#Mag Face Recognition

[fionayao2008]

Tripod Turnstile Overview Tripod Turnstile, Swing Turnstile, and also Flap Turnstile( RS Security Co., Ltd: www.szrssecurity.com) are modern-day control devices for pedestrian flows. They are utilized in places where the entrance as well as leave of people require to be controlled, such as clever communities, canteens, resorts, galleries, gyms, clubs, subways, terminals, docks, and so on area. Using Tripod Turnstile, Swing Turnstile, and also Flap Turnstile can make the flow of individuals orderly. Tripod Turnstile, Swing Turnstile, Flap Turnstile are made use of in combination with smart cards, finger prints, barcodes as well as other identification system tools to develop an intelligent accessibility control network control system; they are used in combination with computers, access control, attendance, charging administration, ticket systems and other software program to create a The intelligent Turnstile Gate thorough management system can realize functions such as access control, presence, consumption, ticketing, and also current restricting. This Turnstile Gate management system belongs to the "all-in-one card" as well as is set up at flows such as areas, manufacturing facilities, clever buildings, canteens, etc. It can complete numerous management functions such as worker card travel control, presence at get off job and also meals, as well as dining. Tripod Turnstile system functions Convenient and rapid: check out the card in and out with one swipe. Utilize the licensed IC card and wave it before the smart Tripod Turnstile visitor to finish the Tripod Turnstile gate opening as well as charge recording job. The card reading is non-directional as well as the reading and also composing time is 0.1 secs, which is rapid and also practical. Safety and discretion: Use background or regional verification, accredited issuance, and unique identity, that is, the card can only be utilized in this system, and also it is personal as well as secure. Reliability: Card superhigh frequency induction, steady and also trustworthy, with the capacity to court as well as assume. Versatility: The system can flexibly establish entrance and exit control workers approvals, time period control, cardholder validity and also blacklist loss coverage, adding cards as well as various other functions. Versatility: Through authorization, the user card can be utilized for "one-card" monitoring such as car parking, presence, gain access to control, patrol, usage, and so on, making it easy to recognize multiple uses one card. Simplicity: Easy to mount, easy to connect, the software has a Chinese interface and is easy to run. Tripod Turnstile, Swing Turnstile, and also Flap Turnstile( RS Security Co., Ltd: www.szrssecurity.com) are modern control tools for pedestrian flows. The use of Tripod Turnstile, Swing Turnstile, and Flap Turnstile can make the flow of individuals orderly. Utilize the licensed IC card as well as wave it in front of the smart Tripod Turnstile viewers to finish the Tripod Turnstile gate opening and also cost recording job.

[odestasocean]

may i present to you, a rant that no one asked for about the bond between annie cresta & mrs. everdeen:

so awhile ago i had sent in an ask to @the-sun-and-the-sea talking about the implied friendship that forms between annie & mrs. everdeen post-war. now that i'm no longer just a lurker on here, i wanted to delve into my thoughts on this friendship because it is one that is sooo interesting to me and one that is hardly brought up in the fandom !!

to start, mrs. everdeen is a character that i wholeheartedly believe does not get the recognition she deserves. i mean, she leaves nearly everything about the only life she had ever known to start a new life with the man she fell in love with and have two children with him only for him to die tragically, leaving her with these two young girls who need her more than anything, but her own mind becomes a prison, keeping her locked away from being the mother that katniss and prim need her to be??? or idk maybe i just have a knack for loving the grieving widowed characters in media for some reason. anyway, i digress. her story, in a way, goes hand in hand with annie's story.

now, as we know, suzanne collins' mind is an incredibly intricate and complex place so i don't think that her specifically choosing district four to be where mrs. everdeen ends up was a coincidence. which just alludes to the fact that she has now become this personified cautionary tale for annie. since she's a doctor and she's familiar with the victors by being an extension of katniss, i'm just going to assume that she was one of finnick's doctors when he was in and out of the hospital. and that she became annie's doctor after she was rescued from the capitol. i'm also just going to go ahead and assume that if this was the case, she would've remained as annie's doctor once she found out she was pregnant. this could very well be implied to have contributed to her moving to d4 and helping to build a hospital there.

annie's story is honestly just as equally familiar and unfamiliar to us as mrs. everdeen's is. we don't know how her and finnick's relationship began or what the details of her games are or what her personality was like before her games or how she grieved after finnick was gone. but with this implication of mrs. everdeen moving to annie's home district, i can only imagine that she offered a great deal of support to her. mrs. everdeen met this woman who had just endured something so insanely traumatic and was there to offer her help and witness her heal with the happiness of her new marriage, only for her to end up on the same exact path as she herself had been on for the past seven (??) years: a widowed mother with a mind who only ever seemed to experience grief.

we don't know anything about what the weeks and months were like for annie after finnick's death. but to me, it is perfectly rational to view this as a period of time where she was so shut down from wanting help from anyone and everyone and felt entirely unsure of how she was going to raise a child in this state of mind. and it wasn't until she started to talk with mrs. everdeen, who had been enduring her own grief of losing her youngest daughter, that she found someone who finally understood. someone who didn't make her feel like she was crazy for being unwilling to do anything but lay in bed and stare at the ceiling. someone who didn't view her as the Mad Girl who was now the Pregnant Mad Girl Whose Husband is Dead, but rather as an incredibly strong individual who had to fight against the enemy of her own head. someone who offered her a shoulder to cry on rather than a judgemental stare. no one could replace prim for mrs. everdeen and no one could replace annie's mother or mags in annie's case. but after all of the hardships that they had both faced up until that point, they had a shared understanding of how they could never truly move on from their grief. but they would continue on and live their lives to the best of their abilities for themselves, their children, and those they had lost.

alas, the similarities do not end there, my friends. katniss constantly talks about how much her father loved being out in nature so the wicked sense of irony of him dying so far away from that nature he loved so much is just heartbreaking. and who else do we know of that died in a place so far underground and so far away from the element of nature that he had been surrounded by his whole life?? bing, bing, bing, you guessed it! finnick odair! there's one line toward the beginning of hunger games that has always stood out to me: "it reminds me of the mines and my father, trapped, unable to reach sunlight, buried forever in darkness." replace mines with sewer and my father with finnick and boom, you've got the exact events of page 312 in mockingjay. and, of course, i can't forget the obvious-- an explosion was involved in both of their deaths. so this again just adds to my point earlier of how it feels a little too eerily similar that these four characters all share some level of commonalities for it to have been a coincidence.

anyway, not really sure what the point of me rambling about all of this was. i guess to see if anyone else has ever put that much thought into it?? or am i just looking way too far into something that's not as connected as i think it is?? idk, let me know your thoughts if you have anything to add because i could talk about this forever and ever and ever !!!

[ratridingaskateboard]

Always See Your Face

Chapter Two

Link to Chapter One here

Summary: Eddie is beginning to find solace in an unfamiliar face.

Warnings: Sexual innuendos, mentions of drugs, Y/N is described!

Tag list: @daisyridleyyyy @silky-luxe @bl00d-puppy @ttsbaby01 @kennedy-brooke @sadbitchfangirl @abzzz3 @josephquinnschesthair @aislinnclifton

A/N: OMG I was not expecting the amount of feedback I got from Chapter 1 thank you so so much!! Like in Chapter 1, different character perspectives will be marked with: --. I know y'all will like this chapter since Eddie's pov is in it :)

--

The days have seemed to be dragging out longer these past weeks for Eddie. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t jerk off, couldn’t play his guitar. Even the campaign had several hiccups because he couldn’t focus. He would think about possible reasons for this feeling: repeating senior year, not having a girlfriend, and not being able to secure a job. Out of all the reasons he had conjured in his head he seemed to find that the best definition for this feeling was loneliness. His parents were not in the picture and his uncle Wayne wasn’t exactly the best company. Don’t get him wrong he was a great guy and a better man than Eddie’s father ever was but Eddie wouldn’t consider him close to Wayne by any means.

‘86 was supposed to be Eddie’s year and he had begun to lose hope. 

Today was no different than any other day. Eddie had found himself stuck in trying to figure out tricks for his Hellfire campaign that would be able to mess up friends. His mind still couldn’t focus and he noticed himself repeating familiar tactics that he had done in the past. He rubbed his palms against his face, trying to drown out the laughter and conversation of his friends around him. 

“You okay, Eddie?” Dustin asked.

Suddenly, there was silence. Eddie placed his hands down and looked over at Dustin until a voice rang out.

“Hey, I know you showed me around and I might be asking for too much but is it alright if I sit with you?”

It was such a sweet voice. Not an inkling of insincerity, pity, or ill intent. It seemed so warm. He had been wanting to hear a voice like that for a long time. 

He looked up to see her. Was he in a dream? Had he been looking at that picture of Demi Moore in the swimsuit he had cut out and pasted in his makeshift porn mag for too long? She looked so similar to her yet she adorned the clothes Eddie would wear except for the skirt, of course. Her hair was a dark brown, long and straight which went down to her mid-back. Her bangs were whispy and thinner than many of the other girls who had teased theirs beyond recognition. Her big brown eyes stared so kindly at Dustin as if she was seeing an old friend again. 

Eddie went stiff. His friends around him looked to her then back at Eddie then back at her. They were amazed to see their lord and savior Eddie Munson be so frigid around a girl. Normally, he was as boisterous as usual with a touch of chivalry for the ladies. But he was never noticeably nervous like he was now. 

Eddie wondered to himself; Was some divine being sending him this girl so he could get through his last senior year? Was she an angel? He needed to take advantage of her sitting at their table before she left. This could be his only chance to speak to his dream girl.

She had looked over at Eddie and he gulped. Her lips were so plump and red they were practically begging him to kiss her. Stop it, Eddie! Fuck, He needed to get laid. She seemed to be analyzing his face and he let her. He would let her do anything as long as he got to keep staring at those eyes. Her eyes quickly shifted over to Mike once he entered the table. He felt his body relax once her gaze had changed.

"Jesus, that line was long!"

Mike's exclamation had broken the silence and Hellfire erupted into an uproar of questions.

"What's your name?"

"So where are you from originally?"

"How are you liking it here?"

"Are you single?"

Eddie was silent, watching her like a hawk to see what information his friends could attain from her. But she didn't answer any of the questions, she just started to laugh.

"I'm sorry! I laugh when I'm overwhelmed." She smiled. "All of you are so sweet for wondering about me."

Well, Eddie wasn't expecting that response but he had a feeling she would continue to surprise him. Dustin's once bewildered face began to soften as everyone spoke. He still seemed to be uncharacteristically quiet but at ease nonetheless. Eddie could tell he was plotting something since Dustin was not one to stay silent at the lunch table.

"Oh!" Gareth seemed to remember something as he reached into his bag. He pulled out a Geometry textbook and began to flip through the pages until he found what he was looking for.

"Do any of you guys- Oh, sorry, I mean guys and lady- understand how to do this? I can't figure any of this out and if I fail another test, I'll fail the class."

"Hey man, I don't know anything about Geometry. I barely passed Geometry when I took it."

"Yeah dude, no one at this table would be the right person to ask."

"Can I see?"

Gareth stared wide-eyed at Y/N as she began to walk over to him, leaning over his shoulder to look at the question. Eddie had sat right beside Gareth and he couldn't be happier with their current seating arrangements.

She was so close to Gareth and he could tell that Gareth had stopped breathing the second he felt her warmth. They could both smell her; She smelled like clove cigarettes and vanilla. Suddenly, Eddie started to care about Geometry.

"Alright, lemme see here..." She leaned further into Gareth, her breasts accidentally touching his shoulder. Gareth's face began to turn bright red. Eddie swiftly moved the book over to his side of the table.

"Oh Gareth, this is super easy!" Eddie exclaimed. "All you have to do is- uh... umm..." Eddie flipped through the pages trying to understand the math his mind was beginning to read as a foreign language. His friends began to laugh at his confusion.

She put her hand on Eddie's shoulder and he felt a bolt of lightning crawl down his spine.

"Hey, you guys didn't know how to do it either." She scolded. Eddie's hands still rested on the book and she put one of her hands over his left hand. Her other hand she used to flip through the pages.

Eddie had to stop every muscle in his body from kissing her at that moment. He barely knew this girl, yet, he felt as if she was doing these things to get a rise out of him. Whether innocent or guilty of this, it was working. He imagined turning her face with his hand on her chin to face him. Tucking the piece of hair out of her face and feeling the softness of her lips. What did she taste like? Vanilla like her perfume? Clove like her cigarettes? Whatever it was he wanted to taste her, every inch of her.

He silently adjusted himself in his pants, trying to make sure no one had noticed. Thankfully, no one had. Eddie's presence had been upstaged by the girl, bending over the table to look at Gareth's Geometry book.

"Fuck baby, why don't you tutor me after school?"

A football player's voice rang out as he passed behind her. Before Eddie had the chance to get up and teach this douchebag a lesson, he heard a loud thud behind him. He turned to see her standing above said football player, Eddie couldn't give two shits about remembering the guy's name, her knuckles bruised and a red imprint forming on his face.

