#but it is a trap to turn you into enacting their will. and it shapes you. and sooner than you think you don't recognize yourself.

[electrosquash]

Management roles are poison for your personality.

[happydragon]

To Coming Home

Summary: Tech should not have survived that fall. But he did. Now he needs to get back home. My take on a Tech lives au.

Ao3

Rating: Gen

Word Count: 6,500

Disclaimer:  I in no way shape or form, have any sort of mobility disability or use a cane to walk. I in no way shape or form meant to offend anyone who does and hope I gave a semi-accurate depiction of what it can be like

Edit: I forgot to put in the word "island" before so now it's 6,500 instead of 6,499 lol

The first thing Tech remembered when he woke up was falling. He could still hear the groaning of metal and air rushing past his ears as he fell to what he thought would be his death. Seeing as he was not only resting on a soft but firm surface but could still feel pain throughout his entire body, that did not appear to be the case. 

Next thing he remembered was seeing Wrecker reach out in an attempt to grab Tech. Tech was confident that this was not the case either as he was sure Hunter would have said something as soon as Tech was awake. 

This led him to the conclusion that he did indeed fall due to enacting Plan 99 but has somehow survived. Not unscathed obviously. The pain was a very helpful reminder of that. The question of course remained of how he survived. A good place to start would be to figure out where he was exactly. 

After struggling for a moment to open his eyes, he finally succeeded and was welcomed by an unfamiliar brown ceiling. Now that he was properly awake, Tech could now tell he was in a bed of some sort. He turned his head to the side, much to the protest of his unused muscles, and found a nightstand with a single cup. To his other side was a wall and along the wall was a single durasteel door with no lock. 

He had just begun to push himself up so he could investigate the contents of the cup when the door opened to reveal a large surly human man, his face covered by a thick dark beard and head covered by a hat or head covering of some sort. He wore a clean and simple shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing hairy and tanned arms. His pants were also simple but appeared to be covered with flecks of mud. 

“Ah,” the man simply stated, “So you finally decided to wake up.”

“So it seems,” Tech coughed, his voice hoarse from inactivity.

The man said nothing as he strode forward, picked up the glass, and with a gentleness that took Tech slightly by surprise, the man lifted the glass to Tech’s lips, supporting his head as he drank. Tech was glad to discover it was water and drank it greedily. Once he emptied the cup, the man placed the cup back on the nightstand, pulled a chair Tech had not seen before, and set it next to the bed. The man then proceeded to sit in the chair, leaned back, and gave a big sigh.

“Name’s Thom Dodonna,” he began, “I’m sure you have some questions just like I have some for you. I’ll do you a favor and tell you how you ended up here so we can get rid of any unnecessary questions. Afterward, you can ask me your questions, but then I’m going to ask mine. Understood?”

Tech nodded, finding this the most logical course of action. 

“Good,” Thom gruffed, “About several weeks back, I was checking some of my fish traps in one of the deeper lakes around here when a railcar hit the water and you came falling in after it. You must have known you were about to hit the water because you somehow managed to go in feet first, which helped lessen some of your injuries. Once I recovered from the shock, I dove in after you, seeing as you didn’t come back up right away. After I got you to shore, I took you to the nearby town where the doc had you in a bacta tank for about two weeks before someone else needed it more. Doc gave me permission to bring you to my place, away from nosy people, so you could continue to recover. You’ve been here for almost a week and a half and this is the first time you’ve actually been conscious.”

Tech took a moment to process the information. So he did survive the fall and was still on Eriadu, which meant one of two things. One was that his family believed that he was dead and would explain why he was not with them now. The other conclusion was that it was they who did not survive the mission and had been either captured or killed, thus making his sacrifice pointless. While he most definitely preferred one over the other, he currently had no way of knowing if either was true. He would need to add it to the ever-growing list of problems that he hoped could be solved quickly.

“Firstly,” Tech began, “I’d like to thank you for rescuing me and seeing to my recovery. I believe I am in your debt.”

Thom huffed but said nothing, so Tech continued, “Secondly, I would like to inquire as to the extent of my injuries.”

“Well, Doc said most of the life-threatening stuff had been taken care of by the bacta, but because you weren’t in there long enough, not everything was fixed.”

