your address and noticed it matched one I delivered to with this huge ass box.

"That's... concerning on its own, but I haven't ordered anything recently. Doubt something that big is from a raffle. I'll check it out when I get home."

Your break ends shortly after. The conversation with your coworker lingers in your head the remainder of the day. It couldn't be - right? As per usual, your shift is over long after the street lamps turn on. You take your time getting home; preparing yourself for what your instincts told you was there. From door in view - you can see it there.

A torn, cardboard box with various addresses covered by a new label; yours the newest addition. The tape on the seams is bunched up and peeling from lack of adhesive. You calmly enter your house, still unable to face it. Your face lands in a wall of plush.

Welcome home, Y/n.... I had so much fun hanging out with you, but I think we should play a new game now. House is so much more fun.... especially since we can do so much more together now.

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

I know that you write Bucky/Steve/Nat content but I've got to tell you, I am REALLY digging fat drunk Thor at the moment. I know that they played it up for laughs and jokes in the movie, which honestly kinda upset me, but I think it had so much potential, and I can't stop thinking about it in this context.

Like. Thor drinks so much beer every day that he, and ASGARDIAN, gets drunk on mortal booze. I imagine that would be a harder feat to accomplish than Bucky and Steve getting drunk on their super serum genes. And then eating all the time that every meal he ends up stuffed and bloated and panting because of how much food he's crammed into himself?? He is always drunk and always stuffed and his gut just blows up.

I know that the reason behind it in the show is sad but think of it in a not-sad way. Bucky and Steve take Thor out to bars because he never gets out and only drinks at home. They introduce him to the wonderful world of greasy bar food and bottomless beer and cocktails. Then he gets so drunk that he can hardly remember his own name and can't stand up without help and is at that stage where he just can't stop drinking even though he probably should, and so stuffed that he get stuck wedged under the table. He holds his gut like a pregnant woman and people rub his gut or good luck like Buddah. Maybe other drunk people at the club see him and order him more food and drink and an Asgardian custom is that he has to indulge in all the things people give him so he has to consume it all.

I don't know if you would think of this as a Steve/Bucky/Thor thing, a Steve/Bucky & Thor thing or just a Thor thing but I have been drooling over the thought of Thor being constantly drunk and stuffed and I didn't know who else I could share this with

Oooh, thanks for sharing! I'm not super into Thor myself (I like soft, obviously, 😂 his muscles are generally too much for me, lol) but no, I so feel you with how upsetting it was to make fun of fat Thor so much! Literally dunking on this man's trauma. Wtf? So fucking uncool

The spirits and booze and mead and beer and liquor and everything, you're so right! He'll chug anything he can get his hands on; he'll eat anything he can get his hands on. Imagine, too, if we're talking about trauma how feasts are part of Asgardian culture as a post-battle celebration, so having these feasts alone brings up all the happy memories he had with his fellow warriors all gone, turned to dust... ouch. That just makes him force down more, eating his feelings. He's got a lot of feelings. He needs to just push through until he's too full, panting painfully, throbbing and aching, his gut distended in front of him, so heavy he can't pick himself up, too round to see past. So, he just lays there, exhausted, digesting, crashing into a food coma where he doesn't dream. Weighed down. And without moving and only drinking and stuffing like that, out of control, constantly crammed full, he sure as shit does blow up. He gets so fat so fast.

It starts sad, but he ends up getting companionship through it, yes, please!

Steve - just Steve at first, before they get everyone back - helps him to at least binge in company. Eating so much in company makes him marry again. It's good. Especially when midgardians become delighted with how much alcohol he can throw back and now much food he can put down. Mortals call him affectionate things, slapping him on the shoulders, patting his belly, challenging him to competitions he easily bests them in, etc. It feels joyful and easy (aside from the way his overstuffed stomach aches, his muscles sore from stretching so vastly). Slowly, Thor's fat isn't a source of pain but one of indulgence and prosperity again. Loudly and happily, he embraces his new body and the effect it has on others. The attention is warm, and the food and drink are hot.

(P.S. I recommend the blog @thors-soft-cheeks with the tag '#chubby thor' for good fat Thor content!)

[sneakyevillurker]

So, I got inspired to make a little Halloween post for the day, based slightly off a little solo trick or treating adventure I had tonight! CW for vore, mentions of digestion and bones, and kinda macabre stuff? Idk. Also, this is mostly me rambling, but I hope you enjoy :p

Halloween by far, is the scariest time of the year for me, with all the movies, shows, and stories that take place in or around the holiday, it kinda makes sense, especially if you're not somewhere very densely populated where it already feels like you're in a horror story. I went trick or treating in what was basically the middle of nowhere tonight, barely any houses, no lamposts, just me, a bag for candy, and a long stretch of road to walk down, and during that time, I got to thinking. "Wow, it'd be REALLY easy for me to just go missing here." And naturally being the weirdo I am, my mind began wandering towards vore. There's plenty of scary stories about campers or hikers dissappearing into the woods, and of the monster responsible for that happening, so I began to imagine myself as one of those unlucky souls in those stories, unknowingly being stalked from the woods by a monster unknown to me, being watching me from the dark as I went deeper into the dark of its forest. Maybe I'd stumble onto weird things as I walked, it'd start off innocent enough, just random trash on the side of the road, not surprising, but then it'd start to change, acid washed clothes in tatters, phones and wallets dotting the floor, maybe eventually running into some bones of a previous unfortunate victim. But at that point it'd be too late, as right when I realize that maybe I should head home, whatevers been stalking me would strike, pouncing onto me before I can escape, and pinning me to the ground, quickly cramming my head into its mouth. Whatever caught me would immediately begin to swallow me down, forcing me into its throat as it's eager to claim its newest victim, and I'd be powerless to stop it, unable to move in the confines of its throat, I'd be forced to wait as it swallowed me down, gulp after gulp, until it finally gets my feet into its mouth, and with one final swallow, seals me away within its body. I'd be forced to curl up in its gut, barely able to move as whatever ate me decides to head to its home now that its guts been filled, eager to digest its latest catch. I'd be jostled about, acids sizzling away at my clothes as I try in vain to escape the monster stomach, hoping that somehow I'd manage to gwt ut to vomit ne back up. The most I imagine I'd be able to do unfortunately, is dislodge some air inside its stomach, forcing out a racous belch that sends my mask flying from it mouth, covered in acid, all while the stomach tightens around me, making my frame all the more visible on my predators gut as it licks the taste of me off its lips, relishing the taste of a freshly caught meal. And after that, I'd just up and disappear, like so many other people in the area, with no trace of me being found, except for maybe a few pieces of acid worn clothes, or even a bone or two, but aside from that, it'd be as though I'd simply vanished off the face of the earth, with only an extra layer of pudge adorning the frame of whatever had digested me as my nark on the world.

[simpforchuchu]

I love, I just saw your post. I was wondering if I could get a Shoji one shot of his first date with a girl he likes but she's the sister of Fujin or Raijin and they have no idea Shoji likes her.

Secret Date | Shoji Sameoka x Fujin’s Sister

a/n: Hello, I’m struggling about writing too much these days but here it is🫡 I hope you like it 🌸💕

Sorry for the grammer or spelling mistakes.English is not my main language so...

Thank you and love you 🥰

Warnings: a little angst but mostly fluff i guess

When the young boy saw the young girl coming towards him from the end of the street, he stopped frowning and smiled unintentionally. The girl walking towards him with her sweet dress and hair flowing in the wind made him feel like he was in a fairy tale.

But at the same time, he couldn't shake the feeling of guilt that arose inside him when he remembered that this girl was his best friend's sister.

Shoji had known the young girl for years. He had just realized that he even had feelings for her. He succumbed to the war he had been fighting within himself for months and told the young girl his feelings. But what he didn't know was that y/n liked him too. They both knew it would be weird, but they were happy. Even though they've been wanting to go on their first date for a while, it wasn't easy to do it secretly from the others. And today they were both here.

He smiled shyly as the young girl stood in front of the black haired boy.

"You look pretty."

Y/n tilted her head, smiled and said a small thank you. Not wanting to be embarrassed anymore, she turned to Shoji.

"Shall we go ?" She asked and they started walking to the cafe they decided on together.

Y/n was thinking about many things while walking. She realized that she actually really liked the person who she thought she had a small crush on for years. And even better, the person she liked liked her back.

She never brought this up because he was her brother's friend and she never thought this would happen. But the tall boy walking silently next to her now was real, and for him, she was no longer just his close friend's sister.

When they arrived at the cafe, Shoji opened the door for the young girl and y/n thanked him with a sweet smile. When they walked in and she saw that Shoji had reserved a table for them, she was happy that he had thought of everything. He had always been a thoughtful person.

Years ago, Y/n was remembering the times when her brother would come for her when she left the cram school in the evening and when he wasn't there Shoji would come for her and walk her home.

After sitting at the table together, when she noticed the waiter coming for the orders, the young girl looked at the boy sitting across from her.

“The pancakes here are so good, if you don't have any ideas-“

“Then can I have some pancakes please?” The young girl gave her order with excitement.Shoji smiled at her reaction and shook his head.

“Same one, please.”

When the waiter left to prepare the orders, there was silence at the table for a while. Even though they both talk often, they aren't sure what they should talk about on their first date.

“I” “Y/n” When they both spoke at the same time y/n giggled and shook her head

"You go first."

Shoji nodded and smiled.

“I... I'm pretty happy we could finally go on a date alone. But-“

"But?" Shoji smiled bitterly when the young girl asked with concern.

“But hiding this from Fujin… I think it really makes me upset. Even though I know we didn't do anything wrong-"

“It feels like you're doing something wrong.”

When the young girl completed his sentence, Shoji nodded

“I can tell my brother if you want.”

“We have to do this together. He's my best friend."

When Y/n nodded, the waiter came back to the table to leave their orders. They both thanked and waited for the waiter to leave.

“Let's not think about negative things today, okay? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought this up here."

“No problem,” y/n smiled. “After all, isn't he my brother?”

To change the subject, Shoji asked the young girl how her school was going. They talked about ordinary things for a while. Y/n was going to a regular school. Of course, she was living a normal school life. Shoji chose not to talk about his and her brother's gang activities and listened to the girl in front of him with interest.

