#and presumably she'd react this way (':

[kindnessoverperfection]

I need to vent this somewhere because it's just been rattling around in my brain.

Saw a post by someone with ASPD on a popular subreddit asking for advice, and everyone just fucking. Tore him apart. Cruel as fuck in the comments, downvoting the shit out of everything he had to say. Bro wasn't saying or doing anything wrong. He wasn't even snapping at anyone (when most ppl even w/o a pd probably would have after that reaction to their post), he wasn't doing anything harmful or morally incorrect.

They all reacted in this horrible fucking way to someone just bc he has ASPD, when I know they would have been super compassionate with anyone else who had the same issue.

I've seen this kind of shit happen before (glances at a celebrity w/NPD who everyone tears into for no reason bc they're always looking for an excuse) but god. Shook me up.

[cadcnce-archived]

sword fight!!! :: closed

send ‘ Swordplay ’ for my muse to pin yours to the ground while fighting/sparring. send ‘ Swordplay + reverse ’ for your muse to pin mine.

@starryskied sent: Swordplay ( Zeph from ms. blue bird herself )

It's not a matter of if Zephyr deserved comeuppance, but when. Something or someone will surely, finally, catch up with the cheeky bird. Debauchery was only scraping the surface. There was an entire history even before arriving tired and haggard with his half dead sister on the front door of Rhodes Island building up a karmic debt. And apparently, he continued to be good at evading his debtors. Isn't there only so much one can get away with? And no, HR reports don't count. It may take something else for him to get the point. In this case Astesia's blade.

"I really really don't want to fight you, you know?" Troubled words spared while evading another strike of that flourishing rapier. It's unfortunate, that even at his most earnest Zephyr carries an air of someone who can't be taken seriously. Dubious to a complete fault. And cunning to a degree that everything might be a game. Either to save his own life or mess with someone else's. Talk was cheap, and even with a wealth of vocabulary the bounty accrued on him by the astrologist would take more than a speech to assuage.

So what else did he have then?

Well, his dexterity and agility for one. Swiping from tables and slipping around chairs for a chunk of your life making change and trading gossip around the clubs and casinos that made up the underbelly of Ursus is worth something. Not to mention surviving the fights when you got caught or had turf to defend in the alleys. He's been doing this since he was little. Surviving. To the great dismay of those who wished death upon him he was slippery even before the arts came into play.

They weren't, not for now. In such close quarters and with his attention on that sword it's not that he couldn't, but running away invites a certain level of cowardice on his resume and against a refine lady like Astesia that just wouldn't do. It'd be one thing if one of the elite operators or city clearers like Blaze were around where he didn't stand a chance at a parry. Oh, absolutely he would be halfway across the landship by now to save his skin.

That beautiful blade draws close to his neck and a flash of steel preludes the knife that catches it at the hilt. Zephyr knocks the attack away as footwork evades him a breath to the side from the attempted riposte that follows from the woman. She moves quick, and so does he. One might think this a tie as far as capabilities went, and they'd be wrong. The longer the battle draws on the less an advantage Zephyr has. He's a get in and get out kind of assailant. Quick attacks to take an opponent by surprise, it's why his arts made him such an effective combatant.

"Shit, you're not actually trying to kill me are you?!" This is the question that should have been asked earlier, alas, perhaps the optimism had run a little high after the supposed prank went poorly. Astesia had every right to be offended and wish retaliation for her honor. Zephyr just wanted to take his fidget spinner and leave. That wasn't going to work. And he's realizing it by the moment that in her current state an apology wasn't going to work.

Clang! Swish!

It's not the cleanest way to fight, but getting in and kicking away her lead foot and then breaking her guard with the pommel of the knife in his hand was about the only chance he had. A gust of wind to put him behind her and she's on the ground, just as angry as one might expect. But at least she doesn't have her sword, and Zephyr is no longer on the table to become swiss cheese.

"Are we good now?" There's the optimism again! As if it ever went away, and only blipped. It seemed that comeuppance wouldn't come so easily, but it was only stemmed. Much like the other Liberi's merited rage. "I'm sorry. Okay? I'm... sorry I spun a fidget spinner on your boob while you were asleep. Now if you promise not to gut me I'll get up. No hard feelings! We'll let this go..."

[deepwoundsandfadedscars]

Sat down to have a chat with my cousin before he flies home tomorrow to his wife, just cause I was anxious that she would try to twist it against me if she talked to him first, I explained my side of what the interaction was and the blatant lies she claimed, and he's not at all surprised and in fact is already planning on getting a paralegal when he gets home to start getting her the fuck out of his life

Me last night: hmm maybe I want another tattoo, I'm going to start talking to this artist *sends message*

My cousins wife: *sends an incredibly hostile message about how I've been ignoring her and she's gone above and beyond for me trying to be supportive of me, when in reality she hasn't texted me first since November and when I text her, she's very short with me and makes no effort to continue a conversation with me*

"Yeah hi, artist? Make that three tattoos"

[nqmonarch]

Genuinely wanna hear more regarding the No Wish SAHSRAU (Is that how it's spelled?) especially with all the new events that's happened.

Including the Dr Ratio that slid into our DMs.

First, apologies for the wait I took a while doing this request and then also decided not to post anything during the Palestine strike period because free Palestine.

And man, I don't know how it's spelled. I'd assume that's right it's so long though. Also YES Dr. Ratio sliding into our DMs except bro waltzes in and calls us an idiot ;-;

But first! Let's catch up with some of the current crew who is currently in Penacony!

Warning Penacony Spoilers

For the Trailblazer Penacony's been rough... Shortly after the death of their new closest friend, they'd been coerced into talking with Aventurine, and now had to make a decision without consulting any of the Astral Express beforehand. Sure, they were a seasoned adventurer with two missions under their belt but they still have no idea about their past or if they could trust such sketchy people.

"Aventurine, that little rat..." Their ears perked up when they suddenly heard the voice of this presumed Aeon. "I want to knock my fist against his forehead and see if there's a brain in there." The Trailblazer wouldn't try that.

But if you were acting like this maybe Aventurine and Black Swan could be trusted. The Trailblazer forced themselves to relax and tried to show confidence in their eyes. They could do this. It was good you were still by their side in the dreamscape, otherwise... what would they do?

Herta has found it's more difficult to communicate with you than the Aeons. While the Aeons simply didn't want to communicate it was as if there was some sort of wall separating her from you. It was beyond fascinating but it irked her, she wanted to get into contact with you right away. Then, as she was working to implement a simulated version of you into the simulated universe as an Aeon she had a revelation. What if... this was all a game?

Natasha had done it. Recently the eyes glanced off her more often, something she couldn't help but feel disappointed at. But upon one instance when they glanced upon her, she'd taken their warmth in full, and decided to set out. It seemed when these eyes were on her, she improved in nearly every aspect, so maybe her luck would improve as well? Even though it had been a dead end many times before she investigated Vache's worn down laboratory covered by snow searching for research. Except this time, she found something. This Aeon... was strangely benevolent and caring towards mortals.

That's all the updates we have for now on the current characters, in terms of progress. Herta is one smart cookie but who else is one smart cookie? Dr. Ratio!!! That man I love him so much. Sampo is also a potential worrying addition.

Given in the current event you can get either Sampo, Guinaifen, Asta, or Yukong for free, so let's see how they react.

Dr. Ratio

...This was interesting. The plot unfurling behind the scenes of Penacony was to be expected, Aventurine was being a pain in his ass also to be expected, but an Aeon looking at him? A smart Aeon. One who also must hope to purge the world of ignorance! A noble pursuit. Or perhaps, they'd realized their own ignorance and sought to rectify it some of the Aeons were rather lackluster in this manner after all. But they'd likely never change in their ways.

And you're no longer looking at him, that's fine. Is it a bit more chilly in here or is it just him? An interesting side effect of your gaze then, the feeling of warmth. He wondered why that happened, the look of Nanook was dangerous and suffocating, near fatal for any mortal. That of Yaoshi's was said to be sickeningly sweet and suffocating as well. Nous' was cold and calculating, judging your every asset and whether or not you had potential. Everyone had potential, they just had to choose to rid themselves of their ignorance. If the gaze wasn't suffocating maybe... you were a weak Aeon? One that had just formed or had been thought to have died.

Interesting. Aeons, the topic no scholar knew completely about. Herta was researching deeply into them, Dr. Ratio supposed he could always ask her yet he didn't want to feed into her ego. There were other ways to get the information though.

Guinaifen

"Hello, hello! Can you all hear me? Good morning fam! And welcome to Little Gui's stream!"

It was then when Guinaifen suddenly felt warmth wash over her. Oh, maybe it was because this stream was her first normal one after all the ghost catching business but she found herself getting flustered...? Flattered...? She wasn't sure exactly how to describe it yet she felt even more energetic than usual! As if she could go on for hours! When she ended her stream, the warmth was still there and she still felt as if she was being watched.

Wait-- wasn't this how people said they felt when they were being watched by an Aeon? Something similar to this right?! If even an Aeon was watching her, she was definitely going to be famous! When Guinaifen went to tell Sushang about this news, she found Sushang had run into the same thing! Weren't the two of them an impressive pair? :)

E1 Asta

Research had been going smoothly, partly thanks to the eyes always observing Asta. With them came the warmth that brought confidence and innovation she felt she wouldn't feel otherwise. But, she could feel the warmth all the time now. She doubted an Aeon would be able to watch her all of the time so had she been blessed? That was good, she was able to focus on all the stars and her research more now and learn more in less time!

But... why did she feel so forlorn? As if she had been deserted? Had you just blessed her and moved on your way? Herta... Herta knew a lot about Aeons maybe she would know something about what had happened to her, maybe she would know if you're still around.

E1 Yukong

Even after it all Yukong wished to return to the skies. Despite failing her comrades, despite all those around her who she'd cared for yet failed to stop their death, despite the burning wreckage she'd had to painstakingly crawl out of. Yukong wished to fly. In this long life where even the things she'd once loved had dulled, the longing to fly was forever there.

The warmth was on her constantly now, she completed her paperwork faster, she created ingenious plans, but what did it matter?

"I want to go back," Yukong had spoken one day out to the silence of the world and when the warmth remained she realized, perhaps she could go back and fly. Maybe... it would be okay. But for now her fear remained, albeit comforted by the sight of an Aeon.

What a strange Aeon, to care so much for a mortal.

Sampo (spoiler warning for Black Swan quest, although I was kind of confused the whole time so some information may be incorrect)

Now this would be fun! Sampo had known he was right, this was only another clue in the right direction! And this Aeon, watcher, player, reader, whomever you were appeared at the perfect time! Whenever your gaze fell upon him, he could feel his speed increase as well as the rest of, if this were to be a game, his "stats." He knew he wasn't crazy, of course he'd never had that idea in the first place! He'd be able to retrieve his mask much easier now, he could deal with you later.

It wouldn't be anything bad, don't worry, Sampo Koski is always happy to have a new business partner and friend :) !

If there's anything else you wanna hear about it I'd be more than happy for ideas cause I love these little guys (the characters) . It's just them living their life except they're stronger and feel as if they can enact their dreams! And maybe they gain a friend or a small crush on the way but hey that doesn't mean anything until Penacony comes out with some tech they worked on with Herta that allows you to visit in your dreams but no way something like that will happen, right?

Also trailblazer is genuinely so stressed like imagine having to make the decisions to save an ENTIRE FUCKING PLANET and you don't even know who the you are or what you've been through, you're genuinely so lost but hey you're alive, somehow.

[thechekhov]

Dungeon Meshi Quick Reacts

CH. 34 Cockatrice

He's doing his best.

L...Laios no..... LaioS NO

I respect Kui-san so much for the work she puts into not only the Senshi pantyshots but also affirming the fact that Marcille and Laios are in no way sexually interested in one another whatever.

I suppose it itches BECAUSE it's healing but also.... w...why does it look infected?

...did.... did Senshi consent to being a test subject? He looks a bit nervous 😂

FIRMLY GRASP IT.

(Marcille has no time for your internalized homophobia)

Oh??? Is there old-party drama that we're about to be privy to? I'm listening reading.

In a storytelling sense, this is very clever. Chillchuck is clearly drawing parallels (unknowingly, I assume?) between Laios and Kirby(?). That guy is.... In Control of his party in a sense, and clearly has earned their trust as a leader. But he trusts himself a little bit too much for it to result in an unhealthy feedback loop of 'I'm always right, these other people think so too!'

Meanwhile, although Laios isn't actively trying to steer the group, they DO trust him to care about their safety, to an extent, and retain their own goals and judgements about certain other things. In fact, it's arguably BECAUSE they all trust each other to be better judges of character that they keep one another in check, so to speak.

The tea is SIZZLING. The girls are fighiiiing

So. Natural energy points. You're basically using energy of unknown origin to fuel spells instead of tapping into what is available readily.

But that sounds like maybe you'd have some. Hm. Questionable side effects? From adding ingredients into the mix which you can neither understand nor fully control.

......of course............of course it was.

👁👁

it's got business to attend do, presumably. Also, which floor are you guys on? Are you still in that ancient city?

IS THAT A THING?????

Maybe that would have been good to.... lead with.......

.........IS THIS WHAT FALIN IS CAPABLE OF?? IS THIS WHAT SHE USES TO COMMUNICATE WITH SPIRITS? Maybe they ARE both talented, but Laios just never bothered to tap into this.

I'm sure it's fine. Hang on, didn't they fight this before once already?

AH right, that was the basilisk. My bad.

I don't. So this'll be a double surprise for me!

I aLmost thought this was it!!! Marcille don't fuck with me like this!

"I'M MARCILLE AND I DON'T LOOK AT THE EXPLOSIONS I, MYSELF, CREATE!!"

You can't not love her.

