#OH BUT WAIT IMAGINE WHAT HAPPENS IN THE END OF THE EPISODE

[rimatsu]

Ok convince me to reject caution and embrace delusion. Why are you so hopeful? 

the safe bet is definitely caution. but regardless of initial intentions, nothing is ever set in stone in the 911 writing room and that’s reason enough to remain hopeful. still, when people say the chances of a reconciliation are non-zero, i think that’s low-balling it. at the very least, we’re at 10% chance, 90% faith.

granted the interviews i (unwillingly) absorbed via osmosis don't exactly inspire confidence but again: 1) tim is fickle as the wind and writers can change their minds at the drop of a hat, 2) nothing that was directly stated by actors or showrunner contradicts the idea of a makeup arc, 3) if the breakup was intentionally designed as a temporary hurdle they’d imply otherwise anyway (oh god i sound like Them don't i.... this is a cry for help)

the reasons why 8x06 could qualify as a temporary split have been extensively discussed so i’ll try to be brief (spoiler: i failed) before tackling what i’d like to see in 8b. buckle up buttercup, i’m a yapper:

1) the breakup wasn’t written as definitive or unfixable. buck and tommy didn’t part because of irreconcilable differences or because passion/attraction fizzled out. if they wanted that door closed, tommy could’ve simply said he was uninterested in pursuing long term commitment with buck, that they’re not compatible in the long run — there: a clean, uncomplicated break. instead, we’re told that tommy desperately wants to be the person buck settles down with, but he’s convinced buck is propelled by the excitement of novelty, that he suspects buck is latching onto him for the wrong reasons, that he can’t allow himself to merge their home life together in fear he’ll never recover once buck wants out. the implications here being tommy is in love with buck already. for his part, buck came to the realization that he wants a future with tommy and immediately decided to pursue it because that's just the type of man he is: never one to do things by half-measures, seeing no value in waiting once his mind is made up. so there’s no conflicting desire there. they want the same thing: permanence with each other. the next two episodes also paint a strange picture if the goal is a definitive separation. buck bakes excessively in an attempt to cope when he never needed a coping mechanism following a breakup before, and we’re told several times that he wants to reach out — in fact buck was about to reach out until he was physically stopped. in total, 3 tommy mentions so far. usually we get the one and then buck moves on to greener pastures (abby notwithstanding, but she's an exception and not the rule, main character privilege and all). we were even deliberately shown that tommy considered contacting buck on his own. that's establishing regret and a desire for reconnection on both sides of the equation. again, that’s a never seen before: tommy is an outlier. completely unnecessary if the breakup is a done deal. whether they follow it through or not, the aftermath was written in such a way that there’s ground for a reconciliation if needs be

2) this is the first buck break up to happen during the first act of the season, something that’s normally reserved for the finale for maximum impact. why this distinction? strange placement for the end of a romantic storyline if you ask me.

3) they're never going to replicate a LI that checks out as many boxes as tommy does, or recapture the romcom magic that was 7x04-7x06. and it's fine if they don't, not all endgame romances need to be the most memorable of the bunch, but it'd be stupid to let the remaining potential go to waste. it's undeniable, the show is nearing its end, i don't imagine they get renewed past s10. if they go the natalia route again and introduce a LI at the last moment, it's going to pale in comparison to the other viable option, one that has pre-established history and connection to buck/the 118. inadvertently or not, they set up an epic love story of intertwined fate. tommy has literally haunted the narrative since the pilot: one of the very first thing abby reveals is that she’s not over tommy breaking off their (retconned) engagement. as such, tommy has played a pivotal role in shaping buck into the man he is today: if tommy hadn’t transferred out to harbor station, buck wouldn’t have found his family and his life purpose. if tommy hadn’t left abby, buck wouldn’t have realized that emotional intimacy and romantic connection is what he seeks. if tommy hadn’t kissed him, a huge part of buck’s identity would’ve remained buried and unexplored. how are they possibly going to top a red string theory dating back 8 seasons? they can’t. i’m sure they’re aware of that.

4) why bring our attention to tommy’s admiration and envy for a tight-knit unit like the 118, on three separate occasions, if the ultimate goal isn’t to reward him and integrate him into the makeshift family?

5) idk what it's worth, if it's worth anything at all, but there’s been a substantial amount of displeasure voiced over their breakup. tommy is buck’s most well-received LI to date. they took a risk with the Big Bisexual Reveal and it paid off with increased engagement and viewership. if they were still debating a reconciliation, surely they've heard that at least some people will eagerly welcome a makeup arc with open arms.

i'm a broken record so i'm probably repeating myself but here goes my ideal timeline for the rest of the season (not a speculation, not wishful thinking, but a secret third thing):

i'm gonna operate under the assumption that the breakup happened solely so buck could be at his lowest for the kidnapping plot line with a minimal/reduced support system (no boyfriend AND no best friend around when his pregnant sister is abducted). in other words, i don't think buck will be in a place to venture back into the dating world by 8x09-8x10 quite yet (i don’t actually buy the buck-dates-the-serial-killer theory). he's handled the breakup fairly well but now with the kidnapping & eddie gone/in the process of moving, i assume that's when he really starts to spiral.

(if we get a fourth tommy mention here, i'd say it's a promising sign. it’d be a purposeful way to keep him in viewers’ radar after the 4-month break)

i think getting maddie back after a few days of fear and uncertainty will be a breakthrough for buck and he’ll make a conscious decision to move on from his funk by the end of 8x10.

ideally “jumping back into the pond” would take place in 8x11 to 8x13, starting with a comedic montage of buck in a string of various failed dates. this is the part of the season where i expect him to utter the word bisexual, probably when the topic of exes comes into play. every other queer identity in the show gets labeled and stated in no uncertain terms, but bisexuality is ever only vaguely implied (nancy in ls) or shown but not explicitly spoken (buck and eva). it’s frustrating. personally i choose to believe buck’s lackluster reaction to maddie’s questionable “how many men did she turn gay?” joke was intentional on the writers’ part. it was the perfect opportunity to reaffirm his sexuality but buck didn’t bc he's not fully in tune with his queerness yet. yeah he speedran through his coming out but recalibrating your entire identity after 3 decades of presumed heterosexuality is a complex process rifled with ups and downs. i hope it gets explored with more care and depth in future episodes.

supposedly we know two things: the fling is another form of coping mechanism, and it's short-lived. chances are it's going to be a woman, and i'd love for it to be a bi girl bc 1) yay bi4bi m/f representation, 2) he's dating someone who can intimately relate to his experience and can maybe offer some additional clarity where clarity is still needed.

my other preferred scenario is that he meets a guy who immediately clocks that buck is still hung up on his ex and not emotionally available for anything more than casual fun. basically give buck a sex friend who can expose him to the LA gay scene. if my memory serves me right, OS said he'd like to see buck in queer spaces. i would like to see it too (we could’ve had that exploration with tommy but i digress….)

long story short, he eventually meets someone he has chemistry with, but it's still not as easy or companionable or butterfly-inducing as it was with tommy. buck gets back home from the seemingly successful date and he just... starts baking — wordlessly communicating to the audience that he’s still plagued by Tommy Thoughts.

now if i put on my clown shoes, i’d say the bts pictures of the 217 engines suggest an upcoming bucktommy reunion on a call (surely they were made for a reason. right. RIGHT????), ideally in 8x14. i’ve babbled about it here, but the sparknotes version is:

- there's a 5 alarm high-rise fire requiring ground and aerial ops. tommy is tasked with delivering firefighters to the roof, including the 118. the chopper ride to destination is understandably awkward but professional enough

- tommy joins ground ops once he’s completed his maximum hours of flight. he ends up trapped in a pocket of rubbles with buck after a partial structural collapse. that’s when they hash it out. it’s not pretty: they’re on edge and exhausted and full of adrenaline and words aren’t sugarcoated or minced. but they’re honest, and afterward they understand each other’s perspective.

it has been said before, but i don't think buck registered the underlying message of the breakup. we know he doesn't handle rejection well, and it's likely he was so hyperfocused on being told no that he didn’t compute the “no matter how much i want to be (your last)” part. that’d explain the 118’s strange response to the split. if i was told “my boyfriend broke up with me because he thinks i'll eventually break his heart once i figure out he's not who i truly want” i’d strongly advise communication before calling it quit prematurely. but if my friend told me “my boyfriend broke up with me when i asked him to move in bc he doesn't think we'll last bc i don’t know what i want” i would trust that they relayed the correct story and i too would discourage contact.

anyway buck has stated that he doesn’t want to chase after someone who doesn’t want him before, but now he knows that wanting was never the issue with tommy, that the breakup was fueled by insecurities and fears and trauma rather than disinterest. at first, it’s presented as reaching a necessary closure: once the fire is contained, buck and tommy part way with another “see you around, buck. i truly hope you find what you’re looking for” and a bittersweet smile. except now buck has had another breakthrough, he’s full of renewed resolved and clarity, and he’s ready to fight for this relationship, so he shows up at tommy’s doorstep the next night and pleads his case.

in 8x15-8x16, we see them readjust to being a couple except this time, it's with the knowledge that they both want serious in the long run. maybe they discover facets of each other previously kept under wraps for the sake of 'keeping it light and breezy'. also they fuck/fade to black on screen (this is imperative)

the last two episodes are focused on the closing disaster, whatever that might be. in this hypothetical timeline, we get a few more glimpses of domesticity. maybe even establish the setup for a move-in next season when bucktommy discuss buck’s lease.

you can have the helicopter crash as a treat for s9. once they're truly settled with each other and it's bound to be more devastating.

voilà <3 apologies and congratulations for your perseverance if you made it this far. the answer was never supposed to be this lengthy or tangencial oops can you tell i’m obsessed. terminally ill even

[vestaclinicpod]

Audio Drama Sunday - 26th January ✨

I feel like I’ve listened to SO much good audio drama this week, it’s been so good! 💙

🔎 @224bbaker (16) I don’t even know where to begin here. This episode was so good I HAD to listen twice. A huuuuuge piece of the story came together and it was SO good. I don’t want to give too much away in case there are people who haven’t yet listened but, my god, even minutes in I was like: ‘oh my god, they’re so married.’ The chemistry between the actors is so natural and frankly outrageous. It’s been a while since I’ve had the feeling of my heart breaking for someone while simultaneously laughing but the ‘Fuck you, Dennis’ really got me. Tom Crowley might be my fave Watson ever and I’m not afraid to call it early. 

AND GOD, can we talk about Hampton’s immediate dislike of Fitzy? Can we talk about how Fitzy and Madge got on like a house on fire? Can we talk about how he was caught checking James out? AND CAN WE TALK ABOUT - Can we talk about how he said his name was ‘John’ can we - please can we talk about - *throat closes up* 

🦋 @remnantspod (24+25) I was so glad that I went back and listened to most of ep 24, the circumstances around that initially heartbreaking marriage were so different from this perspective. Though, it did hurt my heart just the same to know that Simeon also loved and thought of Gerald right up to the end. I wasn’t sure quite what to make of wildflowers remnant. Flora seemed to be swept along by life without doing too much obvious steering. It was very interesting to get a perspective on Martine. I do wonder if something happened to precipitate her change in mental health . . . I’m sure we’ll find out! And, god, Sir really is panicked about keeping his Apprentice . . . I can’t wait to finally work out why. 

🧋 @hinaypod (31-32) Oh, man!!! That J & Dooley special. Please. My heart can only take so much ❤️‍🩹 I really hope that they get reunited somehow, some way! And that it isn’t some horrible trick!! Honestly, the only elders I care about are gay elders so, please, let them be happy!! I feel like I want to listen to 32 again to tease out all the information I can about our fave main characters . . .  

🍾 @ameliapodcast (42) The gang are (mostly) back together!! Alvina hating the ballet is very funny to me. She and Amelia have such an easy friendship, I adore them! So excited for the fun and games of this season! 

🌨️ @thewhitevault (16) You know there’s a generally understood rule in horror that the audience will create an even more horrific scene in their head that what one could describe/show? I feel like this is definitely what’s happening a the hotel! I don’t know what you imagined, but it was horrendous in my head! I’m so scared for Dís! The whole reason they’re there is because it’s not possible for family to get hurt!! (also I’m sure no-one who is reading this will be involved by my GOD, can people stop leaving shitty comments on Spotify for this show??? I’ve never seen anything like it for anyone else’s stuff!) 

🌵 @desertskiespodcast (9-11) I feel like these episodes brought some huuuge changes to how I see the characters. Tendy was so adamant that he needed to go back, clearly he has left someone important behind! I don’t know how to feel about the fact that they’ve been tricked into staying 😣 First, though, time to save the astral plane!!!! 

💍 @forgedbondspod (6) oh, gods, Hermes is down BAD. All Hephaestus never stood a chance against someone who wants to watch her make swords, let’s be real. 

January is nearly over!!! Hope everyone has a good week! 💙

[1nt3rnalpu7ref4ct10n]

s4e6

[finalgirlmoment]

Noteworthy details about the first two PJOTV episodes (spoilers)

First of all, every single of them ATE DOWN. just wanted to throw that out there, i'm so so impressed with the cast, everyone was perfect and gorgeous and i'm completely sat for any and all future installments. A fine piece of media. Let's begin.

Percy's confusion and bewilderment finding out that he's a demigod. "You fell in love with God.... like, Jesus????" LMFAO but seriously his frustration in this moment, thinking there's something actually wrong with his brain, feeling lost and confused and hurt and BROKEN. the struggle in that moment is so relatable to people discovering they have some sort of mental illness or neurodivergence, especially when they weren't believed/listened to etc and i think walker played this part beautifully

GROVER AND PERCY PLAYING MYTHOMAGIC TOGETHER. GROVER AND PERCY PLAYING MYTHOMAGIC TO TRAIN PERCY. I AM LITERALLY SCREAMING OFF ROOFTOPS THE IMPLICATIONS THAT THIS HAS???? ARE YOU ACTUALLY JOKING??????? IMAGINE SEASON 3 PERCY FINDS NICO AND THEY HAVE THIS IN COMMON???????????!?!?!?!?!? FEELING SEVERELY FRANTIC AND MASSIVELY UNWELL ABOUT THIS

luke's empathy towards Percy throughout-- his apologies for what happened to his mother at the bottom of Half Blood Hill, him telling P that he relates to the nightmares, the restlessness, the ADHD..... so fucking sick and fucking twisted, I will be sobbing at the ending, gorgeous job on both ends on making this relationship feel very warm and authentic and the trust starting to build. this will H U R T.

CLARISSE. she's so gorgeous and vindictive. Her beauty took me off guard initially, but she's such a spiteful little badass that I completely fell in love with her. I CANNOT WAIT to see more of her characterization, especially into season two. perfection.

Percy burning the blue jelly beans- the thing he'd miss most- out in the middle of the woods at night in a damn can, just to pray to his MOTHER. *sobbing intensifies* i couldn't ask for a more sweet, heartfelt, honest moment. the perfect addition. 10s across the board

Percy's ANGER. OH BOY this was one of my most favorite parts. I feel like we see Percy as a very happy-go-lucky kid altogether but I loved, LOVED to see his frustration and agitation from the very beginning. Everything is so confusing and foreign and all he knows is that 1. he's been betrayed or left behind by everyone he knows and 2. he's been ignored his whole life by his godly parent. His mission is to MAKE HIS DAD SEE PERCY, at ANY COST. Before he even knows who his dad is. He is entitled to feel ALL of this anger and hurt and resentment!!!!!!!

Annabeth calling Percy "sunshine". TOTAL CULTURAL RESET. I gasped. The dawn of a new age of Percabeth. I will be screaming into my pillow about this for the foreseeable future.

The entire characterization of Percy throughout the capture the flag scene. His contrast of being just a kid- flossing (lol), peeing the woods, petting a gecko, just vibing and hanging out VS. being thrown suddenly into attack from his peers that don't care about the rules, surprising himself and everyone around him with his finesse in battle, quick instincts, swordsmanship..... i'm weak fr. I can't wait to see him grow, train, become stronger and more confident.

Overall, I'm entirely floored and beyond happy. I can't wait to see more. 10/10

[capquinn]

Do you have any of your own dad!quinn daydreams with him and Bug in the Amazon episode? Is he the type of parent to completely avoid her being posted or he’s okay with a small amount like pictures and candid moments

oh i've been waiting for this one!!!!!

Quinn’s online presence has basically become non-existent since he became captain, which makes total sense. When he does post or share something, it’s almost entirely about his career — the odd Insta story repost from the Canucks, like charity work or celebrating a teammate's milestone, or occasionally something promotional for the Canucks or NHL posted to his feed. I mean, we didn’t even get a summer dump this year, so it’s clear he’s become much more private. The idea of him posting something personal would feel so out of character now, you know? Honestly, I’d have to wonder if he was being held at gunpoint if it happened lol

With that in mind, I feel like dad!quinn would take that privacy even further when it comes to Bug. He wouldn’t post her on social media at all — there’s no way he’d want her out there for public consumption. Maybe he’d share the occasional snippet on a private or close friends Instagram story, but even then, he’d be incredibly careful about what he shows. Think faceless photos — like a shot of her little sunhat shielding her face as she sits on the dock at the lake house in the summer, or a picture she drew of him, proudly displayed on the fridge with a caption like, “she’s pretty critical of my stick handling.” Those little moments that mean everything to him, but he’d keep them just for the people closest to him.

With the Face Off stuff, He’d want to keep her out of it entirely, likely requesting that they not film her or include anything too personal, doing his best to protect that part of his life. Instead, there’d just be traces of his family in the background — things that suggest without showing. A toy box tucked into the corner of the living room, a teddy bear left on the sofa, a colouring book and crayons on the dining table, family photos on the mantle but filmed at a distance so nothing is truly decipherable.

