#but he clearly still remembers acting the way he did as cell in prison so maybe the sleeper agent thing kinda went wrong

[anachronistic-falsehood]

OK i still don’t think it’s a DID situation going on here with qcellbit and fcell (at least i hope it’s not) but i am thinking. maybe it’s a sleeper agent kinda thing. winter soldier type beat yk??? and if it IS then IMAGINE THE IMPLICATIONS of the federation doing this to him and having control over when he acts that way i’m going to go feral

[nyuusayuri]

Captain Koby x reader

Unbreakable Bonds [Part 2/3]

Warnings: slight smut, making out, slight swearing

I apologize for upcoming spelling mistakes, but English is not my native language - hope you still enjoy it!

Decided to do 3 parts since I wrote a bit more than I wanted^^"

And so the days went by as Koby tried to get information about the scroll out of me. Even though I stubbornly kept my mouth shut, he didn't seem to mind, while others would have already lost their patience. No, instead he checked on me regularly and made sure I had enough food and enough to drink. He seemed to genuinely care about me, but I didn't quite understand why. Was it just me or was he this nice to all pirates? I doubt that it was his way of luring others into a trap. He just didn't come off like that. He came by again today and brought a tray with some bread himself. "Hey. So how is my favorite prisoner?" I raised an eyebrow at him as I sat quietly on the wooden floor and leaned against the wall. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm your only prisoner." He laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his head with one hand and holding the tray with the other. ,,I'm sorry. I didn't know how else to start the conversation. Small talk isn't really my forte." "Whatever" I muttered quietly to myself so as not to offend him unnecessarily. He never meant any harm towards me and that's why I didn't want to act like a total grouch towards him. In general, I felt the need to be nicer to that sweet face of his than to others.

Koby came to me and stopped in front of the bars to use his right hand to get the keys for the door out of his pockets. My eyes followed his movements carefully and I didn't take my eyes off of him for even a second as he unlocked the door and entered the cell. He carefully leaned down to me, like a cat he was afraid of scaring, and placed the food on the floor in front of me. ,,Here. You should eat something. You haven't touched the other one properly. I don't want you to end up starving." I first looked doubtfully at the food before turning my gaze to him and tilting my head. "Why are you so nice to me? Have you forgotten that I'm a Pirate? You should loathe me like everyone else." I immediately looked away from him again, pulled my knees to my face and buried it inside them, hoping he would take this as a hint to leave me alone. But instead I felt the hesitant touch of a large, warm hand on my left knee. Surprised by the unexpected physical contact, I turned my gaze back to him. He looked at me gently and with a sad smile. "Sure, I'm a Marine Soldier and I hunt Pirates, but I actually have to thank a Pirate that I'm standing here today as a Captain and can fight for the lives of others. Besides...I could never detest you...Y/N. Not after all this time." Towards the end, his look became more and more sad and mine became more and more confused. After all this time? What did he mean by that? Certainly not the few days that I spent on this ship, or rather, in this cell.

"What...what do you mean by that? We don't even know each other." When I said this, I saw how my words hit him. His look clearly told me that I had hit a weak point. Disappointed, his eyes dropped to the floor, but he tried to hide it with a smile. "I knew you wouldn't remember it. It was ages ago. But it's not that important." Just as he was about to get up, I reflexively grabbed his arm and stopped him from leaving. Koby looked at me in surprise before his face turned red and he looked away embarrassed. Only then did I realize what I had done and immediately let go of his arm. "Sorry..." I whispered, tilting my head to the side in embarrassment as I tried to ignore the excited pounding in my chest. Koby swallowed hard before finally clearing his throat and leaving the cell. Shutting it in a frantic movement, he closed the door and left the room. Sighing, I leaned my head back. What had gotten into me? Something inside me screamed not to let him go. This feeling seemed so familiar and yet so foreign. Everything was spinning inside me and random memories appeared as individual images in my mind's eye, even if only blurred. I desperately tried to remember something in more detail, but it only ended with a severe headache. "Whatever it is, I won't give up until I found it out! I just have to know what he meant by that!"

Since then, Koby hadn't visited me as often and instead sent Helmeppo to me, who continued to try to question me about the scroll. As always, I remained stubborn and either didn't answer him at all or just made a few jokes about his stupid chin. In the end he no longer had any nerve for it either and left the room with boiling anger. I didn't hear anything all day and just stared boredly at the ceiling as I lay stretched out on the bed with my arms folded under my head. As far as a wooden board with a thin sheet could be called a bed. In the middle of the night's silence, I heard the creaking of a door, whereupon I immediately sat up and watched the slowly opening door with narrowed eyes. My gaze softened as I saw the all too familiar pair of pink hair. Koby timidly peeked past the edge of the door towards me and finally went all the way in. Judging by the look on his face, something seemed to be on his mind. He came to me with uncertain steps and stopped close to the bars. Curious about what he was up to, I stood up and faced him. Always amazed at how much this guy towered over me.

“Here, I was looking for this all night yesterday. Maybe this will help you remember." He slowly reached his hand through the bars and held it out to me. Inside was what appeared to be a selfmade bracelet. But it was clearly far too small for his muscular arms. It would be more like a child's fit. Hesitantly, I took it and inspected it more closely. It wasn't just a simple bracelet. Apparently it was supposed to represent a good luck charm. On closer inspection, I could see an engraving that seemed to be carved quite roughly. "Unbreakable friendship...Y /N and...K?" Confused, I looked up at Koby, who nodded with a gentle smile. “K as in Koby. That's what you did for me before you and your family moved away." Shocked, I almost dropped the bracelet and clapped my free hand over my mouth. My mind strained again to make all these memories clearer. But aside from his pink hair, the boy I saw there looked nothing like the man standing infront of me today. A flood of confusion and still very blurry memories overwhelmed me. I held my head in pain and fell to my knees. "Y/N!" Koby immediately stormed into the cell and grabbed my shoulders to hold me upright. "Y/N! What's wrong? Talk to me Y/N!" Even completely overwhelmed with my reaction, I heard him desperately trying to get through to me and persuade me to calm down.

With my head buzzing, I leaned into his strong arms and buried my face in his chest. I felt him stop under my sudden action and his whole body tensed up. My head seemed to react to his comfortable proximity. The pain slowly became a little less, but didn't go away completely. My breathing became more regular again and I leaned closer to him almost as if I'm attracted by his warmth. It wasn't until the sweet scent of rose petals and sea salt hit my nose that I realized what I was actually doing. Suddenly I sat up and looked at Koby with a bright red face, who still seemed to be completely frozen and looked like someone who's head was soon threatening to burst due to the increase in blood in it.

,,I am so sorry! I...I don't know what came over me..." I had absolutely no idea how to explain what I had done, so instead I kept my mouth shut and nervously bit my lip. Koby slowly seemed to come back to himself, but the color remained in his face, which somehow made him look like a sweet little boy. "That...It doesn't matter, Y/N. The main thing is that you feel a little better." Nodding, I agreed with him before remembering what he had said to me earlier. "You knew that my parents and I moved away and you also had the bracelet. But you don't look like my old friend I was with back then. He was short and slightly chubby with thick round glasses on his-..." Before I could finish, he had already pulled down the glasses, which were resting on his forehead the whole time over the headband, so that they were now sitting in front of his eyes . He grinned mischievously at me. "Like that?" My jaw literally dropped when realization hit me. The little scared boy from back then, who almost peed his pants every time he thought about Pirates, was now sitting in front of me as a Captain of the Marines. Before he was smaller than me, he now towered over me by 1 1/2 heads. Where before there was only skin and bones, he seemed to be hiding a fairly well-built body under his white jacket. Even his face had completely changed so that he was almost unrecognizable.

What happened to the ugly little boy who gave me no peace until I finally agreed to be friends with him? "Koby...But how...How could you change so much over the years? You look like a completely different person!" Embarrassed, he laughed at my disbelief. But before he could say anything, I wrapped my arms around his neck and let myself fall towards him. We both almost fell over as a result, but he tightly held the both of us, while his body froze again under my unexpected embrace. Totally taken by surprise by my feelings, tears suddenly welled up in my eyes and I couldn't control it as I started to cry in his arms. Not a second later, his arms were wrapped around my waist and pressed me even tighter against him, while he buried his face in the crook of my neck. We sat on the floor like that for what felt like an eternity until I finally stopped crying and my grip around his neck loosened a little. Slowly we both leaned back, but I stopped just in front of his face and looked him in the eyes. He raised a hand to wipe the tears from my cheeks, which made me slightly laugh. He smiled happily at me and looked deep into my eyes. "I never thought I would find you again. Especially as a Pirate and in a fight against Smoker-kun." "We've both changed quite a bit." Laughing, I lowered my head and leaned on his shoulder. "Btw...thanks for saving me. Without you, I wouldn't have gotten away with it so easily." With a smile, he leaned his head against mine and gently stroked my back. "I told you, one day I'll be strong enough to protect you."

I hadn't heard those words in years and it made me overjoyed to see what my little chubby friend had become. A strong man with a pretty face and an even bigger heart. I slowly lifted my head from his shoulder and placed a hand on his cheek, gently stroking it as I looked at his face. His cheeks heated up under my touch, causing a small grin to creep onto my face. Some things probably never change. And that was especially true of Koby's shyness. Without taking my eyes off of him, I leaned further forward so that my lips stopped right in front of his. "I really missed you, Koby." I whispered seductively against his lips only to smile at his completely overwhelmed reaction. "Can you do me a favor?" He nodded hesitantly to my question. "Close your eyes." At first he looked at me confused, but finally he listened to my request and slowly closed his eyes. Excited, I bit my lip and turned my gaze to his. They were already formally inviting me with their soft rosy color. I didn't hesitate any longer and gently pressed my lips to his while my hand continued to rub soothing circles along his cheek.

At first all of his muscles tensed and his breathing stopped briefly, but I pulled him closer to me and pressed my lips a little harder against his. It didn't take long before his hands reached carelessly for my waist, his lips pressed against mine, his body was still slightly tense, but he slowly seemed to lose himself in the kiss. I couldn't help but smile due to his innocent nature and finally started moving my lips. Koby immediately copied me and repeated the movements with his own lips. My hand around his shoulder clung to his jacket while the other slowly moved from his cheek to his neck, making its way into his fluffy hair. A small whimper escaped him when I did this, which encouraged me to playfully bite his bottom lip. I noticed with joy how the grip around my waist tightened and he began to kiss me with more desire. Without breaking the kiss, I scooted closer to him until I ended up sitting on his lap with both of my legs wrapped around his waist and both hands clawing into his hair. Teasingly, I ran my tongue along his lips, waiting to see if he would allow it or push me away. But my thoughts were interrupted when he opened his mouth and let my tongue slip inside without further hesitation.

A small moan escaped me as the kiss became more intense and I slid my hips further forward. Koby broke the kiss as he exhaled loudly, throwing his head back and pushing his hips towards me. I quickly noticed the clearly visible bulge in his pants. Grinning, an idea immediately came to me and I licked my lips lazily at the thought. Koby groaned in surprise and looked at me in shock as I started moving my hips against him, rubbing against his bulge. I could already feel myself getting wet between my legs. Koby's hands gripped my sides tightly, unsure if he should stop me or help me grind against him. "Koby...please. Make me feel good." I begged him with a whimper and pulled gently on his hair. He deeply growled and gritted his teeth before grabbing my waist and rubbing me harder against his erection. Surprised I let slip out another moan and watched how he enjoyed the feeling of my pussy rubbing harder against him. One of his hands went up to my neck and in the next moment he pulled me into a deep kiss.

Uncontrollably, he rolled his bulge between my legs, quickly turning me into a whimpering mess as he gently bit my bottom lip and eventually made his way down to my jawline. I threw my head back with pleasure and clung tightly to his broad shoulders. His lips moved uncertainly over my skin to my neck. A loud yelp escaped me as he bit curiously into my neck, immediately hitting a very sensitive spot. At first he wanted to pull away from me, afraid he had hurt me, but he quickly noticed that I was pressing myself tighter against him and holding his head against my neck. He licked the wound a little more confidently before he started sucking on it and eliciting more and more sounds from me that drove him crazy.

Carefully and deliberately, he made his way with kisses to my collarbone, his hands slowly felt their way under my blouse and I felt goosebumps running all over my body. My heart was racing as my right hand made its way to his chest, only to feel the muscles underneath tense. Teasingly, I went to the zipper of his jacket and took my time pulling it down, exposing piece by piece of his bare skin underneath. I felt Koby whining beneath me, both of his hands pushing further and further up, pulling my blouse with them on their way. Finally the zipper reached the end, whereupon my hands gently ran under the jacket, where the warmth of his skin greeted me like a feud. He nuzzled my neck again and sucked enthusiastically on the sensitive skin, while I, breathed heavily, I began to slide my hands over his strong chest up to his shoulders and slowly peel off his jacket. At the same time, his hands followed my movement and grabbed the bottom of my blouse to pull it over my head. We both quickly threw away the annoying items of clothing and looked into each other's eyes, breathing heavily. The air in the room felt a lot more stuffy and warmer than before, his skin practically glowed under my gentle touch and his face had become so flushed while his eyes seemed more and more dazed and looked at me with an intensity as if he was about to devour me. I smiled gently at him and teasingly pressed my pussy against his bulge once more, eliciting a tempting whimper from him, which only turned me on even more.

With both hands on his chest, I leaned in for another kiss when suddenly someone came through the door, muttering something under their breath. We both immediately froze and looked into the horrified face of Helmeppo, who was standing there with a jug of water that threatened to fall out of his hand. He quickly composed himself and put the jug down, trembling, before turning back to us and giving an indignant look to his friend in particular, on whose lap a half-naked Pirate was sitting. ,,What the-. Koby! What the hell are you doing?!" Within seconds, Koby carefully lifted me off his lap and placed me on the floor next to him before immediately putting his jacket back on and standing up. Stuttering, he rearranged his things and turned his head back and forth between Helmeppo and me. Laughing, I watched him as he was completely overwhelmed by the situation and threatened to blow up as his face started to blush more deeply. "It...I...we... ", the poor Captain stammered and tried to find the right words for a good explanation, but we both knew that it wouldn't be of any use.

I watched Koby walk out of the cell and towards his friend. He locked the door with shaking hands, but gave me one last apologetic look before turning to his friend, who reprimanded him and dragged him out of the room. Shaking my head, I grinned to myself and put my discarded blouse back on. "That's exactly why I can't stand this Helmeppo. He's a real Spoilsport. We were just getting to the good part." Disappointed, I sighed and went back to my bed. Grumbling, I collapsed onto it and tried to somehow sort through my thoughts during the night. I skillfully ignored the excited tingling between my legs. Without Koby it wouldn't be half as much fun anyway.

---

More smut will follow in the final Part!

[invisibleicewands]

[...]

A new dramatisation of Andrew’s fall from grace is due to air on Amazon Prime later this month. And if he thought the Netflix show Scoop, which covered the same ground, was unflattering then I have some bad news for the Duke of York. In A Very Royal Scandal, Andrew is portrayed by Michael Sheen as pompous, deluded and deeply unpleasant. Simultaneously arrogant and weak, he is seen striding around Buckingham Palace shouting expletives at the staff. Indeed, the first words we hear him utter are “f*** off” (to a footman who dares to approach), and throughout the three-part series he continues to bark the phrase at any courtier who comes within ten feet.

It is unnerving the way it trips off the tongue in a way that others might say “good day”. To Andrew the dogs are “little buggers”, the Queen’s esteemed press secretary is “a little shit” and his loyal aide Amanda Thirsk, played by Joanna Scanlan, is “a fatty”. Many viewers will remember her from The Thick of It, and here the duke is just as sweary as that political satire’s Malcolm Tucker — but far less bright.

[...]

The new dramatisation, for which the Newsnight interviewer Emily Maitlis acted as executive producer, suggests that Andrew asked to add in his bizarre “alibis” after his infamous interview with Maitlis had concluded. These, memorably, included that he couldn’t possibly have danced at Tramp nightclub with Jeffrey Epstein’s victim Virginia Giuffre on the night that she claimed because he was at Pizza Express in Woking — and that he couldn’t have sweated profusely on the dancefloor because of “a peculiar medical condition” that meant “it was almost impossible for me to sweat”.

There’s one particularly excruciating scene in A Very Royal Scandal, during which Andrew travels to New York for a meeting with Epstein and essentially begs him for cash to clear his ex-wife Sarah Ferguson’s debts. Granting the money as “a gift”, the convicted sex offender tells the duke, “It’s gone.” Fast-forward several years and the drama shows Andrew being told that Epstein has been found dead in a prison cell. He responds: “Is this good for me or bad?”

Of course, this is a drama and any dialogue from Andrew behind closed doors is imagined. A disclaimer at the beginning of each episode reminds viewers that while the drama is based on real people and events, “some scenes have been adapted or fictionalised and adapted for dramatic purposes”. Yet many people will find it easy to believe that these conversations — or ones like them — took place behind palace walls.

In another scene the duke is seen going “the full tonto” after a call from his older brother, then Prince of Wales, who had found out about the Newsnight interview and was furious. Storming through the palace after coming off the phone to Charles, Andrew shouts: “Calls me a f***ing mummy’s boy! He is the f***ing mummy’s boy!”

In the face of good advice, Andrew ploughs on, suggesting that as “the second f***ing son of the f***ing sovereign, if I want to go on telly and defend myself I f***ing well will”.

[...]

Andrew may not see this but the show’s producers certainly did. Indeed it is succinctly summed up in the drama in a scene where Edward Young, who was then the Queen’s private secretary, is seen to say: “The bottom line for all of us is to ensure that this scandal never touches the monarch. The duke is one thing, the crown quite another.”

According to friends of his, the King knows that it is not a good look to be seen paying so much to keep Andrew in the lifestyle to which he has so clearly become accustomed. While there isn’t public money at stake — the bill is paid from Charles’s pocket — it’s still a public sign of support for a man who was friends with a convicted paedophile and has never acknowledged his lack of judgment over that friendship.

In the drama Andrew is seen hosting lavish dinner parties after days spent shooting and having a table (complete with pristine white tablecloth) set up on the golf course so he can lunch on Welsh lamb served by a waiter.

By the end of the programme he is isolated and alone. His aide Thirsk has been summarily fired and little hope remains. The same is true in real life. His final shred of dignity may be taken away by the King but he can’t say he wasn’t given fair warning. He will have to find a sizeable income (from a reputable source) if he wants to maintain the lease on the property, which is owned by the Crown Estate.

[...] By the end of the film Andrew, sad and alone, is left to stare forlornly out of the window. Those close to Charles believe it may now be a case of life imitating art imitating life if he doesn’t take the help he is offered.

[jgvfhl]

The Number Lads on the Lam

Continuing the Wrong Jedi Arc!! Elevensies has made some questionable decisions, but Sixes seems to be helping? Will it be enough? I don't know (I know) but you all get to meet the Noodle Grannies!!! Or... one of them!!! Once again, they are OCs created by myself and my dear friend @23-bears to supplement our little corner of Star Wars. They are wonderful, please enjoy them.

Words: ~4.5K

Warnings: None, just suspense

Link to Master List of chapters!