NOOOO ARE YOU KIDDING ME!!!

This is NOT the time to be a zombie movie deuteragonist

wh--i THOUGHT THIS WAS GOING TO BE A CHANCE FOR HIM TO DO MORE HEALING MAGIC

.........I guess that's. a good point but. Laios. Buddy.

I have nothing to say here. This is peak DnD behavior.

...hang on they never took her out of the pot? 😂

..how proud you are of them?

....................yeah alright I guess that works too.

For a second there I thought maybe her petrified hair was gonna snap off and she'd get a haircut.

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

What if that night in Godric's hollow Lily chose to let Voldemort kill Harry and stepped aside when Voldemort asked her to?

Self-preservation kicked in! No one knows how they will react facing death. She should not be blamed for protecting herself.

Would she be honest and tell people what really happened or make up some believable story? What would happen to her after that night? Does she leave England? How would the Order/Sirius/Dumbledore react to the events? Would Severus go after Lily and tell her he is her hero? Would this be a better AU for Lily and the wizard world?

Woof.

Well.

It's not good.

Would She Be Honest and Tell People What Happened?

We don't really know much about Lily's character is the thing. I make a lot of things up for my own benefit, but that's my taking and running with the very little we see in canon.

We really don't know how she'd react.

The way I characterize her? Feeling guilty over her husband's death (who died for her and Harry) and the fact that she survived her son (who she perhaps could have protected) she'll confess to what happened. She wants people to blame and hate her so she can punish herself for this.

And judge and punish her they do as this is something the Order and the greater public just can't understand. I'm sure rumors of how and why Lily was spared also fly and soon Lily goes from the truth of simply stepping aside (and being spared because of Snape) to having slept with Voldemort to save her life to being his spy the entire time.

What Would Happen to Her After that Night?

The gossip against her is massive and I imagine the Order never quite trusts her again. They may not kick her out, though I'm sure some (certainly Sirius who is mad with grief over James's death) vote for it. Lily may leave of her own free will out of guilt and so as not to give the Order a black eye.

The Prophet may or may not run smear campaigns against her both to distract from the realities of the Ministry not managing anything against You-Know-Who and because this is such a shocking awful story.

Lily becomes persona non grata but is presumably left alone by the Death Eaters as Voldemort chose to spare her life and the order has been passed down through the ranks (and as Voldemort is alive he keeps Bella and the Lestranges and Barty in check in a way he didn't at this point in canon).

Lily lives a miserable life in which her husband and son are both dead, she's of no help to the cause, and she's trying to get on with it.

How Would the Order/Sirius/Dumbledore React?

See above but I imagine ostracization.

Sirius would never forgive Lily for James having died and Lily just selfishly allowing Harry to be killed. I imagine he'd blame her in his mind and believe that she had betrayed James personally by doing this. Not to mention what kind of a person/Gryffindor steps aside to let her baby be murdered?

The Order at large would likely have mixed opinions but the Weasleys for example would vocally condemn Lily and despise her for this.

Dumbledore would, I imagine, think much lesser of Lily and start saying things he says about Merope about how Lily just didn't love her son enough/wasn't a very strong woman. He wouldn't condemn her quite as much as Sirius or Molly but there'd be an undertone of "this happened because you are weak".

Would Severus Go After Lily and Tell Her He's Her Hero?

Severus is home free, you bet your ass he does.

Lily's probably out of the Order, James Potter his greatest enemy is dead, Sirius is out of the picture because of James's death, even the hellspawn Harry Potter is dead and out of the way.

They can now go back to exactly what they were and the Dark Lord did hold to his promise after all (and oh dear god Severus betrayed him behind his back, hope he doesn't find out about this).

I imagine Severus would try to reconnect and either:

lie about being a Death Eater entirely (probably won't work)

say he's realized the error of his ways, admit to giving the information to Dumbledore to save Lily's life, but he can't leave the Death Eaters because of the mark/he'll certainly be killed

Probably he goes with option 2 as he can't exactly pretend he never held his views or wasn't a Death Eater at all and he firmly believes that he took this huge risk, saved her life, and he's completely redeemed now.

Would This Be a Better AU for the Wizarding World and Lily?

Well.

Lily's son and husband died horribly, she's haunted by survivor's guilt forever, all her friends hate her and she's completely isolated, Snape is back on her doorstep believing she should be grateful to him for his actions and he deserves instant forgiveness, and the Dark Lord is still alive and well, has the future minister's son in his pocket, has infiltrated the government completely, and can take over any time he pleases with one out of two prophecy children dead (and Neville... probably doesn't last long after this).

So.

No.

It's better for 0 people.

It's actually much worse for everyone except Tom.

Tom is enjoying not being a wraith in Quirrel's head, thank you very much.

[littlesparklight]

There's something potentially really interesting in Kassandra, Paris, and their relationship (or lack of one, depending on how one wants to characterize them both).

To start with the beginning, which would be how Kassandra reacts when Paris has (presumably) not actually done anything yet:

-In Euripides' Andromache, she was apparently old enough when he was newborn to have visions and called on the whole city to have the infant Paris killed. This doesn't necessarily need to come with her being old enough to have been cursed already, if she's not very detailed as to why. (Otherwise, she would be a lot older than most of the rest of Priam and Hekuba's children, even if Paris is made one of the younger ones.) -In Euripides' Alexandros, we don't actually know exactly what Kassandra's prophetic scene(s) amount to; I've seen some speculation that this play involved references to Kassandra newly having become "mad", so her curse would be recent, if so. Paris' foster father is assured to have had some part in the revelation/establishing of Paris' natal identity, whatever Kassandra's involvement.

-Sophokles also had an Alexandros, but we know even less here, so let's turn to Hyginus, who might be helpful for both of these plays.

-Hyginus' Fabula #91 doesn't mention the foster father like Euripides' Alexandros; instead Kassandra declares Paris to be her brother and Priam acknowledges him. If Hyginus hasn't left something out of the plot (of whichever play this is probably summarizing, maybe Sophocles, since Euripides didn't use the bull device to get Paris to Troy), Kassandra is here not actually used to call for her newly discovered/born brother's death, but instead facilitates his recognition by his birth family.

-In Ennius' Alexandros, one of the few fragments we have assures for us Kassandra calling on the populace to "quench the brand"; that is, Paris. Of course, with so little to go on we don't know when this is supposed to have taken place (since one can, no matter how little that might make sense if Kassandra is the one to deliver it, put such a scene at Paris' birth, like in the Andromache).

What we've got, then, is at the very least a couple incidents where Kassandra is calling for an innocent to be killed, and one incident where she might instead have facilitated recognition without any obvious call for murder.

And the thing is, of course she's technically "right" to do this. Paris is the "problem" and removing him would save Troy (well, from Paris as the spark that lights the fire, anyway, given that Zeus could have chosen/could choose to destroy the heroic race with natural disasters). One could probably not really blame her, especially when she doesn't even know him yet.

But after this - what then?

There would be some amount of time, if not between recognition and the Judgement, then between Paris coming home with Helen and the Achaeans turning up. She will get to have a chance to know him, perhaps whether she wants to or no. Does she keep to her insistence that he should be/should have been killed, without guilt or conflict? Keep to it, because it would be/would have been best, yet feel conflicted about it, because this is yet one of her brothers?

It'd certainly be one way to take to insist she simply hates him, whether he's inherently actually hateable and unpleasant or not. Maybe she'd even be in her right to! But if this is her position, even when Paris has not yet done anything to warrant it, how does she deal with that? To and for herself, and when it comes to her family? Is this yet another thing that separates her from the rest? (Maybe not Deiphobos, though ;P)

And if she finds herself liking him, yet knowing with utter certainty that Troy will suffer because Paris is alive with them - how does she deal with that?

It must in some way be easier to think someone should die for the good of all the rest when you don't know them, even if they don't deserve it because they have done nothing to cause any troubles yet, than after you've begun to know them, have begun to form a connection with them, liking them.

[bumblesimagines]