"What the fuck, bitch!"

She surprised him again.

--

A/N: sorry this was kinda short but I felt like this was a good place to end. Please lemme know if you have any suggestions and I will keep you guys updated on new chapters :)

[thisuserislilsilly]

Summary: A man truly does care for them, even if they don't want to admit it

Genre: Drama/fluff/wholesome/angst

TW: Foul language, blood, mentions of gore, angst, a bit wholesome

Pairing: Commissar Gallius x Cardrean Penal Regiment (found family dynamic)

Goblin tag squad: @cardinalcanis @finchly-tintinnabulation @artemisareia

@echo-of-damnation @meervalv0 @jaghatai-khock

@druidwolf21

Prev

Names and faces (pt. 3)

Dormath was never a fan of sharing objectives with other Imperial regiments; he found them too preachy, too cowardly to accomplish something without the need of asking if it was "according to their orders" or if the Emperor would allow it.

Yet, they were his best bet to getting that blasted war to end. The battle on this planet had gone bad almost as soon as the Leman Russ and Basilisks landed. The air superiority had been in the hands of the enemy, who had managed to destroy a majority of the dropships carrying the tanks, only to be destroyed themselves by the last two. The Xenos discipline at the hour of shooting them down with the utmost proficiency did not helped Gallius protests against collaborating with other regiments either.

After some more strategies and plannings that honestly flew above the man's head, Dormath was dismissed with his orders; the man took them, gave the commissar a simple nod in recognition. As Dormath walked out into the chaotic camp, he saw a group of Cardrean troopers, their distinctive grey cloaks a stark contrast against the olive drab of the other regiments. They were huddled around a makeshift table, playing triple-eight with grim determination, the clink of coins and the scrape of cards the only sounds they made while waging their luck on their bets.

One of the Cardrean troopers, a woman with a scar running down her cheek, looked up to her officer, smiling. She nudged her comrade, a burly man with a cyborg arm, who followed her gaze. He rose an eyebrow and spoke in a raspy voice "Cap'n Dormath, care to join us?" he asked, gesturing to the only empty seat at their table.

With a smile, Dormath sat down, thinking the orders could wait just a bit longer before they needed to be executed, "What the hell, give me the cards", he extended a hand to the card dealer.

Dormath's grin broadens as he plops down onto the empty seat, his metal-studded glove slapping against the rough wooden table. He glanced at the woman with the scar, who returned the gesture, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Deal me in, Lynia" he said, his voice a low rumble.

The scarred Sister smirked and began to shuffle the deck with practiced ease. She flipped the top card, a Queen of Guns, and deals it to Dormath.

"Playing with the high rollers now, Cap'n?" she asked, her voice laced with jest. The scarred Sister smirked and began to shuffle the deck with practiced ease. She flipped the top card, a Queen of Guns, and deals it to Dormath.

The Captain laughed, "Just a short hand, baby stealer, we have to get movin' in five"

The burly man sitting next to him, whose nameplate read "Gren", snorted, "You're not sweatin', Cap'n. You sure you ain't got a secret up your sleeve?"

The officer rolled his eyes, licking his lips "Perhaps I have Gren, or perhaps you're such a bad fucking Axe that you can't count anything that isn't how many mags are left on your pouch"

The eyes of Dormath flickered back to the scattered coins in the center of the table, then to the almost imperceptible tiny mirror on the table right next to it, belonging to the Sister playing with him. He had seen Lynia cheat before, her sleight of hand subtle yet effective. But to shove a sweet victory in her face, the Tech Lunatic played along.

Lynia dealt the final card, a Three of Thunder, face down. Dormath quickly took it, a smirk appearing on his lips. The officer showed his cards to the rest, the combination making a pair.

Lynia's smile faltered a little bit. The burly man, Gren, sighed and showed his own cards, the Ace of Thunder and the Seven of Flames. A three of a kind.

Dormath showed his teeth, "Looks like I got lucky, huh boys?"

The rest of the card players grumbled, and Gren reached for his pocket, taking out a few coins. Dormath took all of the spoils of his winning and shoved it on his pocket, then rise up to his feet and made them a signal to pack everything up; there was a order they needed to fulfill now on the frontlines.

As the men moved out, the woman with the scar, Lynia, approached Dormath and leaned close to him, "I know what you did" she said, her voice a whisper. Dormath's face was blank for a moment, but it soon morphed into a shit eating grin, "Yeah, and I know you cheated" he responded, a smug look on his face.

The three Cardreans soon rejoined the rest of the regiment, with Dormath stepping in front of everyone and detailing the plans Commissar Gallius had been discussing with the other regiment officers but in a much simpler and broad vocabulary, one the men would actually understand.

They moved towards the trenches, with Dormath taking out his binoculars and looking ahead at the battlefield.

It was a mess of mud and barbed wire, all crisscrossing and intersecting with each other in an intricate pattern. A maze that could be navigated if you knew the way, but the enemy could also use that against you and get the jump on you. And the enemy was not playing around.

From their positions, Dormath could see the enemy artillery pounding the Imperial positions. Explosions were ringing out, sending geysers of dirt and rock into the air.

Dormath turned and called to one of the men behind him, "Sparks, how far do you think the range of the enemy artillery is?"

The Tech Lunatic was quiet for a moment, calculating the answer. "At least a mile, sir."

Dormath frowned, "Then we're fucked."

The Cardreans giggled at the raw reaction of their commander, trying to alleviate the tension before it got the best of them. Being the tip of the last push against the positions of the T'au was a harsh task on it's own and Dormath knew it, he hadn't been the second in command of the Legion for so long by playing dumb after all; but the lack of a decent support and the heavy losses they suffered the first days after arriving in the planet were not a good start to their task.

Their orders were simple enough though; hold the line, kill the Xenos, and push forward as the reinforcement from the other regiment trailed behind them and took out the enemies technologies and destroyed them. But the problem was not the orders, it was the enemy itself. The T'au were proving to be a challenge, their tactics and strategies were unorthodox for what they were used to. They were smart, cunning, and had an uncanny ability to adapt.

Dormath's frown deepened. He didn't want to admit it, but the Cardreans were fucked.

He shook his head, clearing the thoughts from his mind. Raising his cybernetic limb as high as he could and taking oxygen until his lungs were filled to the brim, Dormath yelled and charged ahead, leaving the trenches; the Legion followed him close, all with their warcries on their lips, ready to fight.

Dormath's eyes were wide open, his mouth forming a vicious snarl as his teeth were bared. He ran like a madman, the rest of the Cardreans hot on his heels. The T'au, surprised at the sudden movement, tried to respond by firing at the charging Imperials.

The bullets whizzed past Dormath, and the officer ignored the shards that flew everywhere and hit the men behind him, their objective was to tear the walls down and that was all that mattered.

"Kill the fuckers!" he yelled, and the rest of the Cardreans answered with a chorus of war cries.

The Imperials reached the trench line, and immediately began fighting the T'au.

Dormath grabbed a T'au Fire Warrior and slammed his head into the trench wall, crushing his skull, with his cybernetic arm he lifted another up to use it as a meat shield and advanced blasting away any enemy that he could see and praying to the Emperor the Xeno he was using was sturdy enough to soak up the bullets aimed at him.

The battle was fast and bloody. Dormath was able to reach a vantage point and waved his hand to signal his men to follow him; some High Axes patted his back and began shooting with their sniper plasma rifles from there, making easy targets out of the T'au. With that position secured, Dormath kept charging ahead, sometimes giving strategic positions to Axes, other's to the unhinged Raging Mutes as well as telling the Eternal Sisters to "kill like if Arbiters were chasing them".

A few minutes had passed and Dormath had lost track of how many Xenos he had killed, and the number of times he had ordered a retreat because they had reached an area that was too hot for them to advance, the Tech Lunatic noticed they were simply not capable of breaching through everything, they simply lacked numbers. Not willing to give up terrain, but neither wanting the regiment to be slaughtered, Dormath ordered a retreat; it was better to lose ground than lose men.

As the Cardreans began their retreat, a barrage of missiles fell from the sky and landed among the trenches, exploding and causing the Imperials to fall back even further. Dormath cursed as he watched the explosions, "The hell was that?"

He turned to a nearby Raging Mute, and the man quickly scanned the skies with his visor, making the sign of the Imperial Aquila as he relayed the information. Dormath cursed, the other regiment had begun firing upon them, maybe thinking they were the enemy.

"Lynia! Lynia get me a fucking Vox!" The officer tried to yell over the war around them

"Want a cup of recaff too!?!? I'M BLOODY BUSY!" The Sister replied, sarcastically

"Fuck…who the hell has one!!?!?!" Dormath asked, desperation clear in his voice

The Raging Mute next to him raised his hand, the cybernetic limb holding a portable Voxcaster.

"Good, now give me the fucking thing"

Dormath grabbed the caster, and began screaming into it.

"GALLIUS! GALLIUS YOU FUCKING HEAR ME? FUCKING BASTARDS, THE SHITTING LEMANS ARE SHOOTING AT US! WE'RE FUCKING IN THE MIDDLE OF THEIR BLOODY BLAST ZONE!!"

"Dormath? That you?"

"FUCK YEAH IT'S ME YOU STUPID GIT, WHO THE FUCK ELSE WOULD CALL YOU LIKE THIS FROM A FUCKING WARZONE!?" Dormath forgot for a second to whom he was speaking to, adrenaline taking over his rational brain

"Dormath. Watch yourself." the Commissar's voice was calm and steady, the opposite of the officer's own.

Dormath gritted his teeth and breathed deeply. He didn't like being scolded like this, and he especially didn't like being talked down to. But the man's tone snapped the officer back into his senses, inhaling deeply and trying to calm down, Dormath repeated with a nicer vocabulary the situation on the frontlines.

The Commissar was silent for a moment, thinking. Finally, he spoke.

"Dormath, listen to me, leave the strongest men you have there, the Tech Lunatics will do it well, you know as well as I do they can resist more than ten of any other"

"Okay…." Dormath nodded, his voice slightly faltering

"Atta lad. Keep your cool and get back here, I will resolve this" Gallius voice raised "I want my people alive, you understand me?"

"Yeah…"

"Good, now go"

With that, the transmission ended, and Dormath threw the voxcaster aside, sighing. He looked at the rest of the Cardreans, and yelled the orders the commissar had given him, not listening to anyone about anything else, just focusing in getting everyone as alive as he could out of the bombardment zone.

The rest of the men, the ones who could move, began the retreat. Dormath stayed in the back, giving them cover with the few weapons he had left, picking up plasma rifles or energy charges; the officer did not retreat until he was sure every single Cardrean he could save was returning back to the Imperial trenches. Throughout all the way back, Dormath kept the communication links to the Tech Lunatics left behind open, repeating as much as he could that help would arrive shortly; that would be a good lie if it turned out to be true.

When the rest of the Cardreans had reached their initial trenches, Dormath could hear the sounds of battle behind him. He dragged his feet through the mud and the filth, his arms were tired, his Implants needed repairs and the man needed to report as soon as possible to Gallius what had happened.

He could see the man's face already, and his own expression darkened; the commissar was not going to like this.

"Sir, the men are back and accounted for" Aldo reported, his voice strained.

Dormath grunted, and nodded his head. "Thank you, tend to the wounded, then give that information to Gallius."

The officer sighed and rubbed his eyes. It had been a long day, and it wasn't close to being over.

He trudged over to the communications tent and sat down in front of the hololithic projector, the image flickering into view. Numbers, some raising and others falling, but those were just numbers, no names nor dates, no faces; all of what they were at a strategic level.

The officer made his slow way towards the same tent he had gone out of in the morning, so cheerful and willing to unite again with the troops; he scoffed now at his thoughts of maybe playing cards again when they returned from the field, it sounded so stupid now. The tent cloth flapping around as he got through it.

Gallius was not on his chair, where Dormath would usually find him after a deployment; by the left corner there was a small shrine, candles were arranged around a large picture taken the day Gallius had officially entered the regiment, their first deployment together, one Dormath had not been part of yet. A younger commissar was at the center, he couldn't had been older than thirty on the picture, with some strands of hair sticking out from his well worn hat that gave it a even younger semblance, he was too accompanied by the veterans of the Regiment, two of the five were still alive today, the most loyal of all in the entire Legion next to Dormath. Gallius wasn't smiling in the picture, his serious expression was very well known by Dormath, which made a tiny smile appear on his lips; the picture as a whole had been well taken care of, not a single scratch or dirt particle in the entire frame, speaking of how treasured it had been for the owner.

Outside of the shrine, surrounding it in fact, portraits and more portraits of officers, common soldiers and even tanks were visible, arranged as so the light of the candles still shun on all of them. It was truly a little place distinct from all the others in his commander tent. The man was knelt in front of the shrine, in silence; on that position Dormath couldn't tell if his eyes were open or not, although he suspected it was the latter as the officer had entered loudly enough for Gallius to hear him.