At most, maybe there’d be one sweet, subtle moment near the end. Like a clip of him on the boat with Jack, wakeboarding, and you hear Bug’s tiny voice calling, “daddy!” from the dock. The camera wouldn’t even show her — just her voice floating across the water while the shot stays focused on Quinn. His reaction would say everything, though: his big, unrestrained smile, the way his eyes would light up as he waves back toward her standing beside you on the shore. It’d be the perfect glimpse into his life as a dad without crossing the line into showing too much.

They might ask him during the interview part of filming what it’s been like balancing being a captain and a first-time dad, and his lips would twitch into that soft, shy smile, his gaze dropping for a moment like he’s carefully choosing what not to say. His answer would be thoughtful yet still so reserved. Something like, “it’s been amazing. It’s definitely a balance — wanting to give everything I can to both — but being her dad is the best thing I’ve ever done. She's pretty great.” And I can just imagine his smile growing as he talks about it, like he’s holding back from saying more because he wants to protect that part of his life so fiercely. The cameras might linger on him for a moment after his answer, his expression so sweet and so vulnerable, almost distant, like he’s thinking about Bug back home, probably drawing another masterpiece for the fridge.

It feels like exactly the kind of balance Quinn would strive for — protecting his family’s privacy while still giving the smallest, most heartfelt window into the joy of what being a dad brings him.

[the-voldsoy]

Alrighty it is almost the end of the year so, in no particular order, here are podcasts I recommend of the ones I've listened to this year! (let me tell you picking favourites for this was So hard) (Unfortunately I can't just do all of them because there are almost 50)

Hello From The Hallowoods: The world ended, but we're still here, and shit's weird. (Has made me cry; even the trees are queer; my comfort show<3)

Camp Here And There: Good morning campers! The time is 7:63AM and Cabin Magpie Moth has spontaneously combusted! Whichever one of you little woodworms can put it out first can come get a puffy sticker from me in the Nurses Cabin! (Is it a horror? Is it a comedy? I don't know, you'd have to check to be sure)

Wooden Overcoats: Funn Funerals used to be the only funeral parlor on the island. It isn't anymore. (Sitcom, the main characters are the most miserable wet cats you ever did see)

Re: Dracula: Maybe this year, they'll be okay. Maybe this year they'll all live. Maybe this year he won't go, and she'll be alright.

Magnus Protocol: TMA's louder, bolder, less serious younger sibling.

The Silt Verses: Oh boy. Let me tell you, you will look at crabs differently after this. (WET horror, genuinely the best pod I've ever heard)

Archive 81: Dan, a newly hired archivist, has to listen to and catalogue a set of old audio tapes. The tapes contain interviews conducted by someone Dan has never heard of. Dan is in an isolated bunker in the middle of the woods. Surely nothing will happen to our dear friend Dan. (What is it with archivists and getting snatched by The Horrors? Ignore the tv show it doesn't exist)

Red Valley: Just a couple of guys with an interest in research station Red Valley, whose focus was cryonics. It's completely defunct now. I wonder what happened. (Ethics? What's that?)

Woe.Begone: Some say it's about time-travel, some say it's about keeping yourself and those close to you alive, some say it's about online safety. All can agree on one point: What the fuck why are there cowboys now

Midnight Burger: Midnight Burger is a time-travelling, dimension-spanning diner. Dunno how it works or where it's going next. We open at six! (The episodes are an hour long minimum but it's worth it. Comedy sci-fi, lighthearted fun :)

Old Gods of Appalachia: The Appalachians are spooky y'all. (The narrator's voice is so comforting in this, it feels like campfire stories)

Dreamboy: Went into this pod being told it was made by the people who made WTNV and absolutely no other information. Let me tell you I did not expect the main character to tell us that he got a hard-on in the first episode. (The most sexually explicit pod I've listened to)

The White Vault: Nice little trip to Svalbard to check on the remote research station, surely nothing will go wrong :) (Holy Fucking Shit What Is That) (Recommend 1st season especially to The Thing (1982) enjoyers)

Camlann: Ever wished that you were apart of Welsh folklore or Arthurian legends? Or perhaps some of the last people left on Earth? No? Ah well, you'll pick it up soon enough. (Three idiots and a dog in Wales, fighting for their lives)

Breaker Whiskey: Imagine. Being the only person on earth. Just you. Just you, and someone on the radio. Just you, the radio, and a woman you absolutely do NOT have sexual tension with. (This one looks really long because it has 260+ episodes, but they're like 4 minutes long each so it's not really)

Ethics Town: Don't worry about it. (Cannot recommend enough, it is a mindfuck)

Tell No Tales: What if ghosts were a thing that could infest a place, like rats or roaches or mold? What if it was your job to exterminate them? And the million-pound question, do ghosts deserve rights? (I am waiting so so patiently for the rest of s2)

Remnants: You wake up in a place you recognise. You have always been there. You have no idea where you are. You see a stranger's life. You recognise them. You knew them once, you think. Discard or reshelve? You don't know what that means. It does not matter. Discard or reshelve, that is the question. (I am going insane over this pod)

Not Quite Dead: Vampires! Alfie is an overworked A&E nurse who does not have time for this shit. Unfortunately, he does not have a choice in this matter. (A really interesting take on vampirism, going into the biology. It is fascinating, and an exciting story)

Travelling Light: Space Quaker! Listen to the Traveller tell you about every new planet and civilisation they visit. Whattttt noooo they don't have a crush on one of their crew members what are you taaaalking abouttttt (Very comforting pod, beauty in the mundane in a way? But not mundane because yk. Aliens)

Someone Just Like You: Brilliant horror, just really well written. I don't even have words for it. So far there are only 6 episodes and the concepts/plots of each seem cheesy, but my GOD the execution.

The Bright Sessions: People with powers get therapy! Thank God, they need it so bad. (I love one particular antagonist so much, I need to put him in a microwave)

Poe: Evermore: It wasn't until I started this that I realised that Edgar Allen Poe would have had a Boston-ish accent. Reallyyy interesting story of his life, and I keep getting jumpscared by VAs I recognise. Faulkner Silt Verses what are you doing here.

Witherburn After School News: Your school radio host getting WAY more involved in the news than they should. Really hope they're still breathing. Love the folklore section though!

Before The Tone: Voicemails from someone who just got a job they probably shouldn't have. (Brilliant idea for the format, and great execution)

I Am In Eskew: What if you were trapped? What if you had a home, a wife and a child? What if they aren't real? Are you sure? Go and check. What if your city tried to kill you? What if it loved you very much, more than anyone else? (Horror but the narrator is the saddest wettest man you've ever heard)

Sherlock & Co: Modern day Sherlock Holmes, and John Watson is a true crime podcaster. Dear God I did not think it would be as compelling as it is.

[totheidiot]

i feel like this is such a low hanging concept that i am certain that this has been done before but... lawlight time loop but with a tiny spin. the particular day that is being time looped is, of course, november 5. the original day starts of as normal, light (it's light's pov) wakes up the happiest man alive because he knows that today, he will kill L. without a doubt, he'll die. L goes to visit watari, rain scene, feet scene, the stuff that happened in the episode happens. L dies in light's arms and light couldn't be any happier. he takes rem's death note and makes a good show of his grief, once the day is done, he goes to his bedroom to sleep.

except. when he reaches his bedroom, he finds L there. L is on his bed, typing away in his laptop. light is most obviously confused and kind of frightened, because he just killed the guy today. but when light closes his eyes and opens them again, L is not there anymore. it was like he was never there at all. now, light doesn't understand this at all. maybe it's just a hallucination. whatever. he is tired, it's been a long day. he goes to bed and has a good night's sleep.

the first time loop day starts of as normal, light (it's light's pov) wakes up the happiest man alive because he knows that today, he will kill L. without a doubt, he'll die. L goes — wait. L is already dead, isn't he? why is he thinking about killing L? oh and, why is this day so familiar? light is sure he's lived this day already... whatever. L goes to visit watari, rain scene, feet scene, the stuff that happened in the episode happens. L dies in light's arms and light couldn't be any happier. he takes rem's death note and makes a good show of his – yeah. light has most definitely lived this day before.

and then the spin comes in, even though the entire day had been the exact same as the previous one, no change at all, there is actually one subtle change that light noticed has changed: when light hallucinates L in his bed in the day he died, the scene is always different. in the original day, he watched L type away in his laptop, the 1st time loop night he watches L on his bed eating sweets. each night, despite the fact that he is relieving the same day all of the time, what the hallucination of L is always always changes.

so time loop continues. light wakes up on november 5 everyday, feeling like the happiest man alive. it goes on.

now, i have half an idea of how the time loop ends and light has to do one thing: during the rain scene, he needs to tell the truth. that is all that he needs to do, he needs to tell the truth. it's not even that he needs to not kill L, because L is allowed to die, that wouldn't matter. tell the truth, that's it. and light kind of knows that that is how he can stop the time loop and move on. but the thing is. he can't. during the rain scene, no matter how many of the same days he has spent, he can't let himself be honest. just as it is inevitable that he wakes up in november 5 as the happiest man alive, just as it is inevitable that L will die, it is inevitable that he does not tell the truth. whatever the truth is.

and i would imagine that the fic would end in a very ambiguous sort of way where we don't really know if light ever decides to be honest. for all we know, he could still not be able to do it, he could be stuck in the same day of november 5, seeing L die the same way forever and ever, seeing a different hallucination of L each day. just because he can't tell the truth.

[nalyra-dreaming]

I've seen the episode!!!

(Some comments and) SPOILERS!!!!

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Louis saying it was a betrayal and that he wants to be punished for it just when he finds happiness again via a hallucination of Lestat is so... ugh. Louis, honey, god. Also him imagining Lestat biting him - as a punishment, but he also wants it so badly, baring his neck, not trying to fight it, offering himself up there, he just wants the connection so badly. 😭 And god, Louis having Lestat call him out on his own denial. Damn. And Louis knowing he invited this Lestat as a distraction.

Also... that was definitely foreshadowing to how Louis will think the trial went.

And of course it would be a bat. Of course.™

Claudia driving them onwards, not giving one shit is just... incredible. Delainey is Claudia.

I was also right that she honed her senses and available gifts, more than Louis has his (which fits)

Daniel calling their plight the hunt for Moby Dick

Claudia is also... beautifully hopeful, and thereby almost desperately (intentionally) naive. She just wants to connect, so badly. To find more of their kind. And closes her eyes to what she sees. *deep sigh*

That "Adam and Even and God" comment was hilarious. Oh man, I cannot wait to see what the show will make of / with QotD and Memnoch etc.

Not only is Louis aware of forgotten memories now, he actively pursues them, and he has apparently read the missing pages before. And knows he has forgotten.

Claudia's diaries are unreliable, too (as predicted). Also, Louis correcting his own tale there, lol. Also: Armand‘s look and suggestion there.

Daniel and his little speech as to how he works… you go Daniel. “Here’s almost all the story“ lol

“Human affairs“

The revenants.... "the blood is bad here" *shivers* - I BET that's already setting up the "turning fails" arc with Amel, right there

God that old vampire connecting with Claudia, and then throwing herself into the fire in despair. God.

Morgan's arc was nicely condensed, the scene fittingly horrific

I live for Claudia speaking all the languages, but I noticed some of the subtitles were wrong

Whoever doubted DM happening... well. Sorry, but I AM seeing it. The looks, the smirks, the bitching.

Also "real Rashid" (lmao) - who, btw, does not wear a mask! What if the encounter with Eudoxia Marius had went differently and this is Rashid?

... someone wanting to buy a tryptich they haven't even put up for sale... *coughs* Marius? *coughs* (I mean, who else would know they have it? Or the Talamasca, maybe)

God that Dubai bedroom screams cage. And Armand controlling even the lights with his little iPad. Someone edit a blender into a screenshot of that scene.

The look Lestat gives Claudia at that last part of Louis' little speech. Devastating.

Also: the "I do I do I do I do I do"... Louis. Sweetie. I mean, I get it, but still.

Armand's comment that the boy from San Francisco is still in Daniel. Now if that is not foreshadowing.

A propos foreshadowing: Louis saying he will not choose the fire while Claudia walks the earth. *help*

"We cannot be the only good ones". Yeah... about that. -.-

Louis being so relieved that what Claudia wrote was not the truth

The. Score.

Louis pacifying Armand there with the little touches at the end. LOL (the whole setup makes me wonder if ARMAND has also forgotten some things btw). Also that little thank you kiss

The Groan. Once more seemingly when Armand is displeased, so it could be a metaphysical manifestation after all, especially since Louis seems to comment on it. (It could also be a red herring, we'll see.)

Daniel‘s “we‘ll get to you“ to Armand (lol)

Louis‘ guilty look to Lestat when he tries to pep talk Claudia 😭

EDIT: there were two very short flahback scenes with a comment to memory, which is setting up the big one later, no doubt about it, ugh

I legit teared up so often.

I have missed them all so much.

It's all I wanted, and more. Cannot wait to scream about it with everyone.

Also, last but not least: can I just say how glad I am our writers are playwrights.

[cybertron-after-dark]

I can't stop thinking about Prime and Rescue Bots sharing a universe. Like what all did the Rescue Bots know about during the war. Do they know about Unicron, Team Prime's base getting destroyed, do they even know Smokescreen exists? Same goes for Team Prime. When did each member find out about the Rescue Bots (if they found out), how often did Optimus think about just letting his Dino-bot side out during a battle, did they worry about M.E.C.H. finding out about them? This universe makes me absolutely feral with things like this and I love it.

Honestly I'm pretty sure they didn't even register Unicron happening because disasters are just the natural state of griffin rock. "Oh another earthquake? Yeah okay, let's go fellas, we got work."

They likely didnt know about the base being destroyed until after they relocated just with how often the bots try to get a hold of team prime and reach nobody until whichever fiasco is happening is over.

They definitely know about most of team prime just with how much they knew about Bumblebee alone, but they likely only learned about Smokescreen if Blades and Bumblebee talk outside of necessary-for-work comms.

Honestly I'm pretty sure all of team prime knows about griffin rock even if they don't get an episode there. If it's restricted information to, say, Arcee and Bulkhead, then its a bit confusing that Optimus would freely reveal it to Bumblebee when he ranks lower. And we know Ratchet is aware of them since he had to help find a cure for the paralytic virus in the first bumblebee episode. I'd guess he debriefed the others on the new bots and the griffin rock project right after they touched down to earth for the first time.

I truly, genuinely, honestly believe Optimus should've gone dinobot mode at some point during prime but either that episode came out after the show already ended or they just did not have the budget to model a full t rex mode. But in the timeline where things lined up just the right way to allow it to happen, please imagine with me: dinobot Optimus vs predaking. T rex vs a dragon. Somewhere in the multiverse, beast wars Megatron is weeping.

As for MECH's involvement, I think it's actually implied Morocco has been selling them tech. There's a nonzero chance Nemesis Prime used a Morbot as a base and they modified it from there after they learned enough about cybertronian anatomy to make a copy of prime.

All in all the Ramifications of these shows being so deeply intertwined has me FUCKED UP and I want to see the two teams hanging out so so so badly. Boulder, Graham and Bulkhead all getting to talking and finding out about Bulkhead's construction experience and being like legitimately hyped that they have that in common, and then Bulkhead having a full on out of body experience because hey wait why are the smart guys treating him like he's One of Them and not calling him dumb? Arcee and Heatwave shooting the shit about how frustrating the people they live with can be, but they still love their teams to death. Both of them snarking at Kade. Blades and Bumblebee being Gay on Main alnd Jack, Raf and Miko clamoring for DETAILS while Dani cheers them on. Ratchet being miserable because by Primus why are there so many humans, three of them is already exhausting, until Cody starts talking to him and he conveniently forgets his plan to go hide out in his room. Chase being out of his depth around Miko, aka Chaos Personified. Optimus, June, Fowler and Charlie just slowwwly forming a Tired Parents Club in the corner.

In conclusion your honor I liek when the funni robot shows crossover :]

[llamaisllama777]

TSAMS THEORY: THEY'RE ALL THE SAME//TIMELOOP THEORY!

Okay, you read the title. This is probably the CRAZIEST theory I've come up with up, but please let me explain.

Okay, so in this episode of The Sun and Moon show

Dark Sun visits Foxy and is trying to help him solve his F.c. problem. This was when F.C. got that red box in his chest that absorbs negative star power, and Foxy had no idea what to do, and "Sun" shows up to offer him some support and help... ya, that's not Sun, as you can probably imagine it's Dark Sun. Dark Sun, if I remember correctly, is basically telling Foxy to get rid of the kid cause he's too dangerous, and off course, Foxy tells him no. Dark Sun make some interesting comments that got me thinking. Dark Sun kept asking hypothetical questions like: If you could go back in time and redo everything the exact same way... would you?

Kept asking time related hypotheticals, and even after 7 months, my mind does wander back to this episode and what Dark Sun said.

Someone in the comments of this video asked "Wait is Dark Sun implying they're all stuck in a timeloop and only he knows?" And that BLEW MY MIND!

It does explain a lot of things about Dark Sun

How he seems to know how everything is gonna play out

How confident he is

How smart he is

It's cause he's been through ALL this before.

He's seen it all before

He's experienced it all before

And he's learned from it all.

There is a VERY popular fan theory that Dark Sun is actually OUR Sun just from the future!

I do think that theory is true... but allow me to add to it.