After a while, Shoji said he had to go to the restroom and left, and y/n played with her phone for a while. After texting her friends that everything was going great, she checked her makeup and hair through her phone camera.

While Shoji was checking himself in the restroom like her, neither of them knew that Fujin and Raijin were passing by at that time and saw y/n in the cafe window.

While Y/n was looking at her phone, unaware of everything, she looked up in surprise when her brother called her.

"Huh? Onii-chan? What are you doing here ?"

Fujin replied with a shrug. He pointed to Raijin waiting outside the cafe. “We were just passing by and wanted to say hi.”

“Oh, really?” Y/n smiled, but it was definitely a very nervous smile. Fujin looked at y/n when he looked at the table and saw two plates.

“My friend went to the toilet. You better go before she comes, I don't want you to scare the girl."

“Huh? Are you ashamed of me ?" y/n rolled her eyes when Fujin frowned in mock offense. Then, when he looked at the table again, he noticed the jacket hanging on the back of the chair where the other person was sitting.

“This jacket… it's quite familiar.”

Y/n looked at her brother in fear and laughed.

“I'm sure many stores sell the same jacket, onii-chan.”

Fujin rolled his eyes at his sister’s sarcastic tone and turned to the door. Just as he was about to say goodbye to her and leave, he realized that he had found the missing piece of the puzzle when he saw his friend looking at him in surprise at the door of the toilet.

“Same…”

***

Raijin didn't understand why Fujin left the cafe with y/n and, more importantly, Shoji. Surprised, he wanted to ask what happened, but Fujin looked so angry that he was afraid to open his mouth.

After walking for a while, Fujin stopped his steps and looked at the couple behind him. His best friend and his sister… How long? How long had they been secretly dating? Why did they hide it? He was both very angry and very sad.

“Fujin…”

Even though Shoji wanted to talk, he didn't know what to say. Y/n was looking at her brother in fear. She knew he wouldn't hurt her, but she wasn't so sure about Shoji.

“I was going to tell you… I was just waiting for the right time. We didn't do anything wrong, we're really sor-"

Before Shoji could finish his sentence, Fujin quickly stepped towards him and punched him hard. Shoji turned his face to the side and did not react at all. Raijin didn't know what to do as Y/n looked at her brother in fear.

“I'm not mad because you're dating, I'm mad because you didn't tell me, idiot!” Shoji did not lift his head. “You're dating my sister. You are one of the two people I trust most in my life. Of course, I don't think there would be a better person for her, but… But you hid it from me. Do you really think that if you came to me, I would say no?!”

Shoji couldn't say anything when Fujin shouted angrily. Fujin shouted again.

“Look at my face, Same!”

The young boy raised his head and bowed respectfully with his whole body. While Fujin looked at him in surprise, y/n walked over to her boyfriend and bowed too.

"I am sorry." Shoji spoke without looking up. “I know I was wrong. I am sorry. You are absolutely right. But please understand that this is not easy to say. And that I feel guilty all the time..."

Fujin stared at the two silently for a few seconds. Then he took a step forward and stood in front of his best friend.

“Raise your head.”

Shoji slowly raised his head up and looked at his friend's face.

“Bring her home before evening, we will talk about this again.”

Even though Shoji wanted to hug Fujin, he remained serious and nodded slowly. When Y/n looked up and smiled at her brother, Fujin rolled his eyes and started walking with Raijin.

No matter what, Fujin trusted Shoji more than anyone else. And as he said, he couldn't think of anyone better for y/n than him…

HnL taglist : @straysugzhpe @tiddly-winx @ninamarie1994 @thatpoindexterpixy @koala-yuna @star2fishmeg

[inyri]

Equivalent Exchange (a SWTOR story): Chapter 41: Good Soldiers Follow Orders

Equivalent Exchange by inyri

Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic Characters: Female Imperial Agent (Cipher Nine)/Theron Shan Rating: E (this chapter: M. Trigger warning: graphic violence, depictions of torture, body horror.) Summary: If one wishes to gain something, one must offer something of equal value. In spycraft, it’s easy. Applying it to a relationship is another matter entirely. F!Agent/Theron Shan. (Spoilers for Shadow of Revan and Knights of the Fallen Empire/Knights of the Eternal Throne.)

*

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*

Author’s Note: Please note the trigger warnings. I had to step away from this for a little while (all right, more than a little while). Chapters are consecutive, of course, and as I posted the last one and moved to wrapping up this one I found life imitating art in a very, very uncomfortable way. I don’t talk a lot about my work for many reasons. Normally it’s not very exciting. And then there are the days that stay, the reminders that sometimes the world is deeply, viciously cruel in ways that are hard to process. As part of my work I met two men who were subjected to that cruelty, heard their stories, and helped care for them on their paths back home.

The first iterations of this series of scenes were very different from where we ended up. Nine and her team were far nastier at first, which wasn’t really true to her, and then I tried to make it funny which- well, obviously we can see the problem with that approach. So this is where we ended. It’s still an ugly chapter, but here we are.  

This chapter is dedicated to AD, AH, and all victims of torture. 

Good Soldiers Follow Orders

Theron follows her close as a shadow as they make their way from her ship across the base, dodging carefully around the first watch guards on their patrol routes. A month ago it would have been simple but a month ago they’d been sloppy; since then she’d ordered new watchposts set, new floodlights installed, locked down the turbolift platform to the valley below. There were so many other places to land a ship on Odessen, canyons and clearings and deep, dark forest far beyond the view of the towers, and it would have been far too easy for an infiltrator to sneak in.

Or one might simply use your landing bay. Valkorion’s armor gleams as an arc of light cuts across the path. In through the front door. All comers welcomed. Perhaps Arcann should-

The illusion shatters when she steps through it, the sentence left ominously unfinished. 

Second patrol. Third patrol. Through the external door on the heels of a pair of Sana-Rae’s adepts, weaving through the hall and crammed into the back corners of the lift with an absolutely massive Zabrak with a distinct half-ring of glitterstim around one nostril (she makes a mental note- the cantina’s more than necessary but if they’ve got a spice problem that’s another vulnerability they can’t afford), down the hallways into Science Wing and nearly to the lab- outside door’s open, good, but how’s she going to-

Shit.

She’s six steps ahead of herself in contingency plans as usual, mind racing, but that doesn’t matter worth a damn when she fucks up Step One. Stopping so abruptly he almost runs right into her, she grabs Theron by the wrist and pulls him into the darkest corner of an empty meeting room. His head tilts in silent confusion as she reaches toward the stealth generator clipped to his belt. I thought- he starts to sign, one hand raised. 

Switching, she replies, left-handed; pulling it free, she replaces it with hers. Backup has a shorter clock when the main’s off. If it overloads-

Theron nods. Bad. Right. Where should I stand?

Back- her fingers stutter as she considers (Void, she really isn’t thinking, is she? She needs to be. One mistake and the whole thing comes apart)- back left corner. You’ll have a five-count to get through the door before it closes, then don’t move and-

Don’t say anything. I know. He repeats the sign, an added emphasis. I promised. 

She rubs her forehead, trying and failing to settle the ache building between her eyes. I know. Come on. 

***

The inner laboratory door slides closed with a soft hiss, just muffling Theron’s last few footsteps as he settles carefully into the corner, and she lets her stealth field drop. 

“I got your message.” Nine forces the words out, forces strength into her voice as she sets the lock. She cannot falter, not now. “SCORPIO, give me the holo. Let’s get it opened up.”

“Commander.” Doctor Lokin looks up from across the room, setting a handful of instruments and an empty syringe- not all clean, she notes- neatly into place on a polished metal tray. Beside him, her would-be killer slumps forward against the treatment chair’s restraints, an intravenous catheter in his right arm and his lower body wrapped in a surgical dropcloth, head covered by black fabric and bound around the middle with thick strips of spacer’s tape. “We were just beginning.” 

[ sleepy already, cipher? but we’re only just beginning.

when hunter’s slap hits she startles bolt upright in the chair and then wishes she hadn’t, her ribs shifting beneath the straps like so many shattered potsherds as she grinds her teeth to keep from screaming. she’s screamed so much already and she won’t give him the satisfaction of another, won’t-

hunter gestures- toward the woman, she thinks, it’s getting hard to see now with her face so bruised. let’s wake her up, hm? ah, no- something cold and metallic tightening on her right index finger- the other hand, to start. now the left side, still the index finger, tighter and tighter and oh void it hurts it hurts it hurts she’s got to say something or it-

i’m telling you, she gasps, when those reinforcements get here from- and there’s a sharp snap and she can’t help it and she screams-

keep singing, little bird. I do so hate to have to break your pretty wings.]

Her hand throbs.

“I didn’t tell you to start without me.” Her stomach churns even as she curls her fingers into an easy fist, testing their movement; she couldn’t do that for a month after Corellia so it’s only the memory of pain, isn’t it? “And how long has that tape been on? We need his eyes open, not swollen shut. It’s too fucking tight.”

“If you’re referring to this-” Lokin lifts a pair of bloody-gripped forceps with one finger and a long-suffering look- “your knife tipped his saphenous, and I assumed you would prefer he not hemorrhage before you had the chance to work. I’ve only just run the amytal in, nothing more. But,” he squints at the rings of tape, flips a vibroscalpel from the tray into his palm and before she can even begin to move he slices through the binding neatly, once and then again, “you aren’t wrong. SCORPIO restrained him while I was busy with his leg, but I ought to have-”

SCORPIO turns from the console, shoulders lifting in what might have been a shrug. “My primary directive on Odessen remains operational security, Commander. He cannot share what he cannot see.”

“Yes, but-” 

One of the wall-mounted monitors beeps, shrill and insistent, until Lokin prods it with a gloved finger and it lapses into red-flashing silence. “He’s starting to wake. Shall we?”

Void, she hates interrogations. (She used to be good at them once, when she was younger and followed orders better. She used to be good at them because of course, why waste precious time on subtleties when you can simply pry and bend and break and it all comes out in the end either way- maybe in pieces, yes, but that was just another puzzle to solve if one was clever enough, even if it was messier-

Orders were orders. 

She used to be good at them once. Before Corellia.)