"Who" Gallius muttered

"Two hundred dead, forty five injured as far as I saw with my own eyes, five officers will have to be repla-" Dormath straightened up, starting a practiced speech on the way there

"I said who" Gallius glanced at his second in command, Dormath almost saw a tear "Names, not numbers"

"I...uh" The order took a second for the officer to actually register, then he mumbled the names "Asphret, Vorn, Jent, Horrst, Pask, Nyms, Egoryn"

"Stop..." Gallius raised a hand, never turning to face Dormath "That'll be all, go back to your post"

"Sir-"

"I said go back to your sonin post! Now!" Gallius cursed in Cardrean language

Dormath nodded, looking to the ground, making the Aquila sign and leaving the tent. On the way out he tripped over the other regiment's commander; he looked so pristine, with those clean boots, his beard well washed, having an eye implant seemed the only thing that ruined that pretty face. Dormath wanted to smash it into pieces, but managed to resist the impulse just in time.

"Well earned victory out there, my congratulations" The man said, smiling

"Victory is what you call it, I call it trying to cover my ass from your fuck-up" The Cardrean spit on the boots of the other

"We managed to contain the T'au and made them retreat, your men did not die in-"

"If you're off to see Commissar Gallius, sir, he's in his tent" Dormath interrupted the man, watching his own implants

"Right..." The commander said between his teeth

"You'll need this sir" Dormath washed the blood off from his augmented hands on the face of the man, specially targeting that fucking beard "Now you look like you've gone through a battlefield"

Smiling sarcastically, Dormath didn't wait for the reprimands and threats of the man, just leaving in a hurry to check on anyone else but that specific commander. The Colchan officer yelled a few times, his cheeks red from the insubordination he had just witnessed, it only served to fuel his anger once he barged into the quarters of the commissar, seeing the man on his knees and apparently praying to something, the Colchan didn't had time or the patience to guess what to.

"From all the regiments I have worked with, this is surely a special one, Gallius" The men hid his anger behind a pompous sarcastic remark

"Commander Shem, my apologies for any inconvenience you had coming over here" Gallius stood up and approached his chair on the desk, pointing to the other at the end of the table

"There was no problem at all, I am in fact honored that my artillery section was of use to the Emperor's cause in this zone"

"Yes, it was, for that I thank you, Shem. Now...my intentions weren't purely to call you here for celebrations" Gallius opened a drawer and pulled out a bottle of amasec and two glasses

"Then let's hear the rest" The Colchan arched an eyebrow, intrigued

"You see, I have been receiving orders from the Warmaster for quite some time now, four years to be exact-" Gallius spoke offering a full glass to Shem "And I am already getting tired of all this, of this front, of this war"

"The feeling is tragically mutual, Gallius." Shem shrugged, chugging all of his drink at once "Lord Elard is many things, but a strategy men is not one of his strengths"

"So why not select a new one? My sources tell me the Colchan's have acquaintances close to the Warmaster, why not we propose one of them and see if the other fronts agree with our selection?" Gallius serious demeanor didn't change

"That is a very appetizing offer, my good commissar" The Colchan nodded slowly "But who could fill the position?"

Gallius rose from his chair, going to one of the drawers and pulling out a data slate, handing it over to Shem as he walked around the room. It had a list of names, all of them important people of the campaign, there were some additional notes on some of the more interesting of characters,

"We could pool some of those to be chosen, I don't see why not" Gallius waved his hand

"You have done your homework, dear commissar! I cannot even begin to imagine how long could it had taken you to compile all of this"

"I am a very patient man..and have eyes everywhere" Gallius said, putting his hands on the Colchan arms

"That is good to kno-"

"Let me finish" Gallius tightened his grip on the man's shoulder's "I have eyes everywhere, or did you think I wouldn't know about your and the Colchan's plan to take my regiment out?"

Gallius pointed to the portrait in the far end of the room, there was a little camera positioned on the eyes of the painted Gallius, Shem could see it too. The officer opened his eyes widely, gasping as he looked back to Gallius, the man was grinning sinisterly, his sharp teeth resembling those of a predator that has just caught his prey.

"I don't think I need to tell you what will happen if this is accidentally leaked to the Warmaster Elard. How far down you will fall down the chain of command...I guess you could even form part of my Penal Regiment if luck is not on your side..." Gallius whispered on the Colchan ear

"Wh-wh-what do you want? Please, I can give you-"

"Nothing you do can bring my men back from the dead, you pathetic excuse for a whimpering fuck" There was venom in every syllable "You did not have the authority to decide their deaths, I do! I have been with them since the moment their lives had officially ended for the Imperium. You think these are just a bunch of murderers and thieves, well they are my people! The last face they see before their souls leave their eyes is me! The last hand they see telling them all is going to end soon is mine! Do you know their names!?!?! Do you know what they eat, where do they sleep, what songs do the Cardreans listen to in the moments their nightmares are too much to bare? I do...I do every single time I can...I...they are my soldiers, I bare their deaths in my mind. I am the only one that can send them to their deaths and be proud...of what they have done for me" Gallius grip was so strong Shem felt the nails digging into his skin

"Oh Emperor have merc-"

Gallius yanked the chair, throwing it to the ground as fast as he could, giving Shem no time to brace for the impact. Both furniture and men crashed into the cold mud, the commissar putting one of his dirty boots on the chest of Shem and drawing his pistol, aiming directly at the commander face. Gallius wished more than ever he could had pulled that trigger once and for all with no consequences, but he knew his duties, knew this wasn't about them.

"For as long as this blasted war continues, if I see your face one more time I will pull the trigger, so Emperor help me" Gallius spit the words out

"I-I-I-I" Shem was shaking

"Do you understand Commander Shem?!?" Gallius raised his voice

"Yes! Yes!"

"Good! Now, for morale sake you will swallow that fear, attempt to not shit yourself and will walk back to your regiment like if we all had a good time here, because that is the truth, right?!?!"

"Commissar please I think-" Shem began stuttering

"Right!?!?"

"Right...!" Shem nodded

As soon as Gallius had removed his boot from the chest of the commander, Shem had rushed to stand up, hastily cleaning himself up and saluting the commissar, fleeing the room as soon as he could. Gallius watched the scene without saying one more word, just glaring in judgment at the man, knowing he had scared Shem enough to not pull a stunt like that on the Cardreans never again.

Gallius collapsed on his chair, feeling the old wound on his chest aching, he hadn't noticed how much emotion the whole situation had taken out of him; his hand scrambled through the table for the pills that helped with it and swallowed it without any water to smoothing it out. He gasped for air as the pain subsided, not entirely but it should do for now; the monthly pains were coming sooner than later much for his dismay. Gallius knew he would had to leave Dormath with more responsibilities for the time being, at least until the pain stabilized and the commissar could resume his duties; it was his most hated time of the month, but every and any doctor he had gone to, both in the field and outside of it, didn't had a cure for it yet, and how could they?.

There were no cures for a Genestealer infection, after all. There weren't twenty years ago when it happened, and there would never be one.

[greatbritishsimchallenge]

"My goodness, Frankie, look at you! You look so.... grown up! Though you are much, much too thin. Do they not have cake in Sulani? You simply must try the chocolate gateau. I made sure that only our very finest dishes - and some of your old favourites - were made tonight. Oh, how marvellous it is to see you!"

Frankie smiled and laughed, surprised by this joyous, carefree Maggie. She seemed so different from the nervous, insecure Maggie who was always desperate to please.

"I will try the cake," Frankie promised.

"Superb. Now, you must tell me what has brought you back to England. Your letter was most mysterious and vague. Were it not for that recognisable scrawl of your handwriting, I wouldn't have believed it written by you!"

Frankie stalled, unsure of where to begin, "Ummm... I wanted you to meet someone."

Maggie gasped in delight, "A beau? Oh, please tell me you have found your dearest love? Oh, Frankie! Marriage can be a challenge at times, but once you have children you needn't spend much time in one another's company at all. After that, it becomes so freeing! A married woman - and a mother with an heir, no less - may do so much more than these young, unattached ladies."

"No - not marriage. You know I'm not that type."

Maggie rolled her eyes and laughed, "Oh, Frankie, you haven't changed a bit!"

Frankie was again unsure of what to say, though she wanted to reply 'you have'. She could barely recognise this breathless, giggly woman in front of her.

"Who is it, then? Tsk tsk, you mustn't keep me in suspense a minute longer, you wicked little duckling!"

"Perhaps it would just be easiest if I fetch her and let her make her own introductions," said Frankie quickly, almost running from the room before Maggie could stop her.

As Frankie led Morgan to her mama's study, she hissed,

"Whatever you do, do not reveal... your occupation... or your... powers..."

Morgan frowned, "Why? You said Maggie was not the type to hate spellcasters."

"I don't know what this Maggie is capable of thinking or feeling," said Frankie angrily, "No more than I know what you were thinking or feeling when you brought us all here."

Morgan pursed her lips but didn't respond and the rest of the walk to the study was in silence.

When Maggie first saw Morgan, Frankie could see how she tried to hide her confusion and concern behind a polite warmth.

"How do you do," said Maggie, curtseying, "I am most intrigued to make your acquaintance given the air of mystery my sister has kept as to your identity."

Morgan smiled and returned Maggie's curtsey before turning to Frankie, "Give us a moment, will you?"

"My!" exclaimed Maggie in astonishment, "I am not sure to the propriety of a private audience with one whose name remains unknown to me."

Morgan repeated her instruction to Frankie, "Leave us."

Now, Frankie could see that Maggie was afraid, "It's fine, Mags. She's... you're safe."

As Frankie closed the door to the study behind her, she clamped her eyes shut. Normally, she would summon the Maggie and Peggy of her imagination to counsel her and help her see if she was doing the right thing. Now, in the face of the real Maggie and the realisation that her sister had changed beyond recognition, Frankie felt hopelessly lost.

She wasn't sure how long she waited outside the door before Maggie came bursting out, crying, "Oh, Frankie! How could you!"

Morgan slowly followed after her and said sombrely to Frankie, "She wants nothing to do with me. Nor, it seems, with you."

"What - what did you say?" asked Frankie.

"I simply explained who I was. It appears that my existence is sufficient offence for our sister to never forgive either of us. If that is loyalty to you - you really haven't known a loyal soul in your sorry life," said Morgan bitterly.

Start (Iron Age) | Start (Roman Britain) | Start (Anglo Saxon) | Start (Medieval) | Start (Tudor) | Start (Stuart)

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[pedrasacorn]

cher, beloved, i would LOVE to know a little about dread please 💛

Hi Mags, my love!! Here’s a little snippet of Jason Todd, with reader who’s been exposed to fear toxin, thanks to @sunnie-angel or I wouldn’t have written this <33

I’m dabbling into the horror genre so minor warning for gore

A fresh wound reaches down his face like a claw; it’s bloody, almost as if his scar was perfectly peeled off. The comforting green of his eyes is swallowed by thick ink. You search his face before your gaze snaps to the white of his hair.

Your heart still leaps for the recognizable parts of him. Is there ever a way to make this boy anything but beautiful?

The ropes that bit into your wrists finally ease; you stand up to reach out to him.

His face is blank. No recognition, no emotion

“Baby?” The question escapes in a sob.

There’s nothing worse than apathy.

@batsycline69

[igot-the-juice]

Chapter 7

Pairing - General Armitage Hux x Reader

*Set prior to The Force Awakens*

Summary -

Forged in blood. Bound by duty. Broken by desire.

(Y/n) (L/n) is a deadly Umbral of the Covenant - an elite order of vampires sworn to the First Order. Her assignment: serve as General Hux's personal guard. But as buried secrets surface and a rogue vampire faction rises, (Y/n) is forced to confront a past she can't outrun - and feelings she was never meant to have.

In a war of blood, betrayal, and duty, the deadliest threat may be the one that lies still in her chest.

Series contains - Blood, violence, battles/war, betrayal/angst, eventual smut, slow burn

The hiss of the door was nearly silent as it slid open. The general stepped inside with purposeful strides, datapad in hand, the pale lights of the corridor casting shadows along the walls. He paused just inside the threshold, eyes landing on the figure ahead.

(Y/n) stood motionless at the far end of the room, back to the door, arms stiff at her sides and head hung low. Her entire silhouette coiled like a wire pulled taut.

Hux froze.

She wasn’t speaking. She wasn’t moving. But the air felt heavier. Thicker.

Like a storm about to break.

He watched her in silence for a long second before speaking, voice cautious and measured.

“Their shuttle is approaching. They’ll be docking within the next few minutes.”

She didn’t respond at first. Then slowly, deliberately, she turned.

Her eyes met his. Ice-cold. Still. Controlled. And somehow far more dangerous.

Her face was a mask of serenity, but it was the kind of calm that lived just before a strike. The kind of silence that waited before violence.

Hux swallowed. Just once. His pulse kicked against his collar despite himself.

“(L/n)?”

(Y/n)’s lips twitched, just slightly.

“Ready.” 

Her voice is calm. Measured. Controlled.

Too controlled.

Hux stared at her, his own expression unreadable for a moment before he gave a slow nod, stepping aside.

“Then let’s not keep our guests waiting.”