Elevensies lowered his arm after sending their coordinates to the commander. He sat back against the wall next to Commander Tano and breathed out a sigh of relief. They could stay put for now. They’d found an old street vendor’s cart in an alley on the way to Little Sriluur, and it was big enough to hide them both if they put it between them and the street.

“Did he say who was picking us up?” she asked.

“Um, he said a very tall togruta woman named Saleha,” he answered. “That’s all I got.”

The commander seemed ot relax a little. “Togruta, huh? Okay…”

They sat in silence for a while before he asked, “What happened to you? In the base?”

She shook her head, curling up a little tighter where she sat. She looked so young… not much younger than Elevensies was—physically anyway. “I… don’t know. I didn’t do any of it, though! I didn’t kill that prisoner. Or those clones…”

“Then who did, do you think?”

She signed. “I’m not sure. They think I choked her–the prisoner, Letta. But she didn’t act like that! You know?” She looked at him. He shrugged. “She didn’t… when you’re choking, all your brain can do is try to free you, like grabbing at your throat, even when there’s nothing there, and… she never did that. She grabbed her chest, like… like…” She demonstrated, still trying to find the words she wanted.

“Like cardiac arrest?” he offered. It was the only reason he could remember learning that might make someone grab at their chest like that.

Tano’s face lit up. “Yes! Like that!” Then she slumped again. “Not like it’ll help. It’s still just speculation. I don’t even know who dropped that keycard outside my cell if it wasn’t my Master. You all have to carry one, right?”

“Not all of us have access to the cells with them, though,” he said. “Only if you’re a certain rank of experience. I’m new, so I won’t have that for a while yet. But someone more experienced inside the base would have access to all the cells.”

The commander nodded, thinking. Her blue eyes were fixed on a spot on the ground in front of her. “And… do you all have to clock in? So they know who’s where and when?”

He held up his left arm. “Our vambraces all have a specific code readout on scanners throughout the base. Everyone has them, but ours are used to track us.”

She nodded again, raising a hand to drum her fingers on her chin. “So… if someone stole armor–or just the bracer, even, they could slip in undetected.”

Elevensies stared at her, a chill racing down his spine at the prospect of an intruder on the RMB. “Ye-yeah,” he said, forcing his voice to cooperate. “I guess that’s true.”

Commander Tano raised her own comm, dialing a frequency quickly. “Barriss?” she asked.

“Ahsoka!” a young, high-toned voice answered, clearly relieved. “It’s so good to hear your voice. Are you alright?”

“Yes, for now. Listen, I need you to see if there’s been any suspicious activity on the RMB before I was detained. If Anakin didn’t drop that keycard for me, then there’s someone else in that base working against me.”

“Ahsoka, I don’t think–”

“And see if you can find where Letta got those nanodroids.”

Barriss sighed. “Alright. I’ll see what I can find. Stay safe. Oh, and try not to contact me on Republic channels–it’s too dangerous.” The comm went dark.

Elevensies racked his brain, trying to figure out why that named sounded so familiar. Barriss… Finally, he turned to Commander Tano. “Sorry if this is overstepping, ma’am,” he said, “but I’ve heard that name Barriss before. Who is that?”

“Barriss Offee,” the commander answered. “She’s a Padawan, like me. She’s the commander of the forty-first, under Master Luminara Unduli.” When none of those facts seemed to help, she added, “She’s Mirialan? Diamond tattoos on her face? Always keeps her head covered?”

“Oh!” Elevensies said, then clapped a hand over his mouth when he remembered they were supposed to be hiding. “Yeah,” he said, lowing his voice. “I remember her. She’s been visiting the RMB a lot lately, talking to some of the detainees, I think.”

The commander tilted her head at him, but had no time to reply. A siren sounded nearby–too close for comfort, and she bolted to her feet. “Stay here, I’ll go look.” She crept forward, peering around the cart towards the street. “Oh, great,” she muttered, and retreated. “C’mon. The civilian police are after us too, and if they’re involved, it won’t take long for anyone else with an interest in Republic credit to jump onboard too.”

Elevensies put his helmet back on and grabbed his blaster. “There’s a bounty on us?” he hissed. Oh he was so getting disciplinary actions after this was all over.

“Yeah, a sizeable one. I saw a holo of it across the street, let’s move.”

They took off at a reasonable jog, not wanting to tire themselves out more than they already were. Genetically enhanced stamina could only do so much, after all. When they made it to the end of the alley, he let the commander poke her head out, checking to see if they were in the clear. She beckoned to him behind her, and they slipped out, jogging along the dark walkway. Most people down here didn’t want to get involved in anything remotely suspicious, so they swerved to avoid them for the most part. They were still heading for Little Sriluur, where Commander Sixes had directed them, although it would take a while to get there at this rate.

A sudden burst of light and noise accompanied the arrival of a police speeder ahead of them, lights on and sirens blaring. He and Commander Tano froze, then turned right back around and ran.

They couldn’t outrun a speeder–even a Jedi couldn’t do that forever, but they would sure try.

Without warning, a second speeder arrived, barreling down the skylane towards the police. What looked like a giant stun ring shot out from its nose and hit the police speeder dead-on. The police vehicle shuddered, then promptly fell out of the sky, the sirens and lights cutting off abruptly as it plummeted.

He and the commander had frozen again.

The new speeder was all black, but they got a glimpse of a beautiful bird-like creature painted on its top as it turned to pull up beside them. The window rolled down, and a togruta woman leaned over the passenger seat to look at them.

“Hello, my dears,” she said. “I’m Saleha. Sixes said you needed help?”

“Yes, ma’am!” he replied, mainly on reflex.

“Well, get in. The police will have their comms working in no time, and after that, this place will be swarming.”

Commander Tano wasted no time hopping into the passenger seat, and Elevensies followed suit, almost falling into the backseat as Saleha started flying before he was fully situated.

“Thank you so much, Saleha,” Commander Tano said. “My name is Ahsoka Tano. That’s Elevensies.”

The older woman nodded, glancing up in the mirror at Elevensies. “You are very trusting, Ahsoka. Luckily, that is not be a bad thing right now.” Now they were relatively safe, Elevensies took the time to assess their rescuer.

She was large, although it was difficult to see how tall she truly was when they were all in the speeder. Her skin was a warm red-orange, and her montrals and lekku were striped a rich fuschia color. Her hands gripping the steering apparatus were strong, but wrinkled and lined, and covered in gold rings and bracelets. In the lights as they flew, several piercings stood out as they glinted, including some in her lekku, which… he had not thought possible. He also recognized the traditional headband of teeth most togruta wore, including Commander Tano.

“You wear nice trophies, Ahsoka,” Saleha remarked, as if she had overheard his train of thought. “You must be quite the little warrior.”

Commander Tano reached up to brush her fingers over the teeth. “Thank you. I… guess I am, huh?”

“Most Jedi are, I’m told,” Saleha said. She had a low voice, but it was soothing. “But what could you have done to have the entire Guard coming after you?”

“I didn’t do anything,” she said. “I… they think I killed people. A lot of people. And I wouldn’t! I couldn’t! It is not the Jedi way to kill without reason or provocation, or without seeking out every possible way around it.”

The old togruta nodded, taking a turn a little sharply. They were into Little Sriluur now, he recognized the disproportionate numbers of weequay on the streets. “I believe you,” Saleha said. “You are a warrior, not a killer.”

“You just met–”

“I am a spectacular judge of character,” she said, cutting off the protest. “And I have been doing it for a very long time.”

The commander couldn’t argue with that, so she sat back in her seat, folding her arms. Saleha looked up in the mirror at Elevensies.

“You would not happen to be part of that delightful little group of clone troopers Sixes got dragged into?” she asked, a smile on her face.

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I’m number one.”

“Very good. I’m glad to meet you.”

They rode in silence for a few more minutes, then the speeder slowed and finally just hovered in the air while a door in the side of a building opened for them. They pulled into the space, the speeder slowly came down onto a series of supports made for it, and Saleha shut it off.

“There we are, my dears,” she said. “Welcome to Sun's Noodle Bar.”

They got out and followed her through a door into the main part of the building, arriving first in a stairway. Saleha started downwards, holding the railing always, and they followed her still.

“This is my restaurant,” she explained. “My wife and I own it, she’s upstairs. But down here…” She paused, entering an access code for a door at the bottom of the stairs. “Here is the Clubhouse.”

They followed the towering woman (now Elevensies could tell she was about seven feet tall not including the horns) into a short hallway, then into a cozy sitting room. The walls were a warm tan color, a string of mismatched lights hung over one wall, and a massive couch and pair of arm chairs seemed to be calling out to his aching feet. There was a small kitchen to their right as they entered, spotlessly clean, and a massive slyyyg plush sat in the far corner, next to a round bean bag chair. A pair of tooka cats, one brown and striped, one black, were curled up on the chair.

“You must try to keep this place a secret,” Saleha said, folding her hands. “The commanders would be most upset if they thought everyone knew about their little safe haven.”

Commander Tano looked at him, and he shrugged. “Which commanders?” she asked.

“Oh, the commanders who stay here,” the woman answered. “Nero, Bacara, Sixes, and Thire.”

Elevensies almost choked on his next breath. “Commander Thire?” Oh, he was so dead after all of this. When Saleha looked at him, puzzled, he managed, “He’s… he’s my commander…”

“Well, then we’ll make extra sure not to tell anyone,” Commander Tano said, putting a hand on his shoulder bell. “Right?”

“Yep,” he agreed weakly.

Another door on the far side of the room opened suddenly, and a pair of troopers burst in. The universe must be playing tricks on him, Elevensies thought, because this just was not fair.

It was Commander Thire. Because of course it was him. It was Commander Thire and a 104th trooper Elevensies thought he should recognize, but all his mental energy was currently being put towards not keeling over.

“Okay, what the ever-loving kriff is Sixes playing at?” his commander demanded as soon as the door was closed behind them. The outburst made the tookas jump to their spindly legs and fluff their tails. The brown one bolted behind the bean bag chair, while the black one tried to burrow deeper into it.

“Hello to you, too, Thire,” Saleha said stiffly, clearly unhappy with his attitude.

Commander Thire tore his helmet off, forced a smile, and said, “Hi, Saleha, it’s nice to see you. Excuse me, I’m in a crisis.” Then he turned on Elevensies, pointing. “You. You are an idiot.”

“I am aware of that, sir,” he replied quietly.

“He’s helping me!” Commander Tano said, rising to his defense for some unknown reason. “It’s more than anyone else has done so far.”

“That is because you are wanted on suspicion of bombing the Temple, murdering a suspect in Republic custody, killing at least five clones, and resisting arrest when we attempted to detain you, Commander!”

“I didn’t hurt anyone!” she shot back.

Commander Thire took a step towards her. “And how is anyone supposed to believe that when the first thing you did was break out of your jail cell and run?” Elevensies had never seen him this angry.

“Thire!” Saleha’s low voice boomed when she put it to good use. The commanders both tensed, but they did shut up. “Thire, sit down,” she told him, pointing to one of the armchairs. “Ahsoka, sit down.” She pointed to the couch. “Be civilized.”

The Jedi and clone commanders eyed each other warily, but they followed her directions. Elevensies was liking and respecting this Saleha woman more and more the longer he knew her.

“Elevensies,” she said, “take a seat as well.” She gestured to three barstools that stood near the kitchen counter. “And you, my dear, I’m afraid I didn’t get your name.” She was looking at the 104th trooper.

The trooper took his helmet off. “Uh, it’s Loops, ma’am, don’t worry about it.”

Elevensies took his own helmet off, realizing he hadn’t yet, and offered a smile as Loops came over to join him on the barstools. “What are you doing here?” he whispered, watching Saleha take a seat in the largest armchair and start a dialogue between the two commanders.

“Commander Thire grabbed me. Made some excuse to Commander Wolffe, and just grabbed me.”

“How did he know about all this?”

“The commander told him, I guess?” Loops hazarded. It was understood amongst the Numbers that any vague reference to “the commander” was to Commander Sixes.

Elevensies nodded. “Must be. I commed him first thing, I didn’t know what to do.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t either if I suddenly decided to help a fugitive.”

He shrank into his armor a bit. “Yeah… pretty stupid, huh?”

Loops made a slight face. “I mean… it’s not the smartest thing I’ve ever heard someone do, no. But, I bet Sevenset’ll get a kick out of it. Once no one’s dead.”

“Yeah,” he agreed weakly. He was exhausted, but the conversation in front of him made it impossible to rest his eyes. There was too much to learn.

The conversation had already started by the time he tuned back in. Commander Tano had her arms crossed and was glaring at the commander in the chair. Said commander was leaning forward, one hand planted firmly on the arm of his chair, leaving the other free to gesture as he needed.

“What do you mean, an intruder in the base?” Commander Thire demanded.

“I mean it’s not hard to steal armor if you’re good enough,” the young commander explained. “Elevensies told me that your vambraces work to track an individual signal throughout the base. Well, if someone had stolen a vambrace or an entire suit of armor, they could walk around undetected as an intruder, couldn’t they?”

Elevensies curled in on himself when his commander glared at him. But, Saleha raised an eyebrow at him, and he didn’t say anything. He turned back to Tano. “Theoretically, yes, that is possible,” he said, like the act of agreeing with her was physically straining.

“And Anakin told me he didn’t drop that access card in front of my cell,” she furthered, lifting her chin. “Commander Fox never even let him in to see me. So who was helping me?”

“Yes, who was, ma’am?” Commander Thire shot back.

“I don’t know!”

Saleha cleared her throat, and they both relented slightly, leaning back a little. “Ahsoka is telling the truth, Thire. You can see that, yes?”

“She’s a Jedi, she can say whatever–”

“I can tell she is telling the truth!” the old togruta cut him off viciously. “I think four decades of work in the criminal systems of Coruscant gives me slightly more experience than you, does it not, Thire?”

Commander Thire pressed his lips together, a flicker of something not angry appearing in his face before he nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Saleha nodded. She looked back to the Jedi. “Is there anything else you want to tell us about this investigation?”

She opened her mouth, closed it, then sat up again. “Yes. Elevensies mentioned that Barriss Offee had been visiting the cells on the RMB frequently over the past few days, and that’s been bothering me.”

“Bothering you how?” Commander Thire asked.

“Well, Barriss and I have known each other for years, and she’d told me before I left for Cato Nemoidia that she was going to start taking more shifts in the Halls of Healing.”

“And?”

“I don’t know, but something is off,” the young commander said. “I can feel it. And that means something!” There was a short silence before Commander Tano shifted in her seat and asked, “So… will you help me?”

The commander looked at her, his temper quieter from earlier, but still very present. Then he looked over at Saleha, who was still looking at him with great expectation, and eventually, he sighed, bringing both hands up to rub his eyes. “Maker help me, Sixes is never gonna let me hear the end of this,” he muttered. Then he looked up. “Fine. Fine, I’ll… I’ll keep the Guard off your head tails as best as I can.”

Saleha’s face softened. “And I will do what I can as a citizen of the Republic fully aware of my rights to keep them out of this property, should they realize you’re here,” she said.

“Thank you,” Commander Tano said. “All of you,” she added, glancing over to where Elevensies and Loops sat on their stools.

That brought Commander Thire’s attention over to him. He blinked at him, and Elevensies started bracing for a tirade, but then he recognized it wasn’t anger on his face. He wasn’t sure what it was.

“Elevens, you deactivated the locator in your belt, right?”

Shit.

Saleha stood up, turning to him. “You have a locator?”

He nodded, his mouth gone dry, his heart pounding in his ears. He gripped his helmet tighter in his lap.

“Is it off?” his commander asked, standing as well.

He shook his head once, trying very hard to breathe evenly. He had just messed everything up, hadn’t he? He hadn’t even thought to deactivate the locator because he’d never needed to do that before! His CO’s had always stressed to them to keep them on, no matter what, so they could be found on patrol. Now they were all going to get in trouble, and it was all because–

A gentle hand on his shoulder jolted him out of his spiraling thoughts. It was Loops.

“Hey, you still with us?” he asked quietly. “Breathe.”

Had he stopped breathing? He let out his breath, then took another too quickly. He might have stopped.

“You’re fine, kid,” Commander Thire said. “We’ll deal with it. Just get up and turn around so I can deactivate it, okay?”

The orders were welcome. He could follow them without thinking too much. He slid off the stool, still clutching his helmet, and turned his back, allowing his commander access to the small cylinder at the back of his belt.

Behind him, he heard Saleha’s low voice. “Ahsoka? Come with me. Chances are they will be here sooner than later, and stalling is a wonderful tactic.” They left the room, Saleha’s jewelry jingling.

“All set.”

He turned back around to face his commander. “Sorry, sir,” he offered meekly.

The commander sighed again, putting one hand on his hip and rubbing his forehead with the other. “You’re lucky Sixes likes you, kid. And you’re lucky Sixes and I know Saleha. Keep that in mind.”

He nodded.

Commander Thire tipped his head towards the bean bag chair in the corner, still supporting one of the tookas. “Rest your eyes for a bit, trooper. It’s been a long night, and it’s not getting any shorter.”

“Yessir,” he said, trying to hide his utter relief at the prospect of rest. “What about the uh…” He pointed to the black lump of cat.

“Oh, that’s just Ballistic Noodles.” He walked over to the blob of a chair, holding his gloved hand out to the cat. Loops and Elevensies followed, mostly out of pure curiosity. “She’s fine, it's Sixes' little menace you wanna watch out for,” the commander said as the cat began rubbing her face against his hand. “C’mon, Bella,” he said, reaching down and scooping the cat out of the chair into his arms, holding her like one might a small baby.

The cat settled immediately, a quiet rumble emanating from her. Elevensies raised a hand, then stopped, looking to the commander. He nodded encouragingly, and he offered his hand to the creature. She sniffed it delicately, then nudged it gently.

“Have a seat,” Commander Thire told him.

Elevensies did so, sinking into the chair a bit further than expected. He struggled to get into a comfortable position, but he found one. The brown cat emerged from behind the chair, looking disgruntled its hideout had been compromised. It trotted across the room to the couch and hopped onto it, curling up at one end.

“Put your helmet down.”

He was a little confused, but he did so, letting it fall a short distance to the rug. Then, to his surprise, the commander stepped up and carefully lowered the black tooka cat onto him. He sort of froze, completely unsure of what to do. The cat rumbled on, rubbing her cheeks against his chest plate as she walked all over him, her little claws clicking on the plastoid. Eventually, she settled next to him, her back end on the bean bag, and her front end on his lap, her scaly toes curling and uncurling rhythmically.

“She’ll keep you there for a while,” the commander said. “Loops, keep ‘im company, make sure he gets some rest.”

Loops sat down on the rug next to him, also reaching out and letting Ballistic sniff him. “Will do, sir.”

They sat in silence for a while, Ballistic rumbling away on his lap. Loops had moved on to scratching the top of her wide head between her ears, but Elevensies was still rather uncertain what to do with this animal on him. He did like it, though. Her rumbling was soothing, and the bean bag was very comfortable, even in armor. His eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and he felt his head nodding. As much as he tried to shake off encroaching sleep, he knew it was pointless. The commander had told him to get some rest… He was just following orders….