“Is Lana coming? She’s covering for me with Sana-Rae, I think, but-”

She turns too quickly as the door opens behind her and as she spins the room tips sideways and then it starts to spin, too; pausing midstep, she grabs at the nearer benchtop to steady herself, her left hand raised as a counterbalance. Lana clears the doorway in two steps, the worry lines across her forehead deepening. 

“I’ve got you,” Lana murmurs. “We’ve just finished, and I had a feeling you might-” she only wrinkles her nose a little as she glances toward the instrument table- “want my help with this.”

When she nods the world shifts unpleasantly anticlockwise. “Yes. Dialing out blind on his holo’s a losing proposition. With any luck he’ll talk, but I’m not counting on it and we haven’t got the time to wear him down.” Pressing her lips together against a wave of nausea, she inhales. Exhales. Inhales. The spinning slows. 

“Physical methods, then?”

She shakes her head- oh, Force, there it goes again- inhale. Exhale. “Just tell me what you see. I’ve been bled on enough today, and if we push too hard-”

“Does it matter? You can’t possibly intend to let him-” at her gesture Lana lowers her voice, just above a whisper- “walk away from this. An attack, here, on you- there have to be consequences.”

“Do I look like a Jedi to you? You know me better than that.” When she says it Lana snorts and rolls her eyes and to be fair she has a point- of course she has a point- but a misstep now could be the last strand of a rope to hang herself by, the final block knocked loose that brings the whole tower crashing down, and she can afford that far less than to give away a shred of undeserved mercy. “You’re a step ahead of me, that’s all. I need the who before I decide the what.”

Lana sighs. “I know. I only- I defer to you, Commander. It’s your decision.”

“Maybe, or maybe it’s Trant’s. But we won’t know until we know, and-” another warning chime from the monitors; another warning look from Lokin. “We’re running out of time. And when we’ve finished I’ve still got to talk to Koth and Senya, and-”

“Already postponed, and that can wait in any case. There’s nothing to discuss that won’t keep for a day. We’ll call them once we’re in transit,” Lana eyes her up and down, “after another round of kolto.”

“I’m fine.”

“Liar.” Lana’s hand comes to rest beneath her lifted arm; with the world still half-spinning she’d have missed the subtle pulse of energy if Lana hadn’t flinched when their fingertips meet. “Force help me, you’re not - I’ll take it over, Nine. I’ll… I can do it. You should rest.”

“No.” When she shakes her head the room stays level now, at least. It’s something. “No. This is my mess to sort out. Just lock the door.”

***

Five minutes later all she’s got out of him is a slurred sequence of names, ranks, and serial numbers (lying, Lana says each time from her perch behind the chair, though she knew that long before she said it) and the unwavering gut-punch certainty that the man is an SIS agent. With so little actual information to go on and their databases two years out of date- when Theron left he’d downloaded what he could but slicing back into the mainframe to sync them’s a risk none of them are willing to take right now- trying to find a name for her attacker’s useless, with dozens of dossiers a partial match to the same physical parameters: average height, average build, Underlevels accent, Republic emblems tattooed on biceps and back and another handful laser-faded to barely visible outlines. With half the Republic’s infantry dredged up from the Coruscant undercity’s gangs and prisons and half the SIS (and nearly all of SpecOps) poached from the army, she could have shot into the Dealer’s Den or the Red Rancor on a Primesday night and hit five clones of him in a straight line between the door and the bar.

She studies his face from every angle, waiting for a memory to trigger, and- no, still nothing, barely a nod in the corridor or a passing glance in the mess line. Three weeks on Odessen and the man’s practically a ghost, a traceless alias for a name and a ride hitched on a transport from Port Nowhere. Granted, both she and Theron had been off-planet most of that time, but stars, if this one got in so easily how many more could?

That’s a problem for another day. It has to be. 

But for now SCORPIO runs the serials, just for the sake of thoroughness, and- ah. Those faces she knows: Corellia, six years ago; a Coruscanti gala, bloodstains on a black dress; Dromund Kaas, only a month or two before Zakuul. 

She just hadn’t known their real names, then. It wouldn’t have mattered if she had. 

Orders were orders.

“So you’re ten dead men in a trenchcoat, then? And you’re wrong about that last one, by the way. That was probably Cipher Four. I’ve never been to Ord Mantell.” She pushes his commpad away with a scowl. The damned thing’s wiped clean- all the more likely he’d spoken to Trant within the last half-day, then; that was a lesson from Alderaan that only the Director ought to have learned. With enough time they could have recovered it, but they don’t have time. So she turns back to him instead, her thumb and index finger poised on closed eyelids gone puffy from the pressure of the binding. “Last chance to make this easier on yourself. When did you last hear from Marcus Trant?”

“More’n ten. Way more.” His words are less slurred now, the serum finally taking effect, and Lana sits up straighter. “‘nd hells take your easier. You’re gonna kill me anyway, so-” 

Void, why are they always so insistent on dying?

She doubts he can see her, so she just adds a twinge of melodrama to her sigh. “Not necessarily, agent. You tried to murder me. Naturally, I objected-” a little more pressure on his eye, just enough that he starts to shift against the restraining strap- “but if I really wanted you dead I’d have let you use your kill pill instead of wasting perfectly good antitoxin on you. I can be civil if you can.” 

Lana closes her eyes, focused and still.

“To be clear, you’re alive as a means to an end and it’s in your best interest to cooperate. But you and I know how it goes, don’t we?” When she lifts her open hand SCORPIO presses the holotransmitter into her palm. “Good soldiers follow orders. It’s not personal. You were only doing as you’re told.” She leans in closer, knee jostling against his mended leg just a little harder than necessary as the paper drape crinkles, voice lowered in a simulacrum of confidence. “Stars, I remember those days. He sits in his big office and sics you on a target, unclips your leash and you just- well. Ours not to reason why, hm?”

The cuff around his right wrist clinks against the arm of the chair as he makes an obscene gesture. 

Wrong tactic. Well, then.

Her sigh’s loud enough to make him flinch. “And it was all wrong, wasn’t it? All that planning, all that time pacing, writing a five-line message that he never even saw, all for nothing?” His breath stills, his heart rate spikes, and Lokin hooks another syringe to the IV port and slowly pushes the plunger down. “DId you think I wouldn’t see? I’d almost feel sorry for you if it wasn’t so utterly pathetic.”

His head lolls forward against the restraint, a counterpressure against her hand. 

“Oh, no, no.” Shifting, she pushes him back upright with two fingertips in the center of his forehead. “Not yet. Not until-”

“I almost got you.” His mouth contorts- it might have passed for a grin in a darker room, teeth bared, feral-  and something in his voice makes her hair stand on end. She recoils, pulling her hand away from his face even as he pauses. “So fucking close. Just a few more seconds and I’d’ve bled you dry, Cipher, and then I’d-”

(The words barely register; he’s not the first and certainly not the most creative person to threaten her with postmortem indecencies but somehow they always think it’s going to shock her into silence, as though it’s the single most awful thing that could ever happen when she’s lived through far worse horrors and more to the point she wouldn’t even know, she’d be dead).   

“-see enough and you know Shan’d come running- Force, that would’ve been even better, the look on his traitor face even if it was the wrong way round-”

wait. 

WAIT.

no, Trant wouldn’t have- 

When she blinks she sees it all in the span of a millisecond: half a hundred ways it could have gone, half a hundred indignities inflicted, half a hundred times it breaks Theron for just long enough for the blow to fall. Lana must see something else; she makes the smallest little sound, a muffled gasp of disgust covered over by knuckles cracking in clenched-fisted fury and then a snarled Sith curse she doesn’t understand (but Valkorion clearly does- she isn’t wrong, he murmurs) and it brings her back to herself. 

Her comm buzzes; her eyes flick down toward the screen. 

<ask him about belsavis>

Kicking him for breaking comm silence would be counterproductive, she supposes, but what does Belsavis have to do with anything? If Theron knows his name he ought to have just said so, not making her work harder than she already is.

< don’t know him but think I know the unit> <told Marcus it was a bad idea> <don’t think he listened>

That would explain the burned-off tattoos. Stars, has the SIS truly become that desperate? Or was this another Garza project- some experiment likely as not to fail just as Eclipse Squad had, so why waste frontline troops when the Republic had a whole planet full of froth-mouthed maniacs more than happy to keep killing as the cost of their freedom and if things did go bad, well, they were going to die one way or another so what did it matter?   

Then SCORPIO blinks once, head turning toward her comm and then, slower, toward the corner and oh, damn it all-

“Didn’t think the SIS went in for necrophilia,” she says conversationally, covering her mouth over a particularly exaggerated yawn as Lokin barely stifles a snort. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell the Jedi. I am curious, though- did you pick that up on Belsavis, or was that why they locked you up in the first place?”

His teeth clench. 

“Piracy? Hm, no. Some flavor of war crime, I’m sure- oh, I know. Fragged your CO, I’d bet. You’ve got that sort of look.”

“Onomatophobia. Go fuck yourself.”

(She’d come at it all wrong, hadn’t she? 

She’d thought this wasn’t personal because for her it wasn’t. Okay, fine, with Trant maybe it is, now, but this is no old enemy. She only hurt him to start with because he cut her first and deeper and even Theron doesn’t know his name- and stars know his memory’s brilliant, to judge by his stories he remembers everyone he ever worked with and it was far harder for him when they weren’t all just Minder Ten and Fixer Twelve and Watcher Three. The garotte alone might have been sheer bloody-mindedness in a way she wouldn’t have expected from the SIS, but even the Republic for all its supercilious moralizing had its fair share of sadists; Hunter hadn’t truly been one of them but they’d certainly all thought so at the time and still they’d all turned their heads, every single time, even when she’d screamed until her voice gave out.

Of course her control word was in her Republic file. He wasn’t the only one to try to use it, the first ones in earnest and then, when she’d shredded enough of them into bloody little pieces that they realized it didn’t didn’t hold her any more, as a vicious sort of mockery. That worked a bit, she supposes; maybe it always will. Not well enough to save them, of course.

She’d thought it wasn’t personal, that orders were orders and he’d come after Theron because he had to. But stars, she’d been out of the game for five fucking years and he’s practically got her dossier memorized, errors and all, and he’d called Theron a traitor and the first time she really pushes his buttons he-

Oh, this was very personal.)