She moved towards the door, walking past him with silent purpose. He watched her go, jaw set tight as he followed.

He couldn’t help but wonder what it was that waited behind that eerily perfect composure. Wondered how close she was to unraveling… and what would happen if she did. 

The massive expanse of the hangar was clouded with tension. The transport ship settled into place, steam hissing as the ramp descended with a mechanical whine.

Troopers and techs held back, keeping a wide berth as Varo emerged first before turning to the Covenant flanking the detained rogues.

Their uniforms were similar to that of the Umbral, however instead of black, the uniform was more of a grey, along with their cloak. Though, unlike the Umbrals, they wore sleek, black Eva helmets, adding to their intimidation. Yet also kept them from any individual distinction.

“Restrained and on their knees.” Varo ordered.

The Duskborns moved with practiced precision, grabbing each of the five rogues and forcing them forward. The detainees were bloodied but breathing, their mouths bound, hands cuffed with reinforced mag-restraints. They struggled. Some were defiant, some afraid. 

Then their eyes landed on two figures quickly approaching with determination in their long strides as they were shoved to their knees in a line.

(Y/n) stood beside the general, her gaze sharp and fixed on them like a predator tracking prey. Her expression was unreadable, but her posture was tight with restrained fury.

One of them, a woman with faded dark hair and hollow eyes, faltered as she saw (Y/n).

Her eyes widened.

She didn’t speak. Couldn’t with the gag in place. But her stare was laced with recognition, disbelief, and something sharp and uncomfortable.

(Y/n) didn’t blink as they came to a stop in front of them. Her eyes were locked on her mother like twin blades.

The general’s presence was cold and commanding as he addressed the kneeling rogues with both disdain and sadistic satisfaction in their capture.

“Your brood of vipers have made this an interesting couple of weeks, I must say. But all good things must come to an end, unfortunately.” His lips stretched into an evil smile as he slowly stepped closer. “Oh, we’re going to have fun breaking you.” He gestured to the squad behind him. “Take them to the holding cells.”

The Troopers moved to comply, accompanied by a few Duskborns. (Y/n) then spoke. Low, calm, and without looking away from her mother.

“That one.” Her head lowered in the direction of the older woman. “She’ll be the first interrogated.”

Hux looked at her briefly but said nothing. There was no question in his mind that she wouldn’t falter on her decision.

He nodded once, silently giving the order. A pair of troopers roughly yanked (Y/n)’s mother to her feet, separating her from the others as they began escorting the prisoners away.

The remaining rogues were dragged down the corridor, their footsteps echoing in the hangar, accompanied by the growls of the Duskborns.

Varo watched them go, his expression grave. But once they were out of sight, he stepped up to (Y/n), his voice low and careful.

“(Y/n).” It was his first time using her first name in the presence of others on the ship, let alone the general. But with the look in her eyes that was present since she entered the hangar, he couldn’t care less about titles and formality.

She didn’t answer.

“You doin’ alright?” He tried again, more gentle as Hux carefully watched the exchange, equally invested.

Her eyes finally flicked to Varo’s. And though she didn’t say a word, her expression was enough. An expression Varo had seen only a few times before.

The look of a wild animal held in a cage.

He didn’t press her. He just stood beside her, silent in his support.

Hux’s gaze bounced between the two of them, eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

There would be much to discuss. But first, there would be blood.

The air remained heavy with the aftershock of what happened before (Y/n) turned slowly from where her mother was dragged away. Her eyes cut across the hangar to the remaining Covenant who awaited her orders in a neat, disciplined formation.

She didn’t hesitate as she stepped towards them.

“Captain.” She called. A man quickly rushed forward with unnatural speed, stopping directly in front of her at attention. His darker cloak marked his distinction as the squad leader for their group. 

“Yes, Umbral?” He spoke, voice slightly distorted by his helmet. 

“Secure perimeter patrols around the detention wing. No shifts longer than four hours. You will rotate in pairs only, no one guards alone. We don’t know if they are capable of anything outside of Covenant training.”

The captain nodded, taking her words with strict obedience.

“I want you and one other Duskborn to reinforce engineering access points as well as bioscans at every bulkhead and atmospheric control gate. If they’re smart, they’ll try to sabotage next.”

“Yes, Umbral. Understood.”

“If anyone on this ship attempts to prevent you from doing any of these tasks, you report it to me immediately and I will personally handle it.”

“As you command, Umbral.”

“Dismissed.” With a snap of his heels, the captain spun around and began barking orders to the Duskborns. They broke off in precise movements, scattering to carry out their directives.

The general, still standing behind her, watched the exchange with sharp focus. Hands clasped behind his back, lips drawn into a contemplative line. There was no cold detachment in his gaze this time.

There was something else.

Admiration. A hint of surprise. And buried somewhere deeper… a flicker of desire.

She hadn’t just taken control. She commanded. Cool, composed, and utterly lethal in presence. A weapon shaped into a leader.

Beside him was Varo, arms casually crossed and expression unbothered as he leaned slightly towards Hux.

“She always gets like this when she’s pissed.”

Hux’s brow lifts slightly, attention still fixed on (Y/n).

Varo continued with a grin. “I’ve been taking notes. Someday I’m gonna give orders like that and people’ll actually listen instead of laugh.”

“Doubtful.” Hux deadpanned.

“Fair.”

(Y/n) finally turned towards them, her features carefully neutral once again, though Hux caught the sharp edge still hiding in her eyes.

Hux gave her a single nod, though his gaze lingered longer than it should.

“Excellent work, (L/n).” He paused, then spoke lower, almost thoughtful. “Impressive.”

She tilted her head, the faintest flicker of acknowledgment in her expression, but it was hard to tell if it was from the praise or the unspoken tension hanging between them.

“You make the rest of us look like amateurs.” Varo teased. “It’s honestly infuriating.”

“You do that all on your own, Drenn.” She replied flatly.

Varo mocked being offended and pointed at her. “That was uncalled for. Accurate, but uncalled for.”

Despite everything, the prisoners, the tension, the weight of what was coming. There was a breath of ease between them. A fragile but welcome reprieve.

Hux exhaled quietly, eyes trailing (Y/n) again.

“We need to begin preparing for the interrogations. And then you’ll be able to…” he thought for a moment. “Handle… your subject.”

(Y/n) nodded before her and Varo followed behind the general as they made their way to his office. Varo gave (Y/n) a sly look, voice pitched low.

“He was staring.” He spoke bluntly. “Like, full-on ‘I’m going to write poetry about her in my quarters’ staring.”

(Y/n) grit her teeth as Varo grinned. “Varo.”

“Just saying.” He put his hands up in surrender. “You’re terrifying when you take command, but I’m pretty sure he thought you were something else. Might wanna warn him next time before he -“ Varo was cut off by a harsh slap on his arm.

But as she looked at Hux in front of them, there was something else flickering in her expression.

The office carried a heavy silence save for the soft clicks of data being organized. Hux stood beside his desk, reviewing the preliminary files of the detainees, his posture rigid, focused. (Y/n) remained near the far wall, her back partially turned, arms folded tightly across her chest.

The silence between them stretched until Hux finally broke it.

“First interrogation is scheduled to begin in 15 minutes.”

(Y/n) didn’t respond immediately.

“I’m sure you have questions,” she spoke quietly. “Elira (L/n).” Hux’s gaze snapped to her at the mention of the same last name. “My mother.”

Hux’s fingers froze above the datapad. His expression was unreadable, though something in his eyes softened slightly.

“I see,” he said carefully. 

Telling herself that it was necessary information prior to the interrogation, she continued, her voice steady but subdued. “I thought I’d never see her again. The last time I did, she disowned me.”

She inhaled slowly through her nose, grounding herself as her gaze lowered to the floor. 

“My parents supported the Resistance, so naturally I followed. Growing up, they told me that the stories of what happened to our people were fabricated lies. That the Covenant was just another form of control used by the First Order.”

Her voice grew quieter.

“When I told them I enlisted in the Covenant, that I’d met Varo - who told me the truth - they were furious.”

Hux took a few steps toward her, listening.

“She told me I was brainwashed. That the Resistance was the only path forward for people like us. I told her I didn’t want to forget what they did to our people. I wanted justice. She said if I walked out that door, I would no longer be her daughter.” (Y/n) swallowed the tightness in her throat, eyes flicking up to meet Hux’s. “I left anyway.”

He watched her for a moment longer, taking in the weight of her words. The rare vulnerability threading through the calm composure she wore like armor. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter.

“You made the right choice.”

“I don’t need reassurance,” she said, turning away slightly.

“No,” Hux said, “but you deserve it.”

(Y/n) let out a breath, shaky despite her effort to control it. “I don’t know how I’ll feel when I see her. I want to be cold. I want to act like she’s just another prisoner. But…”

“But she’s not,” he finished for her.

“She looked surprised,” (Y/n) murmured with partial amusement. “When our eyes met in the hangar. I don’t know if she was ashamed… or just didn’t expect to see me.”

Hux stepped closer, careful not to invade her space, but close enough that his voice dropped into something more human.

“You’ve turned out loyal. Capable and unshakably devoted to your cause. She should be grateful you didn’t let their cowardice define you.”

(Y/n)’s lips parted as if to speak, but she stopped herself, nodding once instead. The silence returned, heavy but less suffocating now.

Finally, Hux spoke again.

“I’ll attend the interrogation with you. You won’t go in there alone.”

(Y/n) turned to him, surprised. “You don’t have to -”

“I want to.” He replied firmly.

She met his gaze, and this time, there was no veneer of command or control in either of them. Only something quietly understanding. A long, steadying moment passed between them.

Then (Y/n) nodded.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Hux didn’t respond with words. Just a quiet nod… and the comfort of silence shared with someone who understood what it meant to be abandoned. 

And to keep going anyway.

The metallic corridor outside of the detention wing was chilled, dimly lit with harsh overhead fluorescents that buzzed faintly, casting pale light across polished black floors. Two Duskborns stood stationed on either side of the sealed blast doors of the interrogation room, their heads locked forward in unblinking silence. A pair of stormtroopers flanked them, weapons held steady against their armor.

Varo stood waiting nearby, his posture alert but relaxed in that uniquely casual way of his. At the sound of approaching footsteps, he turned to see (Y/n) and General Hux striding towards them together.

(Y/n)’s expression was unreadable, her eyes cold, her jaw clenched. She moved with unwavering purpose, every step measured and silent. But Varo knew her too well to miss the tension simmering just beneath the surface.

He stepped forward, glancing at Hux with a short nod before turning his attention to her.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he said quietly.

(Y/n) blinked, her lips twitching as if caught between a grimace and a smile. “Am I pretending?”

Varo shrugged. “You’re walking like you’re about to go into battle. And I’d say you’ve got that ‘vengeful spirit of the ancestors’ look in your eyes again.”

Her shoulders tensed slightly before she forced a breath through her nose.

“I’m fine,” she muttered.

“No, you’re angry. And hurt. And about to go talk to the person who did that to you.” Varo’s voice softened. “You don’t have to be fine, (Y/n). You just have to be in control.”

There was a brief pause.

She looked up at him, expression guarded but grateful beneath the steel.

“I don’t know what I’m going to say to her,” she admitted, barely above a whisper.

“Start with what you want her to hear,” he said. “Then say what you need to say.”

He placed a hand lightly on her shoulder, giving it a brief squeeze. “You’ve faced worse. You’ve survived worse. She won’t break you.”

From behind them, the general waited silently, allowing the moment between them to settle. His hands were folded behind his back, his gaze unreadable but sharp as ever. But there was no judgment in his eyes, only a rare flicker of something quieter. 

(Y/n) turned to Hux, nodding once.

His gaze lingered on her for a heartbeat longer than usual before he offered a nod in return. 

The blast doors hissed as they began to part, the light beyond flickering on with a sterile, clinical chill.

Together, (Y/n) and Hux stepped through - side by side - into the chamber where the ghost of her past waited to speak.

The room was black steel and held a sense of brutality. Devoid of comfort, drenched in sterilized silence. A single spotlight poured down from above onto the table bolted to the floor in the center of the room. Restraints clamped down on the prisoner’s wrists and ankles, tight and unmoving as the table was inclined for her to lay upright.

On that table sat her ghost. (Y/n)’s mother.

Still sharp-featured and graceful despite the grime of capture, but aged in a way that had nothing to do with time. Her clothes, though stripped of insignia, still held the vague air of Resistance sympathies. Her gold eyes burned with a smug, knowing light, even now.

(Y/n) stood before her. Unmoving. Focused.

Her cloak was gone, boots echoing across the metal as she paced in measured steps around the chair. The sharp hiss of the sealed blast door sounded behind them, where Hux now stood silently in the shadows. He said nothing. Observed everything.

“(Y/n),” her mother purred, voice far too casual for the weight in the air. “My daughter, standing like a First Order dog. I always imagined you’d outgrow your rebellion against us. But look at you. Still clinging to the leash someone else put around your neck.”

(Y/n) ignored the bait. She circled again, cool and collected.

