#Unnecessary angst

[blushing-in-space]

Deception

-> anakin skywalker

Summary: [Based on Clone Wars; S4 Ep15] As a Jedi Knight, it’s part of your duty to follow the orders of the Jedi Council, no matter how taxing or dangerous the task. You are given a highly classified mission that not only may end in your death but requires complete secrecy from everyone- Even your lover Anakin Skywalker.

Warnings: ANGST, Death, murder, blood, slight gore, loss of loved ones, grieving process. Probably inaccurate use of the force and force healing

-> I looked at the message before me, brows furrowed. No, this couldn’t be right… Would the Jedi Council ask this of me? Something so classified sounds like it should be a mission of a Jedi Master, not a knight like me.

Mace Windu’s face was all the answer I needed. His eyes were slits as he looked down at me, face set seriously. His fellow council members had a similar expression.

“It is of the utmost importance no word spoken here leaves this room. Is that understood, [name]?” Windu repeats to me.

I have no choice but to nod my head. I serve the Galactic Republic, I cannot let my relationships meddle in my duties as a Jedi Knight.

I bowed my head, “Yes, masters. It will be done.”

——

“What’s the big rush?” Anakin smirks as I carry myself hastily down the dimly lit alleyway we always take when returning to the Jedi Temple from the port.

Ahsoka trails behind us both, thankfully oblivious to Anakin’s wandering hands. I did not agree to her being here and had suggested she take the shuttle home, knowing it would be safer for the young padawan. But like her master, Ahsoka was stubborn and determined to join us for the meeting I had lied about. I feared for her safety- I hope she will not be there when the time comes.

I glance over at Anakin, forcing a playful smile to adorn my lips as I would have in normal circumstances. “I’m not rushing. I’m just trying to get to the council meeting on time.”

I ignore Anakin as he rolls his eyes. “I can see it now- another boring debate I’ll sleep through,” he sighs, though his eyes linger on me and I can’t help but notice it.

We fell for each other when we were just padawans, and have remained loving by one another’s side for almost four years. While I was fairly good at hiding stolen looks and the brush of our hands, Anakin on the other hand doesn’t seem to understand the strategy of hiding our relationship.

He struggles more than I do with our relationship. It frustrates him so easily when he cannot pull me into a kiss after not seeing me for weeks, or to just wrap his arm around me as we walk as I can tell he wants to do now. I’ve known from the start about Anakin’s unusually strong emotional side for a Jedi. That is what makes me especially nervous for tonight.

“Luckily I’ll have you to keep my company,” Anakin mutters to me in a quiet and husky tone, his hand reaching to touch the crease of my waist.

I shoot him a look of warning, glancing over at Ahsoka who was just a few steps behind him. He’s lucky she happened to be looking away and had not looked too deeply into his words.

“If it's so boring for you, would you rather them call you in to train younglings?” I look smugly over my shoulder to Anakin, who grimaces at my comment while Ahsoka huffs a light laugh.

“I think you would enjoy that, master,” Ahsoka quips sarcastically as she steps to Anakin’s side, and he scuffs and looks away from his apprentice.

“As I thought.”

I try to keep up a high-spirited mood while with Anakin before my time comes to act. I see Anakin smiling, his lips parted to make another smart-assed comment. I give him a cheeky smile. After tonight I won’t see him again for yet another long week. And I know that week will be devastating for him.

He doesn’t hide anything from me. He’s told me how he held his mother in his arms and watched the life drain from her eyes. I’m aware he fears the same fate will reach another of his loved ones. Every time I leave for a battle I promise to him I’ll be safe and will return safely to his arms. Now I have been gagged by the Jedi Council from telling him the truth of what I must do. The guilt is almost unbearable having to keep such a secret from my own lover.

Anakin’s blue eyes search mine, I feel him wield the force to poke into my mind. I raise a brow at his perceptiveness. Does he know? I shake him, cutting off his access to my mind through the force. I don’t like it when he does that and he knows it. His brows furrow as he feels the loss of our connection, but he does not pry at my barrier. I nod to him in a silent already broken promise that we will talk later.

Our unspoken words distracted me so much that I almost wouldn’t have sensed the blaster shot coming toward me if Ahsoka had not warned me.