“No,” she says, and breathes, trying to untie the panic-knot tightening in her chest, “I don’t think I will.” Snatching up a scalpel from the instrument tray as her voice wavers, she presses its tip, just so, beneath his chin. “You thought you were close? Close only counts in horseshoes and heavy ordnance, puppy, and that and a slip of my hand’ll buy you an unmarked grave. And-” he’s trying not to move, trying not to flinch. A single bead of blood wells up beneath the blade and stars, it’d be so easy, just one little movement and stay calm stay calm stay calm- “you still haven’t answered my question. When did you last hear from Marcus Trant?”

Lana exhales as her gaze comes back into focus, lip curling. Whatever she saw, she didn’t like it. “Today. It was today. But beyond that-”

“It’s good enough.” It was never going to be that easy. “SCORPIO, you don’t still have Belsavis census access, do you?” 

A yellow flash, and then- “I am no longer tethered to Ward 23, and what I retained is long out of date. Proximity would be required.”

“Never mind. We’ll move on to the holo, then. Doctor?”

“Ready.” Lokin nods approvingly as she sets the scalpel down. “Retractor?”

“Retractor, please. Left eye.”

One click. Two clicks. Three.  

The ‘pub squirms, fighting the restraining strap in earnest as he tries to blink against the cold metal instrument. “What are you-” his pupil constricts until she shifts the operating light away- “you gonna take my eyes now, Cipher? Keep ‘em in a jar somewhere, or-”

The holo’s scanner locks on as she holds it level with his forced-open eye. “No, thank you.  I never was much for souvenirs.” 

It chimes cheerfully as it comes to life in her hand; she flips idly through the settings. The user ID’s a string of alphanumeric gibberish, the message system’s not set up and the whole thing’s still on factory default but she’d expected all of that. It’s almost certainly a burner. The call log’s intact, though, with four time-stamped entries. One: incoming but barely five seconds long, likely a functionality test. Not useful. Two: outgoing, eighteen days old. Confirmation of arrival? That’s a Coruscanti subnet, but that could be a handler. Three: outgoing, one day old, to the same address as the second- they’d landed back from Nar Shaddaa by then. 

Four: incoming. Coruscant again, but a different address. One minute and six seconds duration. 

Two and a half hours ago. 

He said he’d call it off, Void damn him. If Trant kept his word and she’s wrong, if she burns the last thin strands of the bridge between Theron and everything he ever believed in to ashes and she’s wrong-

(He did say he would call them. Reflected in the freezer’s glass door, Valkorion tilts his head contemplatively. And tell them what?

He said- 

he said-

[-but those last few breaths last longer if you don’t struggle, don’t they? You’ll figure that out soon enough.]

For the first time she can remember there is something like approval in his smile. So you did hear it, he says. But oh, little Cipher, you didn’t listen.)     

She gestures to Lana and Lokin, pointing with two fingers at each one in turn and then the door with a snap of her wrist that sets it throbbing. “All of you but SCORPIO, clear the room. Now.”

Lana blinks but it’s Lokin who speaks first. “Commander, if I may? If you plan to proceed further, the subject may require additional stabilizing mea-”

“Wait outside until I call for you. That’s an order.”

He’s halfway to the door before Lana starts to move from the benchtop and even then she pauses beside her as she passes, one hand on her shoulder and her mouth lowered level with her ear. “You’re not getting Valkorion involved? I know you’d rather not dial out blind, but I thought I felt-”

“I’m not,” she murmurs in reply. “On either count. But if this goes bad I don’t want you in the room when it does.”  

“All right.” The sheer force of disapproval contained in Lana’s sigh might have leveled buildings; it isn’t all right and they both know it but it’s far too late to argue over it now. “Should I go and find Theron, then? I can think of some excuse to keep him with me until you’ve finished.”

They both startle at the sound of SCORPIO’s voice. “Unnecessary. He is-” her heart stops as the droid’s eyes flicker- “secure.”

“We can’t be certain of that. He still doesn’t know, does he? If there’s a second-”

“I see many things that you do not, Lord Beniko.” Five metallic fingers uncurl ceilingward (not toward the corner; her heart stutters, then resumes). “I am perfectly certain.”

Lips pressed together, nostrils flared, Lana grits her teeth against a retort before she simply continues toward the exit. “Then I will wait,” she says, a sparking halo of electricity coiling around her words as the door slides shut behind her, “until I am needed.” 

And then the room is quiet save the beeping monitors, the ‘pub’s ragged breathing and the sharp rattle of his restraints, and Nine glances sidelong at SCORPIO as she settles herself carefully in the blind spot on his right. “Be nice.”

“Error. Program file: nice not found.” 

She must have iterated again; the sarcasm’s new. Rolling her eyes, she glances down at her comm again. 

< Also, you are welcome.>

She flicks an ironic salute toward the droid and that too makes her wrist ache. More time in the tank, then, on the way to Voss. More time lost that she can’t afford and a favor owed that she probably can’t afford either- stars know SCORPIO’s kept secrets for her well enough through the years but she’s no particular fondness for Theron; the last time he’d cracked a joke about needing a processor update she’d signal-locked his implant to play That Slippery Little Hutt Of Mine on repeat for forty-three minutes straight until half his face was twitching and he’d finally apologized- but hopefully that can be negotiated. Ongoing access to the network, maybe. Lana will fuss and she’ll be right, but if that message had gone through unintercepted they all know what it might have meant. It’s a small enough price.

“If you’re done arguing-” the ‘pub’s slurring again. He’s burning through the serum faster than she’s ever seen- “either get this thing off me or-”

If he keeps that up she may as well not bother with the call. She ought to have known better than to think that he’d say much of anything useful but his ranting’s absolutely tedious; they’re going to need to gag him after all, aren’t they? It wasn’t supposed to be that sort of interrogation, but she also hadn’t particularly expected him to- oh, if he calls her that one more time she might just stab him after all. (Like he’s got any room to criticize- all her old sins could overfill an archive but at least she’s not a stars-damned corpsefucker.) “Shh.” When she tilts her head toward it SCORPIO picks up the spacer’s tape and tears a strip from the roll, pressing it firmly over his mouth until th+e noise quiets into muffled incomprehensibility. “That’s quite enough out of you, I think.“

Hm. That brings to mind a better idea, actually. 

“Do we have enough input for a voiceprint? Something like this?” Tapping a brief message into her commpad, she sends it through to SCORPIO. Only a few lines, but if it truly is Trant on the other end of the connection it should be enough to be certain.

It has to be enough.

She doesn’t look toward the corner. She mustn’t look toward the corner. 

“Way more than enough.” It’s near enough a perfect mimic. SCORPIO folds her arms smugly and the ‘pub goes grey. “Prepared for playback.”

“On my signal, then, but give me a twenty second delay on video.” Her fingers twitch despite themselves, tingling at the tips; she forces her breathing into rhythm. (Lana was right. She isn’t fine. 

Lana was always right. But she doesn’t have a choice.) 

Inhale. “And prep the package files for transmission on verbal command. No passcode.” Exhale.

A pause, a flash of scarlet. Inhale. “Yes, Commander.”

Exhale. 

Inhale. She smooths her hair back, adjusts her collar carefully under her chin, slaps both cheeks briskly with closed fingers to bring a little color into them and even that little jolt rattles her brain inside her skull. She considers, briefly, the backs of her eyelids. That seems to help. Exhale. 

The far corner remains quiet. 

She lifts the holo in line with the ‘pub’s eye once more as his pupil shimmers finely from side to side; they’d definitely pushed the dose too high but even so it’s far faster than it ought to be, chasing some other vice out of his system, and the camera struggles, beeping and chirping error after error until finally it locks on. 

Inhale. Exhale. 

She meets SCORPIO’s gaze, scrolls back to the end of the call log, and presses redial. 

Inhale.

“Connecting.” The tinny synthetic voice of the SIS operator sets her nerves on edge. “Connecting.” Come on, pick up-

The channel opens with a click and she nods, lets her breath out into the following silence before the voiceprint begins.

“It’s done. Shan and the Cipher. Wrong way ‘round, but-”

“Well-” the video delay goes both ways but she doesn’t need it, she’s heard Marcus Trant’s voice in so many briefings it’s burned into her brain; the last brittle shard of hope she’d clung to shatters and leaves her with nothing left but rage. How dare he- “it’s about fucking time.”

Oh, she is going to end him.

***

Nine’s body language shifts then, her spine rigid where she’d been starting to hunch forward in fatigue, her hands fisted, fingernails digging hard into her palms. Her stance settles, just a little wider, forward on her toes; her chin lifts. He can’t see her face, still angled toward the prisoner. 

“Send the photo confirmation, then execute extraction- and get your video on. Where are you?” Force, he’s going to throw up. Even when Jonas told him, even after hearing Marcus with his own ears he hadn’t wanted to believe it. He’d called it off. It had to be a mistake- or maybe Nine’s paranoia got the better of her (and he knows why and he doesn’t fault her, she can’t help Valkorion in her head and the poison he’s feeding her day after day after day) and this was just another shadow to peer into. Dragged into the light, it would have been nothing at all. A mistake. A mistake. 

She nods to the droid once again. “ Just a few more seconds. Bad connection but I’ve almost got it.” 

He shudders. The copywork’s uncanny and he knows for sure that’s not all readback. If SCORPIO gets it in her head to playact as one of them, starts giving orders in Lana’s voice or Koth’s or his own? He’s no reason to think she would, but whatever loyalty she seems to owe starts and ends with Nine. They’ve got to talk about it, at least.  

Nine angles away from their prisoner, raises the comm chest-high as the little hologram springs up in the hollow of her hand. He can see her better now, her face blank and beautiful and perfectly, utterly cold, and then she smiles and- 

(He has spent far more time than he’d ever admit to, from Rishi to Ziost to Zakuul to tonight, every hit and hurt and shattered bone and her bloody armor left in a pile again and again on the medbay floor, being scared for Nine. 

This might be the first time he’s honestly been scared of her.)

“Hello, Director,” she says. “We’ve really got to stop meeting like this.”