“You were found in the company of known ex-Covenant fugitives. Now Resistance operatives.” Her tone was flat, clinical. “You will give us names, contacts, safehouses, and supply lines. Do this, and perhaps you’ll be granted leniency.”

Her mother tilted her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “The Covenant must’ve broken you more than I thought. They told you a new history, gave you new fangs, and now look. You’re snarling at your own blood.”

(Y/n) stopped walking. Her arms stayed at her sides, her posture impeccable, but the line of her jaw was sharp now, locked tight.

“I’m snarling at traitors.”

Her mother’s expression twisted.

“To our people?” she hissed. “Or to the family you discarded for the sake of your friend’s myth? You think they care for you? You think that man behind you,” Her gaze flicked to Hux. “Would even look your way if it weren’t for how useful you are? How obedient you are?”

That landed.

(Y/n) didn’t flinch, but her breath hitched. Subtle. Small. But there.

“My loyalty is to my assignment. And to the Covenant and First Order.” She replied tightly, her voice lower.

Her mother’s lips curled. “That’s not what I see in your eyes when you glance at him.”

From the back of the room, Hux shifted slightly. He remained composed, unreadable. But his gaze sharpened with interest.

(Y/n)’s eyes darkened, fangs just barely visible behind a clenched jaw.

“You know nothing about me,” she said, voice steady but low with restrained threat.

“I know you,” her mother pressed, eyes glowing. “I see the girl who wanted to belong so badly she let herself be molded into a weapon. And now you’re falling for your handler. How poetic.”

(Y/n) stepped forward too fast. Her hand gripped the edge of the table, close to her mother’s throat, but not touching.

“I said you know nothing about me,” she seethed. “You forfeited that right when you threw me out.”

The words rang sharper than anything that had come before. Her mother’s smugness wavered just slightly.

Behind her, Hux took a single step forward, voice cutting cleanly through the silence.

“Where were your orders coming from?” He redirected.

His voice cut cleanly across the air. Calm, precise, commanding.

Her mother blinked, pulled abruptly from the rising tension between her and her daughter. She turned toward Hux with a subtle sneer, clearly displeased with the shift in control.

“We intercepted coded transmissions routed through an old Resistance frequency,” Hux continued, stepping forward into the light with quiet authority. “You’re going to tell us where the next operation is planned, and how long you’ve been in contact with the rogue faction”

A beat passed.

Then another.

The silence gave (Y/n) time to steel herself again. She folded her arms, lips drawn in a firm line, and resumed her position at Hux’s side, this time more guarded, more resolved.

Her mother looked between the two of them. That smug gleam in her eyes had dulled slightly.

“You two really do make quite the team,” she said, colder now.

Hux said nothing. (Y/n) stared through her like she was already ash.

And somewhere, deep beneath the chill in her voice, something cracked in (Y/n)’s chest that she refused to look at too closely.

A long, dragging silence lingered in the room. (Y/n)’s mother didn’t speak for a moment. Her eyes flicked between him and (Y/n), no longer filled with smugness, but calculation. Weighing.

Then she exhaled, slow and bitter.

“You think I’ll sell them out? That I’ll betray everything for you?” she said, turning her gaze fully back to (Y/n). “You’re a child playing war. You have no idea what we’ve sacrificed to keep the truth buried. What the Resistance gave us in exchange for silence. You think you’re righteous now because the Covenant gave you a uniform and purpose -”

“I think,” (Y/n) interrupted, her voice eerily calm, “that you’re wasting my time. And I don’t like when people waste my time.”

She stepped forward slowly, her boots clicking softly against the metal floor. Hux remained just behind her, a silent force of support, eyes sharp and watching.

Her mother sneered. “You’re going to try to frighten me, is that it? You forget that I raised you. You were always too soft to do what needed to be done.”

(Y/n) stopped directly beside her.

“I was,” she admitted. “But I’m not her anymore.”

Then her eyes darkened. The golden glow in her irises sharpened, deepening into something ancient, something primal. She let her hand rest on the edge of the interrogation table, not threatening, but suggestive. The air changed, subtle and slow, like the pressure before a storm.

Her mother’s composure wavered just slightly.

“You may be working with ex-Covenants who simply studied Umbral technique,” (Y/n) said quietly. “But I’m the Umbral. While your little faction can barely attempt to reach our frequencies, I can reach nerves you weren’t even aware that you had. And unlike them,” she nodded toward the security panel, “I won’t need a droid to do it.”

Hux said nothing, merely backed away to allow her space as he sensed an urge of bloodlust in her tone. His silence was approval, his gaze intense as he watched the scene unfold.

Her mother scoffed, but it was weaker this time. “You’re bluffing.”

(Y/n) smirked sadistically.

She extended her hand with slow, deliberate precision, brushing her fingertips near the side of her mother’s neck, just close enough for her mother to feel the tips of the preternatural sharpness of her nails, the way her presence seemed to sink into the skin.

Her mother stiffened.

Still, (Y/n) didn’t touch her besides the tickling sensation. Not yet. She let the words work their way under her mother’s skin.

“You can talk,” she said softly. “Or I can peel the truth out of you. Slowly .”

It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.

Her mother’s jaw tensed. Her eyes betrayed her as she tried to maintain her pride. Her hands tugged slightly against the restraints.

“You wouldn’t -” she began.

(Y/n) interrupted, her voice hollow and cold. “You gave me nothing. You lied to me. Disowned me. I have no remorse for your pain.”

That, more than anything, made her mother flinch.

And for the first time since entering the chamber, the woman’s eyes shifted. Not with defiance, but with recognition.

A crack.

Hux observed it all silently, his hands still folded neatly behind his back. But there was a look in his eyes now. Measured pride, and something else deeper, more personal. Watching (Y/n) become who she needed to be. Commanding. Ruthless. Unshaken.

But he could see the strain beneath the resolve, beneath the fury, the remnants of a daughter still buried under years of betrayal.

Her mother finally exhaled. But no information followed.

(Y/n) leaned in closer, nails beginning to press into her neck with trained precision. Even with barely any pressure, her mother’s eyes widened enough to reveal the amount of pain she was experiencing.

“I would rethink your analysis of what you think I’m capable of. This isn’t just loyalty to the Covenant or the First Order.” Her nails pressed further and the older woman’s mouth gaped, veins beginning to swell on her skull from strain. “This is the wrath of a daughter long forgotten.”

Suddenly, her nails pierced through her skin and dug through directly to her nerves. 

Varo stood just outside the reinforced blast doors, arms folded, leaning against the wall like he was waiting for a caf refill instead of an interrogation to end. For a while, it was quiet.

Then -

A muffled scream erupted from within the interrogation chamber. Sharp. Definitely pained.

One of the stormtroopers stiffened. The other glanced nervously at Varo.

Varo didn’t even flinch. He just raised a brow, cocked his head towards the door with a smirk, and muttered, “There it is.”

The Duskborns didn’t so much as blink.

“About time,” Varo added. “Thought (L/n) might actually try diplomacy for a second there… A brief, terrifying second.”

The stormtroopers exchanged an awkward glance.

“Is that standard?” one of them asked, as another muffled cry echoed from behind the doors.

Varo shrugged. “Depends on your definition of standard. She’s doing the thing where she doesn’t blink, right?” He looked to the Duskborn on the left who held a datapad with surveillance of the interrogation. They gave a subtle nod.

“Yeah,” Varo continued. “That’s her ‘I’m gonna extract your soul through your teeth’ face. Totally fine.”

Another scream. One that sounded like it came with tears.

One of the troopers cleared his throat. “Should we, uh, alert medical, sir?”

Varo snorted. “To have them walk into that room and spontaneously combust? No thanks. Anyways, if it gets too quiet in there, then you should worry.”

The Duskborn beside him let out a low, approving hum. Close to a laugh.

Varo grinned. “Best seat in the house, boys. You’re witnessing a master at work. And by ‘witnessing’ I mean ‘listening to a war crime in real time.’”

He glanced back toward the chamber doors, tone softening slightly beneath the bravado.

“She’ll be alright,” he added quietly, more to himself than anyone else.

Then another muffled scream rang out - panicked this time - and Varo clapped his hands together once.

“Welp. That’s the sound of truth. Sounds like we got what we need.”

After a few minutes of silence, the door hissed open with a hydraulic groan, leaving behind only a faint echo of the storm it had followed.

General Hux stepped out first, composed as ever, though his jaw was tight and his gloves slightly askew. Subtle signs that he’d been more involved than he liked to appear. Behind him, (Y/n) emerged in silence.

Her posture was upright, but her steps were heavy. Her eyes, dark and unreadable, bore none of their usual sharp focus an afterglow of restraint barely kept in check.

Varo stood straighter as they appeared, arms unfolding from where they’d been crossed.

“Ah,” he said with a short nod. “So… good news or do I prep another cell?”

(Y/n) didn’t answer. She brushed past him like a shadow, her expression carved from stone. For a second, it looked like she might keep walking. But then she paused.

Without turning, she said lowly, “She broke.”

Varo raised his brows. “No kidding?”

“She gave us a name,” Hux confirmed, stepping to stand beside (Y/n). “And a destination. We’ll be debriefing shortly.”

The two Duskborns exchanged glances, subtle but meaningful. The troopers remained silent, uncertain whether to feel relieved or unnerved.

Varo leaned in slightly, his voice pitched just for (Y/n). “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” she replied, her tone clipped and automatic.

Hux watched her carefully, noting the stiff line of her shoulders and the way her fingers flexed slightly. Telltale signs of unrest.

“She did quite well, I must say,” Hux added evenly, still watching her. “Admirably.”

(Y/n) didn’t thank him. She just gave a short nod and said, “Excuse me,” before striding off down the hall.

Varo let out a breath and looked over at Hux. “You sure she’s alright?”

“No,” Hux replied without missing a beat. “But she will be.”

Varo gave a short chuckle. “You always say that like it’s a fact.”

Hux adjusted his gloves slowly. “Because with her, it is.”

[wiredaughter]

@fluffyfebruary 22: robe

As Abe explains the ongoing issues pressing on the agents; Daryl's restlesness at the move, the revelations regarding Daimio's grandmother, Liz's fragile state of mind and Kate's waning patience, the only thing Kalmia registers is how no one seems to be congratulating Johann on his brand new body. She's got a mind to do something about it; food, drink, a warm bed and some sort of recognition for everything he's lost before now. And if she can do something to hold the peace for a while, what's the problem?

He slows down as we hear the music coming from Corrine’s house. ‘What did you tell your friends?’

I shrug. Enough to get a party thrown, anyway. ‘Powerful undead psychic in the body of a hunk is looking for a shag. Has a German accent, licence to kill and… I mean, it’s big, isn’t it?’

A Revolution Is the Solution

Johann Kraus centric ☆ Oannes Society body Johann ☆ Killing Ground fix-it ☆ sharing clothes ☆ going AWOL ☆ no on-screen sex ☆ on-screen recreational drug use ☆ casual sex ☆ background established abe/ofc ☆ diplomacy ☆ 2316 words ☆ ao3

I’m not sleepwalking, not properly awake, as I make my way towards Abraham’s room. Wiped out as I was from my last frog run, I passed out as soon as I took my bloody clothes off instead of going to find him, and now I regret that. When I make it to his door, however, it slams open and a very pressed looking Corrigan exits without turning to me. I look her up and down as she stalks away and turn to see my favourite agent staring mystifyingly through the doorway.

‘Who murdered her puppy dogs with an axe, then?’

I hold Abraham and he holds his forehead whilst he explains Sherman has taken an habit of fading in and out of reality, they had some difficult wendigo transfer, the mummy is more cryptic than helpful as of late, and Daimio hates them all again for some reason that eludes me but maybe has something to do with a female Japanese version of James Bond. And Kraus is getting on her last nerve with his newfound lust for life. I nudge Abraham’s leg with mine.

‘Daimio likes you.’

‘Yes, I suppose he does. So I’ve got him.’ After a beat. ‘And Kate.’

‘Reckon that leaves the hungry-horny giant to me, does it not?’ I wiggle my brows suggestively. ‘How will I ever manage.’

Abraham sends me away with a kiss, for if he’s got a jealous bone in his body I’ve yet to find it. Well, I’ve got my experience boning fish, don’t I? As concerned I am for his state of mind, all the petty conflicts he’s explained mean little to me. Maybe I’m just happy to be with him in the new HQ, or maybe I’m anticipating Johann’s good mood, but I’m almost skipping to his room where I let myself in without knocking to find him holding a porn mag in one hand and a dumbbell in the other. Small wonder, and not entirely unlike what I’d do if I had the ability to partake in the sins of the flesh after that long. He looks at me with a concerned expression.

‘I checked in on O’Donnell, but he’s cold out and…’

‘Out cold.’ I correct, stepping into the room with a pirouette, the robe I threw over my underwear to go visit Abraham fanning out around me. ‘Oh, Johann, what do I care about that old geezer? You’ve come back to life, haven’t you? What I wouldn’t give to know what that’s like.’