Midnight Beach

Part 21/END

Request: Yes or No

~~~

"You're not Indiana fucking Jones, (Y/N)."

"What is with you and Indiana Jones?" 

"Why are you going to South America? Like- Jesus, okay, what if El Dorado is real? What are you going to do about the amount of people who are going to come running for a taste of gold? The people who'll come after you for even having a piece of the real deal? What about this Singh guy? He's dangerous, you said so yourself!" The redhead sputtered, waving her arms around animatedly as he packed some things into his backpack. A simple change of clothes, underwear, deodorant, a hydro flask, his phone charger. He'd seen what Liv packed before her trips out to visit her aunt and go hiking but the experience of trekking through a jungle? Kildare wasn't exactly known for its jungles. 

"At least we'll have an adult. Better than last time when it was just us on an island." He replied and swept his gaze over his room, searching for anything else he'd need. It almost felt like some sort of fever dream; clearing the air with Sarah and John B, hanging out with the Pogues on the Cut, preparing to go to a whole other continent. Christ, he'd only ever left Kildare a handful of times. Poguelandia had been a way to survive and Barbados an unavoidable accident. Now there he was, packing up to visit South America in search of someone who probably didn't even care for his existence. Completely and utterly avoidable.

"The adult is the one in trouble!" Liv nearly shrieked at him and slumped back on his bed. "You've finally lost it, (Y/N). You're flying out to South America on a presumed dead man's plane to save a deadbeat from some rich dude. Do you realize how crazy that sounds? How stupid? This is dumb. This is like... Topper Thornton level of stupidity. I hope you know that."

"I know how it sounds, Liv, but- I.." He sighed and finally turned to face the redhead. He pressed his leg against the edge of the bed and reached out to delicately comb his fingers through her vibrant locks. She puffed out her cheeks, a sign she'd be giving in soon, and stubbornly jerked her head in the other direction. "The Pogues have always been about adventures. This will be like... a farewell thing. We wrap this whole Royal Merchant and El Dorado thing up and I leave the Pogues to keep on treasure hunting or whatever it is they'll do after Big John's back home. John B's the biggest idiot I know. But even he deserves to have his father with him."

"And what about your parents?" 

"I told them that the Pogues and I were going on a little trip to process what happened to us. It's not my fault they didn't ask where we're going." A grin slipped when Liv snorted and rolled her eyes. The redhead took a deep breath and pushed herself up, brushing aside strands of hair and reaching forward to wrap her arms around him. (Y/N) cradled her head against his stomach and kissed the top of her head.

"I'll stay safe, Liv. I promise."

"You better. I don't feel like going to South America to rescue your ass."

                    ✽        ✽       ✽       ✽       ✽       ✽

Parking the jeep alongside Pope's dirt bike and getting out, (Y/N) nearly stumbled back against his jeep when JJ practically leaped into his arms followed by Pope and Cleo. (Y/N) laughed and did his best to embrace them in return, feeling JJ's hand ruffle the top of his head playfully. "You're late, man! Thought you chickened out on us."

"Not yet." He chuckled, nearly missing the wince from Sarah. He tried not to think about how the others would react to the news, especially after everything they'd been through. Rafe, Coastal Venture, Poguelandia, Barbados, and now... South America. He'd joined their little crew of misfits to help out his ex-girlfriend and now there he stood, waiting to hop on a plane to help her new on-and-off boyfriend. Fate truly had a twisted sense of humor. 

"Hey, uh, where's Kie?" Pope asked and (Y/N) shifted to look over at the entrance of the tarmac. No sign of an Uber or Lyft or even one of the Carrera's cars. He frowned, thinking of her parents and how desperate they were to keep Kiara home and safe after their return. They'd always been so protective of her. 

"It's gotta be her parents, dude. They've been up her ass." Sarah sighed, brushing her hair out of her face. 

"They must've said she couldn't come." Pope sucked his teeth. "We're going to have to do this without her, then." 

"No," JJ shook his head, adjusting the backpack strap digging into his shoulder and turning toward John B with his hand outstretched. John B immediately began shaking his head. "Gimmie the keys, man. Her parents already hate me, alright? Just.. give me an hour. It'll be like a black ops mission, in and out. Surgical removal type shit, alright? Plus... I kind of owe her."

"Oh?" John B's head snapped up and a twinkle appeared in his eyes, his fist digging around in his pocket to pull out the keys to the Twinkie. "You owe her, huh? Alright, you totally owe her. I appreciate the honesty." 

"Give me an hour, alright, ya'll?" JJ snatched the keys out of his hand and sprinted toward the Twinkie, tossing the backpack through the open window before leaping in afterward, his body awkwardly landing halfway in while John B and Pope groaned. (Y/N) snorted, watching him wiggle his whole body through the window and climb into the driver's seat.

"Feather the throttle!" John B shouted after him and the Twinkie's wheels squealed loudly against the road. They watched him drive off toward the entrance to save his... 'friend.' His very good 'friend.' Totally not his crush or anything like that. 

A hand came to rest on his shoulder and he looked back to catch Sarah's eye. She smiled at him, tired and nervous, and her fingers dug lightly into his shoulder. Sarah looked back toward the road where the Twinkie disappeared behind some trees and swallowed, her teeth biting down on her bottom lip. "Do you think he'll convince them to let her go?"

"Probably not." (Y/N) murmured. "I can't say I blame them either. I wouldn't want my daughter hanging out with people she keeps going missing with."

"I never really thought about it like that." Sarah dropped her hand and wrapped her arms around herself, the gentle breeze tousling around some of her hair. There was a heavy silence between them and despite the many discussions they had, it held an air of words yet to be spoken. Their history could never be unwritten, only forgotten over time as they entered adulthood. They'd eventually find their place in the world, their proper place, and begin a life without the other. It seemed fair to (Y/N). It was life. He'd come to accept it. Sarah Cameron had taken up much of his world in recent times, but like everything else, she'd eventually become a faint memory of his life in Figure Eight. A girl he loved and lost. An old friend. Someone he recalled both fondly and bitterly. 

"I'll keep in touch, by the way." A lie or the truth? He couldn't quite tell. Did he want to stay in communication with them, with her? It'd be a risk. They'd eventually stumble into a new adventure, something new to discover and unveil that'd prompt them to reach out, whether to experience it with him or ask him for something.

"You could attend Chapel Hill, you know." She said softly. "It's close to home, close to us but not on the island."

"That's not happening, Sarah. I want to get away from here, from Figure Eight and Kildare. I've been here long enough. I don't want to regret not doing what I always wanted. I don't want to be like some of the miserable men here who only get genuine happiness when they go on business trips away from their families. The women here either love their lives or drown themselves in wine while the men inhale coke like its air and are barely ever home. It's a nightmare living here, Sarah. You see it, I see it. The Carrera's are one of the few that seem happy together and they had to prove themselves to even be accepted as Kooks. It's... hell." 

"Not everything's so bad. There was... us and- and Topper and-"

"Things that are over, Sarah. Topper definitely won't be talking to us for a while and you and I... " (Y/N) inhaled deeply through his nose and released it in a heavy sigh. "You and I are done. For now or for good, I don't really know. If things change in the future... if we change in the future... maybe we'll find each other again. But I'm done with bullshit love triangles and John B." 

"I know. I just-"

"Eight hours?! JJ, don't have eight hours! We've got a jet here. We're all waiting!" The two of them turned at the sound of John B's voice, spotting him speaking into the phone with a look of frustration. He blinked and shook his head rapidly, stammering and stumbling over his words before pulling the phone away from his ear and sighing. 

"What's going on?" Pope asked as he and Cleo sat down on the steps leading up to the plane. John B rubbed the area between his brows and pinched the bridge of his nose, tucking his phone into his back pocket.

"Kiara got sent to a wilderness camp," He told them. "So, JJ is going to try to rescue her. He says he'll need eight hours-"

"Hours we don't have." Sarah cut in, folding her arms over her chest and walking toward him. "John B-"

"I know, I know. JJ said that if they don't make it in time, we should just go. That- That somehow they'll make it to South America." John B sighed again at the faces everyone made. Kiara locked away in a wilderness camp and JJ on a mission to rescue her. Sounded like an average Tuesday for the Pogues. "Yeah, I know, but it's JJ. He'll figure something out."

"So, what? We just waitin' around now?" Cleo questioned, her eyes flickering between them. "The longer we wait, the farther Singh gets, you know that, right?"

John B ran a hand over his face and nodded. The sky above them began to darken with the setting sun and gray clouds. Time seemed to tick by faster than expected.  "Yeah, yeah, we know, Cleo. But this is Kie and JJ. We can't just leave leave them."

"Guess we're waiting then." Sarah pursed her lips. "Better get comfortable."

Another hour or two passed and night officially fell overhead, leaving them with only the lights along the airstrip. The plane pilot settled comfortably in the cockpit, awaiting instructions while the Pogues paced outside. No sign of JJ or Kiara, no calls, no texts. Dead silence on their end that only made frustration grow. John B continued to stare out toward the entrance, tapping his foot or dialing their numbers in vain. 

"We have to go, John B," Sarah spoke up, pacing along the steps with her hands firmly on her hips. "We don't have eight hours. We can't wait around any longer, alright?" 

"I'll try to call him again, okay?" As John B reached into his pocket and wiggled out his phone, the sound of a dirt bike grew closer and two dark figures on a bike appeared from the darkness of the airstrip. Everyone's attention immediately snapped toward it and Cleo groaned in relief. The scold on the tip of Pope's tongue halted and they all froze as the driver tossed their helmet off with their bloodied hands. (Y/N) felt his blood turn cold. 

Hands left his sides and lifted to his face. Rafe roughly grabbed his throat, fingers digging into (Y/N)'s skin. A soft whimper left him and he pressed his hands against Rafe's chest, attempting to push back the blonde. "I need you to listen to me very carefully." He spotted Rafe's pupils in the light. He was high. "I need to get rid of John B. He came back to hurt my family and Sarah's helpin' him. I don't want to hurt her. She's my sister. But I can't let John B walk free. You know that, (Y/N). I'll let you come with me in case things get outta hand... But don't get in the way." 

Taking in a sharp breath when Rafe released him, (Y/N) gingerly touched his sore throat. Rafe reached around the back of his waistband and took out a revolver, letting (Y/N) soak it in for a moment before tucking it back into its hiding spot. A coldness washed over him, making every hair on his body stand straight. Rafe ran a hand over his face and sniffled lightly, rubbing his nose and slapping a hand over (Y/N)'s back. He casually tossed the door open and stepped out.

"Come on, Barry's waiting."

He felt the phantom touch of fingers digging into his skin, hands coiling around his throat in an iron grip that left him momentarily breathless. Only the pained groan and Rafe's hurried movements broke him out of his brief trance, the withering and panting body on the back of the bike finally registering. Ward toppled over, bringing the bike along with him as he fell onto the concrete, revealing the large bloody circle on his shirt. Fucking Camerons.

"You're okay, Dad. You're okay, you're okay." Rafe breathlessly repeated as he reached down to bring Ward back up onto his feet. He finally knocked the helmet off Ward's head, revealing his pained face. Sarah staggered backward, staring wide-eyed at her father's bleeding form. Rafe turned to them, chest heaving. "Don't just stand there! I need some help! Come on, help me! (Y/N)! Please, Sarah."

Short, rapid breaths escaped Sarah's mouth and she hurried forward despite her previous hesitance. "What happened?!" She asked, pulling one of Ward's arms over her shoulder, helping her father wobble closer and closer to the plane. 

"A fisherman spotted him, alright? They know he's alive. We gotta get him off the island right now." Rafe explained, tightly clutching his father's shirt and helping him inside the rest of the way. Sarah brought her hands to her forehead and moved away from the stairs, mumbling curses under her breath as she began to pace before bolting inside to check on them.

"Hell no. We are not getting on the plane with him. Hell no!" Pope shook his head as he cursed and turned toward John B. The brunette remained silent, eyes staring at the dots of red littering the ground and leading up to the plane.

(Y/N) rubbed his throat and turned around to face them, inhaling softly. Rafe looked different. Still had that deranged look in his eye but he'd buzzed his hair, ridding himself of the boyish blonde waves. The blood on his hands... a look that fitted him. A coked-up, daddy's boy who'd do anything for his approval, even if it meant staining his hands. 

"He wasn't supposed to come," Sarah said breathlessly, heading down the steps and coming to a stop beside John B. "He stays on the island, he gets arrested."

"No, no, Sarah. I don't think you understand. I don't know if I can get on a plane with that guy-"

"Just listen, John B. This is his plane. I can't stop him from leaving. But he will still give us a ride to Orinoco, so if you don't wanna get on the plane, I get it. We'll find another way!"

John B swallowed, staring down at her as his lips pressed together. "There's no other way." He muttered, turning his head to look at Pope and Cleo. He took in a deep breath. "Let's go. Let's get on the plane."

"With them?" Pope stared at him, completely bewildered, and features slightly hardened with bitterness. With Rafe? (Y/N) grimaced. He'd be fine with just Ward, even if the man appeared half-dead with his groaning. At John B's nod, Pope sighed and turned around, preparing to head into the plane when Rafe stepped out. The two stopped and stared at each other, jaws clenching and muscles tensing. The air filled heavy with tension and unfinished business.

Rafe moved first, heading down the steps and brushing past the glaring boy. Cleo placed a hand on Pope's back, urging him inside and blocking his way until Pope finally headed up into the plane. (Y/N) took in a breath and walked forward, only taking a couple steps toward the plane before sweaty lean arms wrapped around his shoulders. He froze in Rafe's embrace, feeling those bloodied hands curl around the back of his shirt. "Keep an eye on him,' He whispered. "Please."

"He'll be fine." (Y/N) murmured breathlessly, and pulled himself free of the embrace to cut the distance between him and the stairs. He headed up them, hearing Rafe say the same sentiment to Sarah as she followed after him. 

Inside the plane, Ward took up two seats near the front with his injury properly bandaged. He winced and groaned every few seconds, his face dripping with sweat. He seemed stable enough. Pope and Cleo sat far from him, side by side with Cleo quietly speaking to a fuming Pope. Sarah collapsed on one of the seats across from Ward with a first aid kit in her hands. John B sat a few seats down, looking weirdly calm about the whole situation. (Y/N) pursed his lips.

It was going to be a long ride to South America.

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"It's the Wild West out here," Cleo murmured as they stepped off the plane. The airstrip contained multiple people in military gear, some held guns or leashes clipped to attack dogs. Different country, different laws, different treatment. (Y/N) only prayed they'd at least manage to stay on the right end of a gun, far from the barrel or bullets. 

"Sarah!" Ward called out, limping down the stairs and holding onto the railings. "I'm coming."