It’s only a little flinch, but it’s there. “Cipher. Still alive, I see.”

“Commander. You lied to me, Marcus. You know what happens now.”

“I think you’ll find that I didn’t.” 

Every syllable of her laughter’s a rifle shot, clear and piercing. “Yes, yes. You said you’d call, and you did.” By his posture he’s caught and he knows it, back straight, shoulders set. “But you know perfectly well that wasn’t our agreement. To go by the way Theron spoke of you I’d have thought you an honorable man, but-”

Marcus lifts one hand, a futile placation as Nine’s mocking smile fades back into hard-eyed silence. “I really am sorry about Theron, for what little it’s worth. He-”

“You’re sorry?” That wasn’t a laugh, not quite, halfway caught in her broken throat. “You’re certainly about to be, but Theron’s fine. This puppy was just as stupid as the last one- worse, actually, since he got himself caught in the bargain.” She turns her body, lets the camera capture the prisoner behind her straining against the chair straps in wide-eyed muffled fury. “He never got anywhere close to Theron.”

“He knows, then?” (He still can’t see Marcus’ face. He isn’t sure whether he wants to.)

She shrugs, noncommittal. “One thing at a time.” Her free hand gestures vaguely toward the instrument tray. “I’ve been a bit busy, I’m afraid, and now I’ve got all these dossiers to send off-”    

“I’d suggest some time in kolto first. You don’t look at all well, Cipher.”

“Commander.” When she blinks her eyes stay closed half a second too long and she sways back and forth and stars, she needs to sit down before she falls over but she’s too stubborn to let anyone see her hurting. He knows her tells now, though- her jaw clenches, her left hand curls and uncurls. “Five years in carbonite couldn’t kill me. You honestly thought a garotte would be enough?”

“No,” Marcus says softly. “Not really. But we make do with what we have, don’t we?”

“I suppose we do. SCORPIO, transmit file Eclipse . Full recipient list.”

One red flash, two green. “Transmission complete.”

(She really did it. Oh, fuck, she really, actually did it. 

He should never have gone home. He should never have gone-  

It isn’t home. Not any more.) 

Marcus sighs. “Where?”

“Everywhere.” Nine looks up abruptly as one of the monitors sounds yet again; she reaches up and simply shuts it off completely and at this angle he can finally see properly, both of their faces in profile. “Every reputable news service in the Core Worlds and about half of the disreputable ones, so you may want to warn your receptionist. I suspect your switchboard’s about to melt.”

“She’ll handle it, and Eclipse Squad was Elin’s mess. I’m afraid I can’t comment. Now, if we’re finished-”

“We are not. Transmit file Legate. Full list. Call it off. Now.”

One red flash, two green, and Marcus winces, his composure finally breaking. “Are you out of your fucking mind? No one came out of that clean, you least of all.”

“I might be.” A knock at the door- no, it’s there, not here, and a comm chiming. “But Legate died in a warehouse collapse on Quesh, poor thing, though with all those warheads going up at once confirming it was quite impossible. Pity.”

A single vein pulses across his forehead. 

“Call it off.”

Another knock. “Do you think Theron will believe that?”

“He doesn’t need to. He knows about the Castellan restraints- he’s known for years.” She glances, for the smallest fraction of a second, toward his corner. “I think he’ll understand if I blur the truth a little.” 

(He nods before he remembers she can’t see him. Of course he understands. He wishes she hadn’t done it, wishes she hadn’t needed to do any of this, but of course he understands.)

The room goes quiet, the stillness broken only by restraint buckles clinking against the chair frame. 

“Do you think he’ll believe this?” 

The angle of her head’s a wordless question. 

“What wouldn’t you do to bring down an enemy? The head of the SIS, no less.” The framing of the projection changes, the bottom edge of a screen coming into view as he stands up slowly from his desk. Marcus’d always lived at the office, one of so many bad habits he’d passed down to him over all the years they’d worked together (the work always comes first, he’d said. It always will. It will take everything you can give to it and then it will take more and you’ll swear and shout and threaten to quit. And then you won’t, because this is what we were made for. And that is how we win). “It’s everything you ever worked toward. So: a foiled assassination attempt in your own base- how terrible.” He clicks his tongue, a mocking little tsk. “You’d have to retaliate, and who would fault you?”

Nine’s eyes narrow. 

“But if it came out that you set it all up- a few intercepted messages, perhaps, shared by an old friend-”

Her lips draw back from her bared teeth. “Stay away from him.”

“I’m finished,” Marcus says. “I know that. But that doesn’t mean you get to win. Once a iiar, always a liar, Cipher Nine. Who do you think he’ll believe- you? Or me?”

No. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t . Not that it would have made a difference, but Marcus couldn’t have known that- Force, he really is going to throw up.

(When Theron joined the SIS he was seventeen years old and every adult he’d known for more than a galactic standard month had abandoned him, sold him out or simply sold him at the first sign he’d outgrown his usefulness. It took nearly a year on Coruscant, nearly a year of steady paychecks and a bed to sleep in every night, before he owned more clothes than he could fit into a go bag; it took almost two before he stopped apologizing for asking for equipment. But Marcus never gave up on him, even when he fucked up (which back then was more often than not), even when he bristled and snapped like a half-wild animal, even when he wanted to give up on himself. If Master Zho had been the nearest thing he’d known to a father- stars knows it wasn’t Jace, especially not now- Marcus had come close too, once.

Once.)

She takes a deep breath. She’s fading fast, now, hands tremulous even as she’s fighting to keep the holo steady. He can’t just sit here and watch this, he can’t, he can’t-    

“Her,” Theron says, letting the stealth field drop as he takes a step forward and she spins, startled, at the sound of his voice. It comes out as a gasp; he doesn’t even know how long he’s been holding his breath. ”Who do I believe? Her. Always.”

Marcus buckles like he’s been gut-shot, bracing himself against his desk. “You- you said you hadn’t told him yet. You said-”

“I think you’ll find that I didn’t.” Nine smiles, absolutely feral and absolutely beautiful, and he steadies her with one hand at the small of her back. “Though as you can see, I really have been busy.”

The last time he saw that look on his face was the day the blockade went up around Coruscant. “Hello, Theron.”

“Hello, Marcus.”

He sits back into his chair, heavy, elbows resting on the desktop. “This office would have been yours, you know. You were ready for it. But you’re on the wrong side of the war.”

“Which war?” Nine says it at the same time he does and then she dips her head, ever so slightly- you first. “We’re here fighting Zakuul. We’re here fighting Arcann,” he continues, “and we’re finally winning. I know you know that. I know Jace knows that, and I know you’re both still fighting the same fucking war against the Empire that you’ve been fighting since before I was born because for you that’s the only thing that matters. But I’m not.”

“You dare-”

“I made my choice,” he says softly.  “Now you make yours. Are you going to drag the whole SIS down with you?”

Marcus rests his head in his hands. For a moment it’s the day after the Ascendant Spear, the day after Ziost, the day after Tython, the weight of a thousand impossible choices and ten thousand lies pressing down on him, and then he looks up and shakes his head. “No.” He sighs. “No, I’m not. What happens now?”

“Resign,” Nine murmurs. “Retire. Disappear before the Senate comes for you, or let them scapegoat you: I don’t care what you do, but you will call this off. You will do it now, and if I ever have reason to doubt you- if anyone from the Republic so much as breathes harm in Theron’s direction- the Ralltiir file goes public.”

Someone’s pounding on his office door, a woman’s voice shouting something incomprehensible as he reaches out of frame, and then a few moments later a series of four tones in a cadence burned into his own memory- send message; subnet selected; confirm?-

Message sent. 

The holotransmitter in Nine’s hand chimes. 

“Done. Now, if there’s nothing else?”

Nine turns once more (and he turns with her, careful) to put their prisoner back into frame. “What do you want me to do with him? I’d put him back on Belsavis if I was you, but-”

Marcus stands up abruptly, even as he makes a face as she says Belsavis, at the unmistakable sound of a single round of blaster fire and the hiss of a door sliding open. “Elin,” he snaps, “not now -”

“Yes, now.” General Garza’s got a blaster pistol in one hand and a commpad in the other when she crosses into camera view. “I just got a fucking call from the fucking- oh.” She cranes her neck toward the projector. “Well, we can fix that problem, at least-”

The call disconnects abruptly.

Nine sags against him, exhausted. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I know I promised-” 

“Commander.” He’d nearly forgotten SCORPIO was still at the console until she speaks, and he’s never heard that tone from her before; he looks sharply up at her and follows her sightline. The prisoner’s sitting bolt-straight, back rigid, eyes wide, and a high-pitched whine like a drill through durasteel shrills warning from somewhere that isn’t his mouth- “Commander, get down!”

All Theron can do is drop where they’re standing, his body a shield over Nine’s, before there’s an awful wet noise and the smell of blood and something else familiar in his nose, hot and metallic and not his and not hers and even though he knows he shouldn’t he looks up again and oh, fuck-

The lab door slides open and Doctor Lokin comes running into the room, Lana just behind with her lightsaber blazing, and they both stop short at the sight of it, at the ‘pub still strapped into the chair with half his head just gone and at him and Nine on the blood-spattered floor.

“What- who-” Lana covers her mouth with her free hand. “What in the Void happened?”

Nine’s shaking so hard she can barely move; he curls her close against him to keep her upright. “Not me,” she whispers. “Not me.”

[justarandomidiot1]

Hi, @thousand-winters!! I'm your Secret Spirit! I apologize for posting this late, but I hope it's worth the wait! I combined your prompts of Mob and Tsubomi hanging out and Mob and Reigen hanging out because I couldn't pick between the two, so here's some photo booth shenanigans with the three of them!

Thank you @mp100secretspirit for hosting this and for also being accommodating with me!

All the drawings in a photostrip and a fic to go with this under the cut:

“Shishou! Tsubomi-chan!”

Mob lifts his hand up, pointing to the photo booth some ways away. His eyes shine with excitement, a small smile on his face.

Tsubomi grins widely, her hands clasped together. “That’s the perfect way to end the day! Come on!”