-scene break-

Elevensies awoke some unknown amount of time later, and Bella was still curled up in his lap, although she had switched sides. She was awake like him, and looking over to the doorway, where Saleha stood, talking very firmly to someone there.

“No, I am certain your missing Padawan is not in my home or my place of business,” she said. “And you have no jurisdiction to enter either, Master Jedi.”

He tensed, glancing around in a hurry, and finding Loops kneeling beside him. Had he moved at all?

Loops put a finger over his lips, then leaned over to whisper. “Skywalker’s here,” he said. “But he’s not getting past Saleha without her permission. Commander Thire went to circle around and meet them outside, throw them off the scent.”

Elevensies nodded. They couldn’t be seen from outside the door in this corner, and that made him feel much better. Last he recalled, Commander Fox and Captain Rex were with Skywalker, and he didn’t want to see either of them right now. Especially Commander Fox…

“So we just stay here?” he whispered back.

Loops nodded, reaching over to stroke Bella’s head. She stretched up into it, beginning to rumble again.

“The only other togruta in this building, aside from whatever customers are upstairs,” Saleha went on, “would be my grandchild Ashla, who is staying with me and my wife while she completes her study abroad courses here on Coruscant.”

The only thing audible from Skywalker’s response was, “Are you seriously–” and then he lowered his voice again. There was a jumble of voices outside that sounded like clones after that, which probably meant Commander Thire had arrived.

At any rate, Saleha gave a brief, “Good night, gentlemen,” before letting the door slide closed. She turned to the two of them. “They have gone for now. Loops, would you please check on Ahsoka?”

“Of course,” Loops answered, standing up and walking away towards the hallway from which Elevensies had first entered.

“Are you feeling better after your nap?” Saleha asked him, a quiet smile on her face.

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

Loops reappeared in the doorway. “Ma’am? We have a problem. The commander… isn’t here.”

-scene break-

high fives: why’d she have to be skywalker’s padawan

high fives: ahsoka is WAY too good at running away from the consequences of her actions

CrispyDomino: wish she could teach you a few things?

high fives: YOU ARE LITERALLY LOOKING FOR HER WITH ME SHUT THE HELL UP

RedBoiiiii: she’s still in the wind??? seriously????

Double Trouble: impressive!!

Loopy: oh, she’s so good at this because she’s skywalker’s padawan??

Loopy: is that who I need to curse??

#1 Boy: Hey trees?

high fives: aren’t you both supposed to be searching for her??

Loopy: yeah we are

Leafs: Elevensies?

Loopy: What, we can’t text and run at the same time?

#1 Boy: has commander offee been with your legion recently?

Leafs: No, Commander Offee is studying at the Temple currently, why?

#1 Boy: oh, I was just curious! ^_^

#1 Boy: she’s been visiting the RMB a lot lately, and I guess she’s friends with Tano?

d0nut man: does skywalker train his padawan to be the opposite of a law-abiding citizen?

CrispyDomino: i can neither confirm or deny that

high fives: yes

CrispyDomino: well then

Double Trouble: you know… i’ve heard that line of Jedi called the Disaster Lineage

RedBoiiii: ACCURATE!!!!

high fives: I HATE HOW ACCURATE IT IS

And thus the story continues.... I hope Saleha and Ballistic Noodles amused people lol @mercurydancer @23-bears @theultimatesandwich @darth-void @nintendolover13 @rndmpeep If you want to be tagged, let me know! Thanks for reading!

[iviarellereads]

The Shadow Rising, Chapter 6 - Doorways

(THIS PROJECT IS SPOILER FREE! No spoilers past the chapter you click on. Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For the link index and a primer on The Wheel of Time, read this one! Like what you see? Send me a Ko-Fi.)

(White lion icon) In which someone drops a metaphorical mic.

PERSPECTIVE: Elayne follows Moiraine into the room, angrily. Moiraine is complaining, openly, about how stubborn Rand is. Elayne thinks of her childhood nurse, Lini, saying you could weave silk from pig bristles before you could make a man anything but a man. But that's no excuse.

Egwene asks what Rand did, and Moiraine glares at her. El jumps a little as she realizes Joiya isn't bound, and hopes nobody noticed. She finds it hard to be as brave as the Daughter-Heir should be. Moiraine tells Joiya she's made arrangements for her and Amico to be taken upriver to Tar Valon, and the Traitors' Court. Moiraine clearly intimidates Joiya, who looks away with murder in her eyes. Moiraine undoes Amico's binding, more deftly than any of the wondergirls can manage yet, and El is a little jealous. It's small comfort that they can do some things Moiraine can't.(1)

Moiraine calls in some guards to escort the prisoners back to their cells, with specific instructions about their care. As soon as everyone else is gone, Egg puts an arm over El's shoulder and asks what's wrong. El tries very hard not to cry.

Nyn tells Moiraine off for vanishing and then coming back just to calmly announce she's sending their prisoners away. Moiraine says the Amyrlin may have set them to chase Liandrin and co, but they're still only Accepted, and they need to make a decision at some point about them. Then she turns to El and tells her to pull herself together, and remember that not every land has the customs she was born to.

Egg asks what customs, and El says she knows Berelain was in Rand's bedchamber. Moiraine says she'd have spared Egg if she could, but either way, Rand belongs to the Pattern, to history, not to either of them. Egg tells El she doesn't have those feelings for Rand anymore, she thinks of him and El as brother and sister to her, and wishes them the best.(2) Then she asks Moiraine if she's ever been in love.

The slender woman was not at all taken aback. For a long moment she looked levelly at the pair of them, each with an arm around the other. Finally she said, “I could wager I know the face of the man I will marry better than either of you knows that of your future husband.” Egwene gaped in surprise. “Who?” Elayne gasped. The Aes Sedai appeared regretful of having spoken. “Perhaps I only meant we share an ignorance. Do not read too much into a few words.”(3) She looked at Nynaeve consideringly. “Should I ever choose a man—should, I say—it will not be Lan. That much I will say.”

Nyn gets back to business and says she doesn't like dithering here, but they've walked into too many traps not to be cautious. How do they know if the women are lying, either or both or neither? She's tugging her braid so hard it looks like she wants to use it to strangle Moiraine.

El changes the subject slightly and suggests Nyn might want to know why they were summoned to Rand. He's fine now, Moiraine healed him.(4) Nyn gasps and asks what happened. Moiraine explains about bubbles of evil, and the state of Rand's room, and how she's sure Perrin and Mat also got some weirdness but escaped unharmed.

Tension rises again, and Egg asks what Rand was being stubborn about. Moiraine says he must make a move, but instead he just sits here, and Tear loses its fear of him. The Forsaken will see it as a sign of weakness, and the Pattern is built inherently on movement, only the dead are still. He must act, or die.

Nyn says Moiraine knows what action he has to take, doesn't she? Yes, Moiraine confirms, but she can't risk him going off alone again. The wondergirls ask Moiraine to tell them what she intends, and she agrees with only a little reluctance. She thinks Rand should take Tear to war with Illian, to bring down Sammael.

There's some discussion about the uses of war (few and far between) and El remembers that Moiraine was raised in the Royal Palace in Cairhien, not in the line of succession but related to the ruling family.(5) She understands world politics well. Nyn asks why this war, what makes it better than any other. Moiraine asks El to explain. El says war will come whether Rand is involved or not, the Forsaken won't just stand idly by, and he can't be the only other one who's seized a country's reins. They'll come after Rand eventually, and even the countries who aren't under Forsaken command might well declare him false, the fall of the Stone a lie. One way or another, war will come.

Mo adds that the war she proposes wouldn't be better or cleaner, but it would cement the Tairens to Rand, and bring Illian under his banner. In one swoop, he would establish himself strong enough that only a coalition of every other country in Randland could take him down. He has to be the hammer, not the nail, and he has to move first, but instead he just sits here and reads himself into more trouble.

Nyn and Egg are kinda shaken, so El asks how he can read himself into more trouble. Moiraine says he's been reading the Dragon Prophecies, they're forbidden in Tear but the Chief Librarian had some translations locked up. Rand has them all, now. She pointed out a verse that applies, and he quoted it to her.

"Power of the Shadow made human flesh wakened to turmoil, strife and ruin. The Reborn One, marked and bleeding, dances the sword in dreams and mist, chains the Shadowsworn to his will, from the city, lost and forsaken, leads the spears to war once more, breaks the spears and makes them see, truth long hidden in the ancient dream."

Illian under Sammael could qualify as a forsaken city, if he leads Tear to war and chains Sammael, it could fulfill the verse, but he refuses to see it.(6) He even has a copy in the Old Tongue, though he surely can't read it.

Nyn says he's surely desperate to find his own way. Moiraine says she's desperate too, she's dedicated her life to finding him and ensuring his success. She's almost desperate enough to... she cuts herself off, but El forces her to finish the thought. The Tairens hold a collection of ter'angreal, the Great Holding. There's one particular ter'angreal, a redstone doorframe, slightly twisted. If she can't make him reach a decision, she may have to go through it.

Nyn asks what's through it, and Moiraine says you can gain answers. Three true answers about anything. The wondergirls immediately ask why she didn't tell them before, they could get answers to all the questions before them! Moiraine says they rush to run where a hundred Warders would fear to tread. No one may step through more than once, frivolous questions are punished, and questions touching the Shadow can have dire consequences. And it may not be possible to ask a question about the Dragon that doesn't touch on the Shadow in some way.(7)

Nyn asks how she knows all this, and Moiraine says until about 300 years ago, it was a possession of Mayene, who used its answers to keep Mayene out of Tear's grasp. One of them made a gift of it to the High Lords, in his attempt to do such.

Egg says they're right back where they started. Moiraine invites them to question the prisoners again, they have right up until they're loaded onto their ship. She reminds the wondergirls that they're the hounds the Amyrlin set after the Black Ajah,(8) and they must set the course. then she leaves.

They sit down with some cooled wine and El asks Egg if she really meant it about Rand, and Egg nods. She brings up Min's talk of sharing him and wonders if there was a vision involved. She worries that Rand still loves Egg, and Egg says he'll just have to be set straight. El is still worried that Ber was in his chambers, but Egg says she was looking at Rhuarc two days ago, and in another day she'll be looking at someone else.

El doesn't know what to do. She loves Rand, wants to marry him. She knows exactly what her mother will say about it, but she can't help it. Nyn reminds her of what Rand is, a man who can channel. He might have a year, or two, or only months before he goes mad and worse. El says she knows it should matter, but it doesn't. Nyn smiles and says she had to be sure. So, what do they do about it? Especially about Berelain. El says they've only talked a half dozen times in a whole year, she doesn't have the right to be angry at him OR Ber. Egg suggests there are other ways to make your feelings and intentions known. El thinks about doing it the Mayener way and just saying it, but has to down her whole goblet of wine at the thought.

Elayne looked from one to the other of them. “In truth, I feared you might tell me I was foolish, fretting over a thing like this when we have the Black Ajah to worry about.” A slight flicker of Egwene’s eyes said the thought had occurred to her, but Nynaeve said, “Rand is not the only one who might die next year, or next month, We might, too. Times are not what they were, and we cannot be, either. If you sit and wish for what you want, you may not see it this side of the grave.” It was a chilling sort of reassurance, but Elayne nodded. She was not being silly. If only the Black Ajah could be settled so easily. She pressed her empty silver goblet to her forehead for the coolness. What were they to do?

=====

(1) You gotta walk before you can run, and raw strength is rarely any competition for practiced skill. (2) And I reiterate that I thought this was all settled two books ago, but okay. Like, seriously, the subject takes up about 5 or 6 pages out of the 18 of this chapter in my paperback. There's so much wishy-washing in this series. Some of it is character building, but after a certain point, it's just dragging your feet. (3) That's an awfully sloppy cover-up for a slip of the tongue, ma'am. What do you know? Who is it? How? (Well, we can guess how: Moiraine was the first to know Min. Perhaps Min gave her enough detail about someone Mo already knew to identify them.) (4) I totally don't remember Elayne being there when Moiraine healed Rand, but whatever, my memory's got almost as many holes as Mat's. Especially after a few rounds of covid. Maybe they went back to do it again? (5) Elayne would know: Moiraine is her paternal aunt, Taringail was Mo's half-brother. Not that El ever thinks of her that way, or that anyone ever seems to care up to this point. (6) It's funny how Moiraine goes back and forth between "the prophecy must mean this specific thing I'm assuming it to mean" and "prophecy is vague and often only means anything after the fact" depending on whether it's her making the assumption or someone else. (7) It sounds like it would definitely take someone well trained in all manner of statecraft and linguistics to craft the right questions to get an answer. They could almost be the Fae. (8) I love-hate this implication that the wondergirls are the hounds set after the Black Ajah, because hounds need training and they need to obey as much as they need to do their jobs. It's such a subtle little dig at the wondergirls' impatience.

[marcvscicero]

unpopular opinion but: Ambrose in "The Hungry Earth" + "Cold Blood" didn't deserve the doctor's total blame + condemnation like that…

this seems to be an unpopular opinion, but the human lady, ambrose, in "the hungry earth" + "cold blood" was literally not to blame for killing the silurian hostage (in my opinion), and consequently, i think that the way the episode treats her, and the way the doctor himself treats her at the end, is really nasty......................

was she stupid to let herself be goaded? yes

was she wrong to hurt + thus kill the prisoner? also yes

should she have stayed far away from that room, because she was the most vulnerable one there, and the one (as the silurian even says) who "has the most to lose" ? should they have all agreed to not let her take a turn guarding the hostage ? did she let her fear + emotions take over ? yes, yes, and yes

but was she really that bad, and did she deserve what the episode + what the doctor basically says about her ???????? not at all

TLDR: she was stupid in that moment without a doubt, but her entire family had been taken and/or hurt first (husband, son, AND dad), and the silurians were just, in general, far worse first (dissecting a completely awake + clearly in pain human, jumping straight to all-out war, goading a traumatised + terrified lady), and the doctor, at the end, was absolutely wrong to criticise her + be as horrible to her as he was, without even acknowledging the silurians' actions + mistakes-- she knew she fucked up !! they fucked up first !! guess they're more similar than they want to be !!

when i was younger, i remember basically believing the episode + doctor, and thinking that was stupid and that it was always bound to happen, as the episode kinda follows the trope of the 'alien' race being better than humans, and of humans acting rashly + with prejudice against another species, BUT............

i just rewatched it now and honestly, the doctor + the episode's narrative/message itself was far, far too cruel to her.

firstly, the silurians DID start this shit... why are we acting like they didn't? yes, they woke up because of the drilling, but as the super intelligent race they are depicted as being, why did they not consider that perhaps it was not a violent or aggressive act. why didn't they wait? they know what scientists are, because they have their own-- why didn't they just speak to them, or send a message, or make the machine break down, etc etc etc? why start war over an accident, when they know that the humans aren't aware of their existence?????

2. by the time ambrose kills the silurian hostage, the silurians have already done far, far worse, especially against her, which is what i think people forget, and what i never really considered either. not only did they obviously kidnap her husband + son, and try to kill her father (the silurian seemed shocked he was still alive, so if he had died faster, the first murder would have been of a human anyway?!?!) in front of her, but they also treated their own human hostages AWFULLY. the man says to amy that he was dissected whilst awake. that is literally torturing someone alive??? and as a proper medical doctor, that silurian man must have known that it was causing pain, so why not do it whilst the man was still asleep (which they clearly would've been capable of, seeing as they had that gas which they pumped into the holding cells which made people instantly pass out)??? like, how is that not evil + twisted?!?!?!?!

3. i see lots of people point out that the doctor told them that he would fix everything, and get her family back, as long as they did not harm the hostage.............. okay ????? and why should she trust him ????? this random man who just appeared out of nowhere ????? yes, he's clearly the most capable + intelligent + aware one here, so i'd personally want to listen to him myself, but realistically, why should she believe that he would get her husband + son back + save her father's life ????? why should she believe that ??????

so idk like, yes her actions were stupid, but the silurian hostage was literally egging her on + goading one of them into reacting, because she wanted a war and didn't care if she died to start one...? that seems worse to me. and yes, she killed the hostage in a moment of fear + anger over the fact her ENTIRE FAMILY had been taken and/or hurt, but the silurians thus far had zero casualties and zero reason to have such blatant hatred of humanity, yet they were out here doing far worse...?

and ultimately, she clearly realised she fucked up big time. even her father said to her something like, "oh my girl, what have you done?" like, she knew she had made a huuuugeeeee mistake. did she really need all the doctor's horrible little speech about her, when he was clearly just biased towards the silurians anyways, seemingly ignoring that it was them who did the most awful things first...???????

she was wrong, but the episode paints her as far worse than she is, and i think the whole humans being bad towards another species trope would've worked far better if it wasn't ambrose who killed the hostage (when her entire family was harmed by the silurians first ???), OR if the silurians weren't literally awful first themselves ?????

(ALSO, there's a comment where the military silurian says they used to hunt apes (aka humans) for sport............ please, HOW are they being depicted as in the right here........... the doctor literally is sooooo biased towards them it's a little annoying............)

[faustocosgrove]

and on the twelth day of reviewmas I, Fausto, give to thee:

one of 12 instances of elder abuse

11 yawns

my 10 remaining brain cells after this shitty movie jfc

9 instances this show reminded me of a better show

an 80s cult movie

7 lgbt main characters in an incredibly queer manga like holy shit

6 ye olde government agents

5/5 stars best movie of the decade easily. might be the best movie of all time

4 scantily clad teenaged girls (fbi open up! meme)

the 3rd time i read the same book about lawns maybe?

2 high school animes

and a ninja book

…from a guy who still thinks about the naruto series in the year 2024

corrective measures

part way through this movie the person i was watching it with asked “is this a remake of cool hand luke but with super powers?” and the very next line out of the evil warden was “what we have here is fucking failure to fucking communicate”

um, other than that it wasn’t very good. probably the best performance was done by the people doing the fake news segments. the special effects were good and cheesy, but it was very…. post production. like a lot of the actors you could tell were just told to go “blargh!” and then fake fight and their super powers were going to be edited in later and like they weren’t told what said super powers would be.

i suppose there was a bit of commentary about power and corruption… but only in the corporate promotional world. there’s also a wee bit of commentary of prison reform, but only in the neo liberal approved “people with misdemeanors shouldn’t be locked up alongside murderers” kind of way. and a wee bit of commentary on how cops are probably psychologically fucked up, but the only one that gets explored is the asian lady cop, not the white guys.

also, the black lady taking over as the warden doesn’t feel right. i mean the entire premise of a black woman working very hard to become a prison warden doesn’t feel right. i mean i’m pretty sure it’s racist but i’m not really sure why? maybe it’s just a hollow version of the asian cop lady thing where the hard ass cop who is a piece of shit is neither white nor a man, so clearly these people aren’t as bad as if they were white men, so the audience will think they’re a good guy. like i think we’re supposed to think that the prison won’t be torturing the inmates anymore because a black woman is in charge. and like, kamala harris is the proof that having a black woman in charge doesn’t end the need for prison abolition.

it’s one of the 12 movies bruce willis did in 2022, only to retire from film making in 2023 due to dementia. honestly, it shows. i truly wonder why he was acting these last few years. i mean, i checked his wikipedia page to remember what medical condition he was retiring from and it states that in 2021 for one of the films he was in his role was reduced and his lines abreviated and filming had to be done in one day. and yet for some reason, the poor guy was in 12 movies throughout 2022 and as of retiring in 2023 there are still 11 films that he was in that haven’t come out yet. methinks the family did a wee bit of elder abuse.