Thom reached behind him, toward the same place where he got the chair, pulled a cane, and leaned it against the nightstand. 

“Doc said you did some serious damage to your legs and may need some help walking right even with physical therapy. Doc also said you’d be experiencing some pain but didn’t say if it would stop or not.”

Well. That wasn’t nearly as bad as Tech initially thought. While neither was ideal, he’d much rather be in pain and never walk properly again than be dead. Perhaps he could modify his cane to his liking. It would certainly be helpful if it had more than one use. It would be a good project to work on for a later date. 

“Very well,” Tech finally said, “My next question would be if you have sort of long-range communications so that I may contact my family.”

“Unfortunately I don’t. There’s only one in town and it’s run by the Empire. Now I’d like to ask you some questions.”

While Tech was disappointed that he could not contact his family to know whether or not they were alive, in turn, let them know he was alive, he knew it was probably for the best. If the Empire intercepted his message, they might use it to capture Tech and possibly use him as bait for his family. Of course, he could encrypt it, but that meant they would come here to get him and Eriadu was still an Imperial-occupied planet. Tech already sacrificed himself to make sure they escaped. He would not be the reason they were captured. 

He suddenly realized that Thom was waiting for Tech’s permission to start asking questions. Tech internally shook his head, then nodded for Thom to continue. 

“Are you an Imperial or a bounty hunter?”

“No, I am not.”

“Good. Don’t tell me what you are though. The less I know the better. I assume you need to hide from certain people while you recover?”

“If possible, yes.”

“Alright then. I’ll go let Doc know you’re awake and get you started on healing.”

All Tech could do was nod as Thom stood up and walked out to find the doctor. As he lay there, he wondered how long it would take for him to recover. Ideally, he would hope not too long. He would like to return to his family as soon as possible. Realistically, it could take months, quite possibly a year at most. There was also the issue of getting back to his family. He’d rather have a ship, as it would be easier and safer to get a direct flight from here to Pabu. He would have to ask Thom if he had one Tech could use. Flying would not require much movement and he could recover with his family. Yes, that would be the best course of action. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Much to Tech’s dismay, Thom did not have a ship Tech could use and Doctor Theala Togs, a human woman with short black hair and a tall stature, did not give a favorable timeline as to his recovery. At first, he tried to push himself for a speedier recovery, against Doctor Togs’s wishes but soon stopped. Tech has had his fair share of medics but Doctor Togs was not a woman to be crossed. 

After four months of physical therapy, Tech attempted to walk again with the support of the cane. Unfortunately, just walking to the door made him feel like he ran five klicks. It took another two months before he could walk with some semblance of ease around Thom’s home and that was with the help of a cane. Doctor Togs had explained it was not likely that he would walk without the cane again. Tech was told this when he first woke up, but that still did not prepare him for the anger he felt when it was explained to him again. He refused to leave his room for the next day and a half, only to be dragged out to get some air by Thom on Doctor Togs’s orders. 

Tech continued to exercise after that, pushing himself as much as the doctor would allow. He began to feel his strength rebuild itself and though he knew it would never be what it once was, it was a reminder that he was one step closer to reuniting with his family. He refused to believe they were anything but alive and safe on Pabu with Phee, Shep, and Lyana. If he did, he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to recover. 

In the meantime, Tech began to repair some small electronics in exchange for credits. It began with Thom’s kettle, which had stopped working, much to his frustrations. Once Tech acquired a pair of round spectacles, (his helmet and goggles were removed after he was brought to shore. Thom attempted to back and find them, but he said that someone had come and cleaned the crash site, leaving no trace there ever was a crash) he was able to repair it in less than a minute. Then Thom began to bring items from various townsfolk. Mostly small things, a short-range com unit here, a datapad there. In return, he was given a handful of credits for each task. 

One day, Doctor Togs wanted Tech to walk to the town and back, so Thom took Tech with him on his next trip to town. They strolled from shop to shop, Tech needing multiple breaks to rest his aching legs. He was incredibly grateful for Thom’s endless patience. He didn’t speak much, but he was a good man. 

On one such break, Tech noticed a rodian woman become increasingly frustrated with her servant droid. The droid was placed on a table and powered down while the woman seemed to be trying to find the problem with the droid. After a particularly nasty string of curses that could make a pirate blush, Tech stood up from where he was seated and approached the woman, offering his assistance. 