Sarah whipped around to face him, a scoff escaping her. "No, you're not. You got us here like you said you would. Now go on to Guadeloupe. You need to see a doctor!"

"You're way in over your head. I can help, let me help. Please-"

"No!" Sarah shouted, cutting him off sharply. "Get back in the plane. You promised you weren't a part of this." 

Ward fell silent, his eyes trailing over each of them. He pressed his lips together tightly and nodded. "Okay." He sighed, turning around and wobbling back into the plane. Sarah turned away and ran a frustrated hand over her face, nodding for them to continue off the airstrip with a solemn look on her face. 

Getting a taxi and heading further into Tres Rocas, they listened to the sound of fireworks and firecrackers as people roamed the decorated streets. Lively music played from different buildings and children raced up and down the streets, clutching flags and other things in their hands. Things seemed better, more friendlier than the dreary, heavily watched airport. 

"Looks like a local holiday," Cleo mused, stepping out of the taxi and observing her surroundings. (Y/N) watched a firework shoot up into the air and hummed quietly before turning to face the others when the taxi drove away, leaving them in the middle of the crowded street. 

"So, we have to assume that Singh's already gone upriver, alright? We're looking for a guy named Jose. He's gonna take us to the dig site. I, uh... I do not have a last name."

"I hate to break it to you, John B," (Y/N) began. "You're in a Latin country. Half the dudes here are going to be named Jose and most of them will be likely working some sort of job regarding the river since, you know, this is a river town."

"(Y/N)'s right. It'll be like findin' a teardrop in the ocean." Cleo rubbed her forehead as she spoke, a tired look passing over her face. "We'd have better luck tryin' to find Singh."

"Well, I'm assuming river guides probably hang out by the river?" Sarah attempted halfheartedly.

"Yeah, and if they're anything like the guys at OBX, they're probably getting drunk on a holiday." 

Sarah hummed thoughtfully and placed her hands on her hips, a hopeful grin appearing on her face. "Let's start with the bars, then. Divide and conquer, ya'll."

And with that, the group split up and spread out around town. (Y/N) put his basic Spanish lessons from school to use, hitting up any place that looked like it sold beer and asking around for Jose the river guide. Many of the locals waved him off or shook their heads, unable to answer any of his questions with useful information. Regardless, he thanked them and went on his way until he met up with Pope and Cleo again near the center of the town, the looks on their faces telling him they'd have similar luck. 

The sound of tires squealing caught their attention and they spotted a jeep driving down the road, heading straight for them. "Run." Pope breathed and without needing to be told twice, the three of them took off running down the street. The jeep honked repeatedly, the sound of it growing closer and closer as they ducked down different streets trying to lose it. 

"Como estas, amigos?" A familiar face stuck their head out a windowless bus, speaking in barely understandable Spanish and with a hude dumb grin on his face. Fucking JJ and Kiara. Go figure. He laughed gleefully but the look quickly vanished at the realization that they were being chased. 

"Already?! We just got here!" Kiara groaned, hurrying off the bus with JJ. "What's happening?"

"Singh's men are after us. We gotta think of a plan." Pope explained breathlessly, bracing his hands on his knees and attempting to calm his racing heart by taking deep breaths.

"Let's hijack the bus!"

"This bus?" Kiara scoffed at JJ's proposal, motioning wildly to the old rickety bus they'd taken. "It only goes ten miles an hour!"

"They're coming now, guys! Hide in the fruit stands, come on!" Cleo ushered them further down an alleyway where rows of stalls stood. They ducked and weaved around the bustling people until they found an unoccupied stand to hide behind. (Y/N) could feel droplets of sweat roll down his cheeks, his eyes locked on the rifles the two men carried around as they asked and checked the bus. The two eventually headed back to their jeep and took off down the road.

"Welcome to South America," Cleo said, tossing her arms up.

"They're foreigners, Cleo." (Y/N) murmured, catching his breath and running the back of his hand over his forehead. "The locals haven't done anything. They don't owe us any help either."

"So..." Kiara trailed off, her chest heaving with deep breaths. "What's the plan?"

JJ swallowed, his eyes flickering over the stands and locals bustling around before his lips twisted up. He looked back at Kiara, studying her face for a moment before looking back toward them. "Barracuda Mike gave us the ride here. We could... ask him?" He proposed, wincing at the deadpan look Pope gave him. "He's our only shot, man!"

"Fantastic..." Pope sighed heavily. "Barracuda Mike it is."

Barracuda Mike, as it turned out, was a smuggler who primarily dealt with smuggling drugs and other similar things out of North Carolina via his cargo plane. And, he seemed surprisingly understanding when the group returned to him asking for help, claiming to have a boat set up at the river. He led them to it, even offering over a mag of machetes for them to use as weapons as he led them through a short trek in the jungle and to a boat perched on the water.

"I'm addin' the cost of this rig to what you already owe me. I don't expect to see it again, anyway. I asked around at the landin' today. Your buds did leave this mornin', but I was able to get directions to El Tesoro. Pretty loose since only Jose knows the real way, but it'll get you in the right zip code." Barracuda Mike explained, handing over a piece of paper with directions written on it and nodding for them to climb into the boat. 

Turning to look at him, Pope offered a small smile. "Thanks." 

"Don't thank me." Barracuda Mike brushed him off with a dry chuckle and wave of his hand. "Start prayin'." Ah, that made his willingness to help more understandable. He wanted them out of his hair as quickly as possible. "

With a couple of strained grunts, Barracuda Mike pushed the boat further into the water and lifted his hand to wave at them as the boat began floating downstream. JJ got the motor started and their speed increased, releasing a soft hum that mixed with the distant singing birds, chirping insects, and even the occasional hoot of a monkey. The five of them settled comfortably on the boat, filling the silence with chatter. (Y/N) spent his time gazing into the murky, brown river water until night fell and they took turns steering the boat to get some rest.

By the early morning, the sound of another boat heading down the river prompted JJ to wake everybody up and steer the boat closer to the bank where it'd be hidden by foliage and low-hanging leaves. They ducked down and waited, watching as a boat filled with Singh's men passed by, armed and going rather fast.

"They're not lookin' for us." Cleo mused. "They're movin' too quick."

"They're looking for John B and Sarah." JJ realized quietly, darting up from his spot and starting the motor back up. "They gotta know where they're headed. We need to go. They're gonna need us!"

The boat quickly resumed its journey down the rivers, speed fast enough to keep up with Singh but slow enough not to draw their attention. (Y/N) watched the boat drift in and out of view, disappearing over the horizon until JJ sped back up. His gaze moved over to the bag of machetes resting on the floor of the boat. Weapons, Barracuda Mike had called them. Weapons meant to help them against armed and trained men with guns. Maybe he should've listened to Liz, after all. 

Early the next morning they encountered a small docking area by the riverbank. Kiara studied the paper Barracuda Mike had given them, her head lifting every so often to look at the village before she nodded to herself. "Guys, I think this is El Tesoro. The trailhead to the mountain is supposed to start here." She told them.

"Oh, shit," JJ whispered, motioning ahead to two of Singh's men lingering on the docks. "What are we gonna do? We gotta get past them somehow."

Pope's lips pursed and he slipped his backpack off his shoulders, setting it down on his lap and rummaging through the contents before pausing and looking up at them. "I... may have an idea."

"This is so stupid." (Y/N) whispered, peeking over the windowsill of the old, abandoned shack that had the perfect view of the men. One of them dozed off on a boat while the other fiddled around with different things, seemingly bored of waiting around. "If one of you gets shot-"

"It'll be fine, (Y/N)." Kiara assured him, ensuring the note she'd tied to the end of the fish hook wouldn't fall before she tossed the line out. It landed in the boat the napping man lied in and he startled, sitting up with squinted eyes and looking around until he noticed the note. "Get ready, ya'll.... and.... now, JJ!"

The blonde lit a firecracker and tossed it into the air, far enough that it hit the side of boat and exploded in the water. The man scrambled up and grabbed his rifle, his head on a swivel as his partner ducked down. Another firecracker landed and exploded nearby, prompting the man to start shooting blindly and forcing them to duck down to avoid being seen or hit. 

"Return fire, Pope! Return fire!" JJ shouted and Pope quickly lit another firecracker, tossing it over the roof of the shack. 

When that one exploded, they heard the man shouting at his partner to get in the boat. The boat quickly sped off with the two men on it and the group sent them off with one last firecracker. Once they disappeared down the river, (Y/N) stood up and shook his head, rolling his eyes at JJ and Pope's celebratory handshake.

"Hey, hey," Cleo called, stepping out of the shack and sucking her teeth. "No time for celebrating. We didn't do nothing yet."

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"You know," (Y/N) exhaled breathlessly, sweat dripping profusely from his skin from both the humidity and trek up the mountain. Kiara answered with a soft groan, clutching her side as she leaned against a tree and turned back to look at him. Pope and Cleo had long gone ahead of them, clearing a way with two machetes as if they were used to hiking through jungles. "I'm glad this little last adventure... with you all has been... interesting, to say the least."

"Last?" JJ repeated, quickly as breathless. His blonde strands stuck to his forehead and temples, soaked as if he'd taken a plunge in the river. "What- What do you mean, last?"

"Yeah, I mean-" Kiara took a deep gulp of air and swatted away a buzzing insect. "-I'm sure there'll be other adventures."

"Yeah, for you guys." (Y/N) stood up straighter and rolled back his shoulder, wincing when his back ached. His legs were in no better condition, aching and weeping for rest. JJ and Kiara stared at him, their brows knitting together. "I- I... Jesus, I hate hiking. I'm never doing this again."

"Ditto." Kiara laughed and turned her back to him, using the trunk she'd been leaning against to help her move over a fallen log. "But, what do you mean? We're Pogues. All of us. Even Cleo and you. We're... We're a family... one that should never go hiking again."

"Remember that night when Sarah told us about the plane?" You asked, waiting for JJ to step over the log and sighing quietly when the blonde tripped and nearly fell. He recovered quickly, shooting them both an innocent grin as he wiped moist dirt off his hand. (Y/N) cautiously stepped over the log, keeping in mind the root that'd nearly taken out JJ and glancing up at them as they continued the trek.

"Yeah, you and JB cleared the air, right?" JJ glanced over his shoulder at him. 

"Yeah, sorta, I guess. But, uhm... I told them that I'd-" 

"Woah, guys, look at this view!" Kiara suddenly called out with a giddy laugh, the path leading out to an open area where they could overlook the thick jungle and the mountains ahead. (Y/N) noticed Pope and Cleo breaking away from each other quickly and hummed quietly, a smile pulling at the edges of his lips. Kiara and JJ, Pope and Cleo... Sarah and John B. They all had each other, in some way or another. 

"What were you saying, (Y/N)?" JJ turned to look at him, causing the others to turn as well. 

"Oh, uhm..." (Y/N) trailed off and sighed, looking out toward the gorgeous view before him. A thick green jungle as far as the eye could see, giant mountains that reached toward the skies, the beautiful song of the jungle sounding through the air. Beautiful, but everything that'd led him up to that moment hadn't truly been worth the view. "I'm leaving the OBX. For good. I'm- I'm going to get my diploma and apply to colleges away from here."

"What?" The resounding response to his revelation. 

"I know, I know... Poguelandia, I know. I deserve more than being the thirdwheel or the ex being dragged along, guys. As much as ya'll hate to admit it, I'm a Kook. I care about each of you, even John B... sometimes. You'll always be family. And sometimes, families have to separate to live their lives to the fullest, right? I want a degree, a proper job, and a safe life. It's boring but it'll be comfortable." The Pogues remained largely quiet, mixed expressions on their faces and different emotions flashing but in the end, they all settled on bittersweet smiles and nods. "And I promise to send wedding invitations, if I ever get engaged."

"You better!" JJ laughed, lurching forward to swing his arms around his shoulders and hold him tightly. "You better, you bastard. I expect to be a groomsman, you hear?"

"And you better keep in touch, too." Kiara piped in.

"And visit when you can, alright?" Pope added and Cleo agreed with a nod. 

"I will, I will." (Y/N) chuckled, running his hand over JJ's back before the two pulled away. "Now, let's go find those two idiots."

They headed down the mountain after Pope pointed out a manmade trail heading down and further into the jungle. JJ took the lead with Kiara, using machetes to cut down any thick grass, exposed roots, or fallen wood. They walked with idle chatter until a loud, distant yet not far explosion sounded through the air, startling the animals and causing birds in a nearby tree to shoot up into the air in a panic. They fell silent and exchanged wide-eyed glances before a silent, mutual agreement passed over them and they broke out into a sprint in the direction of the explosion.

"Careful!" Pope called when Kiara tripped over a root but brushed him off with a wave and stood back up to hurry after JJ. 

They continued through the path until they heard the familiar sound of Ward's voice, followed by Big John and Sarah. Immediately ducking down, they carefully made their way up the steep path and peeked over, spotting Ward holding Big John, Sarah, and John B at gunpoint while speaking quietly to them.

"What are we gonna do?" Pope questioned quietly.

"Is this ride or die?" JJ asked quietly, his hand curling around the machete sheathed away. The others mimicked his movements, freeing their machetes from their sheaths and holding tightly onto them. JJ glanced back at them and grinned. "P4L."

The group charged forward with battle cries, pulling Ward's attention away from the three and onto them. He swung his gun around frantically as the group shouted at him, demanding he put his gun down. Ward panted, his eyes wide and arm swinging around, continuously switching who he pointed the gun at in a desperate attempt to spook them into staying back.

"You can't shoot just one of us." (Y/N) exhaled, grinding his teeth when Ward looked back at him with softened features. 

"If you have to shoot somebody, Ward, shoot me." Big John told him through labored breaths, his bloodied hands pressed against his side. Shit. Ward spun on his heel to face him but John B stepped in his way, staring him right in the eye and arching a brow.

"Or me." He said softly, watching Ward's features harden and the trembling of his hand grow. He curled his lip and took a deep breath, attempting to steady his arm but then Sarah stepped in front of John B, her eyes shiny with tears but her features showcasing her utter exhaustion. 

"Stop." She whispered, swallowing as a tear slid down her cheek and she stepped forward, pressing the barrel to her chest and staring at her father. "Enough."

"Don't-"

"You're not gonna kill all of us. I know you won't. I know you." Sarah's lips began to tremble and she shakily exhaled. "You forget that I know you."

Her words seemed to have an effect on Ward, his own eyes flooding with tears and face scrunching up as his shoulders began shaking. Sarah placed her hand over his, pushing it down and pulling the gun from his weakened grip. "I couldn't." Ward gasped, tears running freely down his face. His palm came to rest on Sarah's cheek and he weakly smiled. "I couldn't do it."