She rushes ahead, Mob just behind her. Reigen tails behind, his hands full as he carries various shopping bags from the goodies Mob and Tsubomi wanted to buy: a small teddy bear Mob said reminded him of Reigen, a Hagemon shirt on sale that unfortunately looks just like Mob’s… interesting monkey shirt so Tsubomi can match with him, a couple of cat plushies Reigen won for both of them at a claw machine, among other things.

It’s winter break for Mob, meaning he’s been able to stop by the Spirits and Such Consultation Office after cram school more often, something not required of him, but Reigen appreciates it all the same. It feels like old times, just the two of them (and Serizawa and Tome) doing exorcisms together and solving customers’ problems.

Today, Mob had decided to bring his friend to join him, the girl who had rejected him earlier that year. Yet despite her rejection, it didn’t stop them from reconciling their friendship. From what Mob had told Reigen, Tsubomi’s family didn’t move too far away, just to the other side of Seasoning City, so the two of them were able to meet up in person once winter break had started.

Tsubomi had only been in the Office for about half an hour when Tome declared that the three of them (Reigen, Mob, and Tsubomi) should spend the rest of the day hanging out together.

(“Wait, why me?! I have an office to run!”

“Because you and Mob-kun haven’t spent any time together lately aside from work, and I know you want to again! And I know he does too, as much as he wants to spend time with Takane-san! Besides, Serizawa-san and I got the office covered!”)

Tsubomi and Mob agreed that the three of them spending time together was a good idea, and Serizawa agreed that he and Tome could handle the Spirits and Such Consultation Office on their own, and after a lot of insistence and maybe some pleading puppy eyes, Reigen finally relented.

Of course, before leaving the office, he forgot to ask Tome where they should spend the rest of their day— it was her idea for them to do this, she could’ve at the very least suggested something. But he figured the Seasoning City Mall was a good spot; if they didn’t know what to do, they could find something to do here. It’s a pretty big mall, after all.

At least Mob and Tsubomi are following the “no more than a total of ¥4000 a store” rule that Reigen established when they arrived, deciding he’ll pay for anything they do since he’s the adult, but also there’s just so much that they seem to want. He’s kind of regretting saying that he’ll pay for everything they do or want at the mall with how much his hands hurt from all the shopping bags. They haven’t even seen a quarter of the stores here. (How many stores can one mall have?!)

Reigen’s just glad the photo booth is pretty cheap.

“Shishou, join us!” Mob says with a smile, halfway into the photo booth.

Reigen puts all the bags on the floor— almost drops them really, but he’s pretty sure there might be something fragile in one of them. He shakes his hands and stretches out his fingers, holding back a grimace. God, those bags were heavy. “You kids go on ahead, I’ll watch over our things.”

“But it’s more fun with more people, Reigen-san!” Tsubomi insists, picking out a winter theme on the screen in front of her for their photos. “Come on!”

“No, seriously, I—”

Something tugs at his arm, but there’s nothing there. It doesn’t take long for him to figure out it’s the work of psychic powers, and one look at Mob’s face and the way he lifts up one hand confirms it.

Reigen yelps as he ends up stumbling into the photo booth, landing very ungracefully onto the seat while Mob and Tsubomi laugh.

Click!

“What the hell was that for?!” Reigen exclaims, pushing himself back up.

He’s only met with laughter.

“You didn’t have to do that, I could’ve just–”

“Quick! Smile!” Tsubomi says between giggles before he can lecture about how rude pulling him into the booth was.

There’s a few seconds left on the timer, and admittedly Reigen feels a little bad about wanting to just leave the two of them and not join in for the rest of the photos. So he leans an arm on Mob’s shoulder and smiles at the camera, Tsubomi on the other side of Mob holding up a peace sign.

Click!

“What next?” Mob asks as the next countdown begins, still smiling.

“Silly faces,” Reigen immediately suggests. “You always gotta do the silly photo when you do these things!”

And so they do. Tsubomi squishes her cheeks with her hands, sticking out her tongue. Mob puffs out his cheeks, crossing his eyes. Reigen just smirks, holding up bunny ears behind Mob’s head.

Click!

The countdown begins one more time.

“What should we do for our last photo?” Tsubomi asks, watching the timer go down.

“I know what I want to do!” Mob says after a moment, immediately wrapping one arm around Tsubomi and one around Reigen, pulling them closer to himself. Seeing the smile on Mob’s face as he hugs them close, grinning so wide and bright, Reigen can’t stop himself from smiling back.

Click!

Once the last photo is taken, Reigen feels himself practically being shoved out from behind, Mob and Tsubomi eager to see how the photos turned out.

“H-Hey, give me a second! You don’t need to push!”

There are four photo strips that are produced from the photo booth, all of them decorated with a cute winter theme.

Tsubomi hands them all out, Reigen taking two of them and saying something about being able to pin one onto his client satisfaction board. He tries to act like he doesn’t care to do it, but the looks in their eyes let him know they know better.

Reigen takes a moment to look at the photos, finding himself smiling softly.

Seeing Mob smiling so wide and being so expressive, it’s still taking some time to get used to, but Reigen can feel a sense of pride welling in his chest. This kid, who once held back his emotions so desperately, now allowing himself to smile and laugh and have fun just like any kid his age should, having touched the lives of so many and made so many friends of his own…

Reigen looks back up, seeing how Tsubomi and Mob happily talk about the photos with each other, Mob pointing to one of them before the two of them laugh a moment later.

Reigen pockets his photo strips.

Mob really has grown so much.

“All right, kids, you ready to head back?” Reigen asks, ruffling Mob’s hair.

With a nod, the three of them pick up their shopping bags (which Reigen is thankful for because he was not excited about carrying all of that back to the office) and start heading out of the mall. Tsubomi and Mob just continue to talk along the way, Reigen on his phone calling a taxi to take them back, the same taxi service they used to get here.

“Reigen-san,” Tsubomi speaks up once they’re outside, waiting for the taxi, “I’d like to keep visiting the office over the break and see you and Mob-kun more often, if that’s all right with you.”

“Tome-san says she and her friends from school hang out in Shishou’s office all the time!” Mob answers before Reigen can even open his mouth. “I’m sure it’s fine for you to come over, too!”

“My office is not a teen hangout spot!” Reigen immediately retorts, before clearing his throat and turning back to Tsubomi. “But yes, I… suppose I wouldn’t mind you visiting the office again…”

He tries to act like he could care less whether Tsubomi decides to stop by again, but something must give him away because she’s beaming wide, her eyes shining at his answer. She bows slightly, her hands gripping tighter onto the shopping bags she carries in front of her. “Thank you so much, Reigen-san!”

Mob bows slightly as well, holding his shopping bags at his sides. “And thank you for taking us to the mall, Shishou! I had a lot of fun!”

Reigen just turns away from them, pretending to cough into his fist. “Yeah, well, winter break is for having fun, you know? Just enjoy yourselves.”

But even if he acts like he doesn’t care, he can’t deny that he had fun with them as well. They should really do this more often.

[jokertrap-ran]

[Gakuen K] Munakata Reisi Route: Test Results Translation

*Translator’s note : MC’s name shall remain as my normal (水嶋ラン) *Gakuen K Masterlist / Gakuen K Mobile Masterlist *Spoiler FREE : Translations under cut ! Reblogs appreciated~

Kukuri: It’s about time for the results to be posted out in the hallway.

Ran: Yeah. I’m really nervous…

Ran: (I’ll be kicked out of the club if I don’t get an average of at least 90 marks…)

Ran: (And today’s the day I know of my fate…)

Kukuri: I’m sure you’ll be fine! We’ve been cramming together, haven’t we?

Kukuri: Plus, those guys from the Blue Club really helped us out too, remember?

Ran: That’s true… I’m sure I’ll be fine.

Ran: (I barely made the cut when I did the mock tests, but I’ll just have to believe in myself!)

Ran: (I’ve already done my best.)

Kukuri: Oh! The results have been posted!

Ran: Come on, let’s go!

»» ━━━━━━━ ∘◦♔◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ««

Ran: Let’s see, where’s my name…?

Ran: (There it is!)

Ran: (Gotta get the average… Let’s see how much it sums up to…)

Kukuri: Your name’s up there. How’s the score?

Ran: I just did the math and it looks like my average is only 88…

Kukuri: What!? So close! Just a little more and you’d have hit the mark…

Ran: Yeah. It was already a little dubious whether I could make the mark or not when I tried the mock tests, but looks like it was a no-go after all.

Kukuri: I’m sorry that I couldn’t be of much help…

Ran: Don’t worry about it. In fact, I think I only managed to score this well thanks to you, Kukuri-chan!

Kukuri: Take some credit for yourself too… Hey, tell me if the Blue Club really kicks you out, alright?

Kukuri: I’ll try to convince Munakata-senpai otherwise. I’ll tell him all about how hard you’ve worked, and how you don’t deserve to be kicked out in light of it!

Ran: Thank you, Kukuri-chan… But it’s also undeniable that I’m clearly lacking in academic skills.

Ran: In any case, I should head to Club and inform them of the results.

Kukuri: I see… See you, and good luck! My prayers are with you!

»» ━━━━━━━ ∘◦♔◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ««

Ran: (I don’t want to have to quit the Club, so I’ll have to convince them that I really want to stay in the Blue Club.)

Ran: (I failed to meet the requirement so I don’t think what I say will make a difference anyway, but… even so, I have to try!)

»» ━━━━━━━ ∘◦♔◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ««

Ran: …Huh? No one’s here?

Ran: (I guess I should wait here for the time being.)

Ran: …

Ran: (If I truly get kicked out from the Club…)

Ran: (No, I should stop thinking about the what-ifs.)

Ran: (I should be honest about my feelings and tell them as such.)

Munakata: Oh, you’re early.

Ran: Ah, Munakata-senpai.

Munakata: You look rather glum. Did something happen?

Ran: There’s something I want to talk to you about…

▷Choice: I don't want to quit

Ran: Basically, I don’t want to quit this Club. Ran: And I didn’t manage to get an average of 90 during the tests. Ran: I know that was the condition for me to remain in this Club, so I’ll still be made to quit anyway, but… Ran: I still want to continue staying here. Ran: I’ve just started out here, and I was looking forward to learning more things.