“Might as well,” she said as she stepped away from the droid, “The only repair shop around here charges way too much. You’d save me some credits if you can fix the damn thing.”

Tech simply nodded and examined the droid. He quickly found the problem and asked for the tool she was using, repairing the droid in under ten minutes. 

“I can’t believe it!” she exclaimed, “You sir just saved me an arm and a leg! How much do I owe you?”

Tech began to insist it was no trouble, but Thom interrupted, “He’ll take ten credits.”

“Oh! I didn’t realize he was with you, Thom.”

“He’s a family friend. Staying with me while he recovers from an accident that damaged his legs.”

“Sorry to hear that. Hope you recover quickly,” she said to Tech, then fished ten credits from her bag and handed them to him. “What’s your name so I can refer others to you? Maker knows we need someone that won’t cheat us for an easy job.”

As he took the credits, he thought for a moment before responding, “You may call me Titus Genoa.”

Shortly thereafter, Tech began to make daily trips into town to repair various household items or droids. He thrived in his comfort zone. He was relieved to have some semblance of normal in this new challenge. There were of course some days when the ache in his legs was too strong, and Thom would bring the items to Tech. 

Thankfully the Imperial presence was next to nothing which allowed Tech to operate a little more freely. Unfortunately, his presence seemed to anger others, namely the human man who ran the local repair shop. The man tried to bribe Tech to stop and when that didn’t work the man threatened Tech. Tech simply ignored the man and continued to work. This was a mistake. 

On the way back to Thom’s home one day, Tech was cornered by some thugs. Because his strength was not what it used to be, the thugs gave him a nasty beating and stole all the credits he earned that day. Luckily, one of his regulars found him and was able to get him quickly to Doctor Togs. The first and only time Tech had ever seen Thom upset was when he learned Tech kept the threats a secret. From then on Thom accompanied Tech on every trip to town. Tech also found the credits he lost lying on his bed once Doctor Togs released him. He said nothing but repaired all of Thom’s traps as a thanks. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As the anniversary of his rescue (and by extension the last time he saw his family and Phee) approached, Tech became increasingly, shall one say, erratic. He had all but completely recovered from his injury and could walk into town with very little need to rest. Due to this, he began to push himself and took on more projects than one could normally handle. Tech was not normal though. He was an experimental clone from Clone Force 99. His superior intellect allowed him to solve dozens of problems without resistance. So no matter what Thom thought or said, Tech was doing perfectly fine. 

He had been on his third day with little sleep, running on nothing but caf and stims, when Thom had enough and locked Tech in his room, away from any projects he was working on. Tech would be ashamed to admit later that he called his friend several colorful things in multiple languages.

Later that evening, after Tech gave up trying to escape and finally slept, Thom brought some dinner and sat down with Tech as he ate. For a while, neither of them said anything, and then Thom broke the silence. 

“Tell me about them,” he said, “About your loved ones. You don’t need to tell me any names. Just about them.”

So Tech did. He told Thom about his childhood spent with his brothers raising hell and how, when they were old enough, they fought together as a unit. Later another brother joined them and they were unbeatable. Then the Empire came and it all changed. While Tech gained a sister, he lost a brother. Then it was a series of adventure after adventure. He left out any part dealing directly with the Empire as he was worried that would reveal too much. 

When he began to talk about Pabu and Phee, Thom’s face changed into a mischievous teasing smile. 

“She your love?” Thom teased. Tech knew he was teasing but the comment still made him pause. Is that what Phee was to him? He knew she meant something, seeing as he took her name when he needed to give one. He couldn't imagine she would mind, but why did he do it? There were certainly other names he could have used, but he chose hers. Why? Because she meant something. She gave him and his family a place to call home. A place where Omega could have grown up free and happy. That’s all he’s ever wanted for his family. For them to be happy. Whether that was continuing to fight for the Republic or building a life away from everything. While on Pabu, Tech could imagine building such a life, one that he hoped could include a certain liberator of ancient wonders. He also did not leave things on the best of notes. Which meant all the more reason he needed to get back.

“I do not know yet,” Tech finally answered, “But if she’ll have me then yes.”