DARK SUN IS SUN FROM A PREVIOUS TIMELINE

The theory is that every time THIS world ends, it gets reset (Kinda like Undertale), and everything happens all over again, maybe with one or two small differences, so it's not an exact copy but a close enough one. Dark Sun was a Sun who we know snapped and fought back against his Moon, killed him, and stole his intelligence... is what I would say if that was true. It was later revealed that Dark Sun lied about killing his Moon. We see his Moon barely alive in a cell where Ruin then puts him out of his misery. Ruin calls Dark Sun out on his lies, and Dark Sun just kinda brushes it off. He lied! He lied about killing his Moon! So, if he didn't get his intelligence, then where'd he get it? Dark Sun didn't steal it he gained it through experience. Dark Sun somehow found out he and his WHOLE WORLD IS TRAPPED IN A TIMELOOP! He probably freaked out about that for a while till he began to wonder if he could change the future, change his fate. So, he does. He becomes Dark Sun after many attempts and many timeloops and finally breaks free from the loop, but he realizes he's free, but the loop isn't over. It's still going. Just now, he's a watcher. He's on the outside looking in. He watches the loops play out over and over and over again, and it just keeps getting WORSE! Moon is still being an abusive butt to Sun, Sun still barely has anyone to support him, and they are still constantly messed with by people like Eclipse, BloodMoon, The Creator, The Astrals. It NEVER ends! Oh, sure, sometimes the loop is merciful. Maybe it gives Sun a new sibling to care for him or a new friend or heck, maybe even a kid... but it's still the same shtick! Sun even dies in some terrible ways in some of these loops! Or the siblings turn rouge and become evil. Dark Sun decided enough was enough and decided to try and break the loop once and for all, but in order to do so, he needs to intervene. He needs to start making things go his way. Pushing Nexus further to the dark side, putting things into place so Sun will lose his support system, and make it so the next few loops will have the Suns coming up on top. Basically, altering the timeloops so Sun doesn't die in 95% percent of them and instead Moon dies. (What's been happening in the show currently) Dark Sun is trying to make our Sun like him cause he believes he can't break the loop, so if you can't break it... change it. He's trying to turn Sun into another him because Dark Sun thinks becoming like him is the only way to break the loop. He's trying to make all Suns like him cause he believes he can help them.

So, that's Dark Sun's part of this.... how does Emperor Lunar and President Earth come into play?

Well, if the timeloop theory is correct, then you see what I'm saying, right? President Earth and Emperor Lunar ARE our Lunar and Earth! Just from different timelines. They're like Dark Sun sort of. They know about the loops but aren't really doing anything to intervene. Maybe they are, and we just aren't seeing it? Who knows?

Now, you might be saying Llama, Emperor Lunar, President Earth, and Dark Sun are from another dimension... not timeline... well... do we know that for sure? I mean, they say it's other universes.... but... dimensional travel is a tricky thing. Who's to say Moon when he built the portal didn't accidentally poke a hole through? Plus, other dimensions and alternate timelines are a term that's pretty interchangeable. So, what we think is an alternate dimension is actually a alternate timeline, part of a the loop.

Basically, what I'm saying is that Moon's portal is actually going in a giant circle poking through the past timelines and wrapping back around to ours and poking through ours to future ones.

Tl;DR The whole show is stuck in a timeloop, and Dark Sun, Evil Earth, and Evil Lunar are OUR Sun, Lunar, and Earth just from a previous loop and Dark Sun is trying to save all other Suns by messing with the timelines so they'll become like him and break free from the loop.

Does this theory have a lot of holes... yes. But gosh dang! Wouldn't that be something! Plus, I can see something like this happening in the show.

But hey that's just a theory...

A TSAMS THEORY!

Thanks for reading!

[rc-writes]

𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝

𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙨 | 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙢  

pairings: benny weir x reader

warnings: one curse word i believe, i say y’all one too many times lol

a/n: this was requested by the same irl friend as my other benny hcs! this blog is going to turn into just a benny fan club soon enough lol. but anyways, i would like to say that in the middle of typing this a roach decided to appear out of nowhere in my room 🙃 that was interesting. also not me writing yet more benny headcanons at 1am. like dude it's bad enough you started appearing in random dreams of mine for a few months (like he’d show up for like to seconds and then dip, or he’d just be in the background and not even say a word) but now you won’t even let me sleep?? 

you and benny had been friends since middle school

which means you guys have been friends forever in your minds

this also means that the idea of benny liking you or you liking him in more than a friend way, and vice versa, was never a thought that crossed either of y’alls minds

for a while at least

since you were friends with benny that also means by default you’re also friends with ethan

and you three, with the occasional rory appearance, most likely spend an insane amount of time together

i’m talking spending full days playing video games or watching movies, grandma weir loving you, having a love-hate relationship with jane, etc.

this leads me to say that there has to been at least one instance where someone though you were dating one of them

or both

which can go one of two ways

either you’re all stuttering, awkwardly trying to explain you’re just friends

or you all laugh it off because that would be ridiculous right?

right?

i feel like if someone was thought you and benny were together he’d be the type to laugh it off

which would lead to you laughing it off as well because once again that scenario never even crossed either of y’alls minds

benny normally flirts with everyone one he sees, especially if they’re the nerd type

it’s like a second nature at this point

so obviously if he never even attempted to flirt with you that means you two are in fact friends, best friends, bros even, and whatever other words that mean friends

until one day benny’s whole universe flips upside down

the gang was fighting yet another monster of the week as per usual

except this entity was particularly nasty and you ended up getting hurt

like i’m talking needing a quick trip to the er kinda hurt

i can imagine trying to explain what had happened was interesting

turns out you sprained your wrist and had a mild concussion

you were going to be fine but the doctors wanted you to stay over night just incase

but no matter how many times you or anyone else said it benny was not listening

you were literally in the hospital, why was no one else panicking??

you are sitting in a hospital bed!!! with a sprained wrist!! and a concussion!!!!

you’d swear you were dying by his shear panic

he’d feel like shit for not being able to protect you

he literally had magic powers so why was this even happening??

you’ve lost count how many times you had reassured him that it's okay, you can take after yourself

i can see him being like stiles in that one episode of teen wolf where stiles fell asleep in the waiting room for lydia until they kicked him out

grandma weir would have to come pick him up and the entire way home she’s all like 👀 because like yes a best friend will get worried about their friend but this seemed like it could be something more

but knowing grandma i think she’d keep her mouth shut and let him figure it out

it’d be funnier that way

and sure enough in the middle of the night benny wakes up in a cold sweat and is like

oh

oh

????

benny short circuits

he decides to ignore that for the time being

but the next day when you’re released from the hospital ethan suggests that they go see you and benny says no

and ethan’s like?? what happened to him thinking you were dying??

eventually benny confesses to which ethan is now even more ????

after some convincing ethan gets benny to go see you

“dude you guys have been friends forever, nothing’s changed”

“‘nothing’s changed’!?!? what do you mean ‘nothing’s changed’?? everything has changed!!”

cue benny being acting so odd once he gets to your place

which confuses and concerns you since less than 24hrs ago he was acting like you were dying

you questioned ethan about it but he quickly and awkwardly said he had no idea

but the fact that he said it in a higher pitch, stuttering, and way over the top about it, made it clear that he did know something

but you dropped because you knew ethan wasn’t going to snitch on his friend

yet, you thought

new mission unlocked for you: figure out what the hell happened to your best friend over night

benny’s new mission was to make sure by all means that you did not find the answer to that

[tanoraqui]

Dungeon Meshi Liveblog: In Which Izutsumi is Ace and also possibly a Time Lord

I heard that troll!Marcille is shredded. I heard she has an eight-pack.

(I can't believe that wasn't just the end of the chapter. I can't believe this wasn't the end of this book. What the fuck is going to happen in the NEXT chapter?!)

.

omg, baby!Chilchuck! He once had hope in his eyes and joy in his heart!

.

I just think he and Kabru should compare notes, by which I mean gossip.

.

Laios: [explaining a new monster]

Marcille:

.

Wait that's actually dodgy as fuck. Did they say something to her while Chlchuck was briefly in the bathroom or something? Threaten her?

.

Marcille's imagine spot as Chilchuck's wife reminds me of that episode of Scrubs where each person imagines themselves married to Elliot. Amazing, no notes.

.

Marcille's so valid tbh. He clearly lied before when he said he had only 1 daughter - he could easily be lying now, for all they know.

.

....huh. Book 9 is the first book to have 6 chapters instead of 7. Story drama, or publication drama?

.

this is sitcom-tier stuff. fantastic.

.

Marcille: [dies and gets resurrected]

Marcille: :D :D :D I am going to study this! :D :D :D

(Marcille: So that nobody I love needs to ever die again. :) :) :) )

.

She is, however, distinctly avoiding this question about her age.

.

Izutsumi, confirmed for ace icon?!

.

Izutsumi confirmed for ace icon!!

.

Nooo babygirl! You have so much heart, it's just not exercised enough!

,

<3 :3 <3

Also, Izutsumi also confirmed for Time Lord, I guess! (And her human half may be ace but her cat half is thinkin' about a big, good-looking panther ;3

.

The very first image we see of Chilchuck's daughters is of a nightmare of them axe-murdered?! Geez louise.

.

I don't even care if it's a demon or a god, I just laughed aloud so hard. Impeccable transition. I think the comedic timing in this comic might be getting better as it goes on.

Shoutout to Laios for being so weird that the succubus just had to kinda guess, "uhh only properly humanoid girl in the party?" for his greatest desire, until presumably it got close enough to pick up a more detailed impression.

.

Hm. So, it's not lying...

.

...nvm, now it probably is (lying).

.

Oh yes this is a trap. A seduction.

.

/giggling with delight - Oh my god, at the previous panel I was going to make a joke about Samwise the Great, Gardener of the World, ie the temptation vision the Ring gives Sam. But I guess I don't have to, we're just going there directly. What does pure power do to you, Laios?

.

Wsdknsdvl even the Winged Lion is like, "but what about your judicial policy?" I love this comic sooo much.

.

That's 'cuz you're a man.

[hoodieschaoticreviews]

Ok I watched the leaked episodes

Let’s start with the positives! I love positives!

- Alex Brightman put his whole Alexussy into this shit oh my god, Pentious and Adam actually sound really good. Adam singing is also really really good. Alex can sing in character and carry things well and I’m glad now he’s part of the project. Because at least it’ll be bearable if I see the other episodes.

-Vox is actually weirdly really compelling? Like I actually ended up enjoying the vibe he’s got and his own voice grew on me, I know it’s not what people wanted but it works well.

-Nifty’s voice is pretty ok, so is Charlie’s. They’re some of the better voices of the cast, Alastor’s performance was uh. It wasn’t bad so there’s that!

-the opening exposition was needed but also a bit hamfisted- wait shit the positives- uh, I love the direction it went? Art wise?

-the songs are pretty good, they get you from point A to point B, and at least wasn’t Poison levels of cringe in writing.

-Charlie actually helping Pentious in episode 2 try to repent and be a better person actually feels nice, like a crumb of what the show should of be-

…

Ok let’s get to the point.

-the episodes clearly are trying to shove as much of the plot as humanly possible, to the point that you get whiplash.

-Angel Dust, Vaggie, Valentino, Husk all have voices that either do not fit, crack from the pressure to perform, or are trying so hard to mimic the previous voice that it’s actually worrying. The Angel dust one in particular I’ll get to when I get to the point.

-The plot starts with the main antagonist, literally telling Charlie that her plan is pointless and she should give up. There’s no actual “I want” song to counter this, unless you count the song where Adam mocks her for trying and tells her the exterminations will happen twice a year now.

-Pentious at least wasn’t a creep like i was fearing in the script, but he comes off too pathetic? Like I know he was pathetic and that’s the point but why the fuck does he want to be equal to the Vees now? Didn’t he want to rule over hell himself? I know the instagram had him crop himself into pictures with the Vees but remember those aren’t canon!

-I realized I was able to hop in because I had Wikipedia level knowledge of these characters to the point they click in my head (and enough to where Alastor, Charlie, Vaggie and Husk all felt a little off but that’s neither here nor there). But god I cannot imagine being a new person trying to jump into this show, this is bad. None of the characters get actually introduced outside of Charlie, the show references the pilot which isn’t part of the show so new audiences have no idea what they’re talking about, and the staff gets actually introduced in episode 2. EPISODE 2, TO PENTIOUS!? GIRLIE POP HAVE HIM COME EPISODE 1 THEN?

-Animation that’s either too floaty, too janky, too stiff or straight up traced. Which I don’t blame the animators for, Mammon was busy buying 10,000 dollars worth of peacocks to bother paying them more than a dollar per frame. There’s no charm here.

-Where did the fucking cat key come from? No I’m serious. Where did it come from? It just kinda exists now.

-Alastor’s commercial is just straight up MEAN and he’s often more mean than chaotic, which I know is ironic since he wasn’t a good person and I wasn’t expecting him to be but it’s to a point where it’s not even fun mean. He literally called Charlie’s endeavor “Daddy issues”. It felt like he was just there to slap Charlie in the face.

-Angel Dust rant is gonna be so long that I saved it for last.

I have to put it under the read more because of talk of SA! Fun!

Ok.

I’m saying this as someone who loved him from the pilot and was willing to excuse his behavior as “flaws he can work on” since Addict and everything else proved that there was more under the surface and he was a character that could change and grow and-

…

…

Angel dust, the rape victim… the guy running away from his abuser…

The Angel dust who has traumatic episodes so fucking graphic that he flashes back to them when he’s performing.

Saying “yeah no, fucking sexually exploit me! It turns me on!”

Viv, I know you’re not reading this but I mean this genuinely.

Fuck you.

As someone who’s family has experienced sexual abuse, as someone who’s family still has CPTSD because men in power decide to exploit them… how fuckin dare you make a character enjoy their own exploitation.

This isn’t me kink shaming a sexual character! He can be sexual and like sex! It’s never been the problem and hell it could of been liberation to have sex he deserves.

But no.

Let’s make the SA victim into the sexual harassment character, let’s make the SA victim the Stolas of the show where he wears down his love interest so thin that they have to give up.

Let’s make the SA victim still work under his shitty abuser, and make that into a joke as the abuser mentions wanting to rape everyone in the hotel.

Don’t pay to watch this show, I mean it.

Pirate it.

Hell don’t even watch it, find something better to watch. I’ve been binging anime as of late and I still like captain lazerhawk.

[bi-bard]

Arguments & Paradoxes - Tenth Doctor Imagine [Doctor Who]

Title: Arguments & Paradoxes

Pairing: Tenth Doctor X Reader

Word Count: 5,531 words

Warning(s): arguments, discussion of character death

Summary: [Based on Season 3, Episode 10 (Blink)] What starts as a normal day leads to the Doctor, Marth, and (Y/n) finding themselves stuck in 1969. Now that they're stuck waiting, there are many conversations waiting to be had.

Author's Note: This story is pretty directly connected to another story from this OC: A Normal Life

If you have any particular episodes/seasons/doctors etc. that you want to see in this series, then let me know.

MORE STORIES OF THIS OC (AND OTHERS) HERE!

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

There are times when the easiest days become the most complicated.

It could take one moment for everything to turn completely on its head. One sentence, one word. one movement. One small look.

At least, that was how my life ended up going. Maybe that was simply a side effect of traveling with the Doctor. Maybe it was all just because of me.

Martha, the Doctor, and I were heading toward the sight of an incident. Some lizard creature was planning to have her eggs hatch. The swarm would have wiped out the nearest city and then some.

We had gotten a taxi that took us to this small shop. It looked like it was mostly books and movies and things. It was something that I would never have paid any mind to... except for the woman who came running out.

"Doctor!"

He stopped. I stopped with him, turning to look at the girl.

"Hello," he said. "Sorry, bit of a rush. There's a... There's a sort of thing happening. Very important that we stop it."

"Oh my god, it's you. It really is you," the woman replied. I furrowed my eyebrows, looking at the Doctor as if he would take the time to explain who this was. "Oh, you don't remember me, do you?"

"Doctor, we haven't got time for this," Martha spoke up. "Migration's started."

"Look," the Doctor explained to the woman. "I've got a bit of a complex life. Things don't always happen to me in quite the right order. Gets a bit confusing at times, especially at weddings."

"Oh, you're rubbish at weddings," I added.

"I really am... especially my own."

"Oh my God, of course," the woman said. "You're a time traveler. It hasn't happened to you yet! None of it! It's still in your future."

"What hasn't happened?"

"You guys, please," Martha spoke up again. "20 minutes to hatching."

"It was me," the woman explained. "It was me all along. You got it all from me."

"Got what?" the Doctor asked.

"Okay. Listen. One day, you're gonna get stuck in 1969. Make sure you've got this with you. You're gonna need it."

I looked back and saw Martha's worried face before I muttered to the Doctor, "We really need to go."

"Yeah, we do," he nodded. "Sorry, things happening. Well, four things. Well, four things and a lizard."

"Okay, no worries," the woman replied. "On you go. See you around some day."

The Doctor and I took off before he turned around again. "What was your name?"

"Sally Sparrow," she grinned at us both.

"Good to meet you, Sally Sparrow."

There was a man who walked up to her. She looked at him as he gave us a stunned look. She grabbed his hand, said goodbye, and walked back into the store.

I chuckled. "That will make more sense later, I hope."

"Me too," the Doctor replied.

We both turned again to head towards Martha. I felt the Doctor reach for my hand, but I pulled back. I hoped that it could be seen as unintentional. As if I just didn't notice it.

"I like that name," I commented, trying to change the subject. "Sally Sparrow. Good alliteration."

"Yeah," he muttered. "Come on."

Everything else went off without any major incidents. It was a normal day. I thought that it was all over. Until we landed in the next place, of course.