▷Choice: Um… Well…

Ran: Um… Well… Munakata: Yes? Ran: (Of all times to be nervous, why now… But I have to tell him!) Ran: I didn't manage to get an average of 90 for the tests this time… Ran: But I don't want to have to quit the Club.

Munakata: Ah… Right, I do remember saying something along those lines before.

Munakata: Fret not. The Club doesn't actually have any rules regarding grades.

Ran: What!?

Munakata: And I have no intention of making anything of the sort. Although, it would be a tad concerning if you were barely passing.

Ran: Then, why did you…

Munakata: I suppose you can say that it was a test to see how determined you were to stay in the Blue Club.

Ran: Erm… So, does that mean I can stay?

Munakata: You worked hard and did your best, didn't you?

Munakata: I've heard a lot about the hard work you've put into studying for this test.

Munakata: You may not have attained the initial target, but I quite like that honesty of yours. So, I do hope you will continue to work hard as part of the Blue Club.

Ran: Got it! Thank you…

Munakata: I look forward to seeing how you grow from here on out.

Ran: (I was really taken aback by the fact that there had been no rules about grades at all, but I'm glad that I can still continue to remain here…)

»» ━━━━━━━ ∘◦♔◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ««

Next Scene: Red Bean Mountain

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Mike Luckovich :: AJC

* * * *

The electoral map is not frozen in amber!

September 4, 2024

Robert B. Hubbell

Sep 04, 2024

The media narrative abruptly shifted post-Labor Day weekend to proclaim that Pennsylvania will decide the 2024 election. Don’t believe it. That narrative is wrong on so many levels that it is insulting to the intelligence of American voters.

There are tens of thousands of federal, state, and local elections in November 2024—and every race matters. There are 34 elections for the US Senate, 435 elections for the US House of Representatives, 11 races for governorships, 5,807 races for state legislative seats, and thousands of additional races for city, county, and judicial seats, not to mention school board seats, county sheriffs, election officials, and state executives like secretary of state, and attorney general. See Ballotpedia's Election Analysis Hub, 2024 - Ballotpedia.

How America will be governed post-November 2024 will be decided by thousands of elections across the nation. Focusing only on the presidential race—in which Kamala Harris has the momentum—is a gross oversimplification. The House matters. The Senate matters. The state legislatures matter. State constitutions will matter. Please, oh please, please stop telling us “It all comes down to Pennsylvania.”

The narrative that “it will all come down to Pennsylvania” is wrong and defeatist. It presumes that the state electoral map is frozen in amber and that only one or two states are flippable. Don’t believe it! Kamala Harris and Tim Walz are contesting states that are presumed to be frozen in amber on red vs. blue maps on cable news.

The purveyors of the “frozen in amber” mindset are using models that do not—and cannot—account for the fact that reproductive liberty is literally on the ballot in 11 states and indirectly on the ballot in all fifty states via Project 2025’s plan to use the Comstock Act to ban abortion nationally.

The “frozen in amber” models do not and cannot account for the fact that one of the presidential candidates incited an insurrection, attempted a coup, tried to bribe an ally, retained national defense documents, was civilly adjudicated to be liable for sexual assault, and convicted of 34 counts of fraud.

The “frozen in amber” models do not and cannot account for the fact that the Democratic candidate is the second woman to receive a major party nomination and the first woman of Black and Asian heritage to do so. And yet, pollsters and pundits insist on cramming this unprecedented race into their historical models to tell us, “It all comes down to Pennsylvania”—a model that assumes an electoral college margin of victory of two votes. Anyone who is selling Kamala Harris short by saying, “It all comes down to Pennsylvania” is missing the moment.

I was amused to see Nate Silver’s tortured explanation of why Kamala Harris’s lead in the polls isn’t really a lead—even though when Trump was up by a smaller margin, pundits proclaimed Trump the victor without waiting for the vote in November. (Further evidence of why we should ignore the polls; they are props in the hands of charlatans who shape them to support partisan messages.)

Nate Silver insists that we must “factor out” the “post-election bounce” of the DNC convention. Was Nate Silver conscious during the DNC convention? Does he own a television? Can he read a newspaper? If he thinks that the wave of enthusiasm for Kamala Harris is like anything that happened in the last century, he should quit before he embarrasses himself even further.

The American media and consulting class are struggling—and failing—to understand the moment. But their lack of imagination and self-awareness is no excuse for their normalization of Trump.

It is a mistake to sell the American people short. The 2024 election will not be decided by Pennsylvania—although the votes of all Pennsylvanians will matter just like the votes of every other American. The election will be decided by hundreds of millions of Americans taking democracy seriously by voting in tens of thousands of elections at a moment in history when one party wants to deny women full citizenship and personhood, deny Black Americans the right to vote, deny LGBTQ Americans their dignity and equality, deny children safe schools, deny all Americans a future free of man-made climate catastrophes, deny workers of a living wage, and deny the peaceful transfer of power every four years.

My money is on the American people to vote on issues that are important to them—not on a media-concocted horse race designed to sell soap.

Harris-Walz campaign donates money to down-ballot Democratic groups

The Harris-Walz campaign has donated $25 million to several Democratic PACs, including the Democratic committees for the House, Senate, Legislative Campaign, governors, and state attorneys general. Some media outlets are reporting the donations as “Kamala Harris has so much money she is giving it away.” See Insider, Kamala Harris has raised so much money that she's giving $25 million of it to other campaigns.

In fact, Kamala Harris is strategically planning how to gain a governing trifecta if she is elected—a sign of confidence and forward thinking. The contestable states in the presidential election do not match the opportunities/vulnerabilities in the House and Senate races. While winning the presidency is vital, winning control of Congress is also critical.

As Kamala Harris distributes her campaign chest, Republican fundraisers are sounding the alarm about their deficit in swing states. See Politico, House and Senate Republicans are starting to panic about a huge money gap with Democrats.

We cannot be complacent, but we should take confidence from the fact that Kamala Harris is promoting a strategy to build an administration that can govern America.

Media continues to pretend that Kamala Harris has not made specific policy proposals

Part of the media’s normalization of Trump is its comparison of “policy positions” between Harris and Trump. Who is the media kidding? Trump's only policy position is, “If I win, I get to stay out of prison.” Everything else that comes out of Trump's mouth is designed to maximize his avoidance of prison.

Such statements are not “policies.” They are the desperate cries for help by a man afraid to go to prison because he could not begin his day with a spray-on bronzer and a thirty-minute coiffing session to tease his wisps of hair into a pompadour.

Readers noted in the Comment section to yesterday’s newsletter a truly awful editorial by the Washington Post Editorial Board that compared the policy positions of Harris and Trump. See WaPo, Harris and Trump are different. They need to explain how different.

As one reader noted, “I had to splash cold water on my face to make sure I was not still asleep, in some kind of dream unreality, when I read the headline!”

If the editorial board of the Washington Post needs Kamala Harris and Donald Trump to explain how they are not alike, the editors should resign en masse. It was a silly exercise beneath the Washington Post and its editorial board, which began by noting,

In character, style, tone, outlook, dignity, and, yes, race and gender, the two candidates are distinct. The distinctions between them on policy substance, however, are somewhat fuzzier.

Uh, okay. I’ll play. “Insurrectionists for $200.” Or how about “Serial Sexual Abusers for $500.” Or maybe, “Current Vice President, former Senator, former Attorney General for the world’s fifth largest economy, and former prosecutor for $1,000.”

As I said above, Trump's only policy is, “What do I need to say to stay out of prison?” But the Post dignified Trump's policies by comparing them to those of Kamala Harris in the following passage:

Though specifics are light, Ms. Harris is plotting a wiser course. She is right to emphasize boosting housing supply, the key to lowering housing costs, and to propose enhancing effective anti-poverty programs such as the child tax credit and the earned-income tax credit. Unlike Mr. Trump, she acknowledges the fact of climate change, does not threaten Justice Department independence and seeks robust protections for reproductive rights.

Mr. Trump, meanwhile, is offering a far less appealing domestic plan, focusing on illegal immigration, tariffs and ending the green energy transition, and rightly lamenting illegal immigration without offering solutions to the problem.

The Post omitted all of Project 2025’s dystopian agenda in which women are subservient, baby-making machines, Trump is installed as an Imperial President, he destroys the administrative state, converts the DOJ to the president’s private law firm, destroys the environment, and extends a tax break for millionaires and billionaires at the expense of the middle class (and more).

By feigning ignorance of Trump's despotic visions of permanent power, the Post was able to ignore the chasm between the policies of Harris and Trump to render this pathetic, shocking conclusion:

In other words, the substantive contrasts Ms. Harris draws with Mr. Trump generally make her look better. But should Americans settle?

Excuse me?? “Why should Americans settle” for a highly experienced, ethical, competent leader over a man who has told us he wants to be a dictator??

Newspapers should report the news and editorial boards should comment on matters of public importance. But this election presents a moral choice that will be the hinge of democracy for decades to come. To engage in pretend editorializing driven by feigned ignorance is a shocking new low.

Folks, we are going to have to do this without the media—which is what Kamala Harris has concluded, too. See David Lurie writing in Public Notice (on Substack), Kamala Harris is cutting off Trump’s political oxygen. Per David Lurie

It’s hardly a coincidence that over the past several weeks, the power of the press to impact the tenor and focus of the presidential campaign — and the power of Trump's to do the same — has been suddenly thrown into question. By refusing to engage with Trump's taunts or play by journalists’ rules, Harris has upended presumptions about politics that have dominated during most of the past decade. And that’s a good thing

[Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter]

[idkhowbut-art]

Mushy May Day 6 - 'You're Blushing'/Jam Sessions

thanks to @forlorn-crows for the prompt list

Pairing - Ifrit/Dew (water edition)

Word Count - 594

Summary - Ifrit is down horrendous for Dew

Also posted on AO3 here

It was a warm summer afternoon, Dew and Ifrit had taken over the paractice room for the day, having one of their jam sessions. The two ghouls held them in order to be more in tune with each other, bouncing off of one another with riffs and runs until their fingers cramped. It had become a weekend tradition - after all the practice with the other ghouls and Papa, and once all their other measly chores were done - cramming themselves into a small practice room and just unwinding. 

.

.

.