"Yeah? Well, I can." A new voice called followed by the sound of a gun cocking. One of Singh's men stumbled out of the jungle, his gun raised and pointed at them before dropping down to Big John when John B pointed his own gun at him. "Toss it!"

"Take it easy, bud." Big John spoke weakly. "Your boss is dead. You got no reason to do this."

"I can think of a few reasons." The man sneered at Big John, his eyes jumping back to John B. "Toss it!" He demanded sharply and John B lifted his hands, letting the gun slip from his grasp. The man slinked forward, keeping his gun trained on them. "Thought you'd end up with the gold, eh? Alright, nobody move. My mate back there is dead. Because of you. You..." He pointed his gun at Sarah. "Can go first."

Exchanging one last somber look with his daughter, Ward charged forward, taking multiple shots to his body but refusing to relent until he tackled the man and took them both tumbling down the cliff nearby. Sarah staggered forward, short gasps escaping her that turned into quiet sobs. (Y/N) moved first, snapping the others out of their shock, and walked toward the cliff's edge. He spotted the two lifeless bodies at the bottom and grimaced, closing his eyes tightly and listening to Sarah's sobs grow louder. 

"Big John? Hey, Big John?" Pope's panicked voice made him open his eyes and he turned his head, noticing Big John's head lolling off to the side. (Y/N)'s arms reached out, pulling Sarah against him, and nodded to John B. The brunette shot him a thankful look before rushing over to his father, speaking hurriedly to him and slinging on of his arms over his shoulder. 

"Come on, we gotta get you out of here, Dad." John B told him, waiting for Pope to get his other arm before they began heading back down the trail as quickly as possible. 

"We'll let them know when we get back that his body's here, alright?" (Y/N) took Sarah by the shoulders, squeezing them lightly. She sniffled, another sob wrecking her body but she managed to nod weakly, one arm sliding around his waist to use him as support. "You'll be okay, Sarah. We'll all be okay."

They took turns helping Big John, the weight of a tall grown man weakening them after some time. They managed to reach the deserted dock, getting to their boat, and laying him down. (Y/N) got the motor started, steering them up the river as the Pogues tried giving Big John reassurances through their tears. He remained by the motor, watching them slowly come to terms with Big John's fate. His breathing had long become labored, his body too exhausted to fight through the pain. 

With a trembling hand, Big John took his son's hand. "We did it together, my boy. Just... just like we drew it up. Hey, hey, Bird... it's okay." He weakly smiled up at him, rubbing his thumb over John B's hand. "I know... that I wasn't any great shakes as a father... but you... you were the best son any man could hope for. I want you to know that..."

"Tell me when we get home, Dad, okay?" John B sniffled, reaching into his bag to pull out the block of gold they'd been able to get from El Dorado before exploding the entrance alongside Singh. He set the block on Big John's chest for him to look at, a pained, bittersweet smile on his face. "We did it. We did it, Dad."

Big John's eyes fluttered closed, his breathing growing weaker and shorter. John B's lips rolled into his mouth, the tears dripping down his cheeks and quiet sobs escaping him. "I'll see you... I'll see you at home, kid..." Big John told him, before his chest ceased rising and John B hugged him tightly.

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"Is this all of it?" 

(Y/N) tore his attention away from his startling empty room to look over at Liz. He'd taken down most of his pictures, even those of him and Sarah, and packed them away in a box. He'd already chosen which ones he felt like keeping and which ones he felt fine with parting. His closet remained partly empty, a couple clothes kept in there just in case, but his essentials and anything sentimental had been packed away and in the back of his jeep. 

"Yeah," (Y/N) nodded, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jacket and nodding to himself. "We're good to go, I guess." 

"Good, 'cause I have a flight to catch." Liv walked forward, wrapping her arms around him before planting a kiss on his cheek. She scanned the room and hummed quietly, turning around and making her way to the door. "I'll be waiting for you on campus, alright? I already spoke to your future roomie-"

"Liv." (Y/N) groaned. 

"And I have to say, he's pretty cute. I think you'll have fun together." Liv winked, her mischievous giggles echoing down the hall. 

Rolling his eyes and quietly muttering to himself, (Y/N) took one last survey of his childhood bedroom. He'd miss it, even with all the lonesome memories it held. He walked toward the door and stepped outside, gently shutting it and making his way down the hall. His eyes took in every inch of the hall, gaze lingering on the rare family photos still hung up despite his parent's pending divorce. Things were better that way. They'd go their own way, find their own happiness. Communication with them had improved, at least. No more ignored calls.

"Goodbye, home sweet home." He whispered to himself, striding down the stairs and picking up his keys. 

(Y/N) stepped outside and shut the door with a soft thud, locking it and double-checking it locked. He inhaled deeply and stepped off the porch, waving to Liv's car when it sped down the road. Topper waited at the end of the driveway, attempting to look as casual as possible while leaning against his truck. 

"What's up, Top?"

"Came to see you off, is all," Topper responded with a shrug, pushing himself off the truck and walking up the driveway toward him. He stood in front of him, twisting his lips up a bit before throwing his arms around him in a tight hug. (Y/N) stumbled backward and chuckled, wrapping his arms around him. "I'm still mad at you.... but I'll miss you."

"Yeah, yeah, don't get into trouble, alright?" (Y/N) leaned back, ruffling up his pristine blonde locks and laughing when Topper huffed. "Keep an eye on Sarah, will you? But be nice about it." 

"She's a big girl," Topper muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. "I will. Just for you, though."

"Uh-huh." (Y/N) climbed into his jeep and turned the engine on, feeling it come to life beneath him. He took another look at the boy and smiled, closing the door and resting his arm on top of it. "I'll be seeing you in a couple months, anyway. Got that big thing with the mayor, remember? Something about the treasure."

"Don't be a stranger, then!" Topper called, watching the car reserve out of the driveway.

With one last wave, (Y/N) drove down the street. He turned the volume of the radio up and absentmindedly listened to the random pop songs that played, his eyes focused on the scenery passing him by. The expensive houses, the snobby neighbors, the shimmering water peeking between the trees, the welcoming town between both worlds, the distant horn of the ferry. He'd miss Kildare but it felt good to finally break away from it. 

The repeated honking of a car caught his attention and he rolled his eyes when the Twinkie drove up beside him with JJ halfway out of the passenger window. Whoops, hollers, and the occasional 'we'll miss you' came from the van and JJ playfully blew him a few kisses before being forced back into his seat by John B. The brunette pushed his hand into the horn a few more times before they turned down a different road. 

"Idiots." (Y/N) whispered with a chuckle and pulled into a gas station, parking his car by one of the bumps and stepping out. He stuck his hand in his back pocket for his wallet and tugged it out, moving around his car and looking up in time to notice Sarah jogging across from the store. 

"Liv told me you were gonna stop for gas here." She revealed with a chuckle, brushing back strands of blonde hair she'd recently recolored. Sarah smiled sweetly, glancing at the stuff stored in the back of his jeep. "The others are gonna pick me up in a second. I... I wanted to say bye to you alone. Well- Somewhat alone."

"All of you are acting as if I'm marching off war." (Y/N) snorted. Sarah laughed sheepishly and shrugged lightly, taking a few steps closer before she leaned up to press their lips together. She leaned back and rested her hands on his shoulders, her smile shifting into a sad one. She sighed shakily and chuckled again. 

"Thank you, for everything... I couldn't have asked for a better boyfriend, ex or not. I'll really miss you and just know that- that I'll always have love for you, (Y/N). Remember that, okay? Promise you'll never forget how much I care about you... how much we all care for you." She told him softly, tilting her head up to gaze into his eyes. "Pogues for life?"

"Pogues for life." He echoed softly, combing his fingers through her hair and pressing his hand against her cheek. Sarah leaned into his touch and closed her eyes.

"I'm... I'm glad you're going for your happily ever after, (Y/N). Even if it's not with us. We'll always be here if you ever need us."

[robinette-green]

I used to get a lot of nose bleeds as a kid and even though I don’t get them anymore I can still remember how people used to freak out.

The way Sun and Moon would react is a little different from how Solaris and Lucien would react.

Solaris would gasp before franticly pulling a handkerchief from a pocket and holding it to your nose.

“Sit, sit, sit! What happened?! Are you alright!?” He’d fuss over you and kiss your forehead as he held your hair back and you let the bleeding stop and once it was all over he’d want to get you a treat.

If it were Sun and Moon:

Sun would freak! Hands waving franticly, he’d scramble to get the first aide kit as he babbles about how everything will be alright! It’ll all be okay!! Pulling the first aid kit free, everything goes flying out of it and by the time he’s finished franticly picking up everything and made it back to you, you’ve already got a paper towel held to your noise and have everything handled. In the end you’d have to comfort Sun.

For Moon I’ve actually written something alone the lines of what he would do. The bleeding is more from hitting the nose then from just a normal nose bleed but I feel the way be behaves here would be similar.

I cowered on the floor, hands clamped over my ears as Sun struggled and screamed, his shift over to Moon a painful one as Sun fought to prevent it. 

It took longer than I would have liked to kick myself to move. Sun's scream turned into a growl as I forced my legs underneath me and scrabbled at the floor to pull myself into a run. 

"You're up past your bedtime." 

I didn't chance a look as I ran for the closest play structure. Moon's voice was as raspy and creepy as it was in the game. There was a faint red glow behind me, then with an evil giggle, it was suddenly gone as Moon, presumably, using his cord to lift into the air. 

Dashing across the floor to the nearest play set, Moon dropped in front of me, and I had to skid to a stop and change directions. 

I could barely see the padded floor before me in the dark, so I didn't see the kiddie chair set to the side until I'd tripped over it. 

I was sent flying into one of the plastic walls of a play structure with a yelp. Smacking into it face first, pain rocketed up my nose accompanied by a metallic smell. 

This was pathetic. I was going to be caught, and I hadn't even made it into a structure. 

Slowly, I sat up, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes as pain radiated from my poor nose. 

A whimper left me as I lifted my hand to my nose and found that hot, sticky liquid was trickling down my face. Was that blood? Had I broken it? 

Then Moon landed next to me, and I panicked, scrambling away with a pathetic panicking noise. 

On my hands and knees, I dove for one of the tubes at ground level but got stuck, back hitting the top of the tube. I'd have to slide through on my stomach if I wanted to get any further, but I wasn't given the chance. 

"Stop. You'll hurt yourself more." 

Large hands easily halted my escape, snagging me around the middle and lifting me out of the tube and into the air. 

"N-NO!" I yelped, covering my nose and squeezing my eyes shut. 

Moon had caught me so easily. There'd been no chase; I'd just immediately put myself out of commission. Would he kill me now? Choke me to death like he did in some of the fan fictions I'd read? Maybe he'd take me to Vanny, and she'd kill me. 

Tears were pouring down my face now, body trembling, blood dripping into my hands from my throbbing nose, convinced that this would be my end. I'd lost the game so quickly, and there were no save files I could switch to. 

Carefully, the hands holding me set me down on the edge of the security desktop. 

My eyes flew open, and I looked up, confused and scared, into red eyes. With a soft, comforting noise, Moon carefully pulled my hands away from my face. I struggled, but the animatronic was much too strong. 

"Let me see what you've done," Moon murmured, his red eyes flicking over the tears and blood. 

A flash of blue light blinded me in the dark, leaving me squinting with an afterimage left in my eyes. 

"You didn't break it, but I'm sure it hurts." 

I was having a really hard time processing what was going on. Moon wasn't trying to kill me. Instead, he was caring for me as though I was a small child who had had a tumble. 

I did have a rather nasty tumble, but I wasn't a child. 

Though I am crying like one… and my nose really hurts. 

"I-if you're not going to hurt me, t-then why aren't you allowed to come out anymore?" I asked, voice muffled from my messed up nose. 

Moon just stared at me. That was probably not what he'd expected me to say in this situation. 

"Stay." He instructed before vanishing into the dark. 

He didn't answer my question. 

If Moon wasn't dangerous, why had Sun tried so hard to keep him contained? Or maybe switching between the two hurts, and that was all that was to it? But Sun seemed too nervous about the lights for that to be the only thing. I was missing something. Had something happened that made Faz co. forbid Moon from coming out with anyone in the daycare? That would explain the generators. But what had happened? 

Hugging myself, I trembled on the desktop, adrenaline still coursing through my body as I came down from my scare, blood dripping onto my knees as I let it flow, not wanting the hot red gross to flow down my throat. 

"Here." A paper towel was gently held to my nose, and I flinched, having not seen or heard Moon's approach. 

"Head down till the bleeding stops, then we'll use a cold pack on your nose for a bit to help with the swelling."

Holding the paper towel to my nose, I did as instructed and tilted my head down. Moon was standing just to the side of me, crouched slightly, his face plate level with my head, as he reached up to rub my back with one of his massive hands comfortingly. The stars on his puffy jester pants and the little nightcap on his head were glowing faintly in the dark. 

"Thanks…" I mumbled. 

Moon said nothing, continuing to watch me, hand still on my back. We sat there in silence until my nose stopped bleeding, then Moon brought me a cold pack to ease the swelling from my nose.

[slocumjoe]

What's a compliment you would give each companion if you were to meet them IRL?

theres a few different ways to answer this. One of them being something personal and related to their character growth. No. That would be deep and philosophical. I'm answering this literally. How would I, a normal person, compliment them, presuming them to also be normal people?

Cait; would be wearing the kind of stompers I'd kill for. Just the chunkiest leather boots that would make me salivate. It'd be the boots, or when she'd walk away, I'd whisper to the person standing next to me, "holy shit, did you see how buff she was???"

Curie; would dress professional, but still fun and cute, so think pencil skirts and maybe a fun blouse. So, I'd probably end up blurting out how cute her outfit was. Complimenting her nails (short but a shiny, glittery color) or her jewelry (novelty stuff earrings, like atoms or chemical beakers) is also on the table.

Danse; id look at him and stop breathing. I would crane my neck up and my mouth would warp into the stupidest grin, incapable of speaking without a choking giggle. My face would go red as a tomato. I physically would not be able to compliment him. I would have to sit down for 15 minutes and remember how to breathe.

Deacon; knowing Deacon, he'd show up wearing the same hawaiian shirt as me

Gage; id follow his lizard Instagram and be completely obsessed with it. I would not approach him in person but I will absolutely leave comments fawning over his pet iguana