We had just made it back to the TARDIS. The doors had just closed behind us and we were just getting ready to leave. And then, the TARDIS jolted to the side.

"What the hell was that," Matha asked.

I grabbed the screen nearby. "What the... Paradox energy."

"Paradox?" the Doctor moved to look at the screen over my shoulder. "Well, that's not good."

"A paradox?" Martha walked over. "Like in Back to the Future or something?"

"What," I asked.

"I'll show it to you sometime," the Doctor muttered to me before going to move around the console.

"Time isn't always perfect and linear, but it does have rules," I explained. "If one of those rules gets broken, it creates a paradox. Paradoxes can be small or large, deadly at times."

"What caused this one?"

"Not sure yet," I shrugged.

"We'll have to go check," the Doctor added, flipping a switch.

"Hold on," Martha said. "You just said that one of the rules of time got broken. That one of these paradoxes can be deadly."

"Yup," the Doctor confirmed.

"So, you're going to just land in the middle of it?"

"We're not fools, Martha," I promised. "We're going to land on the edge of it."

"Oh, for the love of-"

The TARDIS suddenly lurching caused Martha to cut off the end of her sentence. She grabbed onto the console.

We landed just outside of a gate. There was a path that clearly led from the gate to a large, abandoned house. On the fence was a warning to keep out. None of us paid it any mind.

The house itself had seen many better days. The outside was in mostly okay condition, but there were some parts where the roof and the wall were falling apart.

It was almost a cliche.

"Are we still at the same time?" Martha said as we walked down the path.

"No," I answered. "We're about a year earlier. There was a... spike."

She nodded.

The inside was no better than the outside had been. The wallpaper was falling off. Plants were beginning to grow within the house. Every piece of the floor was creaking. If the lighting fixtures weren't on the floor, they were hanging dangerously low.

"So, any remarkable ideas about this paradox," Martha asked.

"Not yet, but I can feel it... like it's buzzing in my fingertips," I said, stopping in the middle of the room and turning toward her. "Where's the Doctor?"

"Wandered off," she replied with a shrug. "How are you two?"

I furrowed my eyebrows. "Fine."

"That's it?" she chuckled.

"What else were you expecting me to say?"

"Something a bit more... I don't know... romantic," she suggested. "I thought you two would be deep in the honeymoon phase by now."

I raised an eyebrow at her this time. I knew what she was talking about. It was just easier for me to pretend that I didn't.

To be honest, things had been... strained since the two of us kissed. I couldn't tell how much of it was my lack of knowledge in that area and how much of it was simply my ever-suffocating guilt. I had meant to sit and think about that, but I simply never had the time. There was always something more important to think about.

Martha sighed and held up her hands. "Fine. I'm gonna go check upstairs for some sign of anything... paradox-like."

"Be careful!" I called after her.

"I always am!"

I turned back to the room, trying to find some sign of what could be going on. The first detail that I saw was some sign of spray paint under the wallpaper.

I stepped forward, going to pull the wallpaper off. I only stopped because I spotted something out of the corner of my eye. My hand stopped. I took a step back before slowly turning my head toward the window.

Standing there was a weeping angel.

I let out a shaking breath. I slowly closed my eyes before quickly opening them. It had moved forward.

"Doctor!" I shouted, taking slow steps backward. "Martha!"

I heard the floor behind me creaking. I quickly turned around, finding another weeping angel behind me. I turned back around, finding the other angel now inside. Those panicked motions were enough for the second angel to reach out and grab me.

I found myself standing in some kind of alleyway.

"No," I muttered. "No, no, no, no, no!"

I looked around before starting to walk. At some point, I would have to find something or someone.

It had only been a few minutes before I heard someone behind me.

"(Y/n)!"

I turned around to see Martha and the Doctor walking toward me. I let out a relieved sigh before running in their direction. I hugged Martha first. After I stepped back, I hugged the Doctor.

"Weeping angels," the Doctor said.

"Yes, I know," I replied. "I tried to tell you both but no one responded. You guys must have already been sent back."

"Anyone wanna actually explain this all to me," Martha asked.

"Weeping angels are creatures that basically feed off paradox energy," I explained. "They touch you, zap you back in time, and eat the paradox energy that's left from all the moments that don't happen."

"They can't move when you can see them," the Doctor added. "They freeze in place until you look away or blink"

"Okay... so how do we get home?" Martha looked between us.

"Well..." the Doctor dragged the word out.

"You don't know."

"Not yet," he muttered.

I furrowed my eyebrows, looking around us before speaking up, "What year are we in?"

"Um," the Doctor looked around, muttering to himself as he tried to figure it out.

Martha ran over to a nearby bench where a newspaper had been left on it, "1969."

I slapped the Doctor's arm, ignoring him when he complained. "That was the year that the girl at the shop told us about. The one with the really good name... Sally Sparrow."

"Alliteration girl!" the Doctor exclaimed before digging into his pocket. "1969. She gave us instructions."

I grabbed the folder from him, going to sit on the bench where Martha had found the newspaper. I flipped through it. It was a collection of photos and a letter. I held those out for someone to take.

"The letter is addressed to Sally," I said. "She knew someone who got sent back."

"What's this list," Martha asked, sitting next to me. The Doctor took the letter.

"Not sure," I replied, handing it over to her. "Nothing that I recognize."

My eyes landed on a typed-out conversation.

"Look at this." I held it out to him. "It's a conversation. Half of one, anyway. Sally's part."

"She's at the center of this, then," he muttered, taking the folder so he could read it over. "'I'm clever and I'm listening.' I like her."

"Would be nice to meet her when we aren't stuck without our TARDIS," I replied. "Who is she talking to? You?"

"Maybe. She recognized me at the shop."

"And you do talk a lot."

"Thanks." his response was sarcastic.

"I got it," Martha said excitedly. "They're movies. All of them!"

I furrowed my eyebrows.

"And that," she snatched the folder out of the Doctor's hands, "is a script!"

"Half a script," I corrected.

"Well, yeah, but we can figure the other half out," she insisted. "We just need to get the other side of this conversation onto these movies."

"How do we do that?"

"I... I don't know," she replied. "You two are the alien geniuses. I figured out the hard part."

"I never really looked into how humans make their entertainment." I looked at the Doctor. "Have you?"

"It's basic technology," he shrugged. "Getting the film made isn't the problem. The problem is getting the film onto everything on that list."

"We need an inside man," Martha suggested.

"Can't be the Doctor because he has to be in it, so people would get suspicious," I explained.

"You could do it," she said.

"I really couldn't."

"Yes, you could," she replied. "You're a quick learner. You'd know what you're doing."

"But this would take years. We don't have that long."

"What do we do then? Talk to someone in the industry and hope that they believe us when we say we were attacked by monsters that can't move when you can see them?"

"Or we could find someone who would be more inclined to believe us."

Martha's eyebrows furrowed at my suggestion.

"Wait for someone else to be sent back to us," the Doctor said, seemingly agreeing with me.

"That could take ages," Martha replied.

"Sally knew someone who got sent back," I argued. "Maybe that wasn't the only one. Might not take as long as you think."

"What about in the meantime?"

"Well, we'll need to find a place to stay. Shouldn't be too hard."

"Whose paying for that?"

The Doctor and I both stared at her before briefly glancing at each other.

"Oh, you two so owe me for this."

We ended up staying in a small flat near a shop that hired Martha.

She would go work through the day while the Doctor and I busied ourselves with a new device that was meant to help track down other people who came through.

It was a few days into this new pattern that the Doctor decided to turn the conversation away from our current predicament.

"Can I ask you something?"

I had been hunched over some small part of this new device. The Doctor had taken a moment to lean back in his seat a bit.

"Sure," I replied, not turning my head away from the machine.

"Did I do something... wrong?"

It felt as if both of my hearts stopped at the same time. I had to fight the urge to tense as I responded, "No, why do you ask?"

"I just... I thought that things would change."

I couldn't find a string of words that felt like they were enough to explain how I felt. None of them could provide him any comfort. I found myself stuck with nothing more than an uneasy silence.

"I thought that we were..."

"Were what?" I tried to remain disconnected from the whole thing. At the very least, I felt like it would push this conversation away for a little while.

"We kissed," he continued. "I thought that it meant something, but you're acting like nothing happened."

"It happened." I nodded. "It happened and... that's it."

"'That's it'?" he repeated. "(Y/n)... this wasn't something insignificant to me. I have no interest in that being it."

"Well, that's all it's going to be." I shrugged.

The Doctor didn't respond after that. He stared at me for a few moments before going back to studying the machine on the table.

I went to do the same, pretending to be completely unaware of the new and terrible tension in the room.

"I've got it," the Doctor muttered, pushing my hands away.

I sat back, staring at him for a few minutes before standing up. "I'm going to go out for a walk. You know how to reach me if something comes up."

He just hummed to acknowledge that he heard me.

I nodded before heading to the door.

I knew that I had handled the whole situation incorrectly. It was all just too new and sudden for me to have any other way to handle it. There was nothing I could say or do that would be good enough for that conversation.

Everything would be easier if things had just stayed exactly as they were.

My mindless wandering led me to the front steps of a library. I stared at the door. I don't know what compelled me to go inside. Maybe it just felt like I should've been there. Like there were answers to some questions that I had. The whole place was comforting during this time.

I was filled with this sense of comfort that I had never imagined before. I could imagine spending day after day after day there.

And I did.

I never truly thought about just how slow life would feel when the Doctor and I stopped moving. I didn't realize that I hadn't really stopped running since I met him.

Yes, there was my brief time as Jo, but that wasn't me. That was a different version of me. One that was much more equipped to handle a slow, dragging life. One that was going through significantly less emotional turmoil.

I busied myself with books. That library I had found had a very kind woman working there who offered suggestions to pass the time. Stories and art that I had never bothered myself with before. I read what I had been told were classics.

It was strange to fall into such a pattern. I could've gotten used to it, maybe. Under different circumstances. But this whole thing just felt odd.

The Doctor would sit impatiently at his machine. I would sit in some corner of the room, reading my stories and quietly hoping that the machine would finally make some kind of sound to fill the awkward silence. The two of us weren't talking much after our argument. Too stubborn on both fronts, I suppose.

Martha would walk in around the evening and ask what I was reading. She'd ask for any good news from the Doctor.

Over and over. Day after day. It was the same cycle.

Until there was a delightfully noisy interruption. The machine went off, telling us that someone had been sent back.

We all ran outside, Sally's folder in hand. It didn't take long to recognize that we were being led back to the alleyway that we had found ourselves in.

"How are we going to do this," Martha asked. "'Hi, are you from the future? Because we are and we have a job for you.'"

"Something like that," the Doctor said.

"Start with Sally Sparrow," I explained in more detail. "See if they know her. She might be the center of this whole thing."

"I wasn't being serious," he chimed in.

"I wasn't saying that you were. I'm just trying to make sure Martha is as prepared as we are. We should all be on the same page."

"Didn't think you cared much about that."

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing."

I scoffed. "Sorry that I'm prioritizing the thing that is getting people killed. Didn't realize that was an issue."

He didn't respond, instead choosing to walk a little faster so he was ahead of us. I went to speed up so he couldn't get too far away.

"What's going on with you two," Martha asked, grabbing my arm so I'd slow down.

"What are talking about?" I said.

"Don't act stupid," she replied. "You two kissed. You told me. But now you two are acting like you can't be near each other. What's going on?"

"It's nothing," I shook my head, going to catch up with the Doctor.

"No, it's not," she insisted, grabbing my arm again. "You can talk to me, I promise. I can keep my mouth shut. Kept your feelings a secret, didn't I?"

"Martha," I sighed. "It's nothing. I'm fine. We're fine. Let's just... Let's focus on this. Please."

Her lips tightened. As if she had to actively hold back whatever comment was about to push through. She stiffly nodded and let me pull my arm away.

"(Y/n), Martha!"

The two of us looked down the way at the Doctor, whose back was still turned to us. I gestured toward him with my head. Martha nodded again and followed me down the alley.

We rounded the corner to find a man sitting with his back against the wall. He looked panicked and confused. The machine was going slightly mad when we found him.

"Welcome!" the Doctor greeted.

"Where am I," the man asked.

"1969," the Doctor replied. "Not bad, as it goes. You've got the moon landing to look forward to."

"The moon landing's brilliant," Martha added. "We went four times."

"When we had transport," I muttered.

"How did I get here?" the man interrupted us.

"Touch of an angel," the Doctor explained. "Probably the same one that sent us back since you ended up in the same year."

The man went to stand up only to be stopped by the Doctor before he could.

"Don't get up," he said as he plopped down next to the man. "Time travel without a capsule, nasty. Catch your breath, don't go swimming for half an hour."

"I don't... I don't understand."

I leaned on the railing in front of them both. "You got touched by a weeping angel. You probably noticed some big stone angel statues. Pretty fascinating really. They don't kill you directly. Instead, they send you back in time to whatever year they want and feed on the paradox energy that forms when you're gone. The potential energy of the moments that were supposed to happen but never did. They let you live a whole life, just not when you were supposed to."

"The only psychopaths in the universe to kill you nicely," the Doctor added.

"What in God's name are you two on about?"

"They do this a lot," Martha said. "Just nod when they pause for a breath."

"Tracked you down with this," the Doctor continued. "My timey-wimey detector. Goes ding when there's stuff."

"I still don't understand." the man ran his hands over his face. "Where am I?"

"1969, like he said." Martha leaned on the railing next to me.

"We'd offer you a lift home, but our time machine got stolen by the angels." I shrugged. "We have a message that we need you to get to a woman named Sally Sparrow."

"Sally Sparrow? I know her! I just met her."

"Good, that'll make this easier for all of us."

"However," the Doctor spoke up again. "I'm sorry. I'm very, very sorry. It's gonna take you a long time."

It felt like there hadn't been a moment to breathe after that. Getting the man a job to work on films was no trouble really. The psychic paper was enough for that.

Getting us on set was a new challenge but still ended up working out alright.

We snuck in during the middle of the night. Everyone in the studio had gone home by then. Billy, the man that we had found in that alleyway, had been very helpful. I think at some point, he knew that there was no good denying what had happened. He seemingly wanted to do some good while he was here.

And so, there we were. The Doctor sitting in front of a plain orange wall with the script and a camera in front of him. Martha and I stayed off to the side, watching as he read off his half of the conversation.

"How are you gonna know how long to wait?" Martha tilted her head. "Like between lines. How do you know you'll give Sally enough time to get her sentence out?"

"Didn't think about that," the Doctor muttered. "Guess I'll just hope for the best... gonna sound a little silly no matter what I do, isn't it?"

We both nodded.

"Good luck," I said, almost before I had a chance to stop myself.

The Doctor grinned at me. I let out a small sigh.

"Ready," Billy asked. The Doctor nodded.

It was as silly as it seemed. Small bits of a conversation that just sounded meaningless when there was no context to it. Had I not known the whole situation, I would've started laughing.

"I'm a time traveler. Or I was. I'm stuck in 1969-"

"We're stuck," Martha chimed in, leaning into frame. "I was promised all of space and time and now I'm working in a shop to support these two-"

"Martha," I pulled on her arm to get her to move back, trying to keep myself from chuckling at the whole thing.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

The Doctor fixed his suit before continuing on with the script.

"People don't understand time," he explained. "It's not what you think it is."

I thought about the lines that Sally had written down for herself. I grinned. She really was very clever.

"People assume that time is a strict progression of cause and effect, but actually, from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint, it's more like a big ball of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey... stuff."

I scoffed, hiding my face behind my hand. I barely caught sight of the Doctor's small glare focused on me.

"What matters is we can communicate," the Doctor continued. "We have got big problems now. They have taken the blue box, haven't they? The angels have the phone box?

"Creatures from another world... The Lonely Assassins, they used to be called. No one quite knows where they came from, but they're as old as the universe, or very nearly, and they have survived this long because they have the most perfect defense system ever evolved. They're quantum-locked. They don't exist while they're being observed. The moment they're seen by any other living creature, they freeze into rock. No choice, it's a fact of their biology. In the sight of any living thing, they literally turn to stone. And you can't kill a stone.

"Of course, a stone can't kill you either, but then you turn your head away. Then you blink. And oh, yes, it can.

"That's why they cover their eyes. They can't risk looking at each other. Their greatest asset is their great curse. They can never be seen. Loneliest creatures in the universe."

I could make an argument against that statement but now wasn't the time.

"And I'm sorry. I am very, very sorry. It's up to you now. The blue box. It's my time machine. There's a world of time energy in there they could feast on forever, but the damage they could do could switch off the sun. You have got to send it back to me.

"And... that's it, I'm afraid. There's no more from you on the transcript, that's the last I've got.

"I don't know what stopped you talking, but I can guess. They're coming. The angels are coming for you, but listen because your life could depend on this. Don't blink. Don't even blink. Blink and you're dead. They are fast. Faster than you can believe. Don't turn your back, don't look away, and don't blink. Good luck."

And with that, the camera stopped. We bid our goodbyes and our best wishes to Billy and left the studio.

"So... what now," Martha asked.

"We see if it worked," the Doctor replied. "If the message got to Sally as it was supposed to, then the TARDIS should be on its way to us."

"At the old house," she concluded.

"At the old house." he nodded.

"Well, come on then," she pushed us both away from the studio. "Let's get out of here."

The house was still being built when we got there. It was mostly put together, but it was waiting on furniture and decorations and wallpaper.

"One last thing to do," the Doctor pulled out two small cans of paint and some paintbrushes as he spoke. I was always a bit jealous of his jacket.

"The message." I nodded. I grabbed the picture of it from the folder that Sally had given us. "Should go on this wall here."

"Won't someone just paint over it," Martha asked.