His face relaxes, and he hides the magazine behind himself as his eyes trail my legs. I remove the badly tied robe that’s meant to hide them when I reason he’s seen me in more compromising situations, throw it around his shoulders so he gets to feel my lingering warmth. He deserves more as far as I’m concerned, if not for his service to humanity, for helping me practice my German and being a good loser at poker.

‘What’s your favourite time of day? What did you have for lunch, und… was ist dein Lieblingsessen?'

There’s a wary, incredulous look on his face when I perch myself on the arm of the sofa he’s in, as if he can’t believe someone wants to talk about a personal victory in the face of what we’re against, but he should know me better. Slowly, he seems to accept the idea; he shuffles into my robe and begins talking slowly, like tasting the words, and I listen intently as his sentences start rushing out so fast I don’t understand half of what he’s saying, for my German is still pretty shit but he looks too happy to be speaking through a real mouth for me to ask for repeats.

Halfway through his description of what sounds like the tastiest lecker-lecker sandwich ever but is probably the bogstandard tuna melt I’ve had on the mess hall a dozen times, he pauses to breathe into the sleeve of my robe with longing. It’s very small on him, and I feel something I can’t name. I flop onto his lap, muscled thighs against my back, and he meets my eyes.

‘Herrenparfüm.’

I laugh. ‘Was ich immer trage! Well, now you know.’ I think of that, think of being alive and how I’m alive and what I want. ‘Johann… Have you not had it off since…?’

‘I have not… since my wife.’

I’m on my feet immediately. ‘Oh, we’ve got to fix that!’ He flushes, and I take account of myself, boxershorts and a sportsbra in his room, and beseeching him to get it on. ‘Not me, you know, but I’ve got friends. A night in town! Now!’

Not hard to convince, he walks me to my room so I can get my gear on – short shorts and a graphic singlet under a long leather jacket. He hesitates on his agent getup without the robe he’d folded and laid carefully on his bed like I’m not gonna want it back, but he’s honestly rocking the martial look as I inform him and he seems satisfied enough. We’re sneaking out when we hear voices and, worse, something between a keen and a roar that drops my heart to my stomach.

Not to be deterred, I trail Johann as he turns a corner and what do I see but Abraham on his diplomatic mission having a chinwag with Daimio. Right outside some cell from where the noise is coming. I think back of what I’d heard, someone remarrying and how hard a widow’s life is, and what I know about wendigos; before I’m trying a faint psychic reach into the creature’s brain. Johann says something to deflect from our mission, but all I care about is a happy family pulling together and honouring the dead father. Calm, loving, I engrave that concept on the beast's mind and go back to myself.

‘It’s just blowing off some steam!’ I interrupt whatever excuse Johann’s working, and give Abraham a look. We lead our group back to the hall. ‘If anyone asks, you never saw us leave. And for whatever you love most, don’t have that kind of talk around our caged friend, you’re riling him up.’

I think Daimio will protest, but he shares an unspoken conversation with Abraham in a second, and turns around after giving my clothes a derisive look, walks away as he calls back. ‘Director Corrigan expects those notes from O’Donnell yesterday.’

‘We tried, but he’s sleeping! We’ll be back when he’s ready to guide us through them.’

Abraham manages an amused smile before he’s chasing off after Daimio, and I spare a thought to wish him luck before I’m pulling Johann along. I think I’ll hotwire one of the bureau’s jeeps, but the keys are already on, and it’s so good an omen I’m not even mad. I swear, I even let Johann drive.

He slows down as we hear the music coming from Corrine’s house. ‘What did you tell your friends?’

I shrug. Enough to get a party thrown, anyway. ‘Powerful undead psychic in the body of a hunk is looking for a shag. Has a German accent, licence to kill and… I mean, it’s big, isn’t it?’

He blushes. ‘Yes, well, but I’m not sure how that…’

‘Johann, they’ll be having a freeforall for the chance, trust me.’

I jump off the slowly advancing vehicle, and he keeps it going for a couple of metres which I jog to keep up before he’s steeling his shoulders and parking. I shrug my annoyance at his insecurity as I commend myself for wearing practical shoes at least, and lead him through the yard where a group of stoners is stargazing whilst others cheer on someone doing a kegstand. As they let him down, he stumbles for balance before pointing right at Johann, I hope.

‘I dedicate that to you!’

I do a two finger salute, already feeling better about the state of the world, and he makes to step forward but has to be caught by his friends before he trips over the keg, and we continue onwards.

‘Was that for you?’

‘Irrelevant. I’m taken, so keep that in mind and go hog, deal?’

I accept a couple of beers as we make our way through the house, hand Johann one and drink half of mine in one go. The music is louder inside, and there’s a movie playing in the livingroom. I greet my friends, find Corrine and introduce her a bit grandly, grateful for her initiative. I think Johann likes her, and I’m passing him a blunt I got from some guy in a police stripper dress when Elle all but falls into him. She’s a fun girl, and laughs it off as she steadies herself with an iron grip on his arm.

‘I’m really really sorry! I’d just like an opportunity to serve my country!’

There’s a small bout of applause for her boldness whilst Johann, ever the gentleman, rushes to reassure her it’s all his fault; unused to his physicality as he is, and I swear Elle’s eyes get bigger with every word he says.

‘You weren’t lying about the accent!’

Corrine slides a hand up his thigh. ‘Or the d!’

I laugh at the pleased shock on Johann’s expression, give him a wink. ‘I never lie about anything, ever.’

Their laughs get interrupted by Alex, with a bowl of crisps, and soon more follow holding offerings of drinks or food. The wouldbe stripper snatches his blunt out of my hand to offer it to Johann who looks at me like he’s remembering what I said about an all out fight over his attentions.

I trade some acid to introduce a manacled woman to him – Fatima, and she promises she’s got cuffs on your size!, and retreat for a slice of the pizza left forgotten over a speaker. I take a bite and spit it back out, olives of all things, looking up to see Johann making out with her. I smile, as I let the tab dissolve under my tongue instead. This promises to be good for the business.

I join him on the couch where a woman with an X-Files top shares his lap with Elle, and he gives me a dazed look. I hand him a shot to toast him, and Elle is breaking from his lips to call shots for everyone. I think he gets up to dance, but I’ve procured some x from more introductions and I’m too busy candyflipping to care. I lay around, dance a little myself, get to some decent pizza, and then Johann pulls me aside out of nowhere.

‘Your friends really like me…’ His accent’s got more pronounced, and I can imagine that’s helping things along. ‘They want to touch me…’

‘Good for you. Pick one or five and get a room before they kill me for thinking I’ll have you.’ He looks around, seemingly worried, so I punch his shoulder. ‘Congrats, mate, I mean it!’

I walk him to the stairs where Corrine is happy to take over with an offer to give him a housetour, and am stopped as I’m turning back by a hand on my shoulder. I look up to see James, a drinking friend on my days off, and before I can say I’m not the agent of the hour he’s pulling me closer.

‘Does your friend like men?’

I haven’t got the faintest. ‘Jo- HANN!’ He turns to see me from the landing, arms full of women and a more adventurous bloke than James. ‘Do you want James too?’

James throws an arm around my shoulders as if to help his case, and two guys in uni jumpers lean against the railing. ‘You don’t have to, you can just watch!’

The hesitation washes off Johann’s face, and I wonder how these pillocks knew exactly what to say to get him on their side, of course he’s tired of just watching. Still flushed, he gives me a nod and James is pushing a bag of pills on my hand before kissing my forehead and hurrying up the stairs.

I go out to the yard for a smoke. Newports. I shove them back into my pocket, sure enough I’ve got something better after that showdown. I light up as soon as I find it, distantly listening to a conversation on whether sex with a psychic feels different. I think of shooting Abraham a text, but figure it’d only be incriminating, and go back to the jeep to sleep it off once I’ve ran out of everything but bloody Newports.

//

I curse myself for bringing my phone along as it starts ringing next morning. The sun is high and I feel good and bad and I miss Abraham. I open the door to puke on the side of the road before I answer, and I’m confused for a moment. Where I expected Corrigan to try and make me feel ashamed of my actions, it seems we were bad enough to get Manning on the line from whichever hospital he’s dying at. Irrelevant.

I notice I’ve said that out loud when the volume of my chastising increases, and for all that you’d think it was me who just got laid for the ages. I mumble something and hang up. Stretch, rub my face and jump over my vomit to fetch Johann. And there’s still noise coming from behind the door I’m shown to. I knock, yell that he can sleep on the way back to the bureau, and finally text Abraham I missed him. He replies saying Daimio got over himself a little, and Corrigan miraculously isn’t looking to bite my head off as much as interested in Johann's state of mind now. Between the lines, I read her reticence to the idea of chewing us up herself. Thank the right hand pathers for their mercy, or whomever.

[shizucheese]

Hey y'all, new chapter of A Lovely Pair of Eyes is finally out! Sorry it took so long, I ended up being a big of a perfectionist with it and it gave me some troubles. But it's here now so read on! :D You can find the new chapter on AO3 here: Chapter 1

If you're new to the story and want to start from the beginning, you can check it out here: Prolog

Fic description: John and Martin survived the events of Mag 200 and ended up Somewhere Else, but now Martin has become an Avatar of the Eye. Now the two of them must navigate all of the complications of their still-new relationship now that they don't have a fear apocalypse distracting them, AND being in a relationship where both people involved are Eye Avatars, AND Martin's struggles as a baby Eye Avatar.

This story isn't going to have a cohesive plot so much as this is where I'm posting all of my stories set in a post-Mag200 continuity where John and Martin are Eye Avatar boyfriends together. Chapter description: Martin Wakes up. Full chapter can also be found under the cut.

Chapter 1

It took Martin a moment to realize where he was when he came to. But as his senses came back to him, he recognized the antiseptic smell and beeping sounds of a hospital room. He had spent enough time by John’s side when he was in his coma, how could he not?

At the thought of John, his memories flooded back to him. The Panopticon. The plan to kill Elias…Jonah…whatever…and release the Fears into other worlds. And John going ahead and killing him himself and becoming the new Pupil of the Eye, and then the horrifying realization that he couldn’t control it.

The knife.

The promise. The kiss. John. Oh God John.

Fear and worry spiked through him and he was distantly aware of the sound of the heart monitor in the room beeping faster. He tried to sit up, but found that he was too weak to do so, and the most he could manage was a weak moan and a flex of his fingers.

It was then he became aware of the hand that was holding one of his; long, cool, familiar fingers intertwined with his own. He rolled his head to the side and sure enough he saw a familiar head of black hair, streaked with grey. He seemed to be asleep, slumped over the bed with his head pillowed on one arm, but he was here, and he was safe.

“John…?” His voice came out weak and raspy and he coughed from the effort of it. He wiggled his fingers in a weak attempt at grasping at John’s hand.

John jolted awake, and Martin watched as one emotion after another flashed across his face as he blinked rapidly. Confusion, recognition, realization….

“Martin.” He said it as a complete sentence. This was Martin. He was Martin. Martin was here.

“John” Martin answered back.

“Oh God Martin!” John stood up and leaned over, cupping Martin’s face with both hands and examining him, as if searching for something, before stepping away. “I’m uh…I need to go tell the doctor you’re awake…” John backed away, his gaze never leaving Martin’s face, until finally he had no choice but to turn around and leave the room.

-

“Well, Mr. Blackwood, I’m happy to say that, all things considered, you’re in remarkably good shape. We’d like to keep you here for a few more days for observation but if all seems well, I see no reason why we would need to keep you longer than that,” the doctor said as he finished his examination. Somehow John had convinced the man to let him stay in the room during the whole thing and now he stood fretting in the corner.

“Now, I just need to ask you a few questions as part of the evaluation. Tell me, what’s the last thing you remember?”

Well, he most certainly couldn’t tell the truth about that, now, could he? He doubted the doctor would believe him; it was more likely he’d think he was completely crazy and would try to have him committed.

“J-John.” Martin’s voice was still raspy from months of disuse, although the longer he was awake, the stronger he felt. “I was with John. Th-there was an accident….” he trailed off, not sure what else to say. The doctor nodded and wrote something down on his clipboard.

“I don’t expect you to know the exact date, of course, but could you tell me what year it is?”

“2010.” The doctor nodded again and continued to write on his clipboard.

“And could you tell me who the current monarch of England is?” “Queen Elizabeth.” The doctor added a few more notes on his clipboard, and then stood up from where he had been sitting by the side of the bed.

“Well, that should be all for now. When you’re feeling a bit more recovered, we’ll go over your treatment and rehabilitation plan. Let a nurse know if you have any questions or if anything about your condition changes.” And with that, the doctor left the room, giving John a nod of acknowledgement as he passed him.

As soon as the door clicked shut, John was across the room and by the side of the bed.