Hancock; I imagine he dresses Like That everywhere. Given my reaction when my butch manger showed up dressed as a medieval king, with a crown and embroidered dress coat and boots (i stopped breathing and stared at her for five minutes, jaw on the floor), I would probably react the same to Hancock's manner of dress. I wouldn't need to say anything. He'd get it.

MacCready; he'd make make an impressive trash can shot. Meaning, he'd throw something from yards away and still get it in the garbage. What else can you do but bow before the glory of a college kids dunk skills

Nick; *five seconds after he leaves* "that was the nicest, kindest man I've ever met and I think my daddy issues are cured"

Piper; id follow her tumblr and Twitter for the Chaos. Is that a compliment? Idk but you look at me and tell me that this woman would not EAT any discourse she got into. Even if she was wrong she would still somehow win. I hate her. We should kiss under the moonlight

Preston; *five seconds after he leaves* "that was the nicest, kindest man I've ever met and I think I should chase him down and give him my number?"

X6; I would open my mouth to compliment his jacket and he'd look down at me through his sunglasses with the most digusted grimace, before opening his palm in expectation of money before he would EVER suffer my voice

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Whumptober Day 10

BLOW TO THE HEAD | Slurred Words | Passing Out from Pain | "I can't think straight."

Prompts List | Masterpost

<- Previous Part

Fandom: Original Work

Words: 800

Tag List: @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion @scaewolf

@the-ellia-west

CW: fighting, sensory overload, running, screaming, collapsing

A/N: I am well aware that I said the next part would probably be in July. I am well aware that it is now October. Part 5 of the Gunblade Duo net-prison whump, rescue edition

-----------

Octavian should have anticipated the screaming.

Really, what else did he expect? Sure, he was on a planet that had some understanding of the supernatural, still unfamiliar with devar, but the sheer terror in which the castle guard reacted upon seeing the strange not-quite-human man who climbed the keep and held the crown prince---of course, the random young man was the crown prince---hostage transform into a wolf still caught him off guard.

He almost didn't dodge the frantic, fear-fueled attack from the nearest guard. Almost.

Octavian lunged forward, snarling, senses very much overwhelmed by the shouting and screaming and cursing, not to mention his newly-increased sensitivity to smell meant he was aware not only of everyone in the room but also immediately outside the room. As he tackled the nearest guard to the ground, using his body as a springboard to leap over the next guard, he caught the barest hint of a familiar scent.

Draven.

Or something that belonged to him, at least.

Octavian snapped at the guard captain, getting the same message as saying this isn't over in one wordless demonstration. The door had been left open. And wolves were so much faster than humans. In moments he'd left the group of angry, confused guardsmen behind, barreling through the maze-like corridors of the keep, his mind whirling with possibilities and intense sensory input.

It had been so, so long since he'd transformed. An elf-devar's senses were exemplary, yes, but nowhere near the same level as a Fells wolf. It was as if he'd been half-blind, deaf, and unable to smell and touch before, and now the veil had been lifted.

A woman screamed and dove for cover inside the room she'd emerged from the moment she caught sight of Octavian. He barely slowed to check if the scent led inside, but it did not, instead leading him on a merry chase deeper and deeper into the keep. Fear was stronger, here, as well as Draven's scent. He was on the right track. But where the right track was, he didn't know.

He rounded a corner and nearly ran over a group of bedraggled people, smelling of grime and fear and anger and---

And Draven!

Draven headed the group, holding one of his small knives. He stumbled back in shock, eyes fixed upon Octavian. Dried blood ran down the side of his face where the people who'd abducted him had struck, and his expression was a mixture of exhaustion, frustration, and relief.

"About fucking time," he muttered, words slightly slurred, as the people clogging the corridor behind him screamed at the sight of a massive silver wolf. His knife slipped out of slack fingers and clattered to the floor as his eyes rolled up in his head. Octavian lunged forward as Draven fell to his knees, transforming and catching him moments before the hunter hit the ground.

The people screamed again, backing away in terror. The scent wasn't as acute now that Octavian was no longer in his other form, but it was obvious enough. Octavian carefully lay Draven on the ground and rose to his feet, hands raised in peace. "My name is Octavian de Silv," he said softly but with urgency. "I'm a close friend of Draven's. I was with him before he was taken, and I presume you were also held prisoner. I do not know the quickest way out of this keep, but I entered far from here. I understand you are frightened, but I am not here to harm you."

The former prisoners exchanged glances before a woman stepped forward. She held one of Draven's knives. "I'm Gratia," she introduced, "Draven mentioned you. Reprobus---" she gestured at an older man behind her "---used to work here. He knows the quickest way out."

"Perfect," Octavian said, crouching and draping Draven across his shoulders. He stood, grunting at the hunter's weight. "Please lead the way. I know where to go when we get out of here."

Gratia grinned and ordered everyone to get moving again. To their credit, everyone did so without hesitation, the stronger aiding the weaker. Octavian frowned, noting how they all appeared to be in various stages of starvation. How long have they been held here? And without food? What kind of people would do something like this? And why?

The guard captain knew something, the way he'd reacted during the hostage situation. Likely some of the guards as well, in that case. Reprobus worked in the keep before, so whatever reason for arresting and holding these people applied to the staff as well. So many possibilities. Octavian would have to investigate some leads. He certainly had no shortage of time, given Draven's condition.

If it was only a concussion, and if Draven actually rested and allowed himself to heal.

Both very big ifs.

Octavian would just have to tie him down.

[prahacat]

Bend, Break

It's been three days since Dooku saved his life, and all Obi-Wan can do now is push until they break. Continuation of Brush, Bend, an AU where Obi-Wan and Dooku desert in favor of exploring their weird, obsessive relationship dynamic. This also (very liberally) fills my Obi-Wan x Dooku YOTP2023 December prompt "moving in together". cw: (mild) sexual content, mentions of abuse and violence. 3k words.

The black clouds hang so low, Obi-Wan can almost split them with the tip of his blade. Not much longer now and it will rain. An icy wind whistles across the bare plains, where nothing, no trees, no grass, breaks through the volcanic rock. Obi-Wan lifts his saber and swings it in a flurry of swift strikes. Far away, the horizon flashes red and orange below the crushing mass of clouds. He slashes at empty air until sweat soaks through his tunic and drips into his eyes, until he is trembling and breathless, and the first cold raindrops pat against the back of his neck.

When he looks up, the lone figure watching him from the terrace turns and melts into the shadows.

Obi-Wan lowers his lightsaber, and the blade, purple like a dying star, extinguishes in a hiss and crackle.

They haven't been warm for days. The ruins offer hardly any protection against the harsh climate, or against each other. What remains of the collapsed tower nestles between the basalt rocks and the leaden sky, and it's cold inside, always too cold; in the morning, a silver sheen of frost covers their blankets. But there is no point in leaving. Out here, on this bleak hunk of a planet, nobody looks for them.

Obi-Wan mounts the hewn stone steps into the room that was once, presumably, the tower’s main hall. Time has chipped away the golden mica on the ornamental carvings, and the ceiling painting has faded beyond recognition. The fireplace takes up most of the back wall, a black mouth spitting sparks and soot. Apart from them, the sole guest who visits is the wind: it barges in through the broken terrace doors, fans the flames, and tugs at Dooku's cloak before it lets up when he doesn’t react. He stands like a statue below the arcades that frame the terrace, his back turned toward Obi-Wan as he stares somewhere into the far distance. Black sheets of rain now curtain off the world beyond.

Obi-Wan slips out of his clammy boots and wiggles his bare toes. Frozen, numb. "Have you eaten yet?"

A cup and a half-empty bottle of wine sit on the table, the glass fogged up with the cold. They look lost among the few pieces of equipment they have salvaged from their ship and arranged into a makeshift command center. Two datapads, the map, a radio—and the encrypted com that has been silent for nearly seventy hours.

Dooku watches the clouds churn and flash along the horizon. "An electromagnetic storm." His voice, though quiet, echoes through the cold hall. "Communication is out. No signal penetrates these clouds."

"She'll find a way to contact us." Obi-Wan throws a broken chair leg into the fire. Ventress is more loyal than he will ever be, a relief as much as it is an inconvenience, and Obi-Wan wonders whether that knowledge doesn't also pester Dooku in quiet, calm hours such as these. "We should eat something. She'd make me berate you if she were here. Let me warm some soup—"

"Leave me."

Slowly, Obi-Wan rises to his feet.

Dooku's back remains turned. Obi-Wan listlessly regards the bottle. "The wine won't help with the pain." But Dooku ignores him with a stubbornness that annoys Obi-Wan more than any rudeness would. He drapes his drenched cape over the mantelpiece. Steam rises as the wool begins to dry. Dooku stares at the storm in stony silence, and Obi-Wan thinks: I could grab the bloody ship, I could fly off and leave you stranded here, but it'd never make you stare at the sky like this, longing for me to come back. He wipes the damp hair from his forehead. "There's no need to worry yet. If the Jedi had captured her, we would know. They would make demands or try to negotiate."

"If the Confederacy had captured her, we would know as well," Dooku says dryly. "We would be under attack already."

"You think Ventress would betray our location?"

"The Confederacy has recently invested considerable resources in the development of new torture droids.”

Obi-Wan rounds the table and joins Dooku below the arcades. "Maybe we should move." His gaze lingers on Dooku's side, but the dark tunic covers any hint of bandages. "How is your wound?"

"Fine." But there's not much privacy when you've been stuck together for three days between walls that no longer have ceilings. In this hollow tower, Obi-Wan can always hear the whisper of Dooku's tired footsteps somewhere, and it's only late at night that he catches him leaning against walls and archways, resting his weight, letting go. This morning, Obi-Wan saw Dooku hunched over the edge of his bed, eyes closed, the hazy light melting on his face, one hand pressed against his stomach as if he was afraid of tearing and falling apart as soon as he stood up.

There's a feverish shine to his eyes now.

Without thinking, Obi-Wan says, "The Jedi would help us."

"The Jedi." Dooku grimaces. The wind has tousled his hair and a few stray strands fall into his eyes. "Always the Jedi. And what do you expect the Jedi to give us? Forgiveness? A pardon for your crimes? Pity and a bowl of hot soup?"

"Protection, I should imagine," Obi-Wan says. "They would at least see to Ventress' safety."

"You are willing to trade her safety for our freedom?"

"What freedom? All we do is run." He gazes out into the pouring rain. In the distance, the mountain peaks float above a sea of darkness. "We have no allies, no supporters. A temporary truce with the Jedi would grant us some respite at least, and a place to lie low. Ventress could reunite with us at the Temple. Once we know she is unharmed, it will be easier to decide on a course."

"So it is Ventress who worries you?" Dooku turns toward him. "Or do you seek to save your own hide?" His black cloak parts and flows like dark, heavy water that Obi-Wan needs only to step into to wash away what remains of him. He wants to. "Bravery and dedication," Dooku says, "those qualities come easy when you believe to be backed by the establishment. But only those who are not afraid to fend for themselves will bring about actual change in this galaxy."

Obi-Wan scoffs. "As if you ever knew what it meant to fend for yourself, Dooku. You only ever made a move when you had something to cushion your leap: a new, comfortable life as a Count, your wealth, your armies, Palpatine's protective hand. Now you have lost all of it and look where it got you. Ex-leader of the Separatists and disgraced Count of Serenno, hiding in a drafty—"

Dooku grabs him by the neck and yanks him close. "Don't insult my intelligence, Obi-Wan," he says, his voice low. His thumb digs into the soft skin behind Obi-Wan's ear. The smell of burnt wood and thunderstorms clings to his cloak; the fabric rustles against the length of Obi-Wan's thigh. He's right here, and Obi-Wan touches his wrist, allowing his fingers to slide into the warmth below the sleeve, where Dooku's pulse is thumping as fast as his.

"I know what you are after," Dooku whispers.

Do you, Obi-Wan wonders, and the thought sends a sudden rush of heat through his body: want; fear.

"It would be such a relief for you if I swallowed your bait." Dooku tightens his grip on his hair and pulls Obi-Wan's head back to gaze down into his face like Obi-Wan once saw a butcher do with a nerf calf to inspect its teeth. "If I took the choice from you and dragged you back to everything you betrayed." This is how he used to hold Obi-Wan after frying or strangling him with the Force, but as the cruelty has grown rare, so have the caresses. Obi-Wan leans in, and the sharp tug at the back of his head eases.

"How you dream of liberation," Dooku murmurs. "You cannot bring yourself to break free from your torn existence. Freedom scares you, but misery has become a familiar comfort. How do you want to cope without it? You are truly lost, Obi-Wan."

"Then so are you, considering we're stuck in the same place." Obi-Wan presses his nails into the tendons on Dooku's wrist.

Dooku smiles and lowers his eyes. The fire pours a river of gold over the left side of his face. "I've seen the color of your blade," he says softly. Obi-Wan feels his touch on his belt, fingers brushing the hilt resting at his thigh. His skin tingles, but he keeps his eyes on Dooku's face, watches the flames paint strange blue shadows along the sharp lines of his nose and under his lashes. "What a shame your lightsaber no longer knows what it is supposed to be," Dooku says, but he can't even begin to imagine how terribly wrong he is. It's not misery Obi-Wan can't do without, but this: the feeling of being hollow and porous, so close to all these fleeting, liquid secrets; gold and shadows and melting light, and Dooku's blood pounding against his fingers.

Outside, rain and wind battle for possession of the tower, for this whole rotten, forsaken planet.

Obi-Wan lays his hand flat on Dooku's chest, pressing against the half-moon scar and his heart: strong and steady, but chained to its own obsessions. Dooku's face is a mask, unmoving except for his slowly drooping eyelids, like he is about to fall asleep. Idly, Obi-Wan brushes the moisture from his cloak. Dooku's body simmers under his palm: warmer than the fire. "The state of my lightsaber doesn't concern me as much as the state of your mind, Dooku," Obi-Wan says. "You've already lost everything. What is left that you're so afraid of losing that you growl and raise your hackles?"

Dooku sighs and lifts his gaze to the vault where nothing is left of the murals that must have once depicted gods and creatures, men and beasts, floating in the skies and glimmering like golden stars. He closes his eyes as if the sight gives him a headache. His grip on Obi-Wan's hair loosens and he caresses it with his fingers instead, carefully combing down the wet strands Obi-Wan is sure stick up in every direction. Dooku bends down toward him; and something caves and swells inside Obi-Wan's chest when Dooku presses his mouth against his sweat-damp forehead. "What you did three days past, during our attempt to seize the droid factory," he hears Dooku murmur into his skin, and his voice floods Obi-Wan like ice water, "you will never do that again."