The small practice room was hot and stuffy, the window they had propped open with one of Mountain’s drumsticks doing more harm than good, letting in the hot summer air. Both ghouls were slick with sweat, shirts undone and their masks discarded to show off flushed faces. 

.

.

At some point Dew had stood up to improvise a bass solo, focusing intensely as his fingers worked up and down the neck of the bass. Ifrit watched enchanted from where he sat, idly stroking a chord for Dew to play over, loosing his tempo more and more until he stopped playing altogether, just watching the water ghoul with bated breath. 

His face was warm, but this was a different warm to the kind he’s felt all day, a kind that also followed by butterflies in his stomach, caught in a trance between the other ghoul’s concentrated face, his flowey dark hair and his incredibly fast hands. He watched as Dew finished his run, panting from the exertion, tossing his hair out of his face and look over at him with a satisfied smile. 

‘You’re blushing, you know.’ 

Ifrit dragged his eyes away from Dew for a moment, suddenly aware of how warm he felt, pressing his hand to his cheek. ‘A-am I?’  

He laughed, the water ghoul let out a laugh that Ifrit could get high on. His face lit up as he  ‘You really are an idiot aren’t you?’ Dew set down his bass, leaning close to the fire ghoul, their noses nearly touching. His icy blue eyes were narrowed, face changing into a nearly mocking smile, causing Ifrit to retreat into his seat slightly. He sat there braced for the onslaught of mockry that usually came out of the other ghoul, his eyes squeezed shut so he didn’t have to see the other’s cold expression. 

Instead he felt two cool hands cup is face, tilting it up in the direction of the other ghoul. Ifrit cracked open one of his eyes, finding an uncharacteristically soft face looking at him, a gentle smile crossing his face, his eyes gazing at him lovingly rather than with annoyance. Ifrit was bumbfounded. 

The cool of Dew’s hands felt amazing on his impossibly hot face, the cool of his lips on his own even better. Once they pulled away, Dew let out a giggle at the dazed look on the fire ghoul’s face. His already flushed face now an even deeper red, eyes unfocussed and mouth hanging open slightly. The smaller ghoul felt a slight flush on his own cheeks, preening in the way Ifrit looked at him. 

‘Maybe we should call it here. Cool off together.’ he said, turning to switch off the amps and put his bass on it’s hook. When he was met with no reply, he looked over his shoulder, adding, ‘How does that sound, baby?’ 

Ifrit choked on his spit at the pet name, shooting up to put his own equipment away, before all but dragging Dew away, itching to cool off in the lake.

[kitkatt0430]

Six (Or More) Sentence Sunday!!!! Remembered to do this before getting caught up doing other stuff today.

“It’s a timeline based off what I remember strongest for the through-line life that would have made it to the version of the multi-verse crises that led to this multi-verse rebooting into the next,” Barry said. “There were a lot of timelines to sort through and reject in my memories. Still an ongoing project, getting my closet in order.” Eobard rolled his eyes. Of all the inane things to turn into his mind palace… an infinitely large closet. “Next up on the ‘who’s that criminal meta’ game, should be Danton Black. He’s going to be gunning for Simon Stagg. The way this timeline would have played out if I hadn’t gotten my head crammed full of future events? I’d have stopped him, barely, but Danton commits suicide rather than let me stop him from falling out of what should have been shatterproof windows. A gunshot won’t break that glass but a handful of determined clones can? Someone committed fraud with that install,” Barry rambled and then shook his head. “Sorry. I’m a bit talky today. Anyway. You killed Stagg anyway in that timeline. I’ve never been sure why, but no great loss there. Met enough alternate versions of him that for a half decent reason I’d happily drop him off the nearest cliff and call it a hiking accident.”

No one likes Simon Stagg. Especially not 'brain full of infinite realities' Barry Allen.

This scene is from the first part of the tentatively named fic 'Networking' for the Timeless Nonsense series. Barry was getting a little more work in on sorting out the timelines and plotting his next moves when Eobard dropped in to see how it's progressing. This fic will contain Barry heading over to Starling to drop in on Oliver, Felicity, and Dig. But also... Eobard winds up visiting someone he hasn't seen since before the accelerator explosion after learning this person is essentially on Barry's hit list for easier timeline management. He doesn't realize he's having a bit of an ethics crisis, but Eobard is totally having a bit of an ethics crisis. (Don't worry, it's not Simon Stagg. He's gonna die in the fic after this one and no one is gonna feel sorry about it.)

I also finally made some progress on The Story of HR Wells as a sort of back and forth between past and present that'll end either with Cynthia arriving on Earth-1 of HR lending Cisco the original copy of his World War M historical accounting. It's part of Coffee, Drumsticks, and Social Revolutions and I'm doing some world building in here that'll mean I need to go back and do a bit of editing on the fics already posted. Mostly minor things - Earth-19 refers to it's doctorates a bit differently now and other stuff that really makes it feel a bit more like a close-but-not culture over there.

By then it’s time for lunch with Caitlin before the apartment hunt began. He keyed Caitlin into the transmogrifier so that she sees him, not the part Randolf and part HR blend that he was wearing for the rest of the world. They chat about nothing in particular really, but HR can’t help but notice she’s hiding a second patch of cut-short hair with her barrettes today. Maybe it’s time to try the whole reaching out thing. Even if she doesn’t reciprocate, at least HR would have tried to help her. And she might still reach out in return down the line. He started with a mild complaint about his shoulder. “I’m glad I’ve got you along or I might just take the first apartment I see so I can put a mattress in it that won’t cause that nerve in my shoulder to pinch. Messes up my whole arm for the day when it happens. Or more than a day sometimes.” “Oh no,” Caitlin frowned, going into doctor mode. “You’re sure it’s just a pinched nerve?”

HR is trying to help Caitlin deal with what he still currently thinks is just PTSD problems, but it turns out the things he's about to tell her about his struggles with coping with the aftermath of brain damage from a war wound - in the first conversation they have here and a few subsequent ones - help her with her fears about how different her own thoughts become whenever her powers try to become active.

Obviously, what Caitlin's going through is quite different from HR did, but she's still struggling with her brain chemistry changing on her, altering the way she thinks and feels about everything. And HR understands how upsetting and frightening that is in a way no one else on Team Flash does.

[nancypullen]

Snowy Sunday Morning

It's a brisk 25 degrees outside and the sky is bright, cornflower blue. Sparkling snow is still blanketing my little world and it's absolutely beautiful. I'm keeping the birdfeeders full and putting out corn for squirrels. It delights me when they visit, and hopefully it helps them. Right now there are cardinals, blue jays, sparrows, chickadees, juncos, and more - all flitting around and filling their tiny bellies. Even better, the neighborhood cats are staying indoors during this cold snap so the birds aren't risking their lives at our feeders. That's actually an issue. You know I'm a cat lover, my two girls are precious to me. But my cats are indoor cats. I'd love to have a screened porch that would allow them to be out but not out . There ae two cats that live a couple of houses down, I call them Stanley and Leslie, who spend a lot of time hanging around our bird feeders and occasionally getting lucky. I hate that. I know that the cats are just being cats, but I also know they have food bowls at home. If they were eating to survive I'd close my eyes, hum "Circle of Life" and make my peace with it. Sadly, Stanley and Leslie are just serial killers who love the thrill. I don't know how to stop it. Everything I read says that the only solution is to remove the bird feeders. I really, really don't want to do that. Having that little bit of wildlife in the backyard keeps me sane. I neeeeed it. Remember our wonderful Willie in Mt. Juliet? He was our timeshare cat and I loved him so. He never bothered birds. We had feeders in the front and back and we were even lucky enough to have nesting pairs in our trees every spring. House finches nested in the ferns hanging on the front porch. Honestly, that always seemed kind of dumb to me because they'd panic every time we came in or out the front door. There were acres of woods behind us and they thought the porch was their best option? Anyway, my point was that Willie never bothered the birds (probably because he ate at several houses each day) so I've never had to solve this problem. How do I convince the neighbor's cats to stay home? I could anonymously gift the neighbor with a bird feeder. They don't appear to have one which means they probably don't want one. Any suggestions are welcome. In other news, I should probably address my last blog post. I hope it didn't seem negative. I like my job at the library, and my coworkers truly couldn't be nicer. I have no plans to leave, I'm not a quitter (unless it's a diet, I quit one of those every week). But I'll be honest and say that the thought of not being able to travel is a big deal to me. I'm 60, my clock is ticking, I want to see and do so much before I can't see and do anymore. Given a choice between this job and traveling the world with Mickey, I think we all know what I'd choose. I'll cross that bridge when I come to it, hopefully there's a solution for that too.

Today I need to make a pot of soup, wash my hair (it's a process), and ready my clothes for the coming week. Yesterday I cleaned like I was hired help and the house looks and smells wonderful. Mickey kept things tidy all week, but they don't have our internal check list, ya' know? Wipe Baseboards, wipe the cupboards down, clean the glass, swish the toilet bowls and clean the seats, wipe all the sinks, spray the bed linens, and so on. It's a never-ending list that I'd work my way through over a period of days. Wednesdays were always bathroom cleaning days, Thursdays were laundry and baseboards, etc. Now I'm cramming that all into a day. Ugh. Women do a lot of invisible work. There I go, complaining again. That's not who I want to be. Aren't I lucky I have a home to clean? Yep. On a positive note, I've just started doing wall pilates. I don't know if it's for old people or everyone, but it feels so good. I do a few simple moves, no doubt there are much harder levels than what I'm doing, but gosh, I feel so loose and stretched afterward. I do my little morning walk and then about fifteen minutes of wall pilates. I'm not setting any records, but it sure feels good. My word for 2024 is power, I feel like this is a move in that direction too. Can't embrace your power if you're tired and weak, right? Alright, I'm going to get busy. I've got soup to make and a week to prepare for...Monday is looming! I think my days off this week are Friday and Sunday, so that's not going to be fun. Better start it off right by getting ready today. I hope that this coming week is good for you. I hope that something unexpected delights you. I hope that you have at least one bout of laughter that brings you to tears. I hope that you have a delicious meal. I hope that someone makes you feel appreciated. More than anything, I hope you have peace. Stay safe, stay well. XOXO, Nancy