I roll to the side, taking cover behind the nearby crates. I whip my head around to see Anakin and Ahsoka have done the same, both of their backs pinned to the crates opposite of me. My blood pumps furiously through my veins. I should have let the shot take me down. The first and undeniable worst part of my mission would already be over.

“Where’d that shot come from?” Ahsoka yells, voice riddled with panic as she looks from me to the roof of an apartment building in the distance.

I show no concern as I peek my head over the crates, catching a glimpse of the bright blinding light of the sniper who had tried to kill me just then. Who I should have let kill me. My heart would be pounding in my chest if it weren’t for the drug I had taken before leaving that would suppress my heartbeat.

I shake off any fear. I won’t die today- I’m following my orders. My duty as a Jedi comes before anything else. Anakin will understand that when I return. I glance over at him and Ahsoka behind the crates opposite of me, and single them to follow my lead. Neither of them questioned my plan for us to split up over on the rooftop.

I feel Anakin trying to push into my mind as I roll behind the next set of crates, another blaster shot barely missing me. I feel his anxiousness about the situation, either for me being in danger or his padawan, I’m not sure. I just feel guilty for what I’m about to put him through.

I climb to the rooftop, keeping my cover as I deflect a shot back at the assassin to not rouse suspicion. I see Anakin has done as I asked him, for once in his life, and spot him heading to flank the shooter. Ahsoka jumps from rooftop to rooftop, taking the back approach to the shooter. I realize my time is running out to start this mission.

Anakin races on the rooftop across from me, taking cover at the same time as I do. He catches my eyes, blue eyes blazing across the darkness of the Coruscant alleyway. He’s going to dart around to get the shooter. I know he is.

“He’s behind the building!” Ahsoka coms to both me and Anakin, and I know this is where I must end this chase.

Anakin’s head whips around to the building across from us, eyes narrowed and his hand goes to grip his saber. I suck in a breath, closing my eyes as I prepare for the pain. I pray to the Maker the blaster-proof vest will be enough to save me from the real threat of death.

I block Anakin completely from my mind before stepping into the wide-open space as a red light hits my chest.

“[name]!” I hear Anakin scream as the assassin's blaster finally hits me, unexpectedly knocking me so far back I fall from the edge of the building and into sudden darkness.

Ahsoka’s heart sinks seeing Master [name] fall from the edge as she rounds the corner. She looks up to see her Master immediately trying to follow [name], attempting to run from his cover but having to soon duck as a blaster shot flies past his face.

“I got her! Go!” Ahsoka called out to Anakin, hiding the fear in her voice as she looked up at him.

Anakin’s eyes widen as he looks down at her, and his face seems to drain of color for a moment. He’s afraid. Ahsoka so rarely sees real fear on her master's face. No matter the battle or injury. His demeanor never falters. His expression is always lax and words smooth, even as he’s faced with danger, but in this moment Ahsoka does not see that familiar bravery in her master now. That is what scares her the most.

She doesn’t watch long enough to notice how Anakin hesitates for far too long before he chases whoever shot [name], she has no time to do anything but rush to the Jedi Knight's side. [name]’s body is completely limp in a pile of boxes and trash, left arm twisted unnaturally. There’s no blood, but a black mark is burned into the knight’s white-robed chest.

Ahsoka pulls [name]’s body from the rumble, panicking when she does not awake. She lifts the knight's head into her lap but freezes her finger above [name’s] neck to check for a pulse. She fears she knows the answer. Ahsoka has watched people die. Despite her age, she’s a commander- she sees death every day. But never someone so close to her. Someone she regarded as a friend. As a sister.

“Master?” Ahsoka whispers as she finally puts her fingers to the soft spot on [name]’s neck. She gulps as she feels nothing, then tries the curve of her wrist. Then feels nothing again. She sucks in a breath as her eyes become glassy at the sight.

Ahsoka hears Anakin drop from the roof and run down to her. “How is she?” He pants, wild blue eyes looking down at them.

Ahsoka can barely move her head to look up at him, and when she does, she nearly lets tears fall. She doesn’t know if she has the words to say it. She knows Anakin and [name] were padawans together. She knows how close the pair are. She only pretends to be blind to her master’s deep attachment to the other Jedi knight for his sake. That’s why she can hardly hold it together when he crouches down to see [name] completely unresponsive.