"Chances are that whoever comes to put the wallpaper up after we're gone will just see this as kids messing around," the Doctor said. "They're putting up wallpaper, no need to paint something so small."

She nodded.

I placed the picture down, leaning it against the wall.

"I'll start the top part. You start the bottom part," I explained, handing the Doctor a brush. "You have to sign your name on it anyway."

"Alright," he muttered.

Martha stood there for a moment, glancing around.

"I'm gonna check around the house," she said, turning to walk out of the room.

"Be careful!" I called after her. "Yell if you see anything!"

She didn't respond, probably because what I had said had seemed incredibly obvious to her.

I turned back to the wall. My eyes jumped between it and the picture of what Sally was supposed to find in the future.

I reached up, beginning to paint "Beware the weeping angels" as clearly as I could.

We worked in silence for a while. It was strange. I had grown used to there being some kind of rambling. The silence made my stomach twist.

I stepped away from the wall after finishing the first line, going to compare it to the photo.

"We need to talk," the Doctor said, still seemingly as focused on his part of the wall as mine.

"Is now the time for this?" I muttered. I couldn't avoid this conversation now. We were going to be here for too long.

"Yup," he replied bluntly, turning to look at me. "I don't like how we left things earlier. We haven't fought like that in ages."

"I know."

When that was all that I said, the Doctor continued, "Ages. We haven't argued like that since you hated me."

"Doctor, I know," I repeated as I looked at him.

"Then, you should also know why I feel like it's appropriate for us to have some kind of conversation about it."

I put the paint down on the floor. "Fine."

I paused when I saw the look in his eyes properly. There wasn't any anger or judgment. He just looked worried. Almost scared. It made me feel guilty for all of the anger that I had held toward him through the last few days.

"It's... It's Rose," I said.

The Doctor's eyebrows furrowed at me.

I sighed. "She was the first person that I could consider a friend. Before we got along, she was all I had. She helped me choose my name. She made me better. And I know how she felt about you and how you felt about her. I... I can't help but feel like I took something from her. It just... It felt selfish."

The silence after that was suffocating. It made me feel sick to my stomach.

"I'm sorry," I muttered after a moment.

"You don't need to apologize," the Doctor took a few steps closer to me. I took a deep breath as he did. "I care about you. And I am willing to wait. As long as you need."

I took a deep breath. "I don't remember patience being a gift of yours."

"Well," he grinned. "Not always. But now... for you... it's worth it."

I stepped forward and hugged him. "Thank you."

"You don't need to thank me."

"Shut up and accept it." I stepped back. "We should finish the painting."

We were just finishing the last few letters when Martha ran in. "I found the TARDIS! It's in the basement."

"Yes!" I ran after her as she ran back downstairs.

A few moments later, I heard the Doctor running behind us. It was clear that he had waited for a few moments to finish up the message.

I cheered again as I laid eyes on the TARDIS. "Oh, I have missed you!"

"Oh, look at that beauty," the Doctor said. "Thought you'd never come back to us."

"Who wants to do the honors," I asked, looking at the two of them.

"Dibs!" Martha called quickly. "My turn to look cool."

I shook my head as I chuckled at her.

I looked back at the Doctor as Martha unlocked the door. He was already smiling at me. I smiled back, feeling a sudden calm settle over us both. It was nice to not feel so scared now.

The familiar creak of the TARDIS door made me look back at Martha, who was smiling proudly in the doorway.

"Let's go. I am happy to be out of... this year for a while," she said.

We followed her inside, letting out a collective sigh as the door closed behind us.

"What now," I asked.

"Well, we have the TARDIS back," the Doctor walked around the console. "And I'd suggest just flying off into the vast expanse of space, but... we have to make a small pitstop first."

"Of course we do," I muttered. "Cardiff?"

"Yup."

"What's in Cardiff?" Martha looked between the two of us.

"There's this little crack in the fabric of the universe."

"Originally, there were these gaseous beings using it as a door before a very clever woman sacrificed herself to close it," I added.

"But it didn't close all the way," the Doctor continued. "There's still a small crack. Like a scar."

"Park the TARDIS on it and the TARDIS can absorb the energy coming from it and use it to repair damage... like damage from the Weeping Angels trying to use it as an infinite food supply."

"Won't take long," the Doctor promised.

"Don't say that," I interjected. "Last time we did this, we almost dropped Cardiff into the rift."

"I'm sorry... what," Martha asked.

"That... was not our fault. No Slitheen this time." the Doctor said.

"Comforting," she muttered, sarcasm as clear as day.

I wrapped an arm around her, giving her a small side hug for her troubles. She grinned over at me as the Doctor ran around the console.

There was a new wave of calm through the TARDIS. Not the same kind of calm that happened after we made it out of some dire situation. This one was smaller, but still significant.

I could only hope that it would last long enough for us to truly enjoy it.

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[yubellia]

OH MY GOSH! Season 6 is here! And Cerise/Lila whoever was super creepy and amazing!

„Nothing. Hah. Nothing. You know nothing about me, about us, about them. I‘m everywhere. I‘m nowhere. I‘m a chameleon. Nowhere. You won‘t get anywhere.“

——~~~——

Not gonna lie, I really don‘t like what they did to Marinette. The girl is struggling…. We get that…. But did they really have to make her act like this? She can‘t even really keep it together als Ladybug anymore. She can be lucky that the miraculous prevents people from noticing the obvious similarities.

But back to Cerise! We don‘t see her face in the entire episode. We only have her voice but that’s enough already. After all, sound is almost more important than visuals. What would Micheal Myers be without the iconic sound. Try it. Mute the movies. It won‘t work.

But anyway. I wonder, when she akumatized that girl, this is how she handles things. She just talks and offers a solution like a good friend. Siding with her victim. She doesn’t even demand anything. No „I’ll give you that power. In return I want Ladybugs and Chat Noirs miraculous!“ No. None of that!

Also, the camera zoomed in, almost like we were going into the victims head. Is this what actually happens to you, when you get akumatized? Bah! Imagine having Gabriel in your head like that! No sir. Thank you!

Could it be, that up until now, we saw the whole process from the outside? That would be so cool. It would also mean that Cerise clearly….. goes deeper that Gabriel could.

Also, we learned something very important. Apparently, they don‘t know better yet, Cerise akumatizes people randomly without the goal to attack. She just lets them cause chaos and the heroes come out. At first.

We also learn that Cerise writes EVERYTHING down!! Like girl, be careful with your hand! That must hurt! Also she technically creates tons of evidence. If she looses ONE of those notebooks, it’s game over. Unless she writes in code….. would not be surprised.

Also the end of the episode, where she is in the café „Nothing. Hah. Nothing. You know nothing about me, about us, about them. I‘m everywhere. I‘m nowhere. I‘m a chameleon. Nowhere. You won‘t get anywhere.“

I am not sure if she completely lost it NOW, if she ALWAYS was crazy like this, or, with her disguises and all, she is completely stating the truth.

But I know one thing.

I LOVE HER FOR IT!! I can‘t wait to actually see her! Also it seems like she upgraded her miraculous, just like Marinette did with all the others. At least that’s what I heard, could be a leak. She got the guardians book too after all from Nathalie in that one episode, together with all of Gabriel’s secrets.

So yeah… the new season started…. A bit meh. I really wish they could have given us the REAL first episode. But it seems like there is something wrong with the continuity anyway. Alya and Nino interviewed Sublime‘s mom, but she didn’t appear yet…. Strange….

But anyway, we might be missing some lore here.

I am still excited for more.

[separatist-apologist]

The Acolyte

Summary: When a mission on the planet Umbara goes wrong, Jedi Padawan Feyre Archeron will come face to face with the one creature the High Republic has believed long extinct: a Sith Lord.

Read on AO3

Note: This is a collaboration between the beautiful, smart, perfect, all-around talented @velidewrites who, upon watching the previous episode of The Acolyte, said, "Qimir is so Rhys coded." This has been our brain rot ever since.

DO NOT REPOST SITH RHYS

-

Drumming her fingers along the arm of the chair, Feyre waited with little patience. She ought to have it—it was unbecoming for a Jedi Padawan to be so antsy, so fidgety, but she couldn’t help it. It felt like years since she’d gone anywhere outside the temple besides hunting down street food. Master Tamlin wasn’t over their last mission.

Reckless, he’d called her.

Efficient, was how Feyre would have described herself. What was the point of tradition if it resulted in the deaths of so many innocents? Rules, protocol—it was all meaningless to Feyre in the moment. What mattered was the lives of innocents, not making sure Master Tamlin was satisfied she did everything by the book.

Tamlin loved the code, loved rules, loved everything except doing things the way Ferye wanted to. It was tempting to wonder why, of all the possible Padawans he could have had, he’d chosen her. They were a strange match even by the Jedi’s standards. Tamlin said the force had called out to him, urging him to take her under his wing.

Feyre sometimes thought he merely saw chaos where order ought to reign supreme, and made it his personal mission to bring her to heel. He was holding her back—Feyre wanted to be a Knight and free herself from Tamlin’s hold and he refused, telling the council she wasn’t ready.

She was, though. Feyre was stronger, faster, better than her pupils, a good number of whom had already graduated and were working under the watchful gaze of all Masters rather than just one. 

Let him take me on this mission, Feyre thought, sending it out into the world. One last mission—I can prove I’m ready.

Tamlin appeared from behind arched, hissing doors, his white robes swishing around beige boots. He’d tied his shoulder length blonde hair half off his face which made him look more severe, somehow. Green eyes pinned her in place, keeping her from standing even when she wanted to. Something about the hard set of his mouth made her think twice.

“The council wants you to join me,” Tamlin said, a muscle flexing in his jaw. “It’s a bad idea.”

“Who are we to argue with the will of the Council?” Feyre asked breathlessly, finally standing. It was good luck, the first of many, she decided. “I’m grateful for the opportunity.”

“This is too dangerous and you’re too reckless,” Tamlin said, turning for the long stretch of hall between them. Feyre’s long braid swung from her shoulder, tracing a path along her spine as she worked to keep up with his fast strides. 

“I’ll do as you say, Master,” she swore, truly believing she would. Tamlin only shook his head because he knew better. Feyre could be impulsive—it was one of her worst qualities.  

“You never do,” Tamlin replied with a heavy sigh. “It’s a mistake to bring you to Umbara.”

Umbara? Feyre practically vibrated with excitement, swallowing to keep her feelings in check. She’d heard of the Shadow World, seen it in the archives when she studied. She’d never been there, though. It felt like a waking dream, too good to be true.

“What’s happening on Umbara, Master?”

“Deaths,” Tamlin said, eyes cutting toward her as he carved a path through a gathered crowd of awed younglings. “Jedi deaths. That shouldn’t be possible.”

“Perhaps they were caught by surprise,” she said, though Feyre, too, found it troubling. What was the point of training if a regular blaster bolt could end them, same as anyone else? She’d always imagined her death would be more spectacular. A fiery inferno, likely as she jumped in and out of hyperspace while Tamlin shouted at her. 

Oh, but what a way to go.

“We’re only investigating,” Tamlin said, turning so abruptly that Feyre tripped over her own white and gold robes in her haste. “Remove all ideas of grandeur from your mind.”

“I will,” she promised, but it was too late. This would be her test, she decided—one last mission to prove not just to Tamlin, who would likely never believe her ready, but to the Council themselves that she should be elevated to Knight. Tamlin had held her back for the last time.

They parted ways, Tamlin mumbling under his breath as Feyre practically skipped her way out of the temple. She wanted to tell her sisters what she was doing and knew if Tamlin realized she still had this connection, he’d march them right back into the Temple and demand she be put back in the Archives.

Feyre swore she’d tell them she couldn’t read if he did.

She, like all children, had been taken to the temple before she had a chance to truly know her family. And either by luck or the force or some other cosmic entity, she’d stumbled into Elain first—and then Nesta. How many women in the galaxy had the last name Archeron, after all? Elain was a rising politician, unhindered by an overbearing Master and Nesta the head of a Bounty Hunters Guild.  There was no denying the relation—they all had the same heart shaped faces, the same cheekbones, and the same whip-fast wit. 

Nesta ought to be back by then, though if not, Elain would be in her little office working hard to make a name for herself. Nesta had explained their family had once been wealthy before a few bad investments ruined it all. Sending Feyre away had been a mercy, and when their mother died, well…that was one less mouth to feed. 

Nesta learned to fight with vibro weapons, Elain with words. If their father was still alive, they’d never said and Feyre hadn’t dared to ask. Deep in her heart, she felt a small amount of resentment for the man who’d sent her away, depriving her of the connection with her family. Even if it had been selfless—even if he’d wanted to give her a better life. 

On climate controlled Coruscant, Feyre found herself standing amid a sunny, breezy day. Tilting her face skyward, she swore she felt a phantom breeze caress her skin. Turning, she decided she’d get something to eat, first, and to see him. It was wrong, the strange attachment she had to the man who ran the turbo dog cart closest to the Jedi temple and yet he remembered her name. Remembered the things she told him.

He was her friend. 

Feyre’s feet began moving of their own accord, body slipping into the throngs of people that lived on the planet. The cacophony of smells and noise—the chaos of it all—made her blood thrum with excitement. Feyre never felt more alive than she did just outside the Temple. Here, Feyre could pretend she was just like anyone else…ignoring the slice of hair woven into the traditional padawan braid, separate from her own thick, long hair she’d refused to cut, and the purple saber clipped to her belt. Still, she was practically bouncing as she made her way down the steps toward rows upon rows of shops advertising anything a person could ever want. Somewhere among the madness was Nesta’s little cantina, run by her friend Emerie most of the time. Feyre might stop in for a drink if she was feeling bold, though Tamlin wouldn’t approve.

What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, she reasoned. She’d just have to be careful to drink slow as alcohol went straight to her head.

Most things did, in truth. After a lifetime of denial, anything heady was practically a drug. 

Feyre fell into line, catching sight of the man handing out turbo dogs. Rhysand.

He’d appeared one day—or perhaps she’d merely never noticed him, though it seemed impossible that she could have walked by and not noticed him. His hair was so dark it gobbled up all the light around him, gilded blue in the late afternoon sun. Piercing blue eyes seemed practically violet when the shadows fell over his face just right, with brown skin that looked warm to the touch and just the shadow of a beard gracing the cut of his jaw. 

Not that she’d dare. She was definitely forbidden from that, though all the teaching in the world couldn’t truly stop her wanting. He looked up right on cue, smiling when he saw her just like he always did. There were people in front of her, so Feyre waited, schooling her face into careful neutrality when all she really wanted was to bound up to him and tell him everything.

What did it matter? Who was he going to tell? Feyre imagined, when she needed to temper some of her interest in this stranger, that he told stories of the Jedi Padawan to his friends in whatever local watering hole he frequented. Perhaps they all laughed.

But maybe he didn’t. 

“There you are,” Rhys said when it was finally her turn, large hands deftly putting her dog together. He was, without a doubt, the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. And Feyre considered herself rather well-traveled. She’d seen a lot of faces. Rhys’ was all sharp angles and graceful lines, drawn together just so—on anyone else it might have made them seem too severe or perhaps lopsided. Not Rhys, who seemed blessed by some otherworldly entity despite his rather humble profession. 

There, in a black tunic, she caught sight of the familiar black tattoo crawling up his neck, half hidden beneath the white shirt just beneath. What did they mean, she wondered? She’d never dared to ask.

“I was looking for you,” Rhys added when Ferye didn’t speak. Heat stole over her cheeks, causing her to duck her head. 

“I’m where I always am,” she replied, grateful there was no one behind her to hurry things along. 

“Still trapped in the Archives?” Rhys asked sympathetically. 

“Not for long,” she said, unable to contain her excitement. “I’ve been assigned to Umbara.”

His dark brows rose. “What business do the Jedi have on Umbara?”

Feyre shrugged, wishing she could tell him the truth. It was a betrayal, even if he was harmless enough. She’d tell him everything when she returned, besides. Likely with some embellishments to make herself seem more heroic and more skilled than she was. As if he knew the difference. 

“I thought Umbara was supposed to be dangerous,” he continued, quickly turning the sign on his stand to read closed. Another elicit thrill raced up her spine. He wanted to walk with her while she ate, dragging out their conversation just a little longer.

Feyre wiped sauce from the corner of her mouth quickly, hoping he didn’t notice how the red stained her sleeve. “It is,” she said through a mouthful, hoping Rhys found her charming and brave rather than young and a little pathetic. “But nothing I can’t handle.”

“Oh, I’m certain of that. Is your Master still angry with you?”

She nodded, swallowing her bite quickly. “He thinks I’m reckless, but…” Biting her inner cheek, Feyre thought of the children who would have been swallowed by flames had she not intervened. Tamlin, and many other Jedi, would remind her it wasn’t possible to save everyone. She couldn’t let herself become so attached to simple strangers.

Feyre could feel them all in the force, just like every other Jedi. Their fear overwhelmed her, and try as she might, she simply could not block it out. Feyre let it all in, let their emotions rush over her like water until they clouded her judgment. And then she acted, honed by instinct and twenty one years of training. 

“But?” Rhys prompted, slowing his steps so Feyre didn’t have to work so hard to eat and breathe. They walked further from the temple, descending into one of the lower levels where the Jedi were unlikely to venture. He lived down there, somewhere. Did he see sunlight from his windows, she wondered? Or was he, like so many others, trapped in darkness? 

“It was wrong not to help,” she said fiercely, flooded with righteous emotion. Rhys smiled.

“I agree,” he said, running a hand casually through his hair. Feyre tried not to notice how a lock flopped into his eyes just as she tried not to imagine what it would be like to brush it away with her own fingers. 