Thom nodded, happy with the answer. Then he took the tray and told Tech to get some sleep. Tech began to protest, but Thom was gone before he could even get the words out. Tech did not need to sleep. He needed to get back to his family. The same family that would just accept it when he would sometimes pull all-nighters. However, if he did too many in a row, Hunter would order Wrecker to grab a hold of Tech. He would then be forced into a sleep pile with the rest of their family. Tech in turn would do the same whenever Hunter had begun to overwork himself. 

So while he needed to get back to his family, they would want for him to take care of himself. As long as they were safe on Pabu, Tech could be patient for just a little longer but once he had all the credits he needed, he was going home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I do not suppose I’ll see you again,” Tech asked Thom as the former stood at the bottom of the ramp of his brand-new ship. After one year, three months, ten days, six hours, and 21 minutes, Tech finally had enough credits to buy a decent ship that could take him to Pabu. It wasn’t the Marauder, but it would suffice. He thankfully did not have much to pack; only some clothes and the wooden cane he was first given. When he found out Thom had carved it for Tech, he could not bring himself to modify it. He was grateful when it wasn’t broken by those thugs who attacked him that night. To be perfectly honest, Tech didn’t think even Wrecker could break it. It was a very solid cane. 

“Probably for the best,” Thom replied, “We’d probably get each other into too much trouble.”

“Yes, I suppose that is a possibility.” Tech smiled. “Thank you for everything, Thom. I do not know how I could ever repay you.”

“Your friendship is more than enough for me.” A pause. “Though I do have one request.”

“Name it.”

“Your name. Even if we never see each other again, it would bring me comfort to know your real name.”

On one hand, Tech was surprised. Never once had Thom asked for Tech’s real name. When he first told that rodian woman his false name, Thom had only asked if it was real. Tech confirmed that it was not, Thom simply nodded and went about whatever he was doing. On the other hand, Tech was relieved. He had not heard his name in quite some time, with the exception of Omega calling it out as he fell when he sometimes dreamt of that day. To hear it again from a friend would bring endless joy. A sign that Tech was finally going home. 

“That is most agreeable,” Tech answered, “It is Tech.”

“Tech,” Thom tested the name on his tongue, “Suits you, what with how good you are with tech.”

“Technically, according to my brothers, that was not the reason for which I was named Tech, but yes, it does suit me well.”

Thom barked a hearty laugh, no doubt figuring out the real reason Tech was named Tech. Even though he did not originally like the reason for his name, it now brought a smile to his face at the memory. 

“Well Tech,” Thom said after he composed himself, “I wish you a safe journey back to your family.”

Tech nodded in thanks, then he walked up the ramp and into the ship. As he sat in the pilot’s seat going through his pre-flight checklist, he spotted Thom through the window watching the ship. Just as Tech began to take off, he saluted Thom, to which he responded in kind, before the ship took off toward the sky. 

As he inputted the coordinates for Pabu, Tech tried to think of what he was going to say to his family. He knew they believed him to be dead, so how does one reveal they are not. Truly, there was no easy or simple way of breaking the news, so he would have to do what he and his brothers do best. Improvise. 

When he arrived in the planet’s atmosphere, Tech decided the trip was both too long and not quick enough. Doubt had begun to seep into his mind. What if they had moved on? What if they had replaced him? Would there be any room for him? What if his family truly wasn’t safe here but had been captured, even worse killed by the Empire?

A beeping from the ship pulled Tech from his spiraling thoughts. A ship was trying to hail him which concerned Tech. That’s never happened before. Last time something similar happened was when they first arrived back on Kamino, just after the order went out. A wave of panic ran through Tech. Had the Empire taken over? If they had, that meant his family wasn’t there. He had no clue where they could be if they weren’t on Pabu. He might truly never see them again. 

No. He mustn't think like that. Even if he didn’t know where they could be, he would find them. No matter how long it took or who stood in his way, he would find them. Of that he was sure. 

The other ship continued to hail him. Even if the Empire had taken over, there had to be someone who might know where his family was. For now, he would play along, so he could land and hopefully find some answers. So he accepted the call, preparing for the worst. 

“Unidentified ship,” a familiar voice began, “State your name and purpose.”