“[name]?” Anakin says, voice rattling.

Ahsoka doesn’t fight him as he takes [name] from her arms and holds her in his. He brushes her hair away from her face to reveal her eyes closed with death. Ahsoka watches her master's eyes fill with grief as he clutches her body to him.

“[name]!” He yells louder this time, desperately shaking her shoulders. He puts his hands over the black mark on her chest and continuously presses down on it in a failed attempt to start back [names] still heart. Ahsoka can’t look anymore. She can’t watch her master hopelessly revive a dead woman.

Ahsoka stands and runs away when Anakin calls out her name again, tears now falling from his eyes as he stares at his lover's dead body.

He had to hand her body off to the authorities when they arrived. He had to explain what happened all while pretending he didn’t just lose his wife.

The hardest challenge of his life wasn’t fighting Count Dooku or leading the largest battalion in the Republic Military- it was returning to the Jedi Temple with nothing to show for his lover's existence but her blood on his robes and her lightsaber.

[name] was supposed to come to his quarters tonight after the meeting. They hadn’t seen each other in two weeks, each being assigned to different planets, but each immediately returned to the other, as always. His fears of her usually vanish once he is reunited with her after their respective missions. He always assumes she’s safe when she comes home. He’d never thought of the possibility of her dying on his watch.

He wished he could have been with her body longer, but as soon as he saw the flash of red and blue lights he had to wipe his tears and place her body on the stretcher and watch as the medics pulled the sheet over her. Once the door to his quarters hissed shut he couldn’t hold it in anymore.

He sat at the edge of the bed, and unclipped [names] lightsaber from his belt. He ran his flesh hand along the customized hilt and ignited the saber of his lover. He could almost picture her beautiful face behind the [color] glow, a smirk on her lips before she jumped into battle. His eyes filled with tears as he un-ignited it and the color vanished.

It felt like when his mother died all over again. Again, he failed to protect someone. Again, someone he loved died in his arms. The only difference was there was no one he could get revenge on for the needless death. The assassin had retreated like a coward after firing the blaster. Anakin’s not even sure if the assassin killed her instantly. Perhaps it had been the fall that took her life.

Anakin’s heart ached when sleeping alone that night. He had been looking forward to feeling the warmth of [name] beside him since he had first been sent to Krios. Now he’ll never feel [name] again. If he had just got to the assassin in time she’d still be here!

Anakin’s eyes burned with tears of fury. He had no idea who the shooter was but he would hunt the bastard down after [name]’s funeral. To hell with the Jedi Code- revenge was the only way Anakin could bring himself and Eria peace!

Anakin felt himself slipping, but he had no motivation to crawl back toward the light when [name] wasn’t there waiting for him.

Eria thought she had severed her connection to Anakin, but when she finally woke up she felt the overwhelming grief and anger of her husband. It was so strong for a moment she confused it as her own. Those emotions were quickly replaced by the ache in her chest and the pain of her defiantly broken arm.

Her tears were gulped down as the medical droid healed her wounds. The droid asked if she was experiencing emotional pain, and she had to lie and say it was just her arm. All she could think about was when she fell. She heard Anakin’s scream and felt his tears on her as she played dead in his arms. It took every part of her being to not open her eyes and apologize for what she had done.

The door to my medical room hissed open, and I glanced over to see Master Windu and Master Yoda in the white light.

“I hope my funeral went well,” I mutter as the door slides shut behind them.

I see Master Windu’s eyes narrow at me as I quickly cover my emotions and dry my tears. I had been specially chosen for this classified mission out of everyone else in the Jedi Order, and I wanted to act professionally with the Council member who picked me. Especially because Master Windu was known for his intense belief in the Code.

“A great performance, your corpse played,” Master Yoda says.

I well as funeral can go, I want to add, but am silence by the medical droid sticking a numbing substance into my arm. I looked at the deep bruise on my twisted arm and for a moment wondered if this would even work. I was sacrificing so much just to learn information that may not even be true. Will Anakin even forgive me once this is all over?

“Will go well, the plan will,” Yoda says, sensing my doubt.

“I fell from the top of a building- It better go well,” I huff in pain and remove the blasterproof vest that saved my life.

“Survived worse, you have,” Yoda comforts, and though I know the Jedi Elder is right, it doesn’t help much when my back has turned into one massive bruise.