“How are you feeling?” Martin could practically physically feel John’s eyes roaming over his face again. He took a moment to take John in himself, now that they were alone and had a moment. John was pale even in the best of times, and Martin would have thought, after four months of living in a world not in the middle of a fear apocalypse, that’s how John would look, but instead he was the same haggard kind of pale that Martin had grown used to seeing over the past few years, with the same bruise-like circles under his eyes. Martin wondered how well John had been taking care of himself while he had been in his coma. “Fine? You were there while the doctor was looking me over and asking me all those questions…”

“Yes, but you and I both know there are things that we can talk about between us that we can’t talk about to or around other people.” “Fair enough.” Martin closed his eyes and took a moment before answering. “I’m still a bit thirsty.” At that, John reached over for the cup of ice water a nurse had brought him earlier and held the straw up to Martin’s lips, and he drank from it gratefully. “I’m still tired, too. You would think after four months in a coma I wouldn’t be. Is that normal? And my head hurts…” “You should get some rest then.” “Tell me what happened first.” “We can talk about that later. You need to rest.” “John, I’m not going to be able to rest properly until I know what’s going on. Just…please, tell me.” “Right then…” John closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “When we released the Fears into the other worlds, it seems they took us with them, and we ended up here. The land where the Institute and the Panopticon were is a construction site in this world. That’s where we wound up…” John’s mouth quirked into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I told the paramedics and the police officers that you and I had wanted to take advantage of the construction do some urban exploration in the old Millbank Prison tunnels. There was an accident and we both fell. You wouldn’t wake up….” The smile fell. His voice cracked. “I’m sorry.” “No, it’s not your fault. You were…” John trailed off and stared into the middle distance, his sentence left incomplete.

“So what are we going to do about like…our identities? We’re not from here so…wait, is there, like, another us here? Like the us from this world…? We aren’t using their IDs, are we?” John laughed ruefully at that.

“No, we’re not using their IDs. Let’s just say we weren’t the only ones who made it here.” “Who…?” It took a moment before Martin caught on. “Annabelle.” “Precisely. It seems the Web doesn’t like being indebted, particularly not to agents of one of the other fears. Her helping us is supposed to ‘balance the ledger,’ or so she says.”

“Right…and what are the chances that she’s going to balance it a little too much and we’ll end up being the ones indebted to her?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. Getting someone to owe you can be a form of manipulation…” They were both quiet for a moment as they considered the implications of the situation they found themselves in. “What else?” Martin asked, finally breaking the silence. John looked up at him in surprise. “What else is there? What aren’t you telling me?” “I don’t…”

“John, please. I can tell when you’re hiding something from me. Please, just tell me.” The pain that had been pulsing behind his eyes since he woke up grew stronger. John closed his eyes, and his posture, which Martin had only ever seen him lose at the worst of times, slumped.

“You haven’t noticed yet, have you?” “Noticed what?”

“Martin…when the doctor asked you what year it was, you told him 2010. I never told you what year it was in this world.” “What…? Of course you did. You…” “No, Martin, I didn’t.” John’s face was full of…sorrow? Guilt? “Then I…I must have seen it on the—” Martin trailed off as he realized there was no calendar in sight. “Without your glasses? Although it appears you no longer need them...” Martin unconsciously reached a hand up to the side of his face, as if to adjust the glasses that, yes, he realized now, were not there. And yet…

“John, what’s going on?” And there was that pain again, flaring up as he tried to wrap his head around what was happening to him. “When you were in your coma, you didn’t have a heartbeat.”  John paused, and swallowed. “I thought you were dead. I thought I had lost you…” His voice cracked. “The only reason you weren’t pronounced dead is because Annabelle did…something and the doctors realized you still had brain activity. You were like that for four months…”

John looked at him straight in the eye, then, and…yes, there was sorrow and guilt and grief and pity in those eyes. “I’m so sorry, Martin. You’re like me now. You’ve become an Avatar of the Eye.”

[bluemidnightmelody]

lover/fighter - my favorite moments

[Little snippets from my Finnick/OC longfic that are stuck in my head]

From Chapter 44 - Neptune in 4th house

Finnick leans against the old wooden desk in the small improvised office and watches her as she purposefully stows all kinds of things in the designated place. "Isn't that too much for you sometimes? After you keep starting arguments with Donna because of me, so that I can get some peace and quiet at home, all you ever do yourself is work," he replies.

Rhea pauses and looks at him. "Those are two things you can't compare," she says seriously. "I love my work. I don't do it because someone else tells me to or because I have to. I never wanted anything other than this. This is where I grew up and taking care of the people around could never be too much."

It's exhausting and sometimes very draining but just as fulfilling for her. She could never imagine stopping. "We both know that you would also rather be at home looking after your people. If you could decide for yourself, you would never have come back here after your Games, would you? You'd be sitting at home in District 4 now, taking the boat out every day, going fishing with the boys, lying in the sun by the sea, eating dinner with Mags and Annie. You probably would have started working as a fisherman after all, like you wanted to, not because you had to, but because you are someone who gets bored easily when you have nothing to do. Maybe you could have become a teacher. I think at least that would really suit you, you're good at it and good with children."

"You think children should take me as an example? I think many at home would disagree," he replies with a smile, but there is a trace of sadness behind it. It's hard to listen to her talk about what his life could have been like, and he likes the picture she paints. Very much so and he has to realize that his comparison was really more than inappropriate.

"I think everyone should take an example from you," she replies seriously. "But we both know that what you do here in the Capitol is nothing but slave labor for Snow to get the most out of the Games. It's not work, it's exploitation, something completely different to my situation."

Not even the victors dare say that out loud, not here in the Capitol. Nevertheless, she simply says it as if it were the most natural thing of all, openly expressing her rejection of the president without a trace of fear. That alone calls for recognition, but in the same breath she is one of the few people who still sincerely believe in his respectable character even after the Capitol has distorted his image so much. He gets a warm tingle in his fingertips as his gaze rests on the floor.

When he looks up again, he has a gentle smile on his face that looks like it wants to become something more. But he doesn't say a word, he just looks at her with this unreadable expression on his face.

"What?" Rhea asks, a little flustered, her embarrassment rising to her head along with the heat. It's as if his eyes have some kind of magical power that allows him to do all sorts of things to you just by looking at you.

His smile widens a little. "Nothing," he then says casually, pauses for a few more seconds, then pushes himself off the edge of the desk and strolls leisurely back into the hallway.

Rhea can hear his footsteps as he descends the old wooden steps of the staircase, presses her hands against her cheeks and sighs. Why is this guy so intense? There's no other way to describe it, everything about him just seems too much to handle. She wonders if he's always like this by nature, or if it's also a bit intentional because he knows exactly what effect he has on others. Probably a mixture of both.

It's like a damn strong drink and when she's around him, she sometimes feels like she's in a daze. But because of the sweetness, you only notice the effect when it's too late and then you just want more and more. She's worried that she might do something foolish while she's under the influence or even end up becoming an alcoholic, so to speak.

She quickly returns to the task at hand to distract herself from these thoughts. Since she knows what's really going on in Finnick's life, that warm tingling feeling in her chest always leaves a tinge of guilt behind, because something in her subconscious says that it's taboo to feel these things, that he would reject having this kind of affection directed at him.

Links to all the chapters: lover/fighter - Chapter Index

fanfiction on ao3 and wattpad

[ashandkatiewrite]

Somewhere a Clock is Ticking | Chapter 10

FIC SYNOPSIS: This is not the way Maggie thought her life would go after the Blip. This was not the life she was meant to be living. The man in front of her, who had the same face as Bucky, was not her husband — he was his killer.

WRITTEN BY: @if-you-onlyknew & @katiekinswrites

PAIRING: Bucky Barnes/OFC

RATING: M (Mature) & E (Explicit)

The final installment of the Bucky Barnes/Maggie Hastings "What If...?" AU Series: Somewhere a Clock is Ticking

chapter preview…

Once they were in the street, Bucky felt panic rising in his throat, but tried to remain as calm as possible. “Mags,” he said, gripping her shoulders, “I think he’s more than he seems. I think—” he said as he looked up at one of the illuminated windows to see the silhouette of a person looking out. “I think I’m gonna regret not killing him. This isn’t over.”

There had been a flicker of recognition in Tommy Medrano’s eyes as Bucky gripped his throat. 

Bucky looked down at his left arm as he held onto Maggie‘s shoulders like she was the one holding him up. His metal arm was showing above the glove and below the sleeve of his ripped suit jacket. 

Tommy knew more than he appeared to know. 

TAGLIST: @acabecca • @arrthurpendragon • @cas-verse • @cjand10 • @darkwolf76 • @darylandbethfanforever9 • @eddysocs • @jewishbarbies • @ocappreciationtag • @sassysophiabush • @scarletwidoww • @seb-soph • @starcrossedjedis • @thatmagickjuju

[our-favourite-orcs]

REVIVAL ROUND

The three candidates that get the most votes will get to move on to round 2!

Propaganda under the cut!

Propaganda for The Orc from Enclave:

Honestly, dude's just got a nice set of back muscles.

Propaganda for The Return of the King (Rankin-Bass):

They sing a silly lil song what more do u want

Propaganda for Natalie Armpits, Dodge Duranga, and Canyonera - Rude Tales of Magic:

They love riddles

Propaganda for Ghazkull Mag Uruk Thraka from Warhammer 40,000:

- Ork technology works because they believe it does. Otherwise it’s just a pile of scrap metal. - They are humanoid fungi that reproduce by releasing spores when they die. - Their society’s currency is teeth. Mostly their own, since they grow back like shark teeth do. - Ghazkull got his head chopped off. Somebody decided to staple it to a robot body. This worked, somehow, and now he’s alive again. - Ghazkull’s full name may be a dig at Margaret Thatcher. - Ghazkull has a human nemesis that he enjoys fighting with. Even when he captured him, Ghaz let him go, saying “Good enemies is hard to find.”

Propaganda for Grumsh One Eye from Dungeons And Dragons:

Dude fought the Elf God, lost an eye, scared the rest of the orcs into being dicks and killing elves like him, leads an entire goddamn orc pantheon.

Propaganda for Arti from Tumblr:

He is my friend and I'm mostly just submitting this for a bit and think it'll make him happy

Propaganda for Dungeons & Dragons (Cartoon):

honestly have no propaganda for them specifically, theyre villain henchmen really, i just think the cartoon should get more recognition and its was the first piece of media i thought of when i saw someone reblog your tournament intro

Propaganda for Clarisse Vorak from Arcanum: Of Steamworks and Magick Obscura:

She might not look very orcish and she's a potential player character and therefore she's what you make her, but she's a half-orc scientist facing racism. And I read a fanfic about her that made me fascinated with her, I swear.

Propaganda for Flerbish from Tumblr:

Flerbish can photosynthesise

Propaganda for Stunkbug from Not Another DnD Podcast:

He’s Orc Frasier

Propaganda for Gallarush from The Demon Prince Goes to the Academy:

Gallarush from DPA is an orc who became a vampire before the story started. He's the second oldest of the Vampire Council, a group of Vampire Lords with factions relating to days of the week & elements (Gallarush is the Lord of Friday, which correlates to metal) that aided the MC and eventually became an Elder Council for a newly reconstructed Darklands / Demon Kingdom that was composed of demons and humans. He often teases the oldest member of the council, Luruien/Luvien, an Elf-Vampire who erases most of her memories every ~200 years, and is highly protective of the second youngest of the Council - a Homunculus-Vampire who wants a soul named Lucinil. He's just a good guy / old man

[sunalimerchant123]

Behind the Seams: Inside the World of Fashion Designers and Artisans

When you flip through the glossy pages of a Fashion Mag, what catches your eye first? The shimmer of a couture gown? The bold new silhouette? Or the striking runway pose frozen in time? While the front-facing glamour of fashion is mesmerizing, the true magic lies behind the seams — in the quiet, meticulous world of fashion designers and artisans.

This hidden realm is where ideas are born, fabrics are transformed, and visions come to life. It’s a world built on creativity, skill, tradition, and long hours of precision work. Today, we journey behind the glitz of fashion week to honor the unsung heroes shaping the future of style.

The Designer’s Dream: Where Fashion Begins

Every iconic garment starts as a concept, a sketch on paper or a mood board full of references. Fashion designers are visionaries who balance innovation with cultural awareness, function with fantasy. Whether it's a graduate from a Parisian atelier or a self-taught prodigy from Mumbai, designers draw inspiration from the world around them — architecture, politics, nature, or street culture.

But being a designer is far from effortless. Beyond creativity, they must manage timelines, collaborate with teams, understand fabrics, and often navigate business operations. The best fashion magazines — like Fashion Mag — frequently spotlight the evolving role of the designer not just as a creative, but as a brand builder and changemaker.

The Artisan’s Craft: Heartbeat of Haute Couture

In the whirlwind of fashion cycles, artisans are the steady hands turning imagination into reality. From intricate hand embroidery and handloom weaving to pattern-making and draping, these skilled craftsmen and women are the backbone of the fashion ecosystem.

For instance, Indian karigars who embellish lehengas with zari and mirror work, or Italian tailors who sculpt suits with millimeter precision, carry forward centuries-old techniques. While their names may not be known outside the studio, their fingerprints are on every masterpiece seen in Fashion Mag editorials and luxury runways.