“Titus Genoa,” Tech responded, giving his fake name as a precaution, “I have come to see my family.”

“Hold while we confirm.”

Tech moved to hold his hand over the button to fire the guns. If this turned bad, he wanted to be ready for anything. If he needed to shoot his way out of here, he would. After what seemed like hours, the other ship finally told him he could land near the Archium. He didn't know whether or not it was a good sign they didn’t shoot him down. Perhaps they wanted to interrogate him first. Only one way to find out. 

He did not see the Marauder as he landed but tried not to fret too much about it. Perhaps they were just out for the moment. However, his mind could not decide between his family being alive and well or in danger and it was starting to annoy him. Hopefully, he will have answers soon. 

Seeing no point in delaying any longer, Tech grabbed his cane and walked over to the entrance of the ramp. He painstakingly waited for it to lower all the way, anxious to get off. When it landed with a thud, he knew it was now or never. Part of Tech was grateful that the sun had begun its descent into the sea so that he was not blinded by the harsh light as he began to walk down the ramp. When he looked out onto the courtyard, he found it mostly empty save for a handful of very important people.

Tech supposed he shouldn’t be surprised at the sight of his brothers and Phee aiming their blasters at him, seeing as he used Phee’s name knowing she did not have any family outside of Shep and Lyana. He too would be outright suspicious. 

“I would raise both my hands,” Tech said as he raised one hand in the air, “but I’m afraid I would not stand very long if I did.”

While their faces all displayed various forms of shock, Wrecker was the first to lower his blaster. 

“Is it really you?” Wrecker asked in what could be considered a whisper to him and his family and a normal voice to outsiders. 

Before Tech could answer, yes it really is me, another familiar voice called out, causing the five of them to turn and find Omega running straight for them. As she got closer, she slowed to a stop, confusion taking over her features as she looked at her brothers standing with Phee and then over to where Tech stood. Her confusion immediately shifted into shock and disbelief as she called out in a whimper, “Tech?”

Tech was barely holding in his own emotions at the sight of her. She had grown up more. Her hair was longer and her face shape reminded him of Crosshair’s. Gone was the baby fat that she once held, leaving behind a growing young lady. 

“Hello Omega,” Tech said, his voice cracking, “You have grown up.”

She yelled his name once more before barreling toward him. It took all of his strength to stand as he let his cane clatter to the ground and held his arms open for her. Of course, once she tackled him he fell back but he didn't care. His sister was in his arms and he didn't want to ever let her go. He felt his neck grow wet from where she buried her face. He was sure his own tears had made their way onto her as well. 

Suddenly they were being lifted up, as Wrecker had somehow snuck up on them and was now pulling them into his arms. He held them close as he mumbled “I'm so sorry. I should have been stronger,” over and over again. 

Tech freed the arm that wasn't holding Omega from Wrecker's grip and wound it around his large brother’s neck. With his hand, Tech pulled Wrecker's forehead toward his and whispered that he didn't blame him, every time Wrecker apologized. 

Eventually, Wrecker set Omega and Tech on the ground, with Tech having to grip his brother’s arm to keep himself upright. Wrecker looked concerningly at Tech, as the former placed a gentle hand over the latter’s grip. 

“Omega.” She hummed at the sound of her name. “Could you please grab my cane for me?”

She cocked her head until she turned to where he was pointing and found the cane on the ground next to the ramp. She hopped off the ramp and grabbed it, handing it to Tech. He thanked her as he let go of Wrecker and walked the rest of the way down the ramp. While Tech appreciated Wrecker's concern as he hovered close, Tech knew it was unnecessary. He has used a cane for almost a year now. As long as he took plenty of breaks, he would be just fine. 

When Tech reached the others, Phee gave him a teary smile, while Hunter and Crosshair still stood in shock. Although Hunter seemed to recover more quickly as he pulled Tech close. Hunter placed a hand on Tech’s head and another on his neck, fingers immediately finding the pulse. 

“I should have gone back,” Hunter whispered into Tech's hair, “I abandoned you.” 

“You could not have known I survived,” Tech argued, “I also found myself quite surprised when I discovered I did not in fact die.”

“How did you? Survive, I mean.”