“Young Skywalker knows this,” Windu says in a firm voice, arms crossed and eyes looking down at me. As if testing to see my reaction.

I breathed deeply and held strong. I wanted to beg for them to let him assist me in the mission or ask how he handled the funeral, but most of all, I wanted to beg to just see him. But it was vital to the integrity of the mission that no one knows- Especially Anakin, who would flare up in anger if he knew I would be walking into the role of a bounty hunter and disguising myself among them, armed with nothing but a blaster.

I know that Master Windu is testing me with his words. Though he picked me for this, I was quickly made aware of his doubts in me when he had to clarify Anakin to me in private not even Anakin may know.

“I took the vital suppressors, you instructed of me, Master. When Anakin moved my body… I was dead to him. It’s impossible that he knows I’m alive,” I assure both of them, though it was clear in my tone it weighed heavily on me to do so.

Yoda hummed in agreement, “Yes- but sense he will, that something is not right.”

I wanted to add that Anakin will have no contact with me as I understand how important it is he is left out of this, but a Jedi Healer enters the room and bows his head, interrupting the conversation. The healer comes to my side to mend my broken arm, and I nod to the Jedi Masters.

“Anakin’s reaction sold the sniper of my death. What has been done is done, and I will carry out the mission as has been asked of me,” I say to Windu with no hesitation and my head held high. He seems surprised for a moment but turns to leave.

“What’s done is done,” he repeats as the healer snaps my arm back into place.

The healer seems to also understand this meeting should remain in confidence. He bows, then leaves soon after I am healed. Finally alone, I begrudgingly accepted it was time to put on the masked disguise of the assassin I will be taking the place of.

I reach down to remove my lightsaber from my belt but feel nothing of the familiar grip I built myself. I look down to see its holster empty but find for the first time since my fall, I feel an absence of worry. I let a sad smile curve my lips as I realize who took it.

I know it’s safe with Anakin.

Notes: Part 2 coming soon! I'm sorry this is a little confusing if you've never watched the episode this is based on 😭

[osmanthus-wine-addiction]

Everybody loves Yandere Zhongli, I get it. His character's perfect for it. He's got the authority and everything, being an Archon and 6000 years old. You can't outsmart this man. He's got a million tricks up his sleeve and can read you like an open book. Heck, he's even got the erosion debuff that slowly eats away at his mind in obscure ways. He's practically asking to be written as your yandere love interest. Buuuuut, I present to you Zhongli x Yandere Reader instead because why not? ◈ Contains: Unhealthy Relationships, Emotional manipulation, implied reincarnation, soulmates maybe, immortals/mortals in love, angst, reader death

The Gaze of a God

You were immediately taken with the handsome consultant and him with you. He was unlike anyone you had ever met. The two of you were inseparable after that stroll, seeing each other nearly everyday. Zhongli exuded a sense of mystery and his patient demeanor invited you to pry and tug at his layers. Everything came off effortlessly as if he had been waiting for you to come into his life and do exactly that.

One lazy morning after he had stayed the night, Zhongli whispered into your ear that he loved you and promised that he always will. You believed him because you really thought you knew him then. It wasn't until you peeled back those last layers that you realized how little you actually knew about the man lying beside you on your bed. What a fool you had let yourself become. After that moment, everything changed, simply because you found out that your charming lover was in fact Rex Lapis, the supposedly dead Geo Archon. Were you really his lover, or just his temporary fixation? At first, he did everything in his power to soothe the insecurities in you, reassure you repeatedly that you still have him in the palm of your hands. You'll never believe him again, of course.

What if someone else manages to catch his eye when he leaves your sight? How unreasonable for a mortal to hold the gaze of a god for longer than the blink of an eye. Your entire lifetime would pass by just as quickly, much less your fleeting youth. What then will you hold Zhongli's gaze with? He would be free to look away once your time is up. Was it that selfish to demand his undivided attention for this tiny sliver of his life? Every time he agrees to another unreasonable demand to appease you, the invisible binds would get tighter. He'd apologize for not giving you the security you so craved for, but you knew better than anyone that there was no way he ever could. Just the thought of growing old alone terrified you. He would be right beside you, holding your hand, but a god could only be a witness, not a true lover to you. Everything you asked him to do, he agreed to, but it'd never be enough. He would only sigh and hold you tightly every time he found out you did something foolish out of your unfounded fear of losing him.