“If I do this by the book, though, I think I can go around Tamlin to the Council and ask to take my trials,” she said, confessing to Rhys something she hadn’t even told her sisters. Again—it was harmless to tell him. He was just a man on Coruscant, her friend, truly. He had a passing interest in the Jedi and a passion for turbo dog meat. 

“What will you do then, once your Jedi Knight Feyre Archeron?” he questioned, eyes sliding to the padawan braid draped over her shoulder. 

“I don’t dare to think about it, just in case,” she said, finishing the rest of her meal and tossing the trash into a nearby bin. “I don’t want to jinx it.”

“Smart,” Rhys praised. “Who knows what’s waiting on a planet like Umbara.”

“Something dangerous, I hope,” she said with more bravado than she felt. If he guessed, he didn’t say.

“You should be careful,” he warned, just like he always did. It didn’t annoy her as much as when Tamlin said it, perhaps because Rhys wasn’t asking her to remain behind on Coruscant for safety reasons. Sometimes Feyre thought Tamlin wanted her to remain a Padawan until she died despite the early conversation they’d had all those years ago about her hopes and dreams. He’d been so supportive when she was younger.

Now he felt like a tyrant. 

Feyre left Rhys not long after when he said he needed to pick up a crate of meat, disappointed they never managed more than about ten minutes of time together. What she would say if she ever got more eluded her, though sometimes she conducted long conversations with him in her mind. At least there she was always witty, always charming, and he was always impressed with her. 

Feyre went to see Nesta and Elain, told them of her mission hastily, and promised she wouldn’t be gone too terribly long. How much time could it reasonably take to investigate the murders of a couple Jedi? They weren’t Masters, after all—it had been a trio of Knights she knew in passing, their bodies still missing. All that had been found were parts.

A hand here.

A torso there. 

Weapons missing. 

Feyre had a nightmare that evening, her mind grappling with what could have gone wrong to take out three Jedi in such a manner. Perhaps a bomb? A sniper hidden on a roof, cloaked somehow? 

Or, more thrilling and terrifying all at once, a long-extinct Sith somehow rose from the grave. Feyre had only ever heard stories of the legends—unlike Jedi, who were numerous, their Sith counterparts moved only in groups of two. A Master and Apprentice. Having spent so much time in the archives, Feyre read that once an apprentice finished their training, they’d kill their own Master and take an Apprentice of their own, thus repeating the vicious, cannibalistic cycle in perpetuity. 

The Sith were extinct, hunted to nothing centuries before Feyre had been born. If one managed to pop up, they’d be cut to pieces before they could manage to find and corrupt an apprentice, nevermind how they’d manage to truly immerse themselves in whatever perverse culture the Sith claimed. Still, it was an interesting fantasy and even after Feyre woke in a cold sweat, mind still racing from the shadows that seemed to press against her temple, she let herself imagine what it would be like to encounter one.

To cut one down.

Feyre bet they’d let her skip her trials if she did. Not that she wanted a Sith running around, of course. It was merely the wistful imaginings of all padawans hoping for glory. Feyre wanted to make a name for herself.

Old resentment bloomed in the morning as she packed her things into a sack, careful not to fill it to the brim. It would irk Tamlin, resulting in a lecture about how materialistic she was. Was it materialistic to not want to wash her robes every single night? In the sink, no less, while they were conserving water for drinking and washing? Tamlin would tell her to wear her tunic and robes more often between washings but Feyre got sweaty sitting in the cramped quarters of the ship. They started to smell like onions and while Tamlin might not mind, she certainly did.

Rolling them tight, Feyre packed three sets, closed up her knapsack, and made her way toward the shipyard just as dusk broke over the horizon. The light bounced off the metal buildings, half blinding her as she walked. 

What she wouldn’t have given for some shadows right then. 

Tamlin was waiting, handing over credits to the dock worker along with his clearance papers while they worked out which lane they’d take and what time they’d leave. It was all terribly boring, though she supposed it was important that they didn’t make the leap to hyperspace while another ship came out, obliterating them both in a fiery inferno.

Why did the thought amuse her? Feyre suppressed the smile forming as she clenched her fingers into fists, nails biting against her palm. Tamlin turned, eyes drifting toward her back at the pack slung over one shoulder. He didn’t say a word—he didn’t have to. Feyre could feel his disapproval coming off him in waves.

Silence was its own blessing, she supposed. Better than having to defend herself and submitting to the eventual lecture that would go on for what felt like ever. Still, she could feel his disappointment as they took their seat in the small, sleek craft they’d be in for only the force knew how long. Tamlin did the preliminary checks while Feyre settled everything in, finally sitting in the co-pilot's chair. 

Not a word was spoken until they jumped to hyperspace. Feeling his eyes burning holes against her skin, Ferye finally sighed with exasperation. “Just say it.”

“I think it was a mistake to involve you in this,” he said in that measured way of his, unaware of how deep his words cut. “You’re not ready for this kind of mission.”

“You don’t trust me.”

It wasn’t a question but merely a statement of fact. What other conclusion was she supposed to draw? Tamlin balked at every outing, especially as of late. Feyre had heard it a million times before and though she considered herself relatively tough, she thought she might cry if she had to listen to him list her faults again.

“When did I say that?”

“You didn’t have to say it,” Feyre snapped, swiveling in her chair to face him. Multicolored lights lit up the otherwise dark cockpit, while the console separated them. Feyre could see the saber resting lightly against Tamlin’s thigh and knew if he ignited it, she’d find the familiar green blade humming before her. It had once been a comforting sight.

She didn’t know what it was now. 

“I think I do need to say it in order for it to be true,” Tamlin replied, infuriating as ever. She wanted to wring his neck, an inappropriate thought she couldn’t shake.

“No, you don’t, because you say it a million different ways. I’m too reckless, I don’t think, I’m impulsive and every other little thing. And when you’re not constantly saying that, you’re arguing passionately to the Council that I don’t belong on missions and you refuse to help me prepare for the trials—”

“Have you considered that I am not ready to let you go?” Tamlin asked in a low voice.

Feyre paused. Oh, that was a dangerous thing to admit and they both knew it. Feyre’s eyes slid to the windshield before them, suddenly nervous. “You have to.”

“I know. I know,” he said, unaware that the low, urgent way he spoke those words angered her. He’d hold her back because he liked her? Even if it wasn’t forbidden—and Feyre had to believe that any kind of relationship between a Master and a Padawan was—it was downright cruel. She could be his peer, at least, and in a position to have this conversation with him without worrying he’d drop her in the archive again while avoiding her so she had no one to practice with. 

“I want to be a Knight, Tamlin,” she told him, fingers twisting in her lap. 

“There’s time—”

“You’re wasting it!” she burst out, rising from her chair so quickly she slammed her head against the low ceiling. “For the sake of feelings you know we can’t act on!”

“It’s only attachment that’s forbidden,” he argued, as if he hadn’t just admitted he was holding her back to satisfy his own desires. Feyre wanted to scream—wanted to wrap her hands around his large neck and squeeze until his eyes bulged and a raspy apology split from his lips. 

She’d take it too far if she didn’t get away from him. There was practically nowhere to go—down a ladder and into the hold, Tamlin right behind her. 

“Feyre–”

“No.”

Her heart thudded rapidly, lodging itself in her throat as she spun around. Tamlin’s tan skin paled at whatever he saw looking back at him, palms raised in defense. 

Take a breath. You are one with the force. Take a breath. 

“Feyre, can we talk about this?” he pleaded. There would be no avoiding it, and Feyre, never known for her tact, would have to figure out a way to navigate the conversation without throwing a wrench in her entire future. 

“Not now,” she said, exhaling through her nose. “I need—I need to think.”

Hope sprung like weeds in his eyes as Feyre tamped down her fury. Feyre knew, looking up at the man she’d once loved like a brother—respected like a father—and knew he would hold her hostage until she agreed to his terms. Lying felt wrong, deceiving him worse. If she went to the council, would they listen? Would they believe her over a Master? 

Tamlin nodded, mouth opening and closing like a fish as he tried to find the words he wanted. “I just…I’m not ready to say goodbye.”

Feyre could think of a dozen Masters and Padawans who continued to work alongside each other. Was he not ready to say goodbye to her, or to the power he had over her? The thought chilled her, filling her with fear. 

“You don’t have to,” she replied in a careful, measured tone though every inch of her vibrated with panic. “Very little has to change.”

Tamlin offered a humorless laugh. “Even you don’t believe that, Feyre. You’ll race off on a dangerous mission by yourself the first moment you get.”

“I won’t,” Feyre protested. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that she hated being alone. A mission by herself seemed like a particular brand of hell. Every moment Feyre got she was looking for company—seeking out the other padawans, her sisters, hell, even the turbo dog guy when she could catch him.

But rarely Tamlin. Not since he’d begun to sideline her and her resentment had grown like one of Elain’s gardens. When had that begun, anyway? Racking her brain, she realized it had been around the start of her nineteenth birthday. Two years—how foolish not to realize the underlying problem. There was so much wasted time and too much ground lost. 

Tamlin only shook his head. “Let's table this for now. You rest—I’ll keep watch.” She nodded, swallowing all the words she wanted to say as a plan began forming in her mind. She’d petition the council, she decided as she watched Tamlin climb back up the stairs. Either they’d believe her or they didn’t, but she was entitled to another Master if she wanted one.

The thought didn’t give her peace, though. As Feyre slid into the small bed hidden within the wall, her anger burned hot in her chest. This was not the Jedi way—she needed to find a way to forgive him for what he’d done to her.

But she couldn’t. Even in sleep, Feyre did not find peace. Her dreams were tinged red and shadowed, as though her anger had been made manifest. She woke to the sound of light beeping and Tamlin pulling open the small door so light flooded in.

“Can we trade?”

She only nodded, rubbing at her eyes as she scooted out of the narrow space. His fingers grazed her collarbone as she hopped to the ground, narrowly avoiding his hands reaching for her waist. Feyre had to resist the urge to slap him away, to not bark out, don't touch me. Tamlin merely watched, his disappointment obvious. What he thought was going to happen, she wondered? That he’d admit she’d been purposefully holding her back and hobbling her self-esteem simply to meet his own needs and she’d swoon? Fall into his arms? Abandon all the tenants of her teachings for him?

Feyre let him sleep longer than he had—Tamlin had only given her four hours, but Feyre gave him the remaining eight. She flung the door open just before they were about to burst out of hyperspace, and only because she was required to. He was still the Master, she his student and her whole future was in his hands.

“You’re angry.”

Feyre flipped the switches that would pull them just outside the atmosphere of Umbara, the neon blue of the stars fading as they slowed their descent.

“I’m frustrated,” she admitted, not wanting to give him any honesty at all. He was manipulating her, using the teachings of the Jedi against her and Feyre didn’t know how to fight back. She wasn’t equipped for these sorts of games, didn’t know the rules to even play. 

“I’m sorry,” Tamlin murmured, as if that was enough to erase two years of wasting her time. “Do you want to discuss it?”

“Is there any discussion we could have? Am I allowed to say no?”

“Stars, Feyre, I’m not—of course—” Tamlin set his jaw, grinding his teeth together loudly. “Of course you can.”

But everything in his body told her that he’d be angry if she did. It was written all over his face.

“Can we just wait until we’re back on Coruscant?” she asked, forcing herself to speak softer, lighter, to avoid whatever was brewing in his gut. “You don’t feel it?” Tamlin demanded.

“Tam,” Feyre breathed, invoking an old, familiar nickname. It was enough to settle him, the tension between them evaporating. “We’re in the atmosphere. Let's do our mission, go home, rest, and then we can discuss…us.”

She didn’t dare look at him. Could he taste the lie? Did he suspect she intended to speak with the council the minute her feet were back on Coruscant? Could he stop her? Feyre had too many questions as they were plunged into shadowy darkness. Umbara demanded her attention, pushing everything else to the side as Feyre stared. The local star was simply too far for its ray to penetrate, its reach beyond even the Republic. 

“What were they doing out here?” Feyre wondered aloud, breath curling around her face like shadow. 

“I don’t know,” Tamlin replied, deftly landing on the landing pad in the local ship port. “That’s what we’re here to find out.”

“Where do we start?”

Tamlin knew, of course. They’d been too busy arguing over the state of their tattered relationship to discuss the mission, and now Tamlin had all the clues and all the control, just like he always did. Feyre would be given information piece-meal, rewarded when she pleased him and iced out when she irritated him. It had been that way between them for a while. At least she understood that part of the dynamic, bothered as she was by it. 

“This way,” he said, disembarking with barely a glance back. Fingers balled to fists, Feyre followed after him, eyes searching the dark hungrily. Umbara was hardly some backwater planet that barely had running water, let alone civilization. Umbara was advanced in a way that would have made the cosmopolitan Coruscanti residents weep. Towering buildings tried to banish the shadows, bathing the surface in artificial lights. If she strained her eyes beyond the urban sprawl, Feyre thought she could see rolling hills rising like mist in the distance. 

Maybe that was her imagination filling in the gaps. 

What was beyond the gloom, where not even technology and light could touch? What secrets did the shadows hold? Perhaps it hadn’t been anything sinister at all, but merely the wildlife that had gotten the Jedi. Feyre shivered in spite of herself, wishing she could step closer to Tamlin without it being uncomfortable. In one fell swoop, he’d wrecked the delicate bond between master and padawan.

Her resentment reignited, hot as any flame. Her emotions were all over the place, though carefully guarded to keep Tamlin from sensing them. She’d learned to do this as a youngling, annoyed that she broadcast her every feeling to anyone who happened to be near, but perfected it when she found her sisters. Feyre didn’t trust the Jedi not to make them leave, even if it was a little unfair. Maybe they wouldn’t have.

But maybe they would have. And Feyre simply couldn’t take the risk. 

On the busy streets, Feyre kept her eyes straight ahead even as she examined the people from the corners. Umbarians were near human—their skin pale and bluish from the lack of sunlight, their hair white or silver, though sometimes so impossibly black that Feyre wasn’t sure if it was hair at all. Pale blue eyes peered through the gloom and she’d heard they could see colors regular humans couldn’t, though who knew how true that really was. Feyre wished they could linger and she could spend some time immersed in the local culture, but Tamlin walked quickly, determined to get them both in and out. Whether that was merely to conclude his investigation or bring their conversation to the fore, Feyre couldn’t tell. He was inscrutable that way. 

Along one of the neatly laid streets stood a rather shady looking cantina, even by Coruscant's standards. Feyre felt a thrill of excitement as Tamlin walked through the hissing steam of the door into the smell of liquor and sweat. 

Feyre’s eyes snagged on the chrome bar and the two impossibly large men seated on too-small stools. They likely would have fit a regular man perfectly fine—Tamlin could have sat with no issues at all. These men were built like warriors, with warm brown skin so at odds with the milky paleness of the locals and strange, scrawling tattoos inked in black. They both turned, their hazel eyes nearly gold as they landed first on Tamlin, and then Feyre. 

The larger of the two had his wavy, dark hair pulled half off a face marked with scars, confirming her theory he was a warrior. The other, more classically handsome, with shorter hair and sharper features, seemed entirely unblemished. That didn’t mean he looked less lethal. Feyre reached out with the force, trying to get a sense of these men but nothing but oily cold greeted her. Likely mercenaries, she decided as they turned back to their cups and the beautiful blonde woman wiping down the counter with a stained rag.

She had familiar eyes, though Feyre couldn’t quite place them. Was it the dark brown, or the shape? Blonde hair cascaded over fair skin, neatly curled either by her own hand or good genetics. Tamlin’s eyes lingered for a moment, too, before his lips pressed in a severe line. He didn’t speak as he approached—he merely swept his robe to the side to reveal his saber hanging from his belt.

The two warriors sitting at the bar grinned. Feyre didn’t think Tamlin noticed. Around them, people of varying species sat at tables, the hum of chatter enough to drown out their own conversation. 

“I wondered when your lot was going to turn up,” the blonde said, offering Feyre a smile that felt less menacing and warmer than what she’d given Tamlin. “Might as well sit down.”

Feyre did before Tamlin could stop her, hand on her shoulder as she slid next to the massive, long haired man. 

“We’re not here to drink. Three Jedi were slaughtered nearby, and the last place they were seen was here. In your cantina.”

“I’m Morrigan, though my friends call me Mor. You, I think, can call me Morrigan—you don’t seem like you have a lot of friends and I don’t see that changing anytime soon,” the woman told him, filling up a tankard of ale as if Tamlin hadn’t said anything. She slid it right past him to Feyre and somehow it felt like a test.

Antagonizing the locals wasn’t going to help them, Feyre reasoned. They needed information and they sounded like police. Relax, she wished she could say to Tamlin. But he was too rigid, too set in his ways and too proud to ever admit there might be a better way to get things done. His disapproval frustrated her even as she raised the spicy brew to her lips.

It earned Mor’s approval. 

“Look,” she said, cutting Tamlin off just as he was about to speak. Her eyes were still trained on Feyre as she pulled out a holo disc. “Your friends were here—I never disputed that fact and I’m not now. They came in for a few drinks, as you can see here…and then they left. Alive.”

Feyre did see that. The holo, sped up, showed all three knights order a drink, sit at a nearby table, and eventually leave with all their limbs in tact.

“It’s a rough planet,” the man next to her said, obviously eavesdropping. “Plant probably got them.”

Feyre rolled her eyes. It was possible, of course, though it seemed unlikely.

“Did they say what they were doing out here?” Tamlin demanded, his irritation plain. 

“Bet they were following the rumors,” the other man said, his voice icy and dark. Feyre nearly choked on her ale at the sound, eyes sliding of their own accord back to his beautiful face. He wore fingerless gloves, revealing horrific scars over the little skin he had revealed. What had happened to him? 