[scnsuality]

Even now, years later, Tommy still clearly remembered the exact words that the guard had spoken to him right after he'd endured being stripped down, having his cavities searched, all his possessions taken away and being put into a uniform that he would be stuck in for months, if not years. You're with Demon, kiddo. Keep your head down, and try not to start crying. You have my sympathy, boy. The sound of genuine concern in a damn officer's voice had Tommy entirely confused, but once he came face to face with his cellmate, the meaning behind those words became absolutely clear to him - or so he thought. The effect he had on Daimon almost immediately upon their meeting did not dawn on Tommy until later; the larger man was incredibly intimidating to the young criminal, and made him immdiately realize that his own misdeeds and accomplices were a joke compared to the things Demon was known for. The guard's warning would not have been needed, as Tommy was far from suicidal enough to resist the dynamic that was established in their cell from the first night. Daimon broke him in, and from that moment until Tommy's release he was the other's property, his bitch, his princess, his babydoll. A strange mix of complete control and domination, and a type of affection Tommy had never experienced before.

The extent to which Daimon not only protected, but claimed him wasn't even fully clear to him until he witnessed the other's calmness being challenged for once. A new arrival, unfortunately oblivious of the prison's hierarchy, had decided to ignore all warnings regarding the pretty blonde being Demon's property, getting handsy in the showers and trying to force Tommy to his knees - never had the latter seen such an outburst of violence as when Daimon caught a glimpse of the guy's actions and his blood was painting the shower tiles red moments later. The only reason they weren't separated that day was some other prisoner taking the fall, playing the scapegoat out of fear of Demon. It was that day when Tommy truly learned just why he was the princess of hell, why so many were willing to keep their hands off of him just to preserve the peace and safety of them all by keeping all hell from breaking loose.

But regardless of their dynamic, none of it mattered anymore - neither the weird sort of reverence and status Tommy had indirectly earned in prison through the effect he had on Daimon, nor the way he was fucked into a sweaty, exhausted mess every single night, sometimes more so than he felt he could handle. All of this duality had ended five years ago when the prison gates closed behind him. So to see Daimon here, in the flesh, felt unreal to say the least. And even more so to see the other act so damn casual about it, as if not a single day had passed. They were back in their cell, and Tommy wasn't Tommy. He was Daimon's bitch, his princess, a pussy to fuck and empty his balls into. And the other pranced into his home as if the place belonged to him, as if he owned it like he had owned him. "T-Thank you, Daimon", he blushed, trying his best to act like this was any other person, someone who had meant a lot to him in the past - but who was part of just that; the past. "Wait, did you..." Tommy swallowed hard, trying to act as if he didn't hear his former cellmate talk about fucking him as if not a day had passed. Trying not to look down at Daimon's crotch, which he'd never seen covered by anything other than a damn prison uniform. "I can't leave, Daimon, I... I live here now", he explained, knowing how insane it was that it needed explaining in the first place. "My boyfriend is gonna come home in an hour. My... fiancé, actually", he added, raising a hand to show the ring. Tommy immediately regretted even bringing him up; he knew very well just how possessive Daimon was, and the last thing he wanted was to endanger the man who loved him. ... The man he loved. Of course. "Please, you can't stay here... You gotta go!", he pleaded, knowing full well that there was no way in hell Daimon was ever going to let him even do so much as suggest what he should do.

"Is that how you're gonna greet me, babydoll?" the mans voice, deep and graveled spoke and he slowly took off the black sunglasses he'd been wearing. The man's name was Daimon but he more commonly known by his street name; Demon. Because that was how people saw him. He was born into the seedy criminal underworld of the city and had been clawing his way through it ever since. If you could name the crime, he could name the time - he'd done everything from stealing to dealing and there was more blood on his hands than his accomplices or the authorities would ever be able to truly know. He knew prison like most people knew their childhood homes and the day he'd met Tommy had been a day of twisted fate as he'd just been let out of solitary and was expected to land back in it, so the officials didn't think the poor new kid would have to deal with him for more than a day or two. But they hadn't expected Daimon to take one look at the other and change everything. He'd had prison bitches before; again, it was nothing new, but Tommy had been different. Tommy had brought out a calmness in Daimon that nobody had ever seen before - and it had ended up scaring everyone more. The only thing scarier than a killer was a calm one.

Tommy was the only one Daimon wasn't Demon too. The only one who used his real name in between other sexually charged nicknames and dominant-submissive titles they had for one another. While Tommy was in his cell, Daimon almost never caused another infraction; seemingly determined to never be separated from Tommy and because of this, the other naturally fell under more of a protective blanket than any of his jail trysts had before. Tommy was kept safe and clean and allowed all kinds of privileges - from both cell mates and prison officials. Everyone realized, rather quickly, that something about this kid kept Demon happy, and when Demon was happy, everything ran smoothly. Daimon would fuck Tommy within an inch of hhis life every day and night. He made every decision for the other and kept him under strict control. Daimon was the king of hell and he'd made Tommy his princess. The day Tommy left had been the day that many, many men feared. And when it happened, they realized they were right to.

"Couple days ago," he answered, stepping forward and letting himself into Tommy's home without waiting for any kind of invitation, "Took a bit longer to track you down than I thought, otherwise I woulda been here the day I got out," he said, looking around briefly. "Place seems nice. Bit faggy for my tastes, though," he commented, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket. "You, on the other hand, are lookin' real fuckin' pretty, Princess- even prettier than the last time I saw ya," he commented, openly eyeing the other up and down like a piece of meat, "Fuck, I'm already getting hard just seein' ya," he smirked and winked, blatantly adjusting his pants. "So— how long is it gonna take for you to pack your shit so we can get the fuck out of here?" he asked casually, pulling a zippo lighter out of his leather jacket pocket and setting flame to end of his smoke, taking a deep, satisfactory inhale and letting it out, "I got a truck out front a massive load in my balls both waitin' for ya."

[yesimwriting]

Dying Starlight

A/n: i dont think an audience for this exists?? ik it’s not shadow and bone related, but ive been reading red queen and i wanted to try writing maven and ive been playing with this idea. umm...on the off-chance that there is an audience for this i do think of this as more of a series but i’ll probably end up deleting this lol 

(Series?) Summary: reader is a childhood friend of Mare’s who isn’t officially part of the Scarlet Guard but gets captured by Maven. As a prisoner, she feels like her mind is being messed with as she begins to see a more human side of Maven. The new King tells himself the only thing he sees in her is that she’s a way to get to Mare, but something about her genuiness is infectious. 

-- 

Irony twists things. Right now, the irony that my last thoughts might be about how I wish I had been trusted with a suicide pill twist my impending doom into something almost comical. I’d laugh, but I’d rather not startle the rats in my cell. This has been their home for presumably years, but I’ve only been down here a few hours. 

I scratch the back of my wrist, staring at tired stone walls like they’ve done something to me. I wish I knew what time it was. How long have I been down here? How long has it been since I was separated from Mare? An hour? Three?Each passing minute strikes me like a bullet, but I can’t count them. I’ve never had a talent for accurately feeling the passage of time.

My head aches, frustration and dread tangling themselves in the pit of my stomach. Mare told me the Queen can search through someone’s mind, seeing memories even they can’t remember. What will they do when they see I know virtually nothing? What will happen when they see how close Mare and I truly are? i can’t do anything and the unknown hurts more than my bruised rib. 

The sound of the heavy door that divides the luxury of the castle from the wasteland of the cells creaks. I only let my arms flinch, moving from my side to wrap defensively around my stomach. Dull footsteps echo down the pathway that lead to the cell I’m in. I don’t cringe, not even when the sound of walking stops. 

I was not born into a rich family, but I was born into a proud one. Fear was practically a criminal act in my household. I’ve been trained to suppress all signs of weakness. My eyes don’t leave the stone wall, I mentally trace the pattern of a long crack in a specific rock. It reminds me of the slope of the Big Dipper. 

Will I ever see stars again? The answer leaves a sharp pain in my chest. 

“Mare told me about you.” 

The words jar me, my stomach dropping in revulsion. Mare had trusted him, and here he stands--successful because he’s a traitor. I know what it’s like to be the most overlooked sibling and to crave to change that. I know what it’s like to want to succeed more than you want air in your lungs, but I don’t think I’d ever betray someone. I like to think that there’s a line even the monster in me won’t cross. 

I don’t look at him, partially out of an attempt to protest and partially because I’m afraid of what I’ll see. “She might have mentioned you in passing.” 

His scoff is ridiculous. “She didn’t lie about your sense of humor.” 

That almost makes me wince. His words are too close, too personal. It’s like he knows me. I turn my. head, ready to cut through the uneasy beginning to get to the miserable middle if it brings me to the end faster. 

“You’re here to torment me, not make small talk.” Turning had been a mistake. I regret it instantly. His expression is unforgiving--cold, sharp, and made up of only angles. But that’s not why I stare. I did not expect him to be objectively attractive. The fine slope of his nose, the sharpness of his cheekbones, and the ice blue of his eyes. I need to snap out of this mindset. I’m sure his beauty will not be so distracting when he’s burning me. “Though some might consider that the same thing.” 

He scoffs again, the sound dry. The sneer of his lips does not diminish his attractiveness. The fact makes me loathe him. “I wonder if you’ll still be so prone to humor after you’ve been broken--any information of worth extracted from your thoughts.” 

“Let me save everyone the trouble and just tell you everything that I know now.” My back straightens despite the pain in my ribs. I look pathetic, dirty and in a torn dress. He’s regal, dressed in fine, all black clothing. “I know that Mare wanted to kill you today, I know that she needed a distraction and that her distraction needed to be expendable, which is why I’m sitting in front of you.” I squeeze my hands together awkwardly, a bit of genuine irritation rolling in my stomach. “That’s literally all I know, I’m not even part of the Guard.” I scratch the back of my wrist. If I were him, I wouldn’t believe that, but I’m being honest. How pitiful can one person be that they’re worth more disconnected from the group they work for than as an actual member? “You don’t take that kind of risk for someone that’s only skill set is in thought.” 

I didn’t mean to say that out loud, but I don’t regret it. Maybe he’ll think that my story is so pathetic it has to be true. “You have to know more than that.” 

“The Scarlet Guard only reaches out to me on a need-to-know basis, and anything worthwhile to you is something I clearly didn’t need to know.” In a way, I’m glad I can’t give him anything. “So are you going to kill me with a bullet or do you prefer more flamboyant executions?” My death should be plain. I am human completely--I bleed red and I have no powers. “I do think anything more than a simple death is more trouble than I’m worth.” 

His lips press together oddly, something beneath his expression tightening. “You don’t think your dearest friend will return for you?”

The sarcasm in his voice sparks something in me I thought only my sister could. “I think she has a lot of responsibilities and I wouldn’t blame her for having priorities.” 

His eyebrows draw together. “I think you’re painfully unaware of how attached to you she is.” I press my lips into a thin line. “She’ll come for you.”

Something selfish in me hopes that he’s right. No one has ever wanted me enough to come back for me. My mother wanted perfect daughters that knew how to only think in terms of trapping men with stable careers. My sister did it, but I could never manage, and to my mother that made me useless. 

“If you believe it,” I mumble beneath my breath.

I don’t know if he hears me. I can’t bring myself to care if he did. “For your sake, you better not have lied to me.” 

My back relaxes against the raspy wall, fighting down a grimace as the motion irritates my rib injury. “Cross my heart, Your Highness.” 

I watch him carefully, his expression turning into something much more grim. “A King is referred to as His Majesty.” 

“My father was a prominent war general and my mother only wanted daughters she could use to social climb.” I fight down a grin. “I know what I said.” 

His expression darkens into something bone chilling. “I am the King and you’ll refer to me as such or deal with even less pleasant circumstances.” 

I fight against the urge to cower, picturing Mare’s strength in my veins. There’s weakness in everyone, and if I squint I can see the thin cracks in him. “You have everything--the crown, the power, the support of the people, and it’s still not enough. You won and you still feel like you’re competing.” 

“You don’t know anything,” he seethes, practically growling. 

I shouldn’t press him, but the more he reacts, the more weaknesses are revealed. “I know what it’s like to have a sibling that’s the sun, and no matter what you do, no matter how hard you try, you’re always trapped in a shadow.” 

The lighting makes his eyes look almost glazed over. “My mother will be here soon and the truth will be revealed.” 

He can run from me, but not the truth. Cal has nothing, he has everything--the father that never cared for him is dead, and yet he’s still trapped. Our similarities hurt me more than my physical injuries. 

Maven turns, his gaze moving off of me feels like the removal of heavy shackles. “It would do you well to not press me. You’re worth as much whole as you are broken.” 

There’s the strangest hint of something more to his voice. I wonder if he’s speaking to more than just me. “You haven’t won until that voice in your head telling you that you’re not enough is silenced.”

“You’re a powerless girl who isn’t even wanted by a dying cause and couldn’t find a husband to drag her above the poverty line. You know nothing about me, and if you keep pretending I’ll slaughter you in front of your dear friend.” 

He leaves without another word. I fall asleep with my back against the wall and my ribs aching. 

[rhysismydaddy]

Prisoner's Game Pt. 1 (Rowaelin)

Synopsis: Aelin Galathynius never thought of herself as a vengeful woman. Until her boyfriend not only testifies, but leads a case against her that lands her in prison for the rest of her life. Post I-Love-You's. He didn't believe her, and she's about to show him that not only is she innocent, he made the worst mistake of his life betting against her. To a woman with nothing but time, life's just a game, after all.

The cinderblock wall dug into her back uncomfortably as she reclined against it, the air in the room was stale, and she hadn't showered in two days. By any measurement, Aelin Galathynius was far from her best.

And yet she somehow managed to look perfectly at ease--happy even--as she lounged in her cell, toying with the ends of her too-long hair.

It was a ruse, of course, just a little trick to piss off the man currently stomping into her space. By the flare of Rowan Whitehorn's eyes, it worked.

"Hello, Rowan," she greeted pleasantly, giving him a little smile and acting like it wasn't taking everything in her not to use the makeshift knife under her pillow to gut him like the spineless coward he was.

She could tell, even across her 8x12 cell, that he was gritting his teeth and fighting a similar action.

The heel of his expensive Italian loafers clicked as he walked across the space to the small table and took a seat at the steel chair in front of it. He tried to push it out further, but stopped when he realized it was bolted to the floor.

"Aelin," he said back, none of the so-obvious anger he was feeling present in his voice. "Been a long time."

Eight years, six months, three weeks, two days, and thirteen hours.

Not that she was counting or anything.

She nodded her agreement, reclining further on the bed and crossing her legs as if she was in the finest dress she owned, not a faded orange jumpsuit.

"What brings you to my side of town, Rowan? Here to finally switch sides and represent me?"

Dressed in a two-thousand dollar suit and tie, hair perfectly gelled back, he looked like he was successful a lawyer meeting with a wealthy client, but they both knew the last thing he'd ever do was work for her.

"You know why I'm here."

She did indeed, but she still said, "I must be exceptionally smart to know why you've come all the way here-"

"Cut the shit," he snapped, finally losing a bit of his cool. He regained it quickly, though, and continued, "I want to know how you did it."

She frowned at her split ends. "Did what?"

Rowan waited until she looked at him to respond. "You know what."

Sighing so deeply it should've rattled the walls, she said, "I can't believe I've spent the last eight years thinking you underestimated my intelligence. You clearly think I'm some sort of oracle genius."

Rowan mimicked her sigh, and she bit her lip to stifle a laugh.

Probably trying to stall, he spent a moment looking at her cell, at the completely bare walls and lack of photographs. All she had was the tally marks drawn in pencil on one wall and a dusty chess set sitting on the table.

When he'd taken inventory of those two things, he sat and just looked at her.

It was clear she wouldn't admit to knowing exactly why he sat in front of her, and he was simply putting off being the one to fold.

Predictable, proud little man.

Eventually, he took his loss and said, "I want to know how you managed to rob me from inside the most secure prison in Rifthold."

She smiled, a full, undulated smile she hadn't used in a long time.

She'd been planning this moment since the day the bars had locked behind her, and it felt damn good to finally see it come to fruition.

According to what she'd heard, definitely not what she knew from personal experience, the private vault in Rowan's apartment had been broken into. Apparently, only one thing was missing: an antique dagger that had been handed down in the family and was now worth over a million bucks.

"Why do you think it was me?" she asked, still smiling.

He gritted his teeth some more, and she internally snickered at the idea he'd have permanent tooth damage because of her. Something else to remember her by.

Green eyes spitting flames at her, he growled, "You left a goddamn business card."

Aelin forced her eyes up to the empty bed above her head, trying her hardest not to laugh. "Maybe I'm being framed?"

"Your fingerprints were on it."

She did laugh then, then laughed some more when his eyes narrowed. He looked like he was about to strangle her. "Rowan, in case you haven't noticed, I'm incarcerated."

She gestured around them to her cell to prove her point.

The bastard just smiled.

Of course he knows that, she thought bitterly, forcing her hand back to her lap and away from where it'd started to creep toward the pillow.

"So how would I rob you?" she asked, getting her mind back on track.

"That's what you're going to tell me," he demanded angrily. "I want to know how you got out of here, got all the way across Rifthold, broke into my apartment, and stole from me without any surveillance camera picking it up."

Aelin ran a hand through her hair, fluffing it just right. When she caught sight of the impatience on his face, she fluffed it some more and readjusted the thin jacket on her shoulders.

It was always too damn cold in this place. She hadn't been warm in almost nine years.

Because of him.

Just for that, she fluffed her hair some more.

Then she said simply, "I didn't."

"Stop lying!" he shouted at her, eyes flashing.

She wasn't, but that was besides the point.

"Fine." She rolled her eyes like he'd won. "I got my cousin to-"

"Aedion spent the night in Wendlyn. His travel is verified, and there are at least a hundred eye witnesses that witnessed him singing karaoke all night. Stop. Fucking. Lying."

Once again, she wasn't lying.

Aedion sure as hell hadn't been in Wendlyn last night. She'd just wanted to make sure his alibi was air-tight as planned.

Sighing again, she asked, "Rowan, even if I did do it, why the hell would I tell you about it?"

His jaw worked for a moment, and she could tell whatever he was about to say was difficult for him. "I'll get time off your sentence if you tell me what you've done with it."

She tried not to laugh, but she couldn't help it.

It burst out of her, full and uncontrollable, and she flopped over on the dirty mattress and howled for a good few minutes.

He glared at her, looking for all the world like he was experiencing a portion of the rage she was made of, but regardless of the threat in his eyes, she took her time composing herself.

"I'm serving ten consecutive life sentences, you idiot."

One for each and every one of her "victims."

"I'll make it nine," he offered generously.

"Even if I was a cat, that'd still leave me dying in a prison cell. Offer me something else."

He just glared at her, unwilling to give her anything she could actually use or want. Just like she'd expected.