By the time your hair had turned white and wrinkles covered your face, your lover had all but sealed himself inside the subspace he created for the two of you, isolated from the rest of Liyue. Upon his disappearance, a few of his closer acquaintances did approach you to ask where the Wangsheng consultant had gone. You reassured them with lies. Zhongli was simply fulfilling his contract to you. You weren't obligated to disclose it with anyone else. As you lay on your deathbed, eyes straining to gaze upon your lover's handsome face, youthful as he'd always been, you wondered if he ever regretted being with you. Perhaps he really shouldn't have approached you and introduced himself that summer afternoon by the dock.

Your lover planted a tender kiss to your forehead and gazes at you as if you're still that beautiful, radiant person he saw that day so many years ago. He still loved you, but for how much longer, now that your time was finally coming to an end? You wondered how it was possible that this man had not left you when there was no way you could've stopped him. Through the years, you continued to spiral, sabotaging the relationship and everything joyful about it. His promise to love you never faltered. He was your bedrock and despite your fears, he never crumbled. If you couldn't even trust the God of Contracts to uphold his word, perhaps you couldn't trust anyone at all. Maybe in your next life, you'd be able to trust him. It was too late this time. How foolish of you to spend all these years testing his love for you instead of cherishing it. A lifetime of doubt, what a cruel way to spend the precious time you were given. Even if he was still willing to find you in your next lifetime, maybe you didn't deserve to be found.

[dementialmaiden]

cold

[fgcz]

Something that bothers me heavily about some pieces of writing, is when they lean too hard on the "Oh god, I can't tell anyone about this!"

Well, they probably could've actually, but you wanted to write maximum angst, and lies, and deception.

For example, reading something right now where person A has to hide that person C is threatening to expose person B's secrets. So far I can count 3 different people person A could have gone to for advice, support, and damage control.

Which ties into another pet peeve of mine when it comes to writing; communication.

Love them and rant loudly about how much you trust them and you'd do anything?

Good writing. Love that

Something awful happens and suddenly you clam up and go against everything you've earlier said the relationship is?

Not great. Kinda hate that actually.

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Riot Kings, page 179.0

first // prev // next

[chloecherrysip]

"I hope you told your brother how much you loved him, because you're probably never gonna see him again."

"..."

"Was that too dark?"

"YES!"

"Sorry."

[roadcircuses]

what if being fridged for so long twisted and gnarled his horns into spirals would that be fucked up or what

[miusato]

Ahh yes, the autism brothers 🤝🤝🤝

[jupitersrising]

Writing Brooklynn and Ben friendship scenes is literally heartbreaking after finding out Brooklynn dies in Chaos Theory and Ben is the one to tell Darius it wasn't an accident.

[rqgnarok]

Could you write about Jamie and the reader dating but one night when they’re out at a club or something the reader sees a fan kissing Jamie?!

Jamie elbows and pushes his way through the crowd, the music so loud he feels it in his teeth and the lights dark to set the mood of the club. It's been a while since he's gone out to places like this, but he just scored three goals against Tottenham and not celebrating with his mates and his girl seemed unfathomable.

His girl. His girl who's running away from him, who can't bear to be in the same room as him. Jamie's panic grows tenfold.

He catches up to her, calling her name, fighting the discomfort in his belly when she tries to shake off his grip, eyes watery. Trying to reach for her again, cradling her arms in his hands reminds him a little too much of his parent's fights, but he can't let her go. He can't let her leave thinking that-

"Love," he says desperately, close to tears himself. She only flinches at the nickname and Jamie hates it, hates this club, hates this entire night. He wishes they had gone home and avoided this whole damned thing. "Love, please, it's not what it-"

"Don't feed me a line, Jamie," she scoffs, still trying to shimmy away from his grip. "I know what I saw, just let me go-"

"I don't even know her," he tries desperately, the truth spilling out his mouth like a dam breaking. He's shouting over the music, surrounded by thousands of strangers who can't care less about his screaming match with his girlfriend. Still, someone's bound to recognize him sooner or later, and the last thing he wants is a picture of him kissing someone that isn't his girlfriend on the front page of every news site and Twitter. "She said she was a fan and was talking about the game and then she just climbed on top of me-"

"With all of your friends around?" she questions, tired, tired of him, Jamie realizes. He feels suddenly sick.