Fashion houses like Dior, Sabyasachi, or Chanel owe their signature looks to the enduring heritage of artisan craftsmanship. Yet, with fast fashion rising, their work faces threats of underappreciation and replacement by machines.

Collaboration: Where Art Meets Industry

The best fashion outcomes arise from true collaboration. Designers conceptualize. Pattern makers interpret. Seamstresses cut and assemble. Embroiderers add detail. It’s a deeply symbiotic process that marries art and engineering.

Increasingly, ethical fashion movements are emphasizing fair wages, recognition, and empowerment for artisans. Many top designers now work hand-in-hand with grassroots artisan clusters, ensuring both sustainability and authenticity.

Fashion Mag and other leading publications have begun turning their lens on these vital collaborators, advocating for equitable representation and credit.

Modern Tools, Ancient Skills

Even as AI and 3D modeling enter the fashion world, handcraft remains irreplaceable. The nuanced pleating of chiffon, the feather-light layering of tulle, or the hand-painted motifs on silk still rely on human touch.

Technology, when used right, complements artisan work. Designers can now visualize designs faster, while artisans can reference digital specs to reduce errors. Still, what keeps fashion deeply personal and cultural is the manual labor and love behind each stitch — something even the most advanced machine can’t replicate.

The Future of Fashion is Inclusive

The next generation of Fashion Mag readers and creators care about who makes their clothes. Transparency, storytelling, and appreciation are redefining luxury. More brands are now inviting artisans to co-create collections, appear in marketing campaigns, and even walk the ramp.

By showcasing not just the finished product, but the hands behind it, the fashion industry is slowly moving toward a more inclusive, respectful future — one where glamour does not outshine the grind.

Final Thoughts

Behind every jaw-dropping cover shoot or runway sensation featured in Fashion Mag is a team of dedicated designers and artisans pouring heart, history, and skill into their work. Their stories deserve to be stitched into the fabric of fashion as much as the garments they create. So the next time you admire a dress or dream of your own label, take a moment to honor the unsung magic makers — the people behind the seams.

[timelesskaleidoscope]

"TINY BABY BUDS"

A familiar face and voice welcomes the little one in this beautiful world. The birth of a child is another step towards a lifelong journey of motherhood and welcoming of a new life. 

On a really hot Monday afternoon, September 2, 2024 , we have the opportunity to interview and have a sneak peak on the life of Blessie, a mother of an infant, about her life long journey of being a mother to 2 beautiful children and a happily married wife. 

Blessie’s youngest baby, Keonna, had a rocky and overwhelming start on this world. After she was born, she was in and out of hospital for nearly a month due to blood infection, cough and runny nose. “Lisod ug hadlok kay sulod gawas siya sa hospital tas akoang lawas garecover pa gikan panganak kay gi cesarian ko” Blessie shared. Thankfully after multiple vaccines and medicines, the brave little Keonna recovered, discharged and was ready to go home. For the last 8 months, Keonna fully recovered and grew, receiving love from her mother, father, older sister, family members and friends, and neighbors. When asked about the development and skills of her baby, “ Kabalo na siya mag close open sa iyahang kamot ug kabalo na siya muligid ug kamang” Blessie replied with a proud look on her face, looking at her little Keonna at the floor crawling and enjoying the company of her neighbors. 

When it comes to Keonna’s cognitive and socioemotional development, Blessie notices that Keonna is curious and interested about the things around her. “Masigi siyag lingi lingi sa palibot, ug tawagon siya mura pug siyag naminaw. Ganahan pud ni siya mutan aw sa kanang mga dulaan na nagbitay bitay iyahang tan-awon tas kab-oton” Blessie stated sweetly. “Muila pud ni si Keonna kay ug dili familiar ang nawong na iyahang makita kay muhilak siya” Blessie added as she watches Keonna crying while being held by one of her neighbors. Baby Keonna’s cognitive and socioemotional development such as her recognition and thinking skills can be observed when it comes to her interaction with unfamiliar and familiar faces, her actions towards toys, and towards the people calling her name. It is also noticeable that Keonna does not cry when being held by people she often sees and recognizes. In terms of Keonna’s physical development, Blessie stated that Keonna’s weight and body is normal for her month.” Nistop na siyag breastfeed pagka 2 months niya mao gigatas na namo siya tas ginapakaon pud nako siyag lugaw” Blessie stated.”Si Keonna kay mas active ug gabie kay dili siya katulog mao pulaw ko ug gabie kay muhilak man siya ug lihokan”. It is noticeable that baby Keonna is well fed and is receiving enough nutrients through drinking formula milk. Keonna easily cries and becomes irritated due to her teeth growing and hot weather yet overall Keonna is a healthy and cute little baby.

Blessie faces challenges throughout her journey in motherhood as well as being a wife yet she manages it with grace, strength, determination and love. “Naa guy times na lisod kay kailangan man namo palitan ug gatas ug mga needs si Keonna. Ga eskwela pud iyahang ate ug highschool mao daghan ug gasto. Dako sila ug gap, 13 years ilahang gap ni Keonna ug iyahang ate” Blessie shared. “Pero mamanage man pud kay todo supporta ug ga provide pud akoang bana mao makaya ra mao gapasalamat pud ko. Akoa pud magulang na anak kay siya na muatiman sa iyahang sarili pag mu eskwela” Blessie added as she smiles and faces the challenges with bravery and gratefulness.

Despite her share of struggles and challenges in life, she manages to balance it. “Lisod gud pero kayanon para nila, akoa nalang ikatulog ug hilak kung kapoy na kaayo. Dako pud katabang akoa Bana kay siya may mulihok ug sakit akoang tahi, likod ug akoang lawas. Naa guy times na kapoy na kaayo ko kay kulang tulog”  Blessie shared with a hint of sadness and tears in her eyes. . 

Even with those struggles and challenges of being a mother especially having an infant, Blessie was full of joy and love towards her family. The strength, gratefulness, and God-fearing attitudes of Blessie enlightens their home, giving it a warm feeling of love, laughter and togetherness. She is always positive and excited about the future development of her children.

“Akong wish lang gud sa ilaha na mudako sila na maka-diyos ug good health pirmente ug malipayon sila” Blessie wishes from the bottom of her motherly heart towards her children. “ Bahala nag walay akoa basta mahatag nako tanan sa ilaha mahappy na pud ko” Blessie stated. A sentence that can stand against all the challenges and storms in life, showcasing the sacrifices, strength, happiness and never ending love of a mother.

[abcdevvv]

Milk, Giggles, and Midnight Cuddles

At the beginning of the Christmas season, we had the chance to interview a mother of an infant about her experiences raising 5 children who are currently residing in Davao City.  For Marilou, this season is a time of happiness and gratitude as she looks back on the challenges and triumphs of raising her youngest child, who will turn nine months old this November 8, 2023.

Marilou’s youngest daughter faced a rocky start to life, spending her first month in the hospital due to a blood infection that led to Marilou stopping the baby's immunizations. "Ingon sa Doctor na apektuhan iyang ugat sa mata maong wala na gipadayon ang mga injection na para sa baby," Marilou shared. Despite this challenge, the baby is slowly adapting as days go by and healthy growing with lots of love from her parents. When asked about her child’s skills, Marilou explained that her daughter has started crawling and enjoys spinning around on her bed, this allows Marilou to manage household chores while keeping an eye on her. “Dili siya pala hilak ibutang ra nako na siya diha mag dula ra na ug iyaha,” Marilou said with a smile. “Dira na siya mo hilak ug gigutom ug kung gi samokan na sa iyang igsuon” she added.

The baby has already begun to hold objects within her reach and can say simple words like “mama” and “papa,” although, she seems to prefer calling her father. Marilou noted that her daughter is now being fed breast milk and occasionally Cerelac as an alternative.

In terms of cognitive development, Marilou has noticed her daughter’s growing curiosity about the world around her. “Sige siya ug kab ot sa mga butang sa iyang palibot, ug tawagon nimo iyang pangaln mo lingi na siya, samot na ug iyang papa ang manawag,” Marilou stated. The baby’s memory and recognition skills are also noticed as she responds to familiar faces, especially those of her siblings. As the baby’s attention span slowly increases, Marilou finds joy in watching her daughter focus on toys and simple activities. "Oh mao to mag sige ra na siyag tuyok ug mag kamang draa sa higdaanan, unya mag hilabot sa palibot bisan unsa ray gunitan taman sa iyang magunitan," she laughed. Marilou has observed strong attachment behaviors in her daughter, particularly towards her father, who she often seeks out for comfort. "Papa’s girl jud na siya," Marilou noted.

Despite the challenges of raising five children, when asked about her ability to manage their whims and needs. “Dili man ko mamunal, pero ginakasab-an nako sila pag sobraan na,” she explained. Marilou’s calm and patience have established a strong bond between her and her children making her household a place of love and laughter. Like many mothers, Marilou has faced her share of challenges. Balancing the demands of her children while taking care wiith other responsibilities can be too much to handle, especially when sleep deprivation kicks in. “Naay usahay na kapoyon kay daghag buhaton, pero makaya ra para sa ilaha,” Marilou shared.

"Naa pud usahay maglisod mi, tama ra ang 3k sa semana namo usahay makulang pa gani," she said. “Pero ug paiguon jud siya, kaya man” she added. Financial problems has also been a constant challenge, particularly when the family needed to purchase antibiotics for the baby’s recovery. However, Marilou is grateful for the support they received from Lingap, which helped cover their hospital bills. 

“Lalo na sa kay baby na sa karon sa iyaha ko ga focus kay syempre baby pa pero pantay-pantay silang lima sakoa” she said, as her eyes reach to her children. Despite these difficulties, the joy of watching her children grow, their laughter, and the quiet moments of midnight snuggles bring her satisfaction. As the baby approaches her 9-month birthday, Marilou looks forward to more milestones and memories. "Kada adlaw kay blessing para samoa na," she said, her voice filled with the quiet strength and love that only a mother can know.

[plungermusic]

We give you the very best… of the worst of 2023

Every mag and website on the planet exploits the year-end to have the carefully culled darlings of the big PR firms listed in their Top 10s (or Top Fives if the field is barrel-scrapingly narrow), or awarded various accolades of Best This That or The Other of the year just gone. Boring isn’t it?

So Plunger have instead collected some of the more memorably bad, ridiculous or eye-brow-poppingly unbelievable events of the year.

The ‘“Either you’re utterly clueless about your own scene or money’s changed hands here”’ prize:

The WhoAMAUK awards (for the nth year running).

Astonishing levels of one or the other on display here as the nominated four best acts include one who are (by their own admission) ‘alt-rock’ and another who is apparently also among the very best blues, classic rock, folk and prog acts this country has to offer.

Honourable mention: Classy Crock, and Henri Hoffbrauhaus: Despite being published in a whole magazine devoted almost entirely to rock music, the top spot in their supposedly specalist niche ‘Top 5 blues albums of the year’ went to an act who are basically a rock act not rocky enough to make it in the rock scene. Good effort, Henri.

The ‘“How can we put you off coming even more than you already were?”’ prize.

The organisers of Smegness Redux.

Stunning achievement in giving you the same experience you could have enjoyed had Maplins not decided that a blues festival was beneath even them, but in a wetter windier scuzzier location.

The ‘“We’re all one big happy family…” said Mr and Mrs Borden’ prize:

Steam Butlers v the rest of the blues scene.

A truly engrossing, where’s-the-popcorn, 10 round, knock-down-drag-out spat over who took some photos many years ago.

The ‘“Abroad is bloody”international incident of the year’ prize: 

European boules oignon. 

Breathtaking turn around from their usual stance of “Les rosbifs, zey always play ze rock not ze blurz, hur hur hur” when, faced with a UK act of unquestionable blues pedigree and talent, they picked basically a heavy rock act as winners instead this year.

Honourable mention: Cannelloni Cousins US tour. Flying the band over the pond at great expense (those artist visas alone would bankrupt a small country) to escape the ageing blues crowds here only to play to an enthusiastic crowd of… Florida Snowbirds (in what closely resembled a Tring drill hall, to boot). 

The ‘“I found it in a skip, but I saw you coming” Crowdfunder’ prize:

Shaved Bivalve.

Exciting new entrants, beating the perennial suspiciously-faster-than-a-speeding-bullet winners from previous years, with a truly fabulous list of ‘stretch gains’ beyond the usual ‘mix the album, press the album, distribute the album’ targets. Including individual Tahitian foot massages, chocolates from Prestat and a new yacht. As well as being suspiciously faster-than-a-speeding-bullet.

Honourable mention: Riff ‘Lucky’ Raff. After being stuck by lightning, attacked by a shark and hit by a speeding roadroller traction engine (on the same afternoon, mark you), the fresh-faced Wile E Coyote-alike snapper had a Crowdfunder arranged for him, ostensibly to raise the princely sum of the price of a Nikon lens hood (and definitely NOT to raise his name-recognition amongst lower-echelon budget-conscious tog-hunters on the scene… that’s just ‘lucky’ happenstance).

And remember, the year isn't actually finished yet so there's plenty of time for more 'lucky' winners!