"That's what I thought. So no, Rowan Whitehorn, I'm not accepting your little deal. You can think I robbed you all you want; hell, you can even know, in your famous gut, that I did it." She tilted her head, a cruel smile filling her lips. "But it isn't about what you believe, it's about what you can prove. Isn't that right?"

His eyes shuttered at the words, and just like that, they were sucked into the memory of all those years ago.

~Eight years ago~

~Rowan~

Rowan rolled over, edging away from the woman next to him carefully as to not wake her.

Her hair was spread out on his chest, her soft hand was on his stomach, and her leg was draped over his. By all accounts, she was all over him.

And it felt so fucking good.

He'd never met anyone like Aelin before. Anyone so full of life, so hilariously open.

It was like she was constantly on fire, flitting from one place to the next with endless energy and jabs about him being too old and slow.

"What are you going?" she murmured, nails digging in slightly to keep him where he was.

"To get some water. Go back to sleep."

He leaned down and kissed her brow, and she sighed happily and rolled over. Like a total cliché, he watched her sleep for a moment, trying to get his feelings under control.

They'd been seeing each other for less than a year, but he couldn't imagine his life without her. He was in love with her, and if the way she acted and smiled around him was any indication, she loved him, too.

He ran a thumb over her cheekbone, smiling when she tilted her face into his touch.

He was whipped, and he didn't even care.

Rowan shook his head at himself, pulled on a pair of boxers, padded to the kitchen, and held a glass under the faucet.

Then frowned as it sputtered.

He figured he'd at least make himself useful, knowing damn well she would never agree to call the plumber when she could "figure out how to fix it herself on Youtube."

So he knelt down in her kitchen and opened the cabinet door, trying to see what the problem with the pipe was.

Except he never got that far.

His eyes got stuck on the piece of paper sticking out under a false piece of wood covering the back panel.

Knowing it was wrong to pry but somehow unable to stop himself, he tugged the paper loose.

Then fell backwards to his ass, heart hammering and brain spinning as he read it over and over again.

The list of names wasn't long, but all ten of the people on it were highly distinguished members of society.

And they were all dead.

He wouldn't know that, since the death of the last person on the list wasn't even public record yet, but he was the attorney working with the police to find the killer.

Why did she have this list?

And what did the numbers next to the names mean?

One way or another, he knew he had to find out. He also knew he couldn't ask her. He was in too deep, too unbiased to know whether or not she was lying.

He didn't trust himself with her, so he'd have to go the traditional route.

He took a picture of the paper quickly, tucking it back where he'd found it. He snuck back in the room to get dressed, leaving her a note he had to go to work.

He thought he was going to be sick as he left her apartment, a feeling suspiciously similar to dread coiling in his stomach.

There was only one way she could know that last name, only one explanation that made sense.

But he had to know for sure. Had to know if he'd been an idiot this past year; an idiot who'd spent almost every night sleeping next to the killer he'd been searching for.

So he started investigating his girlfriend.

Six days later, he found the security deposit boxes and the murder weapons inside, still covered in dried blood that would be matched to the victims. All with Aelin's prints on them.

Two days after that, the woman he'd thought was the love of his life was arrested on ten counts of murder.

Despite the tears she shed, despite the promises she made to him, despite the love she claimed to have for him, Rowan told the cops everything.

Even though he couldn't imagine her killing anyone.

"It doesn't matter what I believe, it matters what I can prove."

That was the last thing he'd said to her, right as she was being dragged out of the court room and yelling at him to believe her.

The truth of the matter was that when it came down to it, he didn't trust her enough. The facts were against her, everyone on the jury had been against her, and in the end, Rowan was too.

~Present~

~Aelin~

Rowan shook his head, almost like he needed to clear it from the memory they'd obviously both been immersed in, and she smiled.

She hoped what happened all those years ago still haunted him, hoped he went to sleep at night thinking about her and the betrayal he'd served to her on a silver platter.

The first year of her sentence, she was so lost in emotion--in the rage and confusion and deep, deep hurt--that she couldn't bring herself to do anything.

He hadn't even bothered to ask her first. That's what had hurt the worst.

He'd seen that stupid, stupid list and had jumped to the first conclusion possible.

She knew it had looked bad, had looked like she was guilty, but she'd thought that if the worst happened, he'd at least ask her to explain before slapping the cuffs on her.

But he hadn't. She'd gone to prison, and his career had exploded into stardom from the success of the case.

"See, Rowan, when you refused to accept any other explanation other than the easy one, you made a mistake. Because I didn't kill those people."

He rolled his eyes. "Aelin-"

"And I'm not only going to prove it," she continued as if he hadn't spoken, "I'm going to ruin your precious little life while I do it. Just like you did mine."

She stood, put a hand on the steel table, and leaned over him.

"If you want it to stop, all you have to do is drop these bullshit murder charges and issue a public apology for locking me up in the first place."

He stood too, so close his loafers brushed the toe of her dusty, prison issued sneakers.

"That's never going to happen," he promised, voice uncompromising and angry.

Aelin smiled, having predicted his reaction down to the facial expression.

His pride, she'd decided, would be the first thing to go.