(What part of it? The taste of Dooku's blood, the smell of his skin, rust and sunlight, and his eyes: wide and dark like liquid amber? The cold tingle of Bacta, the rustle of the gauze? Dooku's limp weight and the faint thump-thump-thump of his heart when Obi-Wan laid his head against his chest? What part of it? The heated discussion in the factory's control room?—how Obi-Wan stormed off, first blinded by rage, then by the sudden detonation, then by something else altogether when he crawled from below the debris and Dooku's bleeding body? What part of it does Dooku want to forget?)

Obi-Wan pushes at him; he needs to see his face.

But Dooku pulls away. "You are not a prisoner.” He retreats behind the table and lowers himself into the chair, the movement stiff and without his usual grace. "If you wish to leave, the door is right there. Although I must warn you: I will not give up the ship without a fight."

Obi-Wan lifts an eyebrow. "You are injured, Dooku."

Dooku pours himself a glass of wine. The cold has tinted the skin beneath his nails an unhealthy, bluish shade. "That should level the field somewhat."

"Going at each other won’t improve my mood, let alone yours."

"Stabbing me in my sleep would be the most efficient strategy, though I wouldn't think you a spineless coward who—"

"Just shut up!" Obi-Wan plants both his hands onto the table, leaning toward Dooku. "Who are you trying to distract with this petty jabber? You cling so desperately to your belief that everything has to be paid in misery and suffering that you’re denying yourself even the slightest bit of—"

"The last thing I need is your pity," Dooku hisses.

"Oh trust me Dooku, I do not feel sorry for you."

Dooku stares at him from over his glass. "Get out."

"I'm not leaving," Obi-Wan blurts out. Dooku keeps staring at him with that dumb face, and the heat rises inside Obi-Wan. It crushes his lungs, pushes against his throat, and his body tingles with the urge to move; shake it off, crawl beneath the table, maybe throw more logs to the fire, or hit Dooku. He swallows. His mouth is so dry that his tongue sticks to his palate like old gauze to a wound. "I'm staying."

Dooku straightens in his chair and raises his chin. "And yet, moments ago, you were entertaining the idea of crawling back to the Jedi."

Obi-Wan clutches the edge of the table. "You know that's not what I said."

"Isn't it?" Dooku samples the wine, his eyes never leaving Obi-Wan's.

"Kindly cease twisting my words, Dooku," Obi-Wan says coldly. "And stop drinking. Are you hoping to make this tower your grave?" He snatches the wine glass from Dooku's hand and downs it himself. The alcohol is bitter on his tongue, but it sends a pleasant burn down his throat.

Dooku's hand snaps up and grips his wrist. Wine spills over Obi-Wan's sleeve; the glass slips from his fingers and shatters onto the floor. Obi-Wan knocks forward, his knuckles grazing Dooku's throat before he braces against the backrest of the chair; it creaks and shudders.

Beneath them, a thousand tiny shards gleam upon the floor, like stars, like teeth.

Dooku has no eyes for the destruction. He is staring up at Obi-Wan, his right leg awkwardly stretched underneath the table to reduce the pressure on his wound. Scabbed scratches litter the left side of his face, and all Obi-Wan can think about are the scars hiding below Dooku's clothes, the ones he put there, the ones Dooku put there for him. He shivers; a gust of wind sweeps under his wet tunic, but Dooku's face is warm when he touches it. Dooku presses into his hand, tentatively, as if still wary whether this will veer into care or cruelty. Obi-Wan exhales soundlessly: don't, he wants to say, don't do this, don't trust this, me, us. He brushes his thumb along the corner of Dooku's mouth.

Dooku closes his eyes, licks his lips. "Obi-Wan ..." he mumbles.

What remains of Obi-Wan's reason burns up in that breathy whisper. He falls forward and crushes Dooku's mouth beneath his. Dooku stiffens, then opens with a groan, and his hands are back in Obi-Wan's hair, both of them, burying into the wet strands, just like Obi-Wan buries himself in Dooku. He sways and falls, or maybe Dooku pulls him; the chair scrapes over the stone tiles as Obi-Wan crawls onto Dooku's lap and wraps himself around his heat, and it's all Obi-Wan has been craving: Dooku's body against his when nobody is watching, because everybody is gone.

Their teeth clash; Dooku angles his head and his fingers clench in Obi-Wan's hair as he kisses back, his breath heavy and wet and his nose pushing against Obi-Wan's cheekbones. The taste of him makes Obi-Wan dizzy. Wine, he thinks, something that is bitter at first but reveals layers of addictive sweetness the more you drink of it. When Dooku gropes at Obi-Wan's back and makes a noise like he's drowning, Obi-Wan's stomach gives a startled twist. He rolls his hips, grinds down until he feels Dooku growing hard beneath him. Dooku breathes wetly into Obi-Wan's neck and groans again; maybe with pleasure, maybe with pain, Obi-Wan doesn't care, and he isn't even sure which possibility arouses him more. He tilts Dooku's chin toward him and pushes his tongue between Dooku's bared teeth into the soft, searing warmth. Dooku's eyes change color like Obi-Wan's saber: they're soot and smoke and embers that swirl in his irises. He keeps them open while they kiss, watches Obi-Wan from below heavy lashes, and it's weird how this sight ignites a giddy heat in Obi-Wan's guts, similar to when he finally sunk that knife into Dooku's chest after weeks of skirting him. This, he thinks, I can still win this, I can still wound you, you feel this too. He slides a hand below Dooku's tunic, runs his fingers along the wound where the skin is hot and swollen, and Dooku moans around Obi-Wan's tongue.

When they part for air, they are both panting like animals. Dooku cups Obi-Wan's face in his large hands and traces the curve of his cheek with his thumbs.

"Stay with me," he breathes against Obi-Wan's mouth; it's barely louder than the wind howling against the tower, but Obi-Wan is close enough to taste his words on his tongue.

"Stay." His mouth grazes Obi-Wan's neck.

"Obi-Wan." He draws him flush against his chest.

Obi-Wan's hand is squished between their abdomens. He presses harder; digs his fingers into Dooku's ribcage, the softness below, and it's all so familiar and yet strange, the same skin he has touched and ripped apart and restitched countless times. He can feel the rise and fall of Dooku's chest and the pulsing heat trapped between his thighs where Obi-Wan straddles him. The blade guard on Dooku's saber stabs into Obi-Wan's stomach.

Obi-Wan drops his head on Dooku's shoulder. Distantly, he realizes that he is warm, almost hot, for the first time in days.

Outside, he can hear it: the last, gentle drip of water as the storm finally dies down.

[ddejavvu]

In response to the birthday party dilemma, I just wanted to say that you shouldn’t feel too hard on yourself for still reacting and thinking about the situation ‘like a preteen’. You are an adult, but at 20, you’re only 2-ish years removed from a harsh social dynamic you spent ~8 years navigating.

That is to say, you spent ~8 years (almost half of your life!) entrenched in a middle school/high school mind set where people may very well do something like this, and are sometimes very fake and kind of awful. Your brain is very much expecting this to be how people your age will continue to act, even now that you’re older, because this is the pattern it knows to be aware of.

This brand of anxiety usually gets better the more good/neutral interactions you have where people won’t act this way. Where telling you the wrong day would actually be seen as such a weird fucking thing to do honestly, over a funny prank they could pull. It probably won’t go away completely, but it does get better as you get farther and farther away from the weird, catty, social dynamics that middle school and Highschool are known for.

It should also be noted that people may still try to pull very Highschool-esque behavior even when you’re 40. It is however very much easier to deal with and to not take it so personally, and to instead leave that situation wondering just how much free time they have on their hands that this is something they chose to spend it on.

I know you were just venting, but I figured if maybe I could give your anxiety a little bit of relief and help you not be too hard on yourself than it may be worth it to say all of this. Apologies if all of this from a stranger was super overstepping, and I am in no way trying to presume to know anything about your life at all, but the feeling that people may be trying to pull things like that does get lesser the more you deal with your average joe who has better things to do with their time than Highschool mean girl antics.

hi sweetheart, you're not overstepping at all, i found this to be very helpful and comforting.

I don't think i really looked at it that way, that i've been living in the teenage social climate for so long that it hasn't really rubbed off yet! but that makes perfect sense, I just wish it would rub off already so I could trust that people have good intentions 😭

and yes i think that even if she did mean to play an elaborate, mean-spirited prank on me, she'd be so weird to do so! like, at 21! going out of your way to make a fool out of a 20 year old woman for no reason! i would judge someone very harshly for that from the outside so I would hope that her friends/party guests would as well. but then again i'm almost certain that's not even what's happening and that she's a lovely person who just misspoke!

thank you for piping up my lovely thing i do feel much better. i tried taking most of my day away from screens and i deep cleaned my bedroom and decluttered some stuff so i feel more calm now. kisses for you and i hope you have a nice day my sweet <3

[rosietrace]

「 Target Acquired 」

⊱────────────────────⊰

Central Character(s) ; 『 Camilla Marigold, “Gorgon” 』 | 『 Mitch Reiss, “Regressor” 』

Others ; “Thomas Cresswell”, Background Character™ /j

Mentioned ; Victoria Shard | Jiyoon Lockhart |

Pairing(s) ; Camilla & Mitch

AU ; Secret Agents

【 All Ocs belong to their respective owners and will be credited at the end. 】

Synopsis: “No one has to know.”

Warning(s): attempted SA that gets interrupted, potentially ooc, character death, ambiguous relationship (?)

[ Apologies for any out of character moments ]

⊱────────────────────⊰

⊱────────────────────⊰

“Are your eyes set on the target?”

A scoff, on the other end of the intercom. Mitch was ready to speak again, before Camilla finally replied after a momentary silence.

“What do you take me for?” she questioned, walking through the crowd of guests; seamlessly sneaking her way into the building.

“Overestimation,” Mitch shot back. Sitting atop a building not too far from the one Camilla was in, he used the scope of his sniper rifle to keep his sights on her. “You can be too confident.”

“I'm not!” Camilla snapped, speaking her truth a little too loudly. After a few questioning looks from the other guests, she cleared her throat.

Point proven, Mitch thought silently, choosing not to voice his thoughts; who knows how Camilla would react if he did.

“Just-” She began making adjustments to her earpiece, masked to look like a single golden ear cuff.

“Tell me about the target.”

Mitch raised an eyebrow, even when he was well aware that she wouldn't have been able to see it. “You didn’t listen to the debrief?”

“You think I listen to Victoria?” Camilla chortled, her hand lining the walls to place hidden cameras in between the painted over imperfections.

“Calling the Chairman by her first name.” He wasn't even the least bit surprised. What was there to be surprised about?

Camilla rolled her eyes, not replying to him— she'd rather not look like a crazy person for appearing to conversing with herself, thank you very much.

Annoyed as he could possibly be… Mitch still exposited as much as he could remember from the details given by the Chairman— wealth, power, connections.

“Thomas Cresswell. Known gamesman, presumed black sheep of an old money family with roots to the aristocracy; and a real… charmer.”

Mitch remembered what he could; the details that were given, the description of the man's appearance, and the way the Chairman crossed her office. Heels clicking against the smooth floor's surface, circling a table carrying a chess set of black obsidian and white agate encrusted pieces.

But on the topic of description of appearance…

“Dark brown hair. Cherry wood brown, green eyes,” Mitch kept his description short. Concise. Sharp. “Tall and slightly lean, but a bit broader on the shoulders.”

Gliding around the room in the most impractical stilettos possible, Camilla placed listening devices and hidden cameras in different — not so noticeable — areas of the room.

Under the table, in the hidden cracks of the light yellow walls pretending to be platinum gold; and that wasn't even getting into all the times she's snuck some into the articles of clothing of guests she'd bump into.

Several garbled, frantic and scripted apologies later, Camilla had placed listening devices in a number of guest's clothing.

Credit where credit was due… Mitch could at least see that she wasn't incompetent.

While not incompetent, inconspicuous was something Camilla was not.

No matter the persistent efforts of the disguise department, she wanted the attention and the spectacle that came with her lack of conspicuousness; her choice of clothing reflecting that insistence.

Deep, emerald green of presumably designer silks; heart shaped neckline with a bodice akin to a halter; a shawl of white fur, and slits at either side of her legs, reaching all the way up to the midsection of her thighs.

Camilla lived for spectacle, and she was everything an intelligence gatherer shouldn't be— Attention grabbing.

Mitch scowled, his sights set on keeping its focus on Camilla. He didn't hate her… but it was hard to say if he liked her or not, either.

Simultaneously good, he thought to himself, and bad at her job.

“If you're done taking the scenic route… it'd be best if you start looking for our target.”

She took in every detail of the room in her line of sight, no stone would be left unturned; there was no rest for the wicked.

“Necessity is the number of invention,” Camilla quoted, golden hair shining against the light of the crystal chandeliers hanging above, “there but for the Grace of God go I; patience is but a virtue.”

Hardly impressed, Mitch responded, “The usage of proverbs is unnecessary.”

“That's what you want to think.”

“This is an operation. Not a lesson in English literature.”

Camilla mouthed what he said mockingly, flapping her hand around and using her deepest register of voice. Far too dedicated in mocking him, Camilla was.

Not too long after, Camilla let out a yawn, emphasizing the boredom she so wanted Mitch to hear for the remainder of this operation.

“Could the target come any sooner? I have a masseuse waiting for me at the spa…”

This woman… “Worry less about your appointment and more at the operation at hand.”

She grumbled. “Seems like you make it part of your routine to have a stick up your ass, you killjoy…”

“What was that?” Mitch challenged.

He felt the feigning of innocence in a smile he couldn't even see. “Nothing.”

“Just keep to your station, Mitch,” Camilla's voice was inconsistently low, irrigated. “You're acting like I'd sabotage this operation just for existing too loudly…”

“With the way you present yourself, I wouldn't be too shocked.”

She was going to throttle him when this was all said and done.

Looking for Cresswell was, unsurprisingly, a lot more work than Camilla had originally bargained for. It felt like the man knew his every move was being watched, listened to. That he was keeping Camilla and Mitch on their toes while they tried having surveillance on him.

It frustrated Camilla almost as much as it displeased Mitch.

“You know what— Why don't you come down here? A girl needs a little help, you know.” Camilla could survey a room and tell Mitch the target was secure, ripe for the picking; she couldn't survey an entire banquet venue.

Mitch felt his eyes narrow. A subconscious decision, on his part. Every ounce of his body told him that she didn't need his help, that she was playing a role in an intricately designed mask— the way she's always been.

… But there was also the part of him that could partially understand her inner frustrations.

“You don't need my help—”

“And what if I do?”

Is that another tease? Another lie? Mitch couldn't tell. When it came to a woman like Camilla, there was no telling what went on in her mind.

Uncharacteristically, the other end of the intercom was deathly silence. So sullen that all Mitch could hear was the sound of her breathing; eventually cursing at himself after imagining her breathing in and out of her chest.

Then there was a sigh. And Camilla's voice returned.

“Fine, then. No rest for the wicked.”

⊱───────────────⊰

“Found Cresswell.”