“What rumors?” Tamlin’s temper was rising, his force signature warming Feyre’s cool skin. 

“Is this a local ghost story?” Feyre asked them, offering up her most charming smile. 

“Something like that,” the man beside her chuckled. “They say he’s some kind of force user. Powerful.”

“Impossible,” Tamlin dismissed. 

“Cassian. Azriel,” Mor murmured, though there was no displeasure on her face. It was merely an order to mind their own business. Despite her more diminutive stature, both men returned to their drinks looking a little shamed. 

“Do you think they’re true?” Feyre asked, ignoring the waves of frustration rolling off Tamlin.

“I know three Jedi walked out of this bar alive, and met something in the dark,” Mor said, leaning forward so her hair spilled across the bar. “The wildlife and fauna here are dangerous if you’re stupid or careless. I didn’t think Jedi were either.”

“They’re not,” Tamlin all but hissed.

“Then maybe you ought to start there,” Mor said, eyes still only on Feyre. 

“They say he’s just outside the city,” Cassian added, nosing his way back into the conversation. “Lives on the edge of a mountain.”

“Or was it in the mountain?” Azriel asked with a sharp grin. Feyre knew they were trying to scare her and Tamlin, but she was genuinely intrigued. A dark force user seemed unlikely, but perhaps some kind of equivalent ability, like the Nightsisters were said to have. She wanted to know more than she wanted to unravel the mystery of the dead Jedi. 

“This was helpful,” Tamlin said in a tone that suggested the exact opposite as he tossed a couple credits onto the bar. Thanks for nothing, she swore she heard him say, though his lips never moved. Feyre gulped down the rest of her drink while Cassian and Azriel went back to studiously looking anywhere but at the rest of them. 

“Take care,” Mor said only to Feyre, offering a pretty smile. “I’ll see you around.”

Cassian and Azriel both turned to look at her with those unnerving eyes, their smiles suggesting the same thing. No one looked at Tamlin at all, who half jerked her off the stool and toward the door. Feyre stumbled, looking over her shoulder to find their smiles gone, replaced by some other emotion that almost looked like fury. 

“There was something strange about them,” Feyre said the moment they were back in the dark. “Didn’t you think—”

“Why didn’t you let me handle it?” Tamlin demanded, rounding on her so quickly that she did fall back then, her ass hitting the ground hard enough to rumble up her spine. She scrambled to her feet, eyes smarting with embarrassment. “They were making fun of you!”

“They—they weren’t,” she insisted, swallowing the urge to cry. She thought of how Mor had looked at her with respect, pulling out that puck so Feyre could see the Jedi had left unharmed.

If she’d been crueler, she would have told Tamlin the truth. They spoke with derision because they didn’t like him. 

“Let's go,” he said, his eyes like ice. “We can circle back in the morning.”

“Fine.”

But it wasn’t fine. Feyre stewed as they walked toward the inn they’d be sleeping in, grateful for the two beds that were provided rather than one. If she had to sleep next to Tamlin, she thought she might have flung herself out a window. They still shared the small space, dodging the other as best they could, tempers still high. He kept sighing, waiting for her to ask him what he was thinking like she often did in the past. She didn’t, though. 

Feyre fell asleep thinking not about Tamlin, but what Mor had told her. Of the man who supposedly lived in or around the mountain and the power he commanded. It seemed more like a children’s story meant to keep them from wandering and yet…had those Jedi gone looking? It would be tempting, certainly, especially if that man had been framed as a force user. She wanted to go looking, too, even if Tamlin didn’t, though she didn’t know how to convince him of it. 

Feyre woke to darkness and Tamlin already dressed. He was standing by the door, hair left around his face.

“You’re awake. Good. I’ve been thinking about last evening,” he began, hand reaching for the control panel on the wall. Feyre sat up, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her palm.

“What about it?” she asked.

“I think it’s best if I conclude this investigation on my own. You’re…you’re safer here, I think.”

Feyre’s mouth fell open of its own accord, snapped shut as she processed his words. “Safer?”

“I want you to remain in this room until I return—”

“No!”

“I’m sorry, Feyre. But things will move much faster, and go smoother, if you just let me handle this.”

“Tamlin!”

She scrambled out of bed, but he was quicker, reflexes sharper. He offered one last glance back, eyes hardly apologetic at all.

“Tamlin!” she yelled, but the door hissed shut just in time for her palm to smack against the cool metal. She screamed his name twice to no avail. He’d locked her in the room. Feyre turned toward the window, too small for her to crawl out of even if she shattered it. 

Think, she ordered herself, but the walls of the tiny room seemed to close in on her, the darkness heavy and oppressive. Tamlin was a lot of things, but at their foundation, he was her mentor. Her teacher.

Her friend.

Did she mean anything to him at all? Or was she merely an object for him to protect with no consideration of her own wants, needs, or desires? Feyre’s hurt shifted into anger, her mind replaying the argument in the ship. The realization he had been holding her back because he wanted to keep her around longer, that he would derail her entire life to satisfy himself. He was supposed to put his padawan above himself and yet…

Feyre went back to the door, reaching back into the force. It was wrong—so, so wrong—to use it the way she was. The once warm air chilled as she embraced, just for a moment, the hatred she felt. Metal crunched and snapped, the bolts whining before they broke entirely. When Tamlin returned, he’d know what she’d done and how she’d done it.

Let him, she thought as she gripped tight to that anger. It was a lifeline right then, antithetical to her teachings as it was. Hatred, anger, fear—all led to the dark side of the force. She needed to let it go.

All Jedi touch the dark side. 

She’d read that in one of the books in the archive. Well, here she was, touching it too. Feyre stepped from the ruined wreckage feeling more powerful than she ever had in her life. She’d atone when she returned to Coruscant, would tell the Council everything and hoped they understood her reasons, her feelings.

But right then, Feyre didn’t care about any lesson Tamlin had ever taught her. He’d betrayed her many times over, so thoroughly that it couldn’t be repaired with centuries worth of time. It was tempting to hunt him down and confront him, but Tamlin was a Master who’d been trained by someone who valued his education. He’d beat her easily—smugly.

No.

Once outside, Feyre’s gaze turned toward the darkness and the mountains she assumed lingered just beyond. For only a moment, Feyre took stock of herself. Was she afraid of what she’d find? 

Was she afraid to die?

No.

Feyre stepped with confidence, unafraid of the darkness around her. Maybe it was unchecked hubris that guided her, or some sense that the force would protect her. Feyre didn’t bother thinking too much about it, vanishing out of the city toward the mountains that loomed overhead like great, craggy fingers. All at once, Feyre understood why people would imagine a monster lived here—who else might survive it? It occurred to her, as she got further and further from the city, that this was foolish—she ought to go back to the ship and send a message to the Council before Tamlin knew what she had done. 

Feyre nearly turned back—she should have. If it hadn’t been for an overwhelming tug in her gut, she might have abandoned her plan entirely. Feyre kept moving, her body knowing the way even as her mind raced. She could feel the presence of something—someone—watching, waiting. The wind picked up, ruffling her hair around her face and too late, Ferye realized she hadn’t bothered to braid her long hair, nor had she changed from her training pants and tank-top. She’d merely run out, caring only that her feet were laced up in her white boots and her saber was clipped to her belt. It should have felt cold but Feyre was warm as her speed picked up, eyes trying desperately to cut through the dark. 

It never occurred to Feyre she might be running straight into a trap until a strong, bare arm wrapped itself like a noose around her neck. Clotheslined back, Feyre gagged as her fingers attempted to pry the grip off to no avail. She twisted, catching sight of a strange, angular mask in the gloom and familiar black tattoo’s scrawled up her assailant's strong bicep and Feyre swore smoke trailed off him, creating massive wings just behind him.

The man was strong, but Feyre was quick, kicking behind her to catch him in the knee. He grunted through the mask as she spun, heart racing, and ignited her purple blade. Whatever he was, Feyre was certain he was no match for an armed Jedi. Feyre didn’t wait for him to regain the upper hand, swinging furiously with all the skill she’d earned over the years.

Her breath caught as his own blade ignited, a brilliant, bleeding red, to block her strike. For a moment they were deadlocked, her staring up into that eyeless mask while their sabers hummed with anticipation. 

“You’re—”

He pushed back though he didn’t come forward to strike her again. Instead, he cocked his helmeted head as though curious to see what she’d do next. Feyre couldn’t breathe fully, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.

“That’s a Jedi’s weapon.”

The dark, mechanical laugh that sounded in response made her heart stumble. 

“Where did you get it?”

She didn’t expect an answer, though Feyre could force one from him. He wasn’t a Jedi—she’d never seen a blade that color before. Lunging, Feyre struck again, expecting to reveal his inability to truly wield it. A lightsaber belonged to a Jedi the way a person’s arm did—it was instinctual, innate. Not just anyone could pick it up and wield it. You needed a connection to the force and this person…

This person had it. He blocked her with skill, moving quicker than he should have been able to. Feyre was all offensive strikes, hair whipping around her face until she could smell the singed edges on the wind mingled with the sweat dripping from his skin. 

“Who are you?” she panted when he forced her back, just hard enough to put six feet of space between them. 

He didn’t answer, head snapping up to look behind her as something rough gripped Feyre around the navel and wrenched her back so forcefully it stole the remaining breath from her lungs. Tamlin has used the force to remove her from the fight, stepping around her with his green blade ignited. Feyre wanted to scream, though if it was to warn the assailant or Tamlin, she didn’t know. She couldn’t move, dazed and pinned by Tamlin’s superior use of the force. All she could do was lay there, desperately gasping for air, as Tamlin spoke words she barely heard. 

The warrior with the red blade made the first strike, moving in a blur of color that made her stomach roil. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might have been toying with her and yet watching him match Tamlin blow for blow, Feyre knew with sickening clarity what was coming. 

“Let me go,” she whispered. His pride would be his downfall, would get them both killed. “Let me help you.”

If he heard her whispered plea, Tamlin didn’t respond. He moved just as quickly, dodging rocks half hidden beneath the soft grass. The pair vanished over a hillside for a moment before they were back, dodging and striking like two masters determined to see the other one fall. For a moment, Feyre thought Tamlin had the upper hand when he kicked the warrior in the chest, his blade slipping from his grip. Tamlin attacked three in a row, bashing the assailant over his mask until it was cracked-useless.

Tamlin raised his own saber to make the killing blow but she knew, somehow, what was coming. The assailant reached out, his own blade flying back into his hand. He pulled, turning one red blade into two. 

Tamlin couldn’t react fast enough. With one hand, his green saber was blocked while the other humming red blade drove neatly through Tamlin’s throat. His grip on her relinquished and Feyre scrambled to her feet, noting that Tamlin had managed to cut open the warrior's helmet. 

Tamlin fell to his knees, turning his head to look at her before he died. If he truly saw her or not, she didn’t know.

He was dead before his shoulders touched the ground.

Feyre made her way over, holding her own blade with something akin to fear. Blinking, it didn’t register who was standing in front of her until she heard a familiar voice.

“Surprise.”

Exhaling a shaking breath, she drank in the sweat soaked onyx hair now falling into violet-blue eyes. Rhys cocked his head again to look at her, a half smile playing on his lips.

“You killed Tamlin,” she whispered.

“Was that its name?” he replied without remorse. “You brought him here.”

“I—” Feyre didn’t know what to say. Rhys continued to look at her with that cold amusement. “You didn’t kill me.”

“I didn’t come to kill you, Feyre.”

Her grip on her blade tightened. “Then why are you here? You…you pulled me here.”

His smile widened as he stepped over Tamlin’s still warm body like it was little more than trash. Perhaps to him it was. 

“Just as you pulled me to Coruscant,” he said, peering down at her with curiosity. 

Feyre yielded a step, keeping distance between them. Her mind was screaming static, unable to string together anything coherent. Feyre couldn’t figure out what was happening. She wasn’t adrift, but she didn’t feel awake anymore. This was a dream, somehow, and Feyre would wake up still angry with Tamlin, who would be alive.

She hadn’t wanted him to die. She’d just…she’d just wanted to be free.

“What do you mean?” she heard herself ask, her own voice taking on a dream-like quality. 

Something soft pulled against her—not the force, or, not exactly. It wasn’t like when Tamlin had pinned her to the soft grass, the force a boulder against her chest. This was more muscle memory, something that lived within her. 

“You’ve been calling me for a long time. When I was a boy, I used to dream about skies the color of your eyes,” he murmured, tilting his head again to study her. 

“You’ve been watching me.”

His grin widened. “Yes.”

“You’re going to kill me.”

He shook his head, hair sliding along his forehead. “You know that’s not true. I feel it, you know. Your pain, your anger…your hatred. I feel it all, Feyre. I could take it all away from you.”

She stumbled back another step. “No,” she whispered, unsure if she was telling him, or herself. He only smiled, his face still illuminated beneath the hum of his vibrant blade. 

“The Jedi are holding you back, Feyre,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper. Feyre swore she could feel the words caress her cheek like a phantom kiss, cool against her overheated skin. “They refuse to see how magnificent you are and are afraid of the power you hold. They will never give you what you want.”

A strange, half-sob, half breath escaped Feyre. All she could do was shake her head back and forth, still stumbling back. She shouldn’t have come, she should have stayed in the room. Tamlin—Tamlin had been right. “This is my fault,” she managed, panting as she continued to move away from Rhys.

“Feyre,” he warned, stalking forward for her. Feyre broke into a sprint he interrupted with the force, lifting her off her feet and dragging her back to him. Feyre’s toes skimmed against the grass and though she could not move, Rhys wasn’t hurting her, either. He merely held her gaze, searching for something she prayed wasn’t there. 

“What do you want from me?” she whispered. “What are you?”

He stretched his neck left, and then right, his tattoos catching in the light. Too late, Feyre realized she’d seen them in the cantina the day before—Cassian and Azriel had sported the same ones. They’d told her about the force user, they’d lured her here. But worse, even, was the knowledge that they’d only been able to do that because Feyre had told Rhys before she’d left. She’d told him she was going to Umbara. She’d laid her own trap for him.

“There is no name for what I am, though I think the Jedi call me Sith,” Rhys said, his voice low and cold. “I want you, Feyre. Join me. Let me train you, teach you—not as an apprentice or acolyte. An equal.”

Sith. 

Fear won, in the end. Feyre pushed against his hold, shoving him so far back that he spun several times through the air before landing far from her in the distance, his saber finally sheathed. Feyre didn’t wait—she took off running as quickly as she could. There was no escaping him on Umbara, but if she could warn the Council, she could—stars, she didn’t know. 

Feyre made it to her ship, closing it up and turning it on before she managed to catch her breath. It was a betrayal to leave Tamlin’s body on Umbara, to not give him a proper burial befitting a Jedi Master and Feyre was afraid. 

She should have been. The moment Feyre made the jump to hyperspace, she heard him.

“Feyre, darling,” Rhys murmured, appearing seemingly from nowhere. He had her cornered in the cockpit, his larger body blocking the only way out of the ship. Anger replaced fear as she screamed, launching herself from the chair with such force she didn’t feel pain when her thigh clipped the edge of the dash. She and Rhys went plummeting into the hold, tumbling to the hard, cold steel in a tangle of elbows and limbs. He groaned when her knee connected between his legs, causing her to slam it against him again, just because she hated him.

Straddling his waist, Feyre hit him so hard a small amount of his blood splattered against her cheek. Raising her fist to hit him again, Feyre realized he was grinning with red stained teeth, eyes watching her not with anger or horror, but delight.

“Do it,” he said, pushing his hips into her as his hands held her firm against him. “Hit me. Hurt me.”

“I thought you were my friend,” she accused, trying to writhe free of his grasp. There were a pair of stun cuffs hanging just beyond the door to the sleeping chamber and if she could grab them, she could restrain him. Could at least force him to face justice for what he’d done.

“I am your friend, Feyre. You just haven’t realized it because you’re so indoctrinated,” Rhys replied, still holding her tight.

“Let me go,” she ordered and to her surprise, he did. Feyre scrambled to her feet, careful not to look at the stun cuffs even as she inched close enough she could have snatched them. Rhys, too, stood, wincing slightly. Good. She hoped he hurt, that he had bruises in places he couldn’t even mention. That they reminded him of her when he was alone in a cell buried on Coruscant. 

“I’m not going to join you,” she threatened. 

Rhys only shook his head. “You will.”

Feyre backed away slowly as he approached, letting him play predator for just a moment. She wasn’t sure she liked the look in his eye—the same she’d seen on Tamlin’s face when he admitted why he wouldn’t let her take the trials. Rhys reached for her face, fingers curled to brush her cheek and Feyre struck. Quicker than he expected, she slid the cuff around his wrist, chaining the other to a nearby beam.

Rhys only laughed. Even when she pulled his sabers off his belt he still laughed, watching her like she was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen in his entire life. “Feyre,” he all but crooned, still looking exactly like a predator. His eyes seemed to shift right then, the violet shifting to red and back just long enough for her to see what the darkside had done to him. “Feyre, darling. You’re acting as if I am not exactly where I want to be.”

“In a prison cell on Coruscant?” she hissed in response.

“Oh, I don’t think we’ll make it that far, do you?”

“Yes. I think I’ll testify at your trial and watch them behead you.”

Rhys only grinned. “We’ll see.”

Feyre left him there to gather her thoughts, strangely calm in the wake of the restrained Sith Lord in her hold. No one had prepared her for this—she’d never been trained for this situation. She shouldn’t be angry with Tamlin, who couldn’t defend himself, but if he’d just taught her like a Master should have, she might know. Everything Feyre knew, she’d taught herself and it showed. 