"I didn't know what to do," the whole thing had reminded him too much of Amsterdam, being 14 and lanky and under his father's duress to do something he didn't want. His girlfriend at the corner of his eye had him snapping out of it a little too late.

"Please, Angel, please tell me you believe me," he begs, and she loves enough to let him cup her face in his hands, touch their foreheads together. "I love you, okay? I love you, I would never do this to you, I love you-"

She shakes her head. Her tears are falling into Jamie's fingers.

"Let's go home," he says frantically. "Let's go home, let me explain, I promise this isn't what you think. Please."

"Let me go, Jamie," she whispers, and yet somehow Jamie hears it clear as bells amongst the noise. The words crack at his heart, rip him apart for him to pick up his pieces in the middle of the dance floor.

She grabs onto his hands only to gently take them off her face, squeezing once halfheartedly before dropping them. "Let me go, just let me go."

[emmavakarian-theirin]

today on screenshots i love but hate everything about: this

[erudianokabe]

My headcanon is that Reiner did not heal fast AT ALL when he was brought back to Marley by Zeke and Pieck. I can imagine him hearing conversations where Annie was captured and Bertholdt died because they failed their mission and he's internally blaming himself already which was making his regeneration even slower than normal.

[gomzdrawfr]

turn up your volume to the max

@gameboi-glitchedskies I like how you describe my post, as such:

[atomicradiogirl]

songs from my house md playlist and why i put it in there cause i feel like this playlist needs some commentary:

i’m your man by mitski: this is The hilson song i’ve heard it used in so many edits and it will still make me go crazy bonkers. “you’re an angel i’m a dog” is soooo wilson and house RAAAHHHHH

pick your poison by the bridge city sinners: house on his drug benders

rock bottom by the bridge city sinners: “hold me tell me you love me even though i know it’s just a lie” more the wilson side of hilson but the “there ain’t no rock bottom for me” part is house

misery by green day: it’s such a good song but i really feel like the lyrics would be house lamenting about just the average misery of life because well he’s a misanthrope. also the line “hellhounds on your trail now once again boy it’s groping on your leg until it sleeps” is so house

step on me by the cardigans: “you’ll break the foot that you’re standing on i’ll walk with the other one” is so hilson goodbye

all i wanted by paramore: this song is sooo angsty wilson

tonight by young the giant: “i ended up in jail you were the one to bail” i mean yeah it’s self explanatory

each time you fall in love by cigarettes after sex: house’s POV every time wilson falls in love with a new woman

best for last i am all i got by the dead brothers: a house song if there ever was a house song. the lyrics are pretty much his entire philosophy and self preservation. sooo good.

[royakahoshiart]

redrew a very old comic :3

this is after the aquarium date, i like to think either mitsukou kissed or this happend :3 i love giving kou unnecessary trauma

[weirdfishy]

bc of this post from @insertsanity529 and idk if the concept will make it into my fic

@thatboysgotwoah hey so. hereʻs a thing. a very loose thing but it is, nonetheless, A Thing. (a thing i didnʻt realize was 1k until Just Now WTF)

there is also a part 2 in the rbs :)

& an ao3 link with little bits added to it here and there

~

Hob is done with war and violence and terror and death and the blood on his hands, especially after that world war. (not The Great War. There never is anything great about war) Gods is he ready to put it all to rest.

He gets caught up in the arts, in preservation, in working for museums and its ilk— and some of those are old money heirs who, in addition to having taken their refuge in the arts, are connected to the occult and those old money circles. Some are young and their tongues are loose, their need to be useful and worth something presents in their pride of their heritage and what they come from, something already Grand.

So Hob hears about the Devil in Roderick Burgessʻ basement, about the lavish parties that are held at his manor in the countryside, about the cult Burgess has. And as he dusts off a sculpture, gloved fingers trailing down smooth marble, there's a likeness to the statueʻs half-worn face that reminds Hob of something–of someone. His stranger. Hob remembers asking if his stranger was the devil, if Shakespeare had given his soul, and a thought blooms in the back of his head. What if….?