Camilla might've made an ‘effort’ in keeping her voice low, but it definitely didn't feel well-established. The sheer inconsistency made Mitch grit his teeth.

She went around the room, cozying up to a number of guests and getting them comfortable enough to get them to answer anything about Cresswell. Even with all the listening devices and hidden cameras throughout the room; Camilla believed it didn't hurt to take some extra measures.

Find Cresswell, take him someplace in the sights of Mitch's scope, and neutralize him. No matter how much Camilla wanted to question Victoria for wanting Cresswell alive, she couldn't go against the words of her Chairman.

Right before Cresswell could take his leave from the circle of guests he'd been cozying up to, Camilla had seamlessly hooked her arm around his.

“Why hello,” a charismatic intonation emitted from the way Cresswell had greeted Camilla's unexpected presence.

She smiled as sweetly as she was capable of, even if it hurt her cheeks. “Hi… Thomas Cresswell, yes?”

“So you've heard of me?”

“You could say that. I've heard quite a bit.”

“Well, well…” for someone who just became acquainted by an individual invading in his personal space, Cresswell acted in stride.

Making a vague wave to a nearby waiter, Cresswell took two glasses of champagne from the tray and handed one of those glasses to Camilla.

Wanting to play her part authentically, Camilla took a sip. She squirmed at the taste, but didn't make too exaggerated of a face. Not in front of Cresswell.

Speaking of Cresswell, Camilla — and Mitch — took notice that his arm had wrapped itself comfortably around the small of her back.

Camilla didn't seem to mind, but Mitch… he felt a wave of unease wash over him.

For reasons his feelings couldn't quite explain, he didn't like the way Cresswell kept his colleague close. Too close.

Camilla, ever the actress worthy of an award winning trophy, looked pleasantly neutral over the sudden brush of contact. Perhaps it was better that Mitch didn't go down and intercept them— she was doing her job, why stop her?

Because it felt wrong, he began thinking, because it could send the operation off kilter.

Because Cresswell shouldn't be as close as he currently was.

Not that Mitch could do anything about it. Not from this distance, and not even if he went down there himself and intercepted whatever flirtatious back and forth they were having.

It wasn't his business on how Camilla felt about Thomas Cresswell’s charms.

⊱───────────────⊰

Camilla successfully brought Cresswell up to the rooftop of the building, looking out at the city.

From Mitch's line of sight, Cresswell still kept his hand at the small of Camilla's back. He felt his hands tighten around his sniper.

Jiyoon would've asked a multitude of questions. Maybe, maybe not; all Mitch knew that he was being unfavorable tonight. Uncharacteristic.

Unlike himself; and above all, making him uncomfortable with his current feelings. Like he was wearing skin that didn't belong to him, skin that was too loose— or too tight.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” He heard Camilla engage in more smalltalk with Cresswell from the intercom.

A brief pause came, and the two were rewarded for the patience in the silence that followed. “Yes,” Cresswell said in a drawl. “Most certainly…”

Mitch stopped. He heard it, heard the sudden hitch of Camilla's breath. And through the scope of his gun, he could see why.

Cresswell's hand wasn't at her back, not anymore. It lingered there, yes, but it lowered— and now it went to her hips.

Lower it went. From her hips, to the upper area of her thighs.

And Mitch knew where Cresswell's hands were heading for. It was wrong, disgustingly wrong.

So why wasn't Camilla retaliating? A question Mitch asked over and over again in the back of his mind.

Camilla didn't retaliate. She didn't try and stop Cresswell. She only stood, idly by, letting it happen with a wide-eyed stare directed at nothing at the ground below her.

“But…” the bastard had the audacity to keep running his mouth, now standing tortuously close to Camilla, his free hand holding her in place; his lips close to her face. “I have something more beautiful, right here.”

If Mitch didn't know any better, he would've thought she was unaffected by the way Cresswell's hands wandered. But that look…

Shoot him, a sudden thought came to mind. It repeated, over, and over, and over.

Shoot him, shoot him, shoot him…

Mitch's grip on his gun tightened, an indecisiveness taking over his entire being. Body, soul, mind; all three fighting on what he should make of the current predicament Camilla was in.

But one thing's for certain— both his head, and his heart, told him to shoot.

That's what he did in the end. He pulled the trigger.

The initial plan was to tranquilize Cresswell from a distance; and once he was unconscious, they would've taken his unconscious body back to headquarters for interrogation with the Chairman.

However… Mitch, blind with nothing but the desire to stop Cresswell from doing what he was doing to Camilla — and any young women he'd get caught up with in the future — had made a last minute switch.

From tranquilizer, to silenced bullets.

Even from his distance, his line of sight was clear as the day that hadn't quite met them yet.

He'd blown a bullet between Cresswell's dark green irises, bits of his blood splattering onto Camilla.

Camilla stood stiffly, unmoving and unblinking even with the splats of blood on her face. And uncaringly, she ran a hand through her hair, and wiped her face with the back of her hand.

“... Mitch.”

“Yes?” Mitch answered, faster than he usually would have.

There a beat that passed before Camilla spoke again, maybe two. “... Get over here, we need to dispose of the body.”

The Chairman is going to be furious, was — more likely than not — a thought that lingered through both of their heads.

Unfortunately, that was going to be a problem for them in the future; they'll deal with that when they get back to the headquarters and Victoria, as well as Victoria's assistant, and Jiyoon, will be asking questions on why Cresswell wasn't with them.

Mitch made it to Camilla's side in record time, the sniper rifle used to pull the trigger between Cresswell's eyes strapped to his back.

At it again, he thought while examining Camilla. The blood on her face, the futile attempts at cleaning up, the lack of care on her face… she was pretending there's nothing wrong.

“Hey,” Mitch called out to her, a softness in his tone. Acting as if they didn't just throw Thomas Cresswell's limp body into the incinerator.

She stared blankly at him. Completely unlike her at all. “What?”

“Are…” Mitch didn't know how else to ask but to say it straight.

“Are you okay?”

Are we okay? He asked in the back of his mind, a small thought he quickly brushed off under his personal mental rug.

Camilla stared at him for an abnormally long time. Ever since they became partners for any and every operations assigned to them, she grew the questionable habit of staring at Mitch for extended periods of time.

But they never lasted as long as right now. From the corner of his eye, Mitch also saw her hand try to… reach out.

She then tucked her hands behind her back, seemingly catching her own wrist after a quick clear of her throat.

“I'm fine,” she tried to assure Mitch of that, quote on quote, ‘fact’. “More than fine, actually. What we should be worried about is the situation with Cresswell—”

“I don't care about Cresswell, right now.”

It only took one step on Mitch's part for their faces to soon be inches apart. Gently, his hands found their way to Camilla's shoulders, grasping at them.

“Cresswell isn't going to be a problem.” Mitch seemed far too sure about that. Perhaps even more for his own good. “The Chairman won't be a problem. Neither will her assistant, or Jiyoon, or any of her other executives.”

He stared at her — or rather, their eyes stared into each other; eyes blazing in righteous intensity that made Camilla's other hand place itself on Mitch's forearm.

Despite all the protests in his mind, he closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against hers. And despite herself, she too, did the same for him.

And they both whispered. A mantra, a promise. A secret they'll both keep and bring to their graves.

“No one has to know.”

⊱────────────────────⊰

【 Taglist / Credits 】

↳ In order of OC appearances/mentions

Mitch Reiss — @authoruio

Camilla Marigold — Me 😈

Victoria Shard — Also Me 😈

Jiyoon Lockhart — @/authoruio

|| @starry-night-rose || @jasdiary || @nem0-nee || @fumikomiyasaki || @sakuramidnight15 || @twsted-princess || @hallowed-delights / @terrovaniadorm || @mystery-skulls-ghost || @absolutelyobsessedkiya / @twistedsongstressofstarz || @valse-a-mille-temps ||

[alipeeps]

Episode 38

Oh shit... Yurong's going to suggest killing Wanning as an excuse to attack, isn't he? Kill her in a way that blames the emperor...

That would solve all his problems. It would secure him a firm place in the new emperor's government, as the man who helped the coup to happen, and would rid him of Wanning's attachment to him.

Fuck me, I hate being right sometimes.

Mmmm why do I think that any poison Yurong gives Wanning would not be fake? But would he genuinely be going against Lord Cheng's wishes if he did that, or is this whole conversation a way (understood by both of them) of Lord Cheng tacitly agreeing to her death whilst absolving himself of responsibility for having actually agreed to it?

What the fuck is it that he requested in return? It'd better not be Xue Li!!

Ahhh so Lord Cheng and Wanning are both children of a concubine, they are full blood siblings. The emperor is presumably the child of a wife, making him a more legitimate child and probably why he was made crown prince in favour of the older Lord Cheng.

Love the contrasting scenes of both sides making their plans for the upcoming battle for the city.

Ooof Yurong straight up addressing Lord Cheng as Your Majesty.

"You've never believed in the heavens. You only believe in yourself."

*ith her hand over his heart. "No. I also believe in you."

I am LIVING. This is peak fucking romance people holy shit!! 😭

"Also, I will never abandon you. No matter what."!"

Ayyyy granny Jiang be like, holy shit, my son finally grew a pair. 😂

I love granny Jiang. She'd better survive this.

Shitty uncle on the other hand can fuck right off.

At least consort Ji has some actual guts and it does seem like she actually does love the emperor.

Holy SHIT when this flashback again I thought oh shiiit did she poison her father? But no. Not even. She fucking straight up smothered him!!! 😮😮

Oooft Xiao Heng has nerves of steel to not react to Lord Cheng's taunting about his father's death. Plus that nice little veiled warning about not making the same mistake as his father and retreating while there's still chance. Honestly, fuck this dude.

The rising tension in this episode, with the rebellion looming ever closer, is really getting to me.

What the fuccckkk is shitty uncle up to? Is he planning to save his own neck by handing Xue Li over to the rebels?

You FUCKING BASTARD!!!

A letter asking you out of the blue to go urgently to the duke's residence when he told you specifically to stay home?

WTF? Did they somehow replace Zhao Ke with an imposter? How would that even be possible? And how would the imposter know that the whistle is used to summon him?

What were we supposed to notice about his fingers? Was the skin colour uneven where they tried to make this imposter look like Zhao Ke? I couldn't tell but am pretty sure Xue Li noticed.

Ohhh my girl is smart.

Oh shitttttt. Is she in Wanning's private prison?

That's be a yes. Shit.

Fuuuuck there's still 2 whole episodes to go. Where is this gonna go?

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

What if in "Breaking dawn", after Jacob told Charlie that Bella is at the Cullens' house, Jasper kills Jacob then and there for telling too much and bringing Charlie?

How does Bella and the rest of the Cullens react after seeing Jasper killed Jacob in cold blood?

Charlie hasn't arrived yet to the Cullens' house, but what do they with him?

Does Bella and the rest of the Cullens forgive Jasper for what he did?

Caveat

I mean, I'm sorry anon, if Jasper's killing anyone then it's Charlie.

Charlie's the loose end, the human that knows the secret, and the thing that would get the Cullens killed for breaking the law. Killing Jacob is messy in that it'd be breaking the treaty/having the wolves all at their throats.

Remember that the van incident was about the Cullens killing Bella for the misfortune of having witnessed something she shouldn't: not because Bella herself had done anything remotely wrong.

Didn't matter that Bella was a seventeen-year-old girl who'd almost been smashed by a van: she was going to die. If Jasper's murdering tonight: it's Charlie Swan.

Now, he might kill Jacob too, as Jacob clearly purposefully put them all in this situation but with the treaty he probably wouldn't want to risk that.

As it is, that he didn't kill Charlie is likely a mixture of Bella and the treaty where there's now dozens of wolves vs. the van incident where there were presumed 0 wolves and no consequences for casually murdering the denizens of Forks.

"I would never kill your father, Bella, never," - words Jasper didn't even have to say because Bella never realized that was a very real possibility.

But Alright, Fine, He Kills Jacob, How Does the Family Take It?

"Oh no, it's terrible, Jacob jumped off a cliff and died" -Jasper. I imagine Jasper's not up front about what happened. Bella has way too much emotional investment in Jacob, Edward's getting weird too, and while it's going to be obvious what happened it's better for Bella if she gets a little white lie and plausible deniability in front of the wolves.

They then have to leave town immediately as the wolves will suspect them (rightly) of murder and I imagine the Cullens are generally very side-eye about it. Nobody likes it, exactly, but on the other hand Jacob did nark to a human, Bella's father, who nearly got eaten by Bella because of it, so that he could hang out with a baby that he's imprinted on.

That was a lot of not good right there.

So, they default to their usual Cullen behavior. Rosalie probably approves and was likely considering doing the same thing herself, Alice is just focused on making sure Bella never finds out because she'd never forgive Jasper/the entire family for it, Jasper is utterly unrepentant, Emmett once again thinks he's in a family of lunatics but well them's the breaks, Esme genuinely thinks Jacob jumped off a cliff and died and it's very sad, and Carlisle would make Jasper attend Jacob's funeral except they have to leave town now so he's mostly just lowkey pissed (but also still ruminating on that imprint thing because what the actual fuck).

The one who's livid beyond reason is Edward. Edward actually comes to really like Jacob and would be extremely upset that Jasper just killed him when all Jacob wanted was to be with his soulmate imprint uh baby friend. Jacob couldn't help the imprint even if he wanted to, he only went to such an extreme because the family was leaving, and now Bella's being forced to leave her father who had done fairly well with the reveal, Jacob has been murdered in cold blood, and Edward's daughter is down one protector and will be alone forever.

He's never been more pissed at Jasper in his life. (Jasper just eclipsed Rosalie's spot as Edward's least favorite person in the family with ease).

Worse, Edward has to hide this from Bella who is emotionally devastated by all of this and completely falling apart as a person as her pillar of emotional support, Jacob, is dead and she now has to leave Forks and her family.

What Happens to Charlie

If Jasper's gone this far, he's killing Charlie, as discussed above. He might, maybe, probably not get talked out of it if a) Carlisle says "fuck it I'll turn him" to tie up the loose end or b) ... Nope, he's doing it.

Charlie dies.

Bella is not told.

Does Anyone Forgive Jasper

Bella never realizes Jasper did it, it wouldn't occur to her to doubt him or the other Cullens at this point (remember this is not And Then There Were None by me and @therealvinelle where before the incident it was revealed that there was a large rift between the Cullens and Jacob that Bella hadn't been aware existed). Bella falls into a deep New Moon style depression.

Edward does not forgive Jasper but it's much the same as he never forgives Rosalie. He doesn't do anything about it (as that would only make things worse) but he makes sure they know he'll never forgive them.

The rest of the family... they weren't that upset or surprised to begin with. This is the sort of thing Jasper's threatened to do in the past, would absolutely go through with, and isn't exactly shocking.

I imagine the blame mostly falls on Jacob, who if he'd just kept his mouth shut, wouldn't have made this all happen.