Her fingers hovered over the console, hesitating when she went to dial the code to reach the Council. She didn’t need Tamlin’s advice to teach her that, at least. They could advise her. 

Tell them. 

Feyre’s indecision cost her. She was exhausted, her adrenaline ebbing as she sat in the cockpit, warring with herself on what to do, how best to act. What even to say. How to explain that this was her fault, that she’d kept secrets even when having friends outside the temple wasn’t forbidden. She should have known, though. Should have sensed him.

Why hadn’t she?

Feyre’s fingers pulled back against her chest, her decision made when she felt him behind her. She barely had time to turn before Rhys raised his hands.

“Forgive me for this,” he murmured before he ripped the force over her head like a blanket. The world went dark, and Feyre was lost to slumber.

To peace.

Feyre woke with a start. The air was warm and she was in a rather large bed, still clothed in her tank top and trousers, though her boots were missing and her feet were bare. Reaching beneath the heavy silver blanket, she found her saber, too, was gone. Feyre kicked off the blankets and made her way across cool marble for a door that was, predictably, locked.

A note on a table just beside, in elegant cursive, read, 

Feyre,

You are not my prisoner, though the door may suggest otherwise. Please relax until I return.

I will explain,

Rhys

Would he explain why he’d disarmed her, too? Feyre crumpled it in her fist before stalking for a set of large windows overlooking an amethyst river winding down the mountain peaks. Certain he was about to give her some lecture about how she was his guest who simply wasn’t allowed to leave, Feyre took herself first to the ‘fresher to wash the blood, sweat, and anxiety from her skin before putting on the only clothing available to her.

He was a bastard, offering up those satin cuffed pants in a pale blue color, alongside a matching top that tapered to a point just above her navel. No shoes, no socks—nothing but bare feet and an exposed collarbone that offered far too much real estate for him to damage should they come to blows again. 

There was nothing to do once she was dressed but pace and ruminate. Feyre tried to hold her anger over what had happened on Umbara, and in her own way, she supposed she did. Only, instead of seeing Rhys cutting down Tamlin with ruthless efficiency, she saw Tamlin’s face as he admitted he didn’t want her to take the trials because she’d leave him. She saw his dismissal when he told her she couldn’t complete the mission with him.

Saw how he’d died because he refused to let her fight alongside him. 

And in her heart, Feyre knew that if she’d been allowed to join the fight, Rhys would have backed down. Wouldn’t have fought them both as hard because she was important to him for some twisted reason. They could have destroyed Rhys. They could have walked back to the Jedi as heroes who’d seen the faces of other Sith and could better hunt them back into extinction.

He didn’t trust her. Hadn’t viewed her as someone who could help. 

Now he was dead and she was somewhere she shouldn’t be. Feyre turned as the door hissed open, her thoughts settling as Rhys strolled in.

He, too, had showered, his dark hair pushed off his face and his beard a mere shadow clinging to his jaw. The faint red of his eyes shifted in the light, slipping into violet as he came fully into view. 

“Is there some sort of dress code here?” she asked, noting his sleeveless black attire once again. 

“Blue looks wonderful on you,” was his reply. “You look well rested.” “No thanks to you,” she snapped.

Rhys shrugged his broad shoulders. “Someone ought to attempt to take care of you.”

“I don’t need you to take care of me! I need you to let me go.”

“Where will you go?” he asked casually, glancing at the door still open behind him. “Back to Coruscant.”

Feyre opened her mouth to tell him yes, but the word didn’t come out. She’d hesitated on the ship and she was hesitating now. 

A smile spread over sensual lips. “Ah. See? You don’t want to return.”

“That’s not true.”

Rhys reached for his belt where her saber was clipped and tossed her to her with ease, eyes tracking the movement. “No, you don’t. You could have cut me down—”

“I can’t,” she said with an air of breathless desperation. “I’m only a padawan.”

His brows crinkled. “I don’t know what that means.”

“It means I’m just a student. I…” Feyre didn’t know how to explain it to him. “You didn’t have a Master?”

His grin widened. “Once. For a time, I suppose.”

“Did you kill him?”

Rhys only continued to smile, his silence answer enough. 

“I couldn’t have killed you,” she repeated, trying to get her point across. “You spared me.”

“I had no intention of taking your life, but I wouldn’t have stopped you from taking mine. To die at your hands…that would have been an honor. To see you take up my helm, lead my warriors…” His smile was almost dreamy.

“I thought Sith only moved in pairs.”

“I am no Sith, Feyre,” he said, cocking his head so a lock of dark hair fell against his eyes. “Those are Jedi terms, not mine. I never said I was Sith, nor do we put labels on what we are.”

“But you are evil,” she shot back.

Rhys arched one dark brow. “Am I? From where I’m standing, it seems I did you a favor. I freed you from the shackles of a man who warped his teachings and traditions to keep you under his thumb for his own selfish desires—”

“And what do you call all this?!” she demanded with a shriek.

“Liberation,” he replied easily, as though he’d practiced this very speech and it was going exactly as he hoped. “You can be free of Jedi doctrine and dogma, can do whatever you like. Feyre, your power, I—”

He ran a hand through his dark hair as he stepped toward her, more cautious than he’d been on Umbara. “I could show you.”

“Sith don’t do equals,” she said, well aware she was really asking with curiosity rather than slinging accusations. “Only Masters and Apprentices.”

“I am Sith only by your standards,” Rhys replied with more earnestness than he had any right to express. “Dark, light…it’s all just the force.”

This was dangerous and she knew it. Rhys’s eyes flashed red for just a moment, reminding her that the Sith were liars by nature. Master manipulators. It was working, though and he must have known it. When had he gotten so close? Rhys reached for a lock of her hair, curling it around his fingers.

“I feel your pain, Feyre. I’ve felt it for a long time. You’ve spent a lifetime trying to meditate it away but what if you embraced it?”

“I’d be a traitor to everything I believed. Just like you are,” she repeated, stepping away from him before she could get too lost in his words. They tempted her, pulling her down as though he were some great, all-encompassing current. 

Back turned, Feyre only heard the hiss of his ignited saber. “Fight me, Jedi,” Rhys snarled, his voice laced with condemnation. “Fight me so I can show you what you really are.”

Feyre whirled around too fast, forgetting to think about what was happening. With a pushing leap in the air, Feyre’s blade was lit and crashing against Rhys’s before her feet touched the ground again. He grinned savagely, blocking the blow like it was nothing to him. Who cared how she killed him, Feyre reasoned as she lifted her blade again. So long as he was dead.

Rhys dodged her in a flurry of swings, but didn’t move to attack her back until Feyre got a little too close to his throat. Her blade singed over his cheekbone, sparing his facial hair, drawing a neat line of blood over his otherwise immaculate skin.

He was brutal, then, eyes a burning red as he spun on her, forcing Ferye to take on the defensive position rather than the offensive. Her wrist ached from the effort to keep that saber in her hand, though Feyre did not back down, either. Feyre, perhaps, should have realized what he was trying to do when the backs of her knees hit the side of the bed, but Feyre hadn’t put Rhys’s plan together until he’d wrenched her blade from her hand, tossed it across the room, and pinned her beneath his body and the mattress.

“You hate me,” he panted, sweat sliding down his forehead. His dark hair was soaked again, falling into those unnatural eyes like branches of a willow. He was beautiful right then, unfairly so, with his cheeks flushed and his wild eyes. “Say it.”

“I hate you,” she replied, gaze drifting toward his mouth. She shouldn’t want someone like him. 

“I almost believe you,” Rhys replied, chest heaving from the exertion of their fight. She hadn’t realized she was panting, too, until he leaned close enough she could practically taste his breath. Feyre hitched her leg up over his hip in an attempt to roll away, but Rhys grabbed her thigh, holding her so she could feel how uninterested in fighting her he was. 

“I’ve waited,” he murmured, lips caressing the side of her jaw as his other hand came to her throat. Rhys pinned her by her neck, fingers squeezing just enough to make her dizzy. “You’re the only woman in the galaxy I’d pretend to serve turbodogs for.”

“You think turbodogs are beneath you?” she asked. Feyre would have laughed at the realization that this brutal Sith Lord spent years on Coruscant pretending to be little more than a vendor if she hadn’t been so turned on right then. 

“I think pretending to be something I’m not was beneath me,” Rhys said, mouth touching hers. It was brief, a whispered breath before he pulled away to look, but Feyre felt it. His touch was electric, waking up a slumbering piece of her soul she hadn’t known existed at all. Rhys saw it, his smile triumphant.

“You’re mine, Jedi,” he murmured, cocking his head to the side as he arched a brow. Tell me I’m wrong, that arrogant look seemed to say. 

She couldn’t and he knew it. Rhys had known it the moment he turned up on Umbara because Feyre had been telling him so since they’d become friends. She’d told him her frustrations, her hopes, her irritations…Rhys knew it all. Could sense her even when she’d been too clouded to sense him. Maybe this dormant part of her had always recognized him.

Or maybe she merely liked the man hovering over top her, his eyes giving away his plan. Feyre met his gaze. Rhys stopped playing his games, mouth slanting over hers with a heady, desperate groan. Feyre kissed him back, tasting the sweat and heat on his tongue mingled with the left over copper from their fight. Feyre learned quite quickly that kissing him was a lot like fighting him.

He wanted to break her down until she gave in, and this was a far more effective battle in which Feyre yielded too much too soon.

After all, it was her leg he had hitched around his waist. She could have pretended he was driving the whole thing but Feyre was rubbing against him like a cat. It felt good, his hand around her throat, his cock between her legs, his tongue in her mouth. Worse, even, were her hands slipping from where he’d pinned them over her head, stuck thanks to the heaviness of his body laid across her own. Distracted by the kissing, Rhys didn’t notice until Feyre had them against his chest, not to shove, but to run them down the smooth material of his tunic. Rhys sighed, his thumb pressing against the hollow of her throat for only a moment.

Feyre gasped, arching her neck for a deeper breath. Rhys pounced, kissing her deeper, more fervently. She’d done exactly what he’d wanted, opening entirely so he could 

“You really didn’t know it was me?” he breathed, a lock of hair falling over his forehead. “Not even deep down?”

Feyre fisted her fingers at the nape of his neck, wanting him to just shut up, even for one second. No, she thought to herself as their teeth collided in a frenzy of need, the darkside clouds everything. 

But she’d been clouded by her own anger, her frustrations with Tamlin and the lack of movement in her career. Feyre wouldn’t have noticed Rhys was sith if he’d worn a badge printed to the front of his chest declaring him such. Surely he knew it.

“I need you. Right now,” Rhys breathed, his mouth sliding from her lips to kiss a path down her jaw. His teeth caught on her earlobe, tugging just a little rougher than she thought he meant to, though Feyre enjoyed it. The hand on her thigh moved toward her bare stomach, teasing the thin material as he pushed it higher and higher.

“I don’t—I’ve never—”

“I’ll talk you through it,” he promised, taking his other hand off her throat as he slid himself down the length of her body to settle on the floor between her legs. “I’m going to lick your pussy now.”

Feyre blinked, her mind frustratingly blank. Rhys took advantage, removing the pants he’d provided for her with ease to toss them over his broad shoulders like they were nothing.

“Peace is a lie, Feyre,” he murmured, once she was bared before him. Callused fingers slid up her thighs, parting them wider and wider until she was spread obscenely. 

“No peace,” Rhys repeated, his gaze burning as it raked over her half naked form. “Only passion.”

Rhys did exactly as he promised, licking up the center of her body while holding her gaze. It felt like there was some kind of magic there, something hypnotic that kept Feyre from looking away. Maybe it was simply her need for control that kept her eyes pinned on him. Whatever it was, Feyre panted as she watched, her arousal burning through the last remaining defenses she had.

No peace—only passion. 

Peace had always been hard, even with hours of mediation. Feyre understood passion well, though—she’d been battling it her entire life. Swallow her anger, swallow her frustration—swallow everything in an effort to find some higher purpose. She’d failed over and over.

Maybe a better teacher could have shown her a clearer path.

Maybe she’d always been destined to fall. 

Feyre arched her hips as Rhys drew her closer, eyes fluttering shut as he continued to tease his tongue over her clit. Over and over, in rhythmic circles, until she felt like she might die. Feyre was too hot, the desire burning through her from the inside out.

Rhys moaned against her skin, fingers spreading her wider before teasing her sensitive opening. Inch by agonizing inch he went, pushing that finger further and further until Feyre was whimpering, hips rolling against his hand and mouth looking for relief. Rhys only chuckled. 

“Needy,” he taunted, his voice strained. “What will you look like impaled on my cock?”

“Please,” Feyre replied, though she wasn’t sure if she was asking him to return to licking or shutting up. “Rhys, please.”

He lowered his face again, eyes rolling back into his skull before he resumed his attention on her swollen clit. Feyre barely noticed the way he worked that second finger into her body until he pulled away again, swearing softly about the tightness of her body. She was so close to finishing and desperate for it. 

He knew it. Rhys began pumping his fingers in and out of her body rougher, his mouth sped up until Feyre’s head hit the mattress, staring upward at the dark ceiling. “Rhys,” she pleaded. Her body was on fire, electric and aching. Her arousal wound its way up her spine, settling at the back of her throat and in her lower belly. He sucked, fingers curling so they found some secret spot only she’d ever known about and Feyre was undone. She screamed without meaning to, half plea, half prayer—the only word that escaped his name. Rhys didn’t stop until Feyre whimpered, boneless and exhausted on the bed.

“You’re not done yet,” Rhys said, rising up to his full height. Feyre could only watch as he peeled off his clothes, head cocked like a predator once more. “I won’t rest until I’ve had all of you.”

“And then what?”

“Then you’re mine,” he breathed, fingers unclasping the button on his pants. He’d already removed his top, revealing a toned body worthy of the arms she’d seen during their fight and more muscles than she’d known one person could reasonably have. The tattoos were on full display, unbroken by clothing though still just as indecipherable. She started to ask him what they meant, but Rhys’s pants fell to the floor, revealing the thick, hard length of him and Feyre forgot about everything else.

“You can’t put that in my body,” she whispered as he crawled toward her, the muscles of his back shifting with each graceful movement.

“I can,” he murmured, lowering himself over her flushed body for a kiss, “and I will.”

Feyre let him, forgetting for a moment what was going to happen. He tasted sweet after having his tongue in her body and his hands managed to take her top off before Feyre registered how he did it.

“You’re remarkably unobservant,” Rhys breathed, shifting his hips so the tip of his cock brushed against her wetness. “We’ll work on that.” Rhys slid himself inside her just an inch, though it was enough to draw a gasp from Feyre, fingers digging into his biceps.

“Breathe,” he ordered, eyes searching her face. “You’re doing so well, Feyre, darling.”

“I can’t—”

“You can,” he interrupted, pushing deeper. “You will.”

Even if she’d wanted to escape him, it was too late. Rhys made good on his threat from earlier, slipping deeper and deeper into her body until Feyre was certain she couldn’t take it. But he’d been right—by the time he bottomed out, she’d begun to adjust to the stretch it required to accommodate him, her discomfort turning to pleasure. 

“Look at you,” Rhys breathed, the tendons in his neck strained from keeping himself still inside her. “You take my cock so well.”

Rhys pulled out and thrust back in with the same brutality she’d come to associate with him. Feyre gasped, not out of pain, but desire. It felt good to be treated like she could handle something rough. Like she wasn’t fragile—like she was strong. 

Rhys kissed her again and she realized she was practically screaming her thoughts at him through the force. “You’re mine, and I’m yours,” Rhys breathed, nose nuzzling her own. “Those are our own tenants, the only code we live by now.”

Feyre met him thrust for thrust, kissing him rather than answering. She could feel the cold of the dark sliding through her, washing out the light that had once existed. With each new slide of Rhys’s cock, Feyre fell further and further into shadow. 

Where she belonged. 

“Take it,” Rhys moaned into her neck, teeth scraping sensitive skin. “Take all of it.”

As if she had a choice. Rhys gripped her hips, pulling her into him harder and faster, until all Feyre knew was the taste of the salt on his skin and the sound of his breathing in her ear. His hand found her throat again, pinning her beneath him as Rhys thrust over and over. His fingers squeezed just enough to leave her breathless without hurting her.

Feyre came again, surprised by the intensity of her orgasm. Her teeth sank into his shoulder to suppress the urge to scream again as Rhys moaned her name, whining ever so softly before slamming himself entirely into her body so he, too, could release himself.

He collapsed a moment later, face nuzzled into her neck. Sweat slicked down his back and over his forehead, making his golden skin glistening beneath the lights.

Rhys rolled over a few moments later, one powerful arm thrown over his eyes.

Feyre sat up, ignoring that she could feel the proof of his desire sliding out of her body. “What do these mean?”

Rhys glanced down at his tattoos inked over the top of his chest, arms, and shoulders. “Luck in battle,” he murmured, tracing one of the swirling lines with his finger. “According to the customs of my people.”

There was no point in asking if they worked. So instead, Feyre held his gaze as she said, “He locked me inside.”

Rhys leaned up on his elbows, hair half falling in his eyes. “I know. I know. Never again, Feyre. Never. Again.”

There was rage in his words—a promise that they would make themselves strong no matter the cost. Feyre wanted that. She wanted to be untouchable. Not a pet, not the delicate woman some man loved, but fierce. Strong.

Feared.

“Never again,” she whispered, lacing her fingers through his as he brushed a kiss over her knuckles.

“Sleep, first,” Rhys murmured, opening his arm in invitation. “Then we train.”

“And then?”

Rhys offered her a sleepy smile as Feyre pressed her head to his chest. “Revenge.”