But he shakes his head, finishes his restoration, cataloging, and storing. His stranger is enough to handle himself, Hob is sure, and he hardly thinks some fake occultist would be the one to contain…whatever his stranger may be.

He pats the young starry-eyed manʻs shoulder, before leaving, with a look backward too complicated to decipher by one so unknowing of war and death. Hob doesnʻt wish he knew of death and war and violence, would rather no one did, but it is separate things to glorify the thing you run from and to step back, searching for peace. Hob goes home and does not sleep until twilight, fitfully resting for a handful of hours.

The months pass. He hears of The Captured Devil occasionally, he goes to work, he cares for what was lovingly created in years past–much like himself–and he lends a hand when he can, to pick up what is left of boys and men with hazy eyes and empty hearts, knowing he was once the same (or still is, only buried deeper than one would think possible). He walks around town, for hours, looking almost kin to those plagued with sleeplessness, and he thinks, for a handful of moments, that death, life, and the in-between are all cruel in their own way.

Hob cannot stand the joyous life much anymore, too burdened with the reminders of death and those hanging between, and maybe that is why he does not go to a Burgess party. Maybe it is one of many excuses—he hasnʻt been invited (which has never stopped him before), his stranger is not the devil (people will call anything the devil these days), he needs to take care of himself damn it because no one else is and he doesnʻt ever let himself waste away after something like this if he can bloody well help it.

Then it's the weekend after Christmas of 1926, and Hob has finally found solid ground. Heʻs laughingly invited to the Burgess House by a very proud son of Burgessʻ group, their department out for drinks. Hob, who has always turned down invitations with a distracting call for another round on him, actually accepts the invitation, asking for details while the lad is half drunk and everyone is booing him, their unclever ploy for more drinks waved away. Hob buys that round anyway, but he does leave with the details written upon a formal invitation.

He goes, fashionably late and fashionably dressed, a simple deep blue–almost black, really–with silver detailing of the cosmos on the outside of his jacket, those stars falling to scatter on the upper half of his pant legs—like the sky is dripping to the earth. Hob blends in, smiles and drinks lightly, meets with the head of house with a boisterous introduction from his coworker who has obviously drank from a fair few cups already. The man, Roderick Burgess, stares at him, eyes like polished steel.

Something Hobʻs coworker says, about Hob not believing in The Devil in Burgessʻ basement, makes Burgess tilt his head and raise an eyebrow. Hob only tilts his own just so in return– what of a supernatural devil when humans are devilish enough? War is man-made, and man-taking.

His words make Roderick Burgess study him intently, and thereʻs a flicker of what Hob knows to be a decision of kinship in those eyes. Hob doesnʻt like that one bit. Burgess nods and waves to follow him, passing off Hobʻs coworker to be sat down by his father.

Hob is led into the basement, cold and wet. He stays one step behind the man—a child moreso than his green coworker in Hobʻs eyes, playing with things not meant to be disturbed—and is grateful for it when he sees what is in the middle of the room.

Hob wants to retch on the spot, remembering the paper his coworker had brought in last week that said Burgess has had his Stranger in this basement since 1916. Yet Hob goes deathly controlled, calm, and intensely observant.

He drops his jaw and gasps, letting the man crow and tell him what he hopes to get from his prisoner, of how Hob must understand, he saw the loss in his eyes. Hob goes up to the marble, eyes searching for an exit as he walks around the binding circle heʻs been forbidden from crossing. He finds a hairline square at the back of it, with the tiniest notch—a door. His eyes shine, and he lets Burgess think it's from wonder, from the chance of reviving a lost loved one.

He hopes his head shake lets his Stranger know that heʻs crying for him, that he will get him out, he swears. Hob takes in the way Burgess laughs at his Stranger for being curious to a newcomer, turning in his glass prison. Catching his strangerʻs eye, he speaks his first language, something old and forgotten by nought but him–his grandmotherʻs tongue–and makes that promise, saying it was a phrase of wonderment and appraisal. Burgess puffs his chest out and waves him away from the prison, chuckling good-naturedly. Hob shakes Burgessʻ hand, clapping him on the back on the way out, casting a long glance backward before he has to ascend the stairs.

Guilt is tearing at his throat, chewing at his stomach and knotting his intestines, but Hob can deal with that after his Stranger is free, and the Burgess Manor is burned to the ground.