She reached around him to slide the pawn on the chess board forward, leaned in even further, and whispered, "Let the game begin, then."

~~~~~~~~~~

Part 2

@perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @live-the-fangirl-life @ireallyshouldsleeprn @highqueenofelfhame @gracie-rosee @rowaelinismyotp @nahthanks @ghostlyrose2 @lovemollywho @inardour @tillyrubes10 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @awesomelena555 @booksofthemoon @greerlunna @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

[robininthelabyrinth]

A prompt for you (though honestly I'll read anything you write because it is always excellent): Wen Ning never dies, but somehow still ends up becoming Wei Wuxian's most feared subordinate...

ao3

Untamed

“Sect Leader Nie,” Jiang Cheng said, hurrying after the other man, who stopped and turned with a welcoming expression on his face even though Jiang Cheng knew he was in a hurry after everything they’d just planned. After Nie Mingjue had volunteered to go into the Nightless City himself, a reckless charge to try to kill Wen Ruohan, while the rest of them attacked directly - a final strike, if they could only manage it. “I just…”

He trailed off, unable to complete the sentence.

He didn’t even know what he was doing here.

Nie Mingjue didn’t call him out on it, though, only stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder. “I appreciate your support,” he said, voice a little gentler than usual. Like he was trying to comfort Jiang Cheng or something.

Like he wasn’t the one volunteering to go die.

(Just like Jiang Cheng’s mother, and father, and - )

Oh. That’s why he came here.

“I’ll be there,” Jiang Cheng said suddenly, and Nie Mingjue blinked. “At – at the Nightless City. After you kill him, after we take the city…I’ll come find you, to make sure you’re all right.”

That was stupid, he thought to himself as soon as he said it. Nie Mingjue had an entire sect, and friends, and all that – he didn’t need Jiang Cheng hounding him with his insecurities, his worries, his fear that Nie Mingjue would die, too, die and leave him behind just like all the others. Why should he be the exception?

But Nie Mingjue smiled. “I look forward to seeing you then.”

Jiang Cheng swallowed and nodded. “It’s a deal, then,” he said, and watched as Nie Mingjue strode away.

He promised himself that he’d do as he said he would.

Even if all he found was Nie Mingjue’s corpse.

-

It ended up not being Nie Mingjue who killed Wen Ruohan, but rather a combination of Wei Wuxian’s new cultivation style and Meng Yao, who’d apparently been working as a double agent or – something.

Jiang Cheng wasn’t really clear on the details.

He rushed over to Wei Wuxian’s side at once, checking him over as best as he could, yelling at him over…he wasn’t even sure what, it wasn’t really important. Recklessness, probably. Wei Wuxian seemed to understand what he meant, though, grinning at him with bloodless lips.

“You worry too much,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll be fine. I just need to sleep for – a week. Maybe more. Let’s go back to camp, and I’ll do just that.”

Jiang Cheng was about to agree when he remembered his promise.

(Nie Mingjue hadn’t been there at the final fight, although Wen Ruohan hadn’t been at his full power, either. Had he sacrificed himself to wear down their enemy?)

“What is it?” Wei Wuxian asked, noticing.

“Chifeng-zun,” Jiang Cheng said. “I didn’t – see him.”

Wei Wuxian frowned. “You think…? Oh, poor Nie Huaisang..!”

Jiang Cheng wondered for a moment why Wei Wuxian’s first thought was of Nie Huaisang, then remembered that Wei Wuxian hadn’t been there for all those months of working as Nie Mingjue’s lieutenants, him and Lan Wangji and even Jin Zixuan. He wouldn’t have that personal connection with the man, beyond the brief meeting they’d had with him before the indoctrination camp - he wouldn’t have experience with his reliable competence and his talented leadership, his compassion or the gruff praise that he gave sparingly but sincerely and which made Jiang Cheng feel for once in his life like he was every bit as good as Wei Wuxian.

“I want to…” He was going to sound dumb. No, he was a sect leader, as Nie Mingjue often (gently) reminded him; he had to decide for himself what he was going to do, and have faith that his decisions were the right ones - and act accordingly. “We’re not leaving yet. We’re going to go further in, see if we can find him. Do you think you can hold up a little longer?”

“Yes,” Wei Wuxian said, straightening up. “I’ll be fine for a while yet. Let’s go.”

“You’ll tell me if you –”

“Yes, Jiang Cheng. Stop nagging. Now are we going or not?”

-

Unexpectedly, Nie Mingjue was alive.

Alive, and also extremely pissed off.

“I’ll take him back,” Jiang Cheng said to Lan Xichen, who looked relieved: he was protecting Meng Yao from Nie Mingjue for some reason. “Better to go separately.”

“Thank you, Sect Leader Jiang,” Lan Xichen said.

Jiang Cheng saluted and went over to Nie Mingjue, who was leaning on Wei Wuxian – a case of the injured helping the injured, in Jiang Cheng’s opinion, and he glared at his disciples until they ran over to assist them both.

Wei Wuxian was frowning, he noted. “What is it?” he asked, and Wei Wuxian shook his head, refusing to talk and inclining his head meaningfully down towards Nie Mingjue, who looked more tired than anything else. Exhausted, injured, even half-dead…“We should go.”

“No,” Nie Mingjue croaked. “There are probably – prisoners.”

“It can wait until we’re back at camp, surely?” Jiang Cheng asked. “We lost a lot of people in that battle. We could get reinforcements, then come back and do a full sweep when we’re less exhausted.”

“They might be injured, though,” Wei Wuxian put in, though he looked tired, too. “It’d be a pity for any person to die in Wen Ruohan’s custody right after we finally defeated him.”

It was a good point, Jiang Cheng thought, and although he was pretty exhausted himself, he forced himself to nod. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll go sweep the place, look for prisoners. But you two are going straight back to camp, okay? No exceptions, no heroism, nothing! If I get back and I hear that you two took a left turn and fell face-first off a cliff into a pile of magma because you thought there was a baby bird that needed rescuing, I will personally resurrect and stab you both!”

Both Nie Mingjue and Wei Wuxian were grinning at him in a suspiciously indulgent (and almost identical) sort of way, Jiang Cheng noticed, but they also agreed solemnly to make no detours, not even if it was the most heartrending of baby birds, and Jiang Cheng supposed he had to be happy with that.

They staggered off together as he turned to go further in, and as he did, he thought he heard Wei Wuxian say, “Tell me more about what Meng Yao said to you –”

-

“Sect Leader Jiang!” one of Jiang Cheng’s subordinates said, rushing over and saluting. “I found another cell!”

Jiang Cheng ran his hand over his eyes, wanting nothing more but to sleep. “Show me where,” he ordered instead.

He’d already dispatched one of his disciples to act as a runner to Lan Xichen, asking for him to send more disciples from his Lan sect and the Nie sect (which he’d been helping coordinate in Nie Mingjue’s absence) to help get all the prisoners out – there were so many of them, and many of them were, as predicted, in poor health. He would’ve preferred to ask someone else, since the Lan and Nie sects had suffered as many injuries as his Jiang sect, but the small sects were focused on themselves right now and the Jin sect…well, they’d done so little in the war up till now that he’d almost forgotten that they were an option until one of his subordinates had suggested them, and then he’d dismissed the suggestion, too.

If the Jin sect were here, he thought ungraciously, they were probably busy trying to find the treasury.

At least the Lan and Nie sects had managed to confiscate the Yin metal first.

At some point, they’d have to find a way to destroy it…

Distracted by thoughts of politics, Jiang Cheng followed his subordinate down a twisting hallway to yet another set of cells, dark and dank but not quite as close to the place where the Yin metal had been used to refine ghost puppets, and there were men and women chained to the wall here. Unrecognizable, most of them, beaten and starved. They were probably the scions of small cultivation clans…

“Wen Ning?” he blurted out, surprised to recognize the kind-looking face of one of them. To barely recognize: Wen Ning had circles under his eyes, bruises on his face, and his usually round cheeks were thin. “What are you doing here?”

“He’s been here for weeks and weeks,” one of the other prisoners said at once. “He’s not – one of those Wens.”

Wen Ning could still blush, Jiang Cheng noticed, and as much as he would have said he hated all those surnamed Wen – well, that wasn’t quite true, was it? Wen Ning had been there with Wen Qing, when they’d helped them. Jiang Cheng had rescued and released her, giving her that comb as a keepsake…it would be manifestly unjust to make the exception for one and not the other.

His disciples were looking at him.

“What are you waiting for?” Jiang Cheng snapped at them. “He’s a prisoner, he’s hurt. Treat him as you would any of the other prisoners we’ve rescued.”

That would be his story, he thought, if anyone later came knocking at his door to ask what he was thinking, letting a Wen go free.

-

Maybe it was his fault, Jiang Cheng reflected. He shouldn’t have thought ‘go free’.

Go free implied that Wen Ning would go somewhere else, rather than following him and Wei Wuxian around like an imprinted puppy. It only got worse when Wei Wuxian spontaneously declared that he would help him find Wen Qing to make sure she was safe – without asking Jiang Cheng first, which was unhelpful.

“We can’t be seen as being partial to the Wen sect,” he groaned, head in hands. “Not even the distant branches, but much less someone adopted by Sect Leader Wen himself…no offense meant, Wen Ning.”

“None taken,” Wen Ning said.

“But they helped us,” Wei Wuxian argued, clearly choosing to take the offense on Wen Ning’s part. “It would be unjust for us to turn on them now, when we have the power and they don’t, when they took risks on our behalf in the past.”

Jiang Cheng squinted at him. “Is this related to your weird thing about Lianfeng-zun?” he asked. Wei Wuxian had taken a firm stance against the man recently, and had spoken of it incessantly.

“No! Or, I mean – I would’ve done it anyway, okay? Listen, I really don’t like that guy.”

“No,” Jiang Cheng gasped dramatically. “You, Wei Wuxian, don’t like Lianfeng-zun? Wen Ning, did you hear that? Can you believe it?”

Wen Ning was hiding his face behind his sleeve – a Jiang sect outfit, one of Jiang Cheng’s own spares, since that was what they had, but the dark purple suited him rather well. Better than the red ever had.

His shoulders were shaking with laughter.

“Traitor,” Wei Wuxian told him.

“Sorry, Wei-gongzi!” Wen Ning giggled.

(Jiang Cheng did not think that Wen Ning was cute when he laughed, nor did he wish to see it happen again, to be the cause of it again. He was the leader of a sect, with an obligation to have heirs to carry on his parents’ legacy – he could think Wen Qing was pretty, even if she wasn’t exactly an advantageous match, but he was not allowed to think the same about Wen Ning.)

Wei Wuxian sighed and flopped down. “His conduct is questionable,” he grumbled. “Lan Zhan agrees with me…Anyway, why are we talking about Lianfeng-zun again? I thought we were talking about finding Wen Qing, and the rest of Wen Ning’s family?”

Jiang Cheng groaned again. “I can try to raise it at the meeting in Lanling,” he said, even though they’d all agreed that it made the most sense for the Jin sect to be the ones to resettle any prisoners of war, mostly on account of them having the money, the manpower, and the time, being the only sect that didn’t have significant work to do rebuilding after Wen sect aggression. “Provided you behave. Okay?”

-

Wei Wuxian, predictably, did not behave.

“Sect Leader Jiang?” Nie Mingjue unexpectedly said from the doorway to the room Jiang Cheng was staying in, and Jiang Cheng spun to stare at him in horror that someone was seeing him in this state. The other sect leader stepped inside, ignoring the mess of things on the floor from Jiang Cheng’s temper tantrum, and closed the door behind him. “Are you all right?”

Jiang Cheng opened his mouth to say something – something confident and self-assured, something that would help brush away Wei Wuxian’s atrocious behavior and his own as nothing to worry about, something befitting the sect leader of the Jiang sect – but the words stuck in his throat and, instead, to his absolute disgust, he burst into tears.

He expected Nie Mingjue to make a hasty exit at that point, appalled by the rampant display of emotionality, and that he’d have to apologize later for disgracing himself in such a fashion. That had been the way it had always gone with his parents, his father who hated sadness and his mother who hated weakness, and so he wasn’t expecting it at all when Nie Mingjue stepped forward and pulled him into his arms. Into a hug.

It was terrible: there was absolutely no way Jiang Cheng would be able to get ahold of himself now that he was feeling warm and protected and like someone gave one single damn about him.

Nie Mingjue didn’t let go of him, not even when he tearfully apologized for making a display – “It’s not wrong to have feelings, Jiang Wanyin, and it’s not harming me to be here while you let them out.” – or even when, in broken unfinished unpolitical sentences, Jiang Cheng started stuttering his way through…he wasn’t even sure what he was saying.

Possibly a rendition of all the bitterness and resentment he’d ever had in his life.

When it was done, after he’d wept all the tears he’d hidden inside of him, Nie Mingjue said only: “Feeling better?”

Jiang Cheng swiped at his eyes with his sleeve. “…yes,” he said, realizing that he did. “I’m sorry –”

“Do not apologize for having emotions like any other human being. Or for being a burden on me, which you are not.”

Jiang Cheng wished it didn’t feel so good when Nie Mingjue – stiff, stern, harsh Nie Mingjue, who rarely said kind words and never said anything just for the sake of saying it – said things like that. It would make it far easier to keep his dignity intact.

“Why did you come here?” he asked, instead. “It wasn’t to hear me talk about Wei Wuxian.”

At least, not the lifelong story of how Jiang Cheng had always been second to him even before he’d shown up – how his birthday was only a few days later, his skill a little bit less, his temperament inferior, his life inferior; how Jiang Cheng could ignore all of that if only Wei Wuxian were his brother the way he was his, the way he’d promised to be, and yet more and more nowadays it felt as if it were slipping out of reach.

“It was,” Nie Mingjue said. “He’s been coming around rather a lot to discuss Lianfeng-zun. It was his vehemence on the issue that reassured me that I wasn’t overreacting to the unnecessary death of my sect cultivators at Lianfeng-zun’s hands –”

The what?

Maybe Jiang Cheng should have listed a bit more when Wei Wuxian started ranting about how untrustworthy he thought Lianfeng-zun was.

“– and you have always had the strongest confidence in his sense of righteousness, even after he switched over to using demonic cultivation. Based on that, I thought there might be some reason behind his actions.”

Wei Wuxian’s actions: kidnapping an entire cohort of Wen sect cultivators from a Jin sect resettlement camp, assaulting several guards, running away, bringing shame on the Jiang sect by association…

“If I knew anything, I would tell you,” Jiang Cheng said bitterly. “But that would require Wei Wuxian telling me. Anything. At all.”

Nie Mingjue nodded thoughtfully. “Do you think he acted maliciously?”

“What? No,” Jiang Cheng said at once. “Of course not.”

“Do you think his thinking was affected by his demonic cultivation?”

“I almost wish it was, but no. He’s always been – like this. Reckless and over-confident, never thinking of consequences.”

“So you still have faith in him?”

“Of course!”

“That’s good enough for me,” Nie Mingjue said, as if Jiang Cheng hadn’t spent half a shichen crying on his shoulder about how all of his problems and how he couldn’t do anything right. “Let’s go ask him.”

“What, now?”

“Are you doing anything else?”

-

Fair was fair, but politics were politics: “If you’d gone about it the right way, perhaps the Jin sect wouldn’t have a claim,” Nie Mingjue said, pacing around the Burial Mounds with a scowl. “But as it stands now, it’s your word against theirs – and yours will be considered impaired on account of your demonic cultivation.”

“What about the testimony of the victims?” Wei Wuxian demanded.

“Wen sect,” Jiang Cheng put in, and shrugged when Wei Wuxian glared at him. “It’s true! Like it or not, their surname is Wen, and for Wen Qing and Wen Ning in particular, they were Sect Leader Wen’s wards.”

“It was not our choice,” Wen Qing said. Her voice was cold, and she’d tried to return the comb to him, earlier, though he’d refused – why he refused he didn’t know, since her decision to approach Wei Wuxian to seek help in rescuing the rest of her family rather than him had cut off any hope of anything between them. Even if she eventually understood his perspective, or even apologized for judging him unfit or unwilling to help her, he didn’t think he could live the rest of his life with a woman who had picked Wei Wuxian first.

“That isn’t what’s important, though,” Wen Ning said unexpectedly, and they all looked at him. He ducked his head, picking at his sleeve. “It isn’t. Sect Leader Jiang’s right: our surname is Wen. It’s reasonable for people to assume that we’re loyal to the Wen sect, and to treat us accordingly.”

“We never fought against anyone! We’ve never –”

“It doesn’t matter what we did, jiejie,” Wen Ning said. “Whether or not we fought for our sect, we would’ve benefited if they won, right? You rise when your clan rises, and fall when it falls. Why should we be an exception?”

“Well said,” Nie Mingjue said, and Wen Ning abruptly turned bright red – Jiang Cheng shot him a sympathetic look; he entirely understood the issue there. “Your testimony will be deemed self-interested, and even asking for it will only undercut Wei Wuxian’s position. Not to mention the Jiang sect’s.”

Jiang Cheng nodded, but Wei Wuxian crossed his arms. “Then just kick me out of the Jiang sect,” he said.

“What?” Jiang Cheng exclaimed, and even Nie Mingjue looked startled. “Absolutely not!”

“Why not? Isn’t the whole point that the Jiang sect is being dragged down by me and my new cultivation? Kick me out, and the problem’s solved.”

“I could cut off your head, and that of everyone else here,” Nie Mingjue said. “That would also solve the problem, but for some reason I’m not suggesting it. Can anyone tell me why?”

“…because it’s a bad idea?” Wen Ning volunteered.

“Because it’s a stupid idea,” Nie Mingjue agreed.

“It is a stupid idea,” Jiang Cheng growled. “Even putting aside that I don’t want to cast you out, do you really think people will stop blaming the Jiang sect for your actions just because you’re formally not aligned with us?”

“There isn’t another option,” Wei Wuxian said. “I’m not giving up the Wen sect, I’m not changing my cultivation style, I’m not giving up the Tiger Seal – and I’m not dragging the Jiang sect down with me, not if I can help it.”

-

“Are they really calling me ‘Ghost General’?” Wen Ning asked on one of his visits to the Lotus Pier to pick up supplies for the Yiling Burial Mounds.

Since Wei Wuxian had been so set on splitting from the Jiang sect, they’d eventually reached a compromise, of sorts. Wei Wuxian’s actions in rescuing the Wen sect remnants was – not endorsed, per se, as it was clearly wrongful, but Nie Mingjue announced that he had examined the Wen in question and found evidence suggestive of malnutrition and abuse, which indicated at minimum some negligence on the part of the Jin sect in not supervising the guards better. Accordingly, the Wen sect would be removed from the Jin sect’s custody and permitted to set up camp in Yiling under Wei Wuxian, but as punishment for his reckless and unsanctioned behavior, Wei Wuxian was to be expelled from the Jiang sect.

Since the expulsion was mandated by external forces, rather than being a result of his own decision, Jiang Cheng was able to give Wei Wuxian a sizeable settlement as a gift for his separation – the cultivation world gossiped about it, but most people seemed to think he was just trying to get his own back at Nie Mingjue for supposedly forcing the decision to expel Wei Wuxian down his throat – and to set up something of a trade agreement to send them more, although exactly what the Jiang sect was getting out of their side of the ‘trade’ was still up in the air.

Despite these outward signs of remaining support, several small sects had made attempts on the Burial Mounds, growing more reckless once they realized that Jiang Cheng really hadn’t left any forces behind to protect it – stupid of them, of course, since the reason he hadn’t left anyone behind was because he didn’t need to.

Wei Wuxian could handle himself perfectly well.

As could Wen Ning, apparently – he was a truly excellent archer, it turned out, and capable of waiting in all sorts of strange places with perfect patience, even if sometimes he had strange ideas about painting his face with mud to better blend in. It’d been one of those incidents that had given rise to the rumor that he was actually dead, having been resurrected by Wei Wuxian…

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng said. “Sorry about that. I tried to tell them to stop, but…”

“It made it worse?”

“It made it so much worse,” Jiang Cheng sighed. “Anyway, would you like to drink?”

“…do you mean tea?”

“No.”

“Yes please,” Wen Ning said. “I have been – so stressed. You wouldn’t…actually, you probably would believe it.”

“I grew up with Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng said grimly. “I believe anything.”

-

“It would be good to bring a representative of Yiling Wei sect to the conference, even if it can’t be Wei Wuxian himself,” Nie Mingjue remarked, looking down at the plans Jiang Cheng had laid out for the first discussion conference to be held in the Lotus Pier since the war. “You’re on good terms with Wen Qionglin, aren’t you? Ask him –”

“No!” Jiang Cheng exclaimed, then realized he was being suspicious and cleared his throat. “Maybe someone else should invite them.”

Nie Mingjue looked at him over the table. “…has something happened?” he asked.

Jiang Cheng stared down at the plans and hoped he wasn’t blushing. “Nothing important,” he said, and his voice cracked on the last sound – embarrassing.

Still not as embarrassing as that time he cried into Nie Mingjue’s arms, no, but still…embarrassing.

“Oh,” Nie Mingjue said. “You slept with him.”

“How can you tell?” Jiang Cheng hissed, mortified beyond all belief. “Is it – written on my face –”

“According to Huaisang, it’s always a safe guess,” Nie Mingjue said, and shrugged when Jiang Cheng gaped at him. “Either they admit that that’s the case, as you just did, or they get all up in arms and explain what it really was while denying it.”

“That’s –” Really useful and Jiang Cheng will have to put it into effect immediately. “– terrible.”

“Works, though. Why the embarrassment? I didn’t think the Jiang sect cared about cut sleeves.”

“We don’t,” Jiang Cheng said, sitting down and putting his head in his hands. “But I’m sect leader –”

“You had sex, it’s not like you got married.”

“I used to have a thing for his sister.”

“Awkward, I suppose, but it never went anywhere, did it? One can hardly hold your past inclinations against you –”

“We were both thinking about you,” Jiang Cheng blurted out, and then promptly wanted to die. He could have just not said that. He could have said anything else but that. He could stab himself right now and maybe Nie Mingjue would be so distracted by the bleeding and screaming that he would just forget what Jiang Cheng had just said…

“You could always just ask,” Nie Mingjue said.

Jiang Cheng looked up through his fingers. “…are you serious?”

Nie Mingjue looked at him with arched eyebrows. “Are you asking me if I’d be flattered by being propositioned by two extremely beautiful and deadly cultivators?”

“I wouldn’t rank those two as equally desirable traits in a lover,” Jiang Cheng said, and it was almost not a lie, “but…yes?”

He thought for a moment.

“If I did invite Wen Ning to the Discussion Conference…”

-

“Well,” Wen Ning said. “This wasn’t how I was expecting to end up.”

“Me, either,” Jiang Cheng said. He was staring up at the ceiling and thinking about not moving again for – possibly ever.

“Same for me,” Nie Mingjue, on his other side, agreed. “But I have no objections to how it worked out. There aren’t two other cultivators I’d rather be with.”

“There’d better not be,” Jiang Cheng said on automatic, then considered bashing his head in – luckily both Wen Ning and Nie Mingjue reached over and put their hands under his head so he couldn’t, which made him feel warm and happy in a way subtly different from the way the sex had. “I mean, who else would it be? Zewu-jun and Lianfeng-zun?”

“Wei-gongzi still thinks Lianfeng-zun is trying to kill you, you know,” Wen Ning said to Nie Mingjue, who looked long-suffering. “He’s got this idea –”

“He can’t be trying to kill me,” Nie Mingjue argued. “He’s just offered to help Xichen play calming music for me –”

“Wei-gongzi said that maybe he’s trying to kill you through the music –”

“I’m going to sleep,” Jiang Cheng announced. “When I wake up, we can discuss the political implications of letting there be rumors about us sleeping together, which will make it both convenient for us to do this again and also maybe using the potential threat of a Yiling Wei-Yunmeng Jiang-Qinghe Nie alliance to force the Jin sect to take action so we can figure out once and for all if Lianfeng-zun is actually planning to do something. But for the moment, I am going to sleep.”

“…seems fair,” Nie Mingjue agreed. “Communication and straightforwardness is important in relationships like these.”

“Uh,” Wen Ning said, glancing at Jiang Cheng. “About that…if, theoretically, I were to know something about someone…”

[cdroloisms]

i think that although the theories/aus of puffy's son dream and wil's brother dream are interesting to think about, especially the implications, the (probably) canon statement that he really has no family to me hits the hardest. because it's just dream, you know. his friends hate him, he has none (p relatable), but i can't really imagine,, both not having friends and not having a family. that's kind of what keeps a lot of us sane and okay ( - quill anon (same anon from the c!tubbo c!wil ask) )

ouch quill anon ,, this ask Hurt. it’s true - usually, it’s our family and friends that keep us going, that are the ones that we fight for and live for and love for. c!dream’s “family” was his reasoning behind ,, a lot of the stuff he did, good or bad, and even now you can hear his desperation in getting someone, anyone to visit sometimes, in wanting to know how people are doing outside the cell. 

at the same time, he’s a character very much defined by his solitude, by his isolation, by all of the time he has spent,, alone. by the alliances that had been broken, betrayed, forgotten. by how- at the end of the day - he sits for hours on end in an obsidian box with nothing but his thoughts to accompany him. it’s awfully ,, sad, despite everything he’s done. through it all, he’s alone. he survives the horrors of the vault (until this current arc) alone. nobody’s there to hear his thoughts. nobody knows his mindset, or feelings, or wants, or anything that really makes him human. for someone so driven by people, he spends so much time completely isolated - and it’s. honestly really, really tragic. 

anyway, this is a sad little drabble set pre-roommates arc abt c!dream in the prison, alone, bc he makes me Sad. 

tw: mentioned torture, abuse, violence, broken bones, blood, injuries, mental deterioration, isolation, panic attacks, self-deprecation, trauma, memory loss, death, contemplations of death, dark content, dark imagery

The blank book in his hand stares at him stubbornly, the stark white of the untouched pages nearly burning his eyes, used to the dark walls and floor of the cell. Dream’s hand shakes around his quill, ink splotches marring the pages from where his too-unsteady hand had let the nib brush against the paper and left freckles of black spots behind. He pulls his thumb back from the bottom left corner, hissing slightly when it leaves a dull red fingerprint behind, a smudge of half-dried blood further dirtying the paper.

He’d pulled out one of the books for some reason, probably on a whim, letting his hands run over the leather spine and along the thread of the binding absentmindedly after Quackity left for the day. He hadn’t touched them in a while - he liked to save them, at the beginning, just in case visitors came and he wanted to thank them or if he needed to communicate (though he hadn’t gone silent since Sapnap left, ‘cause Sapnap wanted him to talk and he doesn’t know why he still clings to that visit when it’s been months and he still hasn’t come back, but he promised that if Dream behaved he’d visit again and - it’s stupid to hope, but Dream can’t give up, not yet) and then he kept them because he would need them for the revive book and the Warden would confiscate them, anyway, so it was better not to get attached. Regardless, he’d stubbornly ignored the chest of books for a long time, let the remain closed and the clasp go unlatched as he wasted his days away watching the walls drip bright purple and pretend he didn’t miss his clock.

Until now.

He runs his fingers along the surface of the paper again, ignoring the red and black smudges they leave in their wakes, ruining the previously unblemished pages. The paper is smooth, bearing a very slight grain, and smells clean and woody - this book must’ve been a newer one the Warden replaced into the chest. He’d counted the pages a few times, front and back - there are fifty sheets, so a hundred pages to use as he sees fit, completely empty and untouched. The quill shakes in his hand, the tip pressed against the paper, unmoving.

What is there to write?

He’s forgotten why he pulled out the book in the first place, already - his head keeps getting fuzzier, memory impossibly fragmented and seemingly worsening with every passing day. He knows he had a reason because he’d been very determined about it, had spent what must have been hours dragging himself along the obsidian floor with a broken shinbone jutting out of his right leg and a dislocated left shoulder that he’d taken an extra few minutes to jam back in place by pressing it against the floor. Something had come into his head, probably in the middle of Quackity’s daily session, and he’d found himself desperate to write it down before he forgot despite the throbbing of his head and the pain in his chest making it impossible to take a full breath.

(He must have talked back, or acted defiant, or something - he doesn’t remember much besides the look Quackity had given him after, dark and angry and tight with rage. There had been a hand tangled in his hair, a blade jammed right up against his throat, curses and screams in his ears dying into a singular ringing echo as the blade was pushed deeper and deeper. It wasn’t until a few minutes later when Quackity realized that he’d gone too deep and that Dream was choking on his own blood - his memories shatter, and there’s nothing but more screaming, red and black and blood everywhere, warm against his skin, the sweet-sour taste of glistening melon on his tongue, a healing pot desperately stitching his skin together and bringing him back from the darkness that he’d swelled in the corners of his vision - mostly, he remembers everything going cold and numb and he’d realized, halfway into the Void, that he would never leave the Vault alive.)

His hands tighten on the book as he breathes a shallow, harsh breath through his teeth, because - oh. Oh. He looks back at the trembling white plume in his hand, at his shaking fingers clenched tightly near the end, and he swallows the thick, heavy feeling in his throat. Quackity had- and he had- and then-

Right.

He forces air into his lungs steadily, counting the seconds off in his head. He’d learned how to stave off panic attacks on his own ages ago, and the knowledge had come to full use in the Vault - the struggle to stay calm seems harder with every passing day, but he can’t exactly risk himself passing out every three seconds when he’s inevitably set off by the smell of blood or a twinge of pain or any of the million other triggers crammed into this tiny box that’s been the source of all of his torment for months. He keeps up the slow, steady breathing for another few minutes, just enough time to pull back the darkness creeping in from the edges of his vision, and looks back down at the blank paper.

It stares back at him, almost judgmental of his hesitancy. You opened me up, it seems to challenge him, why aren’t you writing? The quill still shakes in his hand. He doesn’t know if it’ll ever stop shaking again.

Dear, he begins, almost in defiance, proof that he Is Going To Write Something, thank you very much, he isn’t just going to chicken out and leave it a blank book (like you have before?) but the quill tip digs into the paper as he grinds to a sudden halt, the empty space next to the first word nearly taunting. He feels his mouth dry, heat rising behind his eyes - the book, silent and blank as ever, stays imprinted in his vision even as he squeezes them shut.

Dear, what a stupid, sentimental way to start a letter. He can’t even fool himself into thinking of it as a business venture, turn it into an elaborate plan to escape and address it to either Techno or Wilbur (who would never receive his message anyway), not without admitting his regard for the two edged past his pretense of professional interested and owed favors. He can hardly write it to Ranboo, not without compromising their already fragile alliance (if it even exists, anymore. The enderman hybrid had yet to visit for months - and sure, it was probably for the best, who knows how Quackity would react if he found out about the nature of their relationship, but that didn’t make it sting any less.)

In the back of his minds, name rise from where he’d kept them carefully buried despite his best efforts. Punz. Bad. Puffy. Sapnap. George. He shakes his head, trying to wave away them from his thoughts, but the effort is as fruitless as it has always been - he stares at the first word angrily, like it has betrayed him, and receives no response. The words are messy, shaking, his script overly looping and rounded like a child’s. He hates it, hates how cheery it looks, even on the bloodstained page - it looks like the beginning of a birthday card, or a perhaps a particularly dedicated Halloween party invite. Like he’s some sort of lovesick teen, writing letters to crushes that would never pay him a second glance. He laughed a little, without any real humor - minus the romance, that description isn’t all that far off.

Because- well. His memories might be shot to all hell, but he doubts he’ll ever forget the hatred on Sapnap’s face, a loaded crossbow pointed between his eyes, George’s expression set in disinterested apathy - “George, you can give the word.” Bad’s face, twisted in pity and resignation, voice carefully measured as he looks away and gestures at the cell, “you did do some pretty bad stuff to get put in here though, Dream,” the hidden “you deserve it” that he’d heard, just as clearly behind the words. Punz - “you should’ve paid me more” - jaw set stiffly as people poured through the portal, watching, wordless, as Dream bled out twice on that blackstone floor. Puffy, poorly hidden disgust flickering over her face as she looks away from him being dragged away in chains, sword held steady in her hands. Sapnap, that same fiercely determined expression on his face so familiar that thinking of it aches, even now, “it’s gonna be me, who takes your final life.” Months and months and months and months, alone.

Always, always, alone.

The page makes a quiet, complaining groan under his pen - he looks down to see it torn under the tip of his quill, the word completely unreadable under line after line of black ink scratched over it, each one deeper than the last. He stares blankly at it for a few minutes longer, the brief flash of anger that had seared through his body settling into numbness once more.

To whoever may find this: he scratches the words on the page slowly, keeping his print deliberately blocky and neat. The heavy feeling in his throat returns, stronger than ever, and he ignores it as he pushes on.

He pauses for a moment, wondering what more to write. Apologies? Accusations? He could detail every second that he remembers from Quackity’s visits, describe every inch of pain that had been pulled from his aching lungs, every line etched into his skin. He could apologize for every act of cruelty that had ever been caused by his hands, every bridge he’d ever torched to light the path to a better future. He could explain - everything, every tortured thought that had circled his head for hours on end and every night that had passed without any sleep and every time he’d pushed on without complaint or hesitancy because it would be worth it, even if he was the only one who saw it, it would be worth it because he’d sacrifice too much for it to be anything but. He could- he could, he could write and write until he’d filled every page of every book back and front, and would they even believe him? Would it even matter?

Goodbye, he writes at last. It feels strangely final. (He won’t be leaving this Vault alive. He knows this as surely as he knows that he will leave this world uncared for, unheard. As surely as he knows that he’ll always be alone.) With a quick snap of magic following the signing of his name, the book is preserved, shining slightly with a purple glow as he sets it back down in the chest. He looks around, the cell once again stiflingly quiet without the book to busy him, Dream once again completely alone as he’s been for - well.

(Pandas, eyebrows drawn in uncharacteristic seriousness from the usually painfully spirited eight-year-old, pinkie raised between the two of them, solemnity belied by the gap in his front teeth poking out between his lips.

“We’ll be together forever,” he whispered with the volume control you’d expect from a kid that age, which is to say that it wasn’t much of a whisper at all, but Dream, newly ten years old, remembers being particularly moved by the gesture anyway, moving to hesitantly hook his own pinkie in the other’s.

“And we’ll never be alone ever again,” he’d replied, voice faraway with a disbelieving sort of awe.”

“Never,” Pandas’ voice had been just as firm as his first statement, twisting his wrist to tighten the grip of their linked fingers further. “Best friends for ever and ever, right?”

“For ever and ever.”)

“For ever and ever,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut as he slumps down against the floor, and only the lava bubbles in reply.

[kumaradosha]

I’m seeing a whole lot of bad takes and ignorance of past/present content and lack of critical thinking or ability to understand character motives regarding this most recent Dream SMP lore. So please, allow me to lay down some facts, some sense, and also some speculation of my own. This’ll be really rambly, because I’m tired, and I want to say a lot. Rewatching ALL the streaming perspectives now, my thoughts start here:

Considering Sam doesn’t want to enter the cell to dirty his hands himself, he clearly has some aversion or moral qualms about torturing prisoners, but Quackity has convinced him to go along with it. Quackity spends a lot of time before he goes into the cell repeatedly making sure Sam won’t have a change of heart and intervene, which indicates Sam probably has some misgivings. Quackity feels he has to remind Sam that this is for the greater good and to stand back and let him do his thing and that this will probably be the last time. These are all reassurances and instructions that would not be necessary if Sam were known to be totally cool with it all already.

Sam believes the stringent measures Dream put in place for the prison are just desserts for him to suffer, but Techno doesn’t deserve the same cruelty, because Techno didn’t enact those rules. And that’s why Techno gets baked potatoes from Sam, and Dream doesn’t. Sam clearly believes this harsh treatment is justified, because Dream was going to do it to someone else. He thinks he’s being just. Of course, allowing the torture, though not his idea and not really comfortable to him, was still crossing a line, considering physical torture was not something Dream did to his victims (and besides, there’s the argument that not everything a criminal has done is morally correct to be done to the prisoner regardless). That, he was convinced, was for the greater good, to get the revive book. Quackity manipulated him; he thinks he’s doing what’s best, but no, of course that doesn’t make him right or his hands clean.

Sam wanted the dog dead because it’s a security risk, especially with Quackity entering the cell with two other people. He killed it later for the exact same reason. Y’all act like nobody else has ever killed an animal in Minecraft RP; get it together. Is Sapnap also evil? Tommy? He killed his own cat. Random animals are not treated with the gravity you guys are giving them; it makes no sense to call out this one time.

When Techno raised the point that he would be fine if Quackity killed him, because Dream could just bring him back, Dream countered with his warning that Techno doesn’t want to experience death, judging by how messed up it made Tommy. What motive would he have to argue that, aside from actually caring about Techno’s well-being? If Dream was only thinking of himself, he would benefit from Techno being willing to die and be brought back to life by him, giving him an easy reason not to give the resurrection knowledge to Quackity. I honestly can’t think of a reason he would argue other than the fact that he doesn’t want Techno to die even temporarily or experience death--that he cares. Interesting...

Dream hiding in the escape tunnel to make it look like he disappeared too was 5,000 IQ, but he didn’t do it just to be silly or smart. Quackity literally threatened to kill Dream when he came back. Dream HAD to pretend to disappear, because he was legitimately in fear for his life. You saw how terrified he was when Sam found him, how he just immediately begged him not to tell Quackity. He was afraid Quackity would come back and kill him before Techno managed to come back and break him out. He believed that would be his fate and had to make a last ditch attempt to avoid that outcome.

Phil confirmed on stream that the blueprints Techno was led to via coordinates are for the prison. Not Tubbo’s missing nuke, like I’ve seen speculated.

“Steve is your polar bear” was written on stream during the “Prison Podcast” Technoblade lore. This is not a mystery. Dream said he wrote it down when Techno started talking about Steve rescuing them.

If Sam doesn’t approve of Quackity killing Dream, why doesn’t he just tell Quackity Dream is still in the prison but not allow Quackity in anymore? Quackity needs Sam to lead him inside, to let him in. Since when did he have any power against Sam to force him to let him in? I don’t understand why Sam has to keep it a secret just to keep Dream alive. Just don’t let Quackity into the prison anymore. Clearly it was a bad idea, since all these security risks happened while Quackity was getting a free pass to not follow the rules of the prison.

Dream casually walking in the way of Sam’s pickaxe to disrupt his swing once Sam almost had the bell broken gets me every time.

The rapport between c!Dream and c!Sam in prison fascinates me. Clearly Dream is much bolder with Sam than Quackity and still seems to trust his sense of duty to a degree. Sam is also more malleable, convinceable, his fatal flaw being actually listening and talking to Dream, even after it clearly messes with him psychologically. He let Quackity manipulate him, too, and he compromises too much. That might seem weird to say, considering the harsh conditions he has Dream in, but. He does give in to a few things.

I’m wondering if Dream wanted to go to the courtyard hoping it was less secure and easier for Techno to break him out of.

Sam has no reason to lie and gaslight about Dream being the one to suggest raw potatoes and sealing up the courtyard. That’s not in his character to do. So clearly Dream suggested these things. In fact, we have proof. Search for the clip of Dream revealing a teaser for future lore, with him telling Sam the hole in the courtyard ceiling for the light is a security flaw. He straight up says that. Update yourselves. Furthermore, are the recordings we have of Dream suggesting nicer features for the prison even lore? Are they in-character, or was it cc!Dream and Sam making plans? I’m genuinely asking, because I don’t remember/am not sure. In any case, clearly the plans changed at some point, and they were Dream’s idea.

Dream said he didn’t realize how bad it was until after he experienced it. This could very well be a lie. However, it could also be a wake-up call. We just don’t know. Dream clearly possesses low empathy, and every person at some point doesn’t fully realize how poorly another being can feel in a bad situation. Sometimes it actually does take experiencing it yourself to realize how it feels. People can do cruel things to others before the empathy fully clicks. It is possible that Dream really does only now understand how harsh his plans were. Unfortunately, it’s just as likely he doesn’t care and is pretending to, because he has a history of acting, lying, and manipulating. We just do not know, and I think that’s part of the fun, the speculation. Note that none of this is excusing what he’s done; that bores me. I just like understanding characters and their psychology and motives.

Sam is ASKING if Dream had this prison built for Tommy. He is suspicious that that is the case. Dream did not TELL him this, because OBVIOUSLY Sam would have absolutely nothing to do with building a prison he knew Dream meant for Tommy. So no, Sam thought it was for something else. And guess what? It was. Back during the disc war finale stream, Dream told Tommy and Tubbo that the prison was originally intended for someone else (maybe multiple people, the number was not specified), but that he changed his mind and would now put Tommy in it (ha ha punny). Tubbo asked who it was originally intended for, and Dream wouldn’t tell him, preferred to keep it a mystery. Dream had zero reason to say this if it weren’t true. In fact, it would have been more impactful to pretend (or admit) he intended it for Tommy all along. Think of the horror, or even the betrayal finding out Sam, his friend, helped make it. So yes, there is every indication that it is the truth--Dream meant the prison for someone else at first.

And Dream didn’t argue with Sam’s accusations, because why WOULD he? If he didn’t tell Tubbo who it was for, he wouldn’t tell Sam now. Plus, he wouldn’t want to argue with Sam, make him more heated and less sympathetic, and risk him deciding to tell Quackity Dream was there after all. Dream has no reason to speak up. Let Sam think what he wants. Dream’s silence does not mean confirmation. This is not a new thing with him. He keeps things mysterious, and there is a lot about his planning and mindset he does not disclose.

Now, whether Dream made the prison harsher before or after he decided he wanted Tommy in it is up for speculation. We don’t know that timeline.

Anyway, Sam’s speech about Dream getting what he deserves is really delicious. All these people out here mocking Dream fans for Dream still being in prison (like Techno’s not imminently coming to break him out, hello?) and being told off by Sam, yet plenty of us are enjoying it, too, like?? Bruh, what kind of Mary-Sue-touting asshole likes characters who are flawless who never go through strife? Can’t be me. I love watching my favs through triumph AND despair, so this is all just a win for me, thanks.

It is possible to sympathize with a bastard who is highly flawed and wrong AND to understand his motivations without justifying his actions AND to realize he deserves punishment (though to what degree I don’t care to argue). All the black and white morality and taking one extreme stance of “this character is perfect!” OR “this character is wholly evil and only ever does things to be sadistic!” and polarizing the community is cringe, yo. You need to calm down. Enjoy the ride or like...get off?

Anyway, Dream is my favorite, Techno is my second favorite, I adore Sam, I really enjoy Quackity, and the SMP wouldn’t be the same without Tommy. So much love for all of this creative work and its creators. I’m having a blast.

[calliecat93]

Okay, I know that the Spones content in Bread and Circuses has been talked about before, so I’m likely adding nothing new. But heck with it, I’m talking about it anyways cause it’s just too good not to!

The episode has Spock and McCoy somewhat saltier towards each other than usual. From the second the episode resumes after the opening credits, they’re snarking at each other almost immediately. It goes on for so long that we have the guest character outright ask Kirk if they’re enemies, and even he isn’t for sure. It’s almost like one of the writers anticipated the fact that some would legit think that the two genuinely hated each other, and decided to ask the question. For the most part, their banter is mutual and they’re clearly trying to rouse a reaction from the other.Even when at gunpoint, McCoy just HAS to snap at Spock for “[being] so blasted honest?’. Spock’s raised brow to me almost came across like ‘really doctor? must you be like this now?”. It’s got some amusing stuff, like the banter in the beginning and McCoy of all being being the one to suggest illogic regarding sun worshipers has Spock giving some utterly hilarious facial expressions. But still, the banter goes enough that event he audience has to ask: are these two truly enemies.

The rest of their scenes answer the question.

During the gladiator fight, McCoy’s still so pissed off that even fighting to the death won’t stop him from yelling at Spock when he asks if he needs help. Stress and you know… trying not to die is a factor, but still. But since McCoy’s a doctor, not a warrior he’s about to be killed… until Spock takes out his own opponent and nerve punches McCoy’s before he can be harmed. Doing this breaks the rules and Kirk chooses to take what would be their death sentence upon himself. Spock acted on pure instinct in that instant. Or even more bluntly, it was an emotional response. He interfered because he didn’t want McCoy to die, and he was the only one in a positon to save him. He even seems pretty started that he did so. But because of i, now Kirk is going to die in their places and neither he nor McCoy can do anything about it. He outright pulls at the cell bars, according to McCoy, fifteen times. Logically it’s pretty clear that it’s not working.

With this, McCoy’s now cooled down enough that he legitimately tries to thank Spock for saving him. It’s awkward, neither one are very good at having heart-to-hearts with each other. Spock pretty much acts like it’s the usual banter and kind of condescendingly before telling him to get to the point, which causes McCoy to just snap it out at him. Spock tries to go into the usual ‘I’m a logical Vulcan’ spiel, saying quote:

Spock: Oh, yes. You humans have that emotional need to express gratitude. You're welcome, I believe, is the correct response. However, Doctor, you must remember I am entirely motivated by logic. The loss of our ship's surgeon, whatever I think of his skill, would mean a reduction in the efficiency of the Enterprise and therefore-.

Which is what finally gets McCoy pissed off enough to directly confront him about it. Why? Because he knows that Spock’s spitballing here. He’s trying to deny his emotional responses, despite having demonstrated it at least twice with McCoy right there for both of them. Saving McCoy despite knowing the consequences of doing so was an emotional response. Trying to escape the cell due to Jim’s life being in danger despite all efforts failing is an emotional response. He tries to say it’s just due to professionalism, but at this point there’s been enough episodes that the audience knows that that’s not true. McCoy absolutely knows it. He knows how Spock tends to keep his emotions suppressed and deny that he even has them, even though he very clearly does. It is a factor that has continuously frustrated McCoy. He’d never force Spock to be outwardly emotional, Plato’s Stepchildren made that VERY clear. But when it DOES happen and Spock tries to act otherwise? And after having dealt with this for nearly two years now? Yeah, McCoy decides that he’s had it as he grabs Spock, turns him around so that they’re making clear eye-contact, and makes his opinion VERY clear.

McCoy: Do you know why you're not afraid to die, Spock? You're more afraid of living. Each day you stay alive is just one more day you might slip and let your human half peek out. That's it, isn't it? Insecurity. Why, you wouldn't know what to do with a genuine, warm, decent feeling.

Which… he’s not entirely wrong. Even during this, Spock turns away from him like he doesn’t want to talk about it. But McCoy’s right. Spock’s been at war with his Vulcan and human halves for his entire life. He chose to suppress the human half, and it peaking out does concern him. He isn’t able to settle two sides, hence why he’s always insistent about being a logical, unfeelign Vulcan. Now we all know that Vulcans DO feel things. Very strongly in fact, hence why they suppress it to begin with. But I do think it’s safe to say that Spock is afraid of expressing or even talking about his emotions. Whenever he does, he needs to get his grip back on the Vulcan side as quickly as possible. Even though he knows that McCoy knows otherwise. McCoy is pretty damn good at picking up on Spock’s emotional state and Spock knows it. And I think to at least an extent, he knows that McCoy’s correct. McCoy might be being too harsh admittedly, but the point is there. Spock is afraid of letting his human half slip out and the constant struggle of keeping it in check.

I think this is what makes their relationship so important. McCoy’s really the only person who can provoke Spock like this. Sure Kirk can normally reach out to Spock, but he’s not as likely to directly confront Spock and be blunt about it the same way that McCoy can. Spock’s also really the only person who’s ever been able to provoke McCoy and get him think past his own perspective the way that he does. It’s vitriolic in many ways. Like I said, it’s hard for them to really be civil with each other most of the time. Even here when McCoy did try to start off as civil when he tried thanking Spock, it ultimately devolved into another argument. Even McCoy expressed that he isn’t sure why it’s always like this when he says “ I know we've had our disagreements. Maybe they're jokes. I don't know.” But I do think that the episode demonstrates the answer to the queation of if they’re enemies. The short answer is no. The long answer is that they have a very complicated relationship that on a surface level, comes across as hatred. It gets to the point where even they aren’t fully sure. But the truth is they do care about each other greatly. They understand each other a great deal. They’re the only ones who can reach out to the other. The way that they show it is unorthodox sure, but it’s how it works for them.

And even when they are particularly heated, it always ends with them coming down from it and finding a point of unity. In this case, there is absolutely one thing that they can agree on.

Spock: Really, Doctor?

McCoy: I know. I'm worried about Jim, too.

While their concern for Jim is true, I think McCoy brought used that more as a way to bring them both back down after the exchange. Jim and his well-being is very much the one thing that they can agree on. I serves as a calming down point for them n this particular instant. After this while they don’t have anymore direct interactions, they seem to be on good terms and even enter the Bridge together at the end. They still have their heated moments in later episodes such as The Paradise Syndrome and The Tholian Web. But I think that for those who really do think that Spock and McCoy hate each other, I’d say watch this episode again and give their interactios a closer look. Especially the prison scene. Because it shows that for all their banter, for all their differences, there is a strong connection that is very much uniquely them.

[visd3stele]

The beauty and his beast - wolfstar fic

summary: two different nights, years passed, some things changes, but some never do

TW: nightmares, PTSD, trauma, non depictive child abuse, themes of suicidal thoughts

A/N: I loved writing this, but I am so nervous about it. What do you think?

requests ; masterlist

fanart credit picture down below: @lunopal

Ragged voices licked his ears. Three different ones overlapped in a cacophony of hissed whispers and dooming laughs. From where he stood in the middle of his cell, Sirius could see a silhouette standing in the open door. Open, because there was no way he could escape. Three Dementors floated in a circle around him, so fast he could barely tell them apart. Black smoke, a burning smell and shadows whirled under low hoods, bringing him to his knees.

The man in the door curled his lips in a terrible grin. The Dementors were his and with each mind they broke, with each soul they ate, the wizard gained a sense of pride and morbid joy.

Sirius knew it. He knew the man, back in his school years - how far they seemed now! But Sirius also knew he was delusional. The Dementors bow to no one. They have no law, no caretaker, no master. Only their purpose.

Continuing to swirl around his frail body, sinked in to a third of what it used to be, bony edges poking out through dirty thin layers of clothing, the Dementors closed in on Sirius. Flashes of memories flew before the Animagus' eyes. James' empty ones, still open in a silent plea for his sacrifice to be enough to save his family, his brown hair dipped in his own blood, body angled in an unnatural position with his hand stretched forward above his head as if reaching for his best friend. Lily's tears, yet to dry and evaporates, stained her too pale face, the red of her hair sprayed around too lively; no blood pools formed around her lifeless body, laid on its belly as it fell onward, as if leaping away from her son, so the baby won't have to see it. And finally Harry, his godson, crying in his crib, a brown-red crust shaped like a lightning forming on his forehead; his green, small eyes, swollen, puffy and trimmed with red followed his godfather as the man turned his back on him and ran outside.

Sirius cursed loudly, beginning to shackle the chains trapping him in place in case he tried to escape the daily visit of the Prison Warrant and his guards. But the now twenty five years old has stopped trying to run a long time ago. What good would it be? There was nothing - no one - waiting from him out in the world. No, Sirius trashing around the cold, dirty dais, snapping the metal biting in his wrists, bruising his effervescent skin and almost cracking his bones as well was his attempt to run from his own mind. If he could just wipe the haunting memories away with a shook of his head, a twist of his back or punching and kicking the thick walls.

Fragments of thoughts he wasn't sure belonged to him invaded his mind. "Your fault. Traitor. Another Black." And, worst of all, one pained howl, a desperate scream in the night. Sirius wasn't sure if he heard it, or the dark creatures around toyed with him, but Remus' wild, feral yell of pure hurt reverberated inside the bars of his mind. The young wizard shut his eyes closed tightly, hoping to brush away the sound, the voices. Failing to do so, he released a scream of his own, only a hint of Padfoot, the big, black dog, his alter ego, printed in it.

The thirty four years old man yanked up. The bed sheets were soaked in his sweat, the blanket throwed on the floor. Sirius passed a shacking hand over his face, feeling the hot air leaving his mouth in short breaths, than big inhales with no exhale, the burning of tears on his warm red cheeks and the running nose. His lips felt sewed together all of a sudden, as chill after chill entered his body, cooling off his face too quickly.

It was just a nightmare, he knew. He escaped Azkaban, has been a free man from over a week already. But Sirius Black couldn't let the twelve years in prison go. The things he saw there, what the Dementors showed him day after day, carved their way in his brain, refusing to leave. Yes, he may have been wrong: his family and living friend welcomed him back. Harry was warming up to hid godfather, Nymphadora Tonks was eager to know her uncle, Andromeda even reached out, sending letter after letter and Remus - well, Remus hugged him tight and apologized for believing that filthy rat's lies. The werewolf spent his days, from first ray of sunshine until the last drop of sunlight. But the nights he went home. The nights when ghosts came to play, wounds teared open and pain leaked like blood from Sirius' heart, Remus was gone.

He tried to remember a time they didn't share a bed - before Azkaban, of course. Not in a sexual way, though it came to that in the late years of Hogwarts too. But simply for the comfort they each found in the other. It started in the second year, Sirius recalled.

Four twelve years old boys in a room seemed like a receipt for disaster. In a way, it was. After finding out their friend's secret, James, Sirius and Peter decided to sneak in the herbology cabinet, get Mandrake leaves and become Animagus. Seeing as they got away with it, the four created their enchanted map and become the Marauders, messers Prongs, Padfoot, Moony and Wormtail, waltzing their merry way through Hogwarts.

Not everything was merry and joyful, though. And despite their reputation, the wizards could be grave and serious when need be. Like one night, when Sirius woke them all up with his cries. The grey eyed boy stood on top of his bed covers, knees drawn to his chest, hands tangled in his shoulder length hair. He leaned back and forth, trembling. Front teeth bit in his lower lip to prevent him from making more noises as silent tears rolled down his face.

The other three boys thought Sirius saw a mean spirit, the haunted glassy look in his eyes only proving their theory further. But no danger threatened in the shadows of their room. No monster lurked in the darkness.

James was the first to get up and surf his way to the pure blood. Remus followed closely behind while Peter watched everything from the safety of his bed. Sirius' episode truly spooked him.

"Padfoot, mate, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. 'm sorry. Go back to sleep."

James and Remus changed worried looks at the sourness of Sirius' voice. Their friend would usually be the epitome of confidence, yet now he seemed to desperately try to shrink and disappear. But it was late and they were tired, so the boys decided with a swift nod that they'd pick up the subject in the morning and climbed back under their covers.

Remus jolted awake. Two out of his three best friends were sound asleep. Sirius still stared at the wall in front of him, breathing jerky. Due to his fine, superior hearing, the werewolf discerned the Black boy's muffled whimpers, sounds that kept him from sleeping.

"Sirius, why are you so afraid?" Remus whispered.

" 'm not afraid, Moony. Sleep."

"Can't. Werewolf remember? I hear you trying to not cry. You can cry, you know."

"I know." Sirius said in a tone that clearly showed he doesn't. With a sigh, Remus threw away his blanket, slipped his feet in his shoes and trailed his legs over the dorm's brick daises until he reached his friend's bed. The brown haired boy signed Sirius to scoop over, which he did, to both wizards surprise.

Later, when talking about that night, Padfoot admitted he was too tired, too shocked and too lost in his mind to think and only acted on auto pilot.

Remus brought the blankets to cover them both, still seated as they were. "Do you need a hug?" Sirius hesitated before answering, but eventually he nodded twice, a quick movement as if the boy was ashamed to admit it and wanted to pass unnoticed.

But Remus smiled softly and wrapped his hands around him. Sirius clinged onto his friend. The warmth of the gesture, the cozy closeness of a settled, stable body, a person that cared deeply about him and only him as a being, set the restrained tears free. Remus held Sirius until his body stilled and he could feel no more tears soaking his pajamas.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Sirius swallowed, but the words demanded to be spoken. "Yes."

"Alright. I'm gonna ask you questions and you can answer with yes or no. It's your choice if you want to elaborate. Sounds good?"

"Yes." Sirius said and for a moment his usual, ironic self showed up.

"Was it a nightmare?"

"Yes."

"About your family?"

With a shudder, the grey eyed boy forced out another "yes."

"Your brother?"

"No."

"Your parents, then. Did they - did they do something to you?"

"Yes." Remus' arms tighten around him and he clunged harder to his friend as well. In the safety of the Gryffindor dorm, shared with his most trusted peers, comforted by the scarred boy he became an Animagus for, Sirius stumbled over his thoughts. The dream weighted heavy on his mind, but he didn't know how to let free of those horrible images that haunted him. Not images, memories. Sirius feared that if he said anything they'll become real. Not that they weren't, but they happened in the past. Talking about them, invoking them, would feel like living through them again.

And yet, part of him wanted to talk. He needed someone to know. Sirius couldn't be sure why. Maybe to hear that it was nothing, that it was ok and he shouldn't be such a weak ship. Or maybe to hear it was normal and he wasn't alone. That is how parents love and his didn't hate him after all. Or just to show someone how broken he were, hoping to be picked un and patched.

So, speaking slowly, but evenly, Sirius retailed his nightmare to Remus. In his sleep, the twelve years old boy was hanging some muggle posters in his room: bands, promo for concerts, normal things a boy his age would own. He smiled broadly, music turned on quite loud, muggle music, when his parents bursts in. Walburga and Orion both yell, but Sirius can’t understand what they’re saying. It’s pretty clear they are very upset with him, though. And the reason couldn’t be more obvious. 

“Sirius Orion Black!” his mother shrieked. “Ungrateful, worthless child! You are a stain on the family’s name.”

“You should be ashamed of you. As much as I am for being your father. Well, say something. Look how upset you made your mother!”

“Sorry,” he’d try to say, but his voice would break, too small to be heard by the angry adults. Which only worsened their state. Sirius watched frozen in terror as Walburga took her wand. Only his head seemed to be able to move, and he was shacking it vigorously, wiping his cheeks with it. The young wizard tasted tears on his tongue as he repeated the same words over and over again “no, please, ‘m sorry!” It did nothing to help. 

Remus stayed in his bed that night.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

The moon shone mockingly on the window. Last night has been a full moon and Prongs, Padfoot and Wormtail failed to properly contain Moony. It happened quite a lot in their first days as Animagus. As normal, they got better over the years, the four boys falling in rhythm like an oiled machine. By the time they reached excellency, though, mistakes happened. James, Peter and Sirius thought less of it, but Remus took it badly. 

As he laid in the dark, blanket drawn to cover his head as he hugged his knees on the side, the young werewolf tried to remember what happened last night. What if he killed someone? What if he will next time the boys won’t be able to restrain him? Is it worth living like this, a danger to himself and the ones around? What if he hurts his friends? 

“I can hear your mind working from over here y’know?”

Remus straighten up in shock. “Padfoot?”

“Well, it’s not the Fat Lady. What’s on your mind?”

Remus shrugged, but Sirius wouldn’t stop pestering him until he poured his deepest fears and doubts. 

“You won’t”

“How do you know this?”

“You won’t, Moony,” Sirius said more firmly this time.

“Alright.” Remus clearly didn’t believe him and his worries still troubled him as he turned to lay back down. He heard footsteps, then felt the mattress shifting as another body climbed over his bed covers. “I know because I am Sirius Black and you are my friend.” Less than an hour later, both boys were sound asleep.

Sirius slept in his bed that night.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

It became a tradition. At first, they'd wait until one of them woke frozen in pain and panic, then they'd stay together and talk silently until they could sleep again. Later, Sirius and Remus would wait until James and Peter were out to decide who's bed to sleep in, knowing one of them - or both - ought to need the comfort.

The man kept trembling. His sobs caught in hiccups, leaving him out of breath. He did it. He left Harry for revenge. He practically made the choice for James and Lily, selecting Peter as secret keeper. His brother died and instead of mourning him, Sirius rejoiced bitterly in his cell - until he found out how he betrayed the Dark Lord.

He was just another Black. An evil presence in the world, despite his efforts. Gryffindor or Slytherin, it mattered not when his genes crafted him. Sirius tried so hard to be good, brave, loyal and the only thing he managed was to disappoint everyone. He was a nuisance and a burden and the a stain on the world. It'd be better if his sorry, useless existence would be wiped off the surface of the Earth.

Such thoughts clouded Sirius' mind when a light knock pulled him out of his head. "May I come in, Padfoot?"

The man almost broke at the nickname. Only one single person now would know to call him that. The weight of the realization hit him and another wave of tears carried the air from his lungs.

Receiving no answer, Remus kicked the door open, worry written all over him. The werewolf was panting and sweating from running, eyes wide close to terror. "Padfoot!" Seeing his oldest friend's state, he rushed to his side and hesitated only a moment before drawing him in for a hug.

"Nightmare?"

"Yes."

"Azkaban?"

"Yes."

"Dementors?"

"Yes. They-" Sirius gulped, shame tightening up in his throat. He was a thirty four man, for Godric's sake! And yet he cries like a baby. But the path he and Remus trailed off to, simple questions, any type of answer, so familiar and soothing he couldn't stop. "They tortured me. Showing me their - James and Lily's - death over and over. I left Harry, Moony. I stepped inside the house, saw that beautiful, brave child, suffering and I took off after bloody Pettigrew!" Before Remus could say a thing, Sirius continued, teeth so barred that words barely spitted out. "I heard you screaming too. I don't think that was real, but it sounded so broken, Moony. Twelve years, over twenty four full moons alone. 'm so sorry. It's all my fault."

Remus inhaled sharply, pulling Sirius even closer to him. He rubbed circles on his back, leaning to whisper in his ear "It was not, Padfoot. I should have trusted you more, star. If anything, it's my fault for spending so much time alone. So much, in fact, that it seems I neglected you, our agreement."

“It was my fault.” Sirius insisted.

“No,” and not letting him time to argue, Remus added “I know so, Sirius, because I am Remus Lupin and you are my... friend.”

Sirius pulled away only to find a reluctant smile playing on Remus' face. His body reacted before his mind could process its moving. He moved on the right side of the bed, still avoiding the other wizard's eyes. "Why are you here, Remus?"

"I couldn't sleep either. Thought to check on you as well. And good thing I did. You looked..." The professor didn't know how to finish that sentenced. Hollow. Empty. Dead. Scaringly close to death, in fact.

"Merlin! Thank you, Moony. You don't look bad yourself."

Remus chuckled. "Are you feeling any better?"

"No. You?"

"No."

Both men laughed. A bitter sweet sound passing through silence, taking with it any sign of discomfort that existed.

"I'm glad you came."

"Me too."

[wolfish-trickster]

Liar

Word count: 1,9K

Warning: angst, kinda messy writing, bad grammar

Tag list:@gaitwae @lucywrites02 @hard-to-be-the-bard @birdgirl90 @laramoonworld

You were always a hopeful person. Trying to be positive no matter what. Seeing the good in people. Even in Loki.

You first met him in his glass cell in helicarier (a/n i have no idea how to spell it, it's that big flying thing in Avengers 1). You two talked and got to know eachother. He told you how his father lied to him, how Thanos tortured him and how he doesn't want to hurt anyone. You believed him. And promised him he will be okay.

Two years after the battle of New York you finally talked to your team mates. You made an entire power point presentation for Avengers to show them Loki is not evil anymore and they should at least give him a chance, like you did.

That's how you and Loki became close friends. Always spending time with the other one, talking about your interests, your cultures, books, movies, anything the both of you came up with.

You comforted him, when he had nightmares. He cuddled you when you watched horror movies and got scared.

He always came to you for advice and opinion and you were more than happy to help your best friend. He always hugged you afterwards as thanks.

Sometimes he even brought you a cake and some flowers, just because he 'felt like it'.

One rainy day he fall asleep on your lap in your room. As you played with his black silky hair you realized you don't view him as your best friend anymore. But as a crush. You felt a shy blush come up to your cheeks as you imagined how would it feel like to cuddle him whole night, to be held by him, kissed by him.

You caressed his cheek and hoped one day he would feel the same.

And as always, you became hopeful. You started to remember all those times he was very close with you, doing something only couples do (like the afore mentioned cuddling, falling asleep on your lap or even the freaking flowers) and hoping he is developing feelings for you.

You were wrong.

You remember that day clearly. It was nice and sunny outside. A perfect day for a walk in the park. You walked out from your room and started looking for Loki. You wanted to have a walk with him.

You heard some voices coming from the kitchen below. Including a velvety one you knew all too well.

You jumped down those 20 stairs. Voices got louder as you came closer. There was Loki and some woman in the kitchen. And nobody else. Your name fell from one of their mouth's.

Quiet as a mouse you stood behind the corner just outside the kitchen and listened.

"Don't tell me she's not annoying! She's practically your shadow and trails after you like a lost puppy. And not even a cute one!" the woman giggled. From her tone of voice you imagined her as a classical blond plastic fake gold digger. You expected Loki to stood up for you, like any good friend would.

He only chuckled. "You are right! She is always behind my back. So bothersome and clingy..." you heard gulping. Maybe they were drinking some alcohol. You prayed for him to be just drunk and not knowing what he's saying.

"So why do you keep her around so much?"

A moment of silence. "I don't really know. For fun, I suppose? She was only good for me to get out of prison. She's so naive to really think I am her friend it's hilarious!"

You couldn't breathe. You stood there like a statue. He was only manipulating you and playing with you. All this time.

Tears clouded your vision as you walked away from them. The whole world looked like a big grey blur to you.

You still went out. Better than stay in the same building with him. Sitting on a bench in the nearby park, listening to birds chirping and watching dogs play with their owners was somewhat comforting. The pain in your chest was still too big though. How could you trust someone who's a 'God of Mischief' or a 'Prince of Lies' of all people? He really did go out of his way to make you trust him, didn't he? All those gifts, hugs, hanging out, watching movies under one blanket. All of that was just him pretending. And you believed him.

You groaned and hid your face in your hands. You're friends with spies and trained soldiers, what if they're pretending just like him and they secretly love when you aren't with them? What if everytime you talk to them they secretly wish for you to shut up and leave? Paranoia and anxiety just won't leave you, will they?

"It will get better after high school they said," you stood up from the bench, "you will be more confident they said. My ass-" suddenly you tripped over a string and fell on your face. Your right cheek stung, your knees were scraped. As you were standing up a wet tongue started to lick your face. A golden retriever's way to greet you, apparently.

"Ollie, stop! I'm so sorry," the dog was yanked back by his leash. Ollie's owner held out his hand to help you stand up.

"It's okay. It's my fault, I wasn't looking where I was going," you dusted your clothes when you were finally on your legs. Ollie was jumping up and down, still trying to lick your face. Even through your emotional pain you couldn't resist and smiled.

"He's still an untrained pup, sorry if he's bothering," the unknown man was trying to calm him down once again, but you stopped him.

"He's not bothering," you bent down and scratched behind his ears. "Hi there little fella, aren't you one cute boy? Yes you are," you scratched and caressed his fur.

"He is cute, but quite handful. Still I wouldn't exchange him for anyone in the world."

"Anyone?" you asked.

"Yeah, you see I got him when I found out my partner cheated on me. I felt so betrayed I thought I'll never trust anyone else again," he said and sat down on the bench you were previously sitting on. "Sorry, I'm telling way too much than I should."

"No, it's okay. I know exactly how you felt. Something similair happened to me too," you looked away sadly and stopped scratching Ollie's fur. "That's why you got a dog? To replace that somebody who was previously in your life?"

He nodded. "At first I though I needed a pet to distract myself from the pain, but in reality all I needed was a life long friend who will never betray me. And what's better than a man's best friend?" he hugged his goldie and he licked his face.

You smiled. Maybe that's what you need. A loyal dog to keep you company. To give you emotional support through cuddles and to never leave you or lie to you. Unlike certain someone.

You chatted with him for few more minutes and then made your way to the nearest dog shelter.

*

The cutest little fluffy german shepherd was dozing off in your arms when you walked into your room. You naivly thought Loki will greet you and pretend to be nice again but he was nowhere to be found. Actually, none of the Avengers were nearby. 'That's okay' you thought. 'I'll at least be alone with this cute guy.'

You let him run around your bedroom, sniffing every corner of his new home, chewing on everything he could reach with his tiny snout. You threw him some of the squeeky toys you bought and watched him play. It lifted your mood, somewhat.

The dull ache from your chest didn't leave. Even when it got dark outside and your new companion dozed off in your lap. Soft laughter was coming from the party deck, which was quite far from your room so in reality it must've been much louder.

'So they returned, huh? Didn't even check on their supposed friend' you thought. Maybe you were right afterall. They never concidered you a friend.

Your phone started buzzing, a silly selfie of you and Loki lightened up the screen. 'What does he want? I don't wanna talk to him.'

You picked up. "Yeah?"

"Y/N!" hearing his voice nearly made you cry. "Thank Norns you finally picked up! Where are you?"

You squinted your eyes suspiciously. "Why?"

"I've been trying to reach you all afternoon! I couldn't find you anywhere and I have called you 5 times already. Are you okay?" he sounded worried. He really should've been voice actor.

"5 times? I didn't hear anything."

He groaned. "Yes, 5 damn times. You made me really sick with worry."

Liar.

"Whatever. I can do things even without you, you know."

"Why the attitude?" he asked a little less worried.

"You know what Loki? Do me a favour and leave me alone," you hung up sooner than your voice could crack. Silent tears streamed down your cheeks.

As you were standing up with the little pup in your hands and putting him in his bed Loki practically smashed down your door. You jumped back startled and nearly let go of your little friend who woke up and started barking.

"What the fuck Loki?!"

He looked at you, mix of fury and happiness in his eyes. "Okay, I don't know what I did that made you react like that to a simple 'where have you been the whole day' but you could've at least tell me you were going out. What if someone attacked you? And I wasn't there? What if-" he took a deep breath, anger leaving his eyes. "I'm just glad you are home and safe."

Liar.

Your puppy stopped barking and started wagging his tail, excited to have a new friend. He is just like you. Naive.

"Oh, and who is this little bundle of fur?" he reached out to pet his tiny head but you backed away.

"He's my new best friend. This is Rex."

Loki's face turned into confusion. "Darling, I thought that's my title," he laughed awkwardly.

You glared and hugged Rex to your chest. "Not anymore. Not after what I discovered about you."

"Discovered about me? What are you talking about?"

"Drop the act. I heard you. I heard you saying how I'm naive enough to think I'm your friend, how I'm bothersome and clingy and I was only good for you to get out of prison!" tears were flowing freely but you didn't care.

"Darling, what are yo-"

"I wasn't finished! I really thought you were honest with me. I thought all those times we hung out meant something to you! That you at least respect me. But no! You used me. You were pretending to be nice. All those times! And I believed you!" you started taking steps towards him, he was backing away.

"You misunderstood, I-"

"No! I don't want you to tell me anything! I'm not your plaything anymore! I grew a spine. And you can bet your ass I'm training Rex to bite you whenever you get close to me again!" his eyes started glistening but that must be just your imagination.

"Love, please let me ex-"

"Get lost Laufeyson," with those words you slammed your door in his face.