“That is a question that can wait,” Tech said as he pulled away from Hunter and turned to Crosshair. He had yet to utter a single word. His hands were clutching his rifle tightly, staring at Tech as if he were a ghost. Tech doesn’t blame him. He could almost say the same for Crosshair. It had been so long since Tech had last seen his brother. When Tech fell, one of his biggest regrets was that he would never see Crosshair again. But now he was here. They both were and neither of them had moved nor spoken a word. To be quite honest, Tech was tired of all the dramatics, not to mention his brothers’ apologies. 

“If you aren’t going to say anything, then I will.” Tech paused for a moment before continuing, “Very well. Firstly, only because I have heard enough of it from Wrecker and Hunter, whatever reason you're sorry for, I forgive you and I do not blame you. Secondly, I do not regret what I did and I would do it again- oh!”

Crosshair shoved the rifle away and yanked Tech close, the former’s arms pulling the latter tight. Because he was startled by the sudden movement, Tech once again dropped his cane, but he didn’t care as he wrapped his arms around his brother. Crosshair immediately buried his face in the crook of Tech’s neck and breathed in deeply. 

“If you ever try to pull a Plan 99 again,” Crosshair mumbled, “I’ll shoot you myself.” 

“Only if you promise to never leave us again.”

Crosshair laughed wetly. “Deal.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a very tearful reunion, his brothers and sister took him to their home where Tech was allowed to rest his legs. Hunter insisted on hearing Tech’s story first before the others told theirs. Tech suspected that theirs was far more exciting than his, but he humored them anyway. It wasn’t a very long story either. He was rescued and taken in by a local who, with the help of a doctor, helped Tech to walk again. Not wanting to put his family in danger, he repaired various items in exchange for credits, which were later used to purchase a ship and fly here. 

“I will admit,” Tech began, “I was quite worried that the Empire had taken over when that other ship hailed me. Although I suppose I should have known it wasn’t an Imperial standard ship, but seeing as I was distracted by worry, you’ll have to forgive me.”

“To be honest,” Hunter chuckled softly, “You weren’t too far off.”

With that, they explained how shortly after they lost Tech, the Empire had taken Omega. Hunter and Wrecker crossed the galaxy five times looking for her, but she, along with Crosshair, found them first. All was well for a short while until the Empire came to Pabu and took Omega once more. Hunter, Crosshair, Wrecker, and Echo had found Tantiss and went in with no backup. When Omega explained how Hemlock was defeated, it was then revealed to Tech that Crosshair had lost his hand. Tech wanted to hit himself for not noticing how Crosshair seemed to be wearing gloves in Pabu’s warm climate. Instead, Tech reached for his brother’s hand, grabbed it, and gave it a tight squeeze, which Crosshair returned. 

Later that evening, Shep decided to throw a party in Tech’s honor. Thankfully it was not a large party; mostly Tech’s family and a sprinkling of others, such as the clone cadets that Wrecker and Hunter rescued. Mox reminded Tech of Hunter in some ways, while Stak resembled Crosshair in other ways. Deke, on the other hand, reminded Tech of both himself and Wrecker. The cadet was kind and sociable like Wrecker, but Deke seemed to have an affinity for technology like Tech. They currently lived with one of Pabu’s older residents after Hunter and Wrecker brought them to the island. 

As the evening drifted on, Tech found himself stepping away from the party, if only to give his legs a rest. Omega had been helping him make introductory rounds to some of the clones they rescued as well as a few of the children that she was held captive with. While most of them were polite and just said hello, some of them wanted to stand and talk with Tech. This of course led to his legs causing him a great deal of pain, so he excused himself to find some place quiet to sit. That is how he found himself inside Shep’s home sitting in one of the chairs in the living space. 

“Not much of a party kind of guy huh?”

Tech turned in his chair to find Phee casually approaching him like he hadn’t seemingly come back from the dead. After his family decided to go back to their home, she had left them, declaring she would let them catch up. Tech tried not to be disappointed and respect her decision, but he wished he could have talked to her as well. There was much he wanted to say. 

“Normally no,” Tech replied as he subconsciously rubbed his legs. Phee’s eyes drifted to the movement, then to his cane that was leaning against the arm of the chair. “But this one is quite alright, I suppose.” 

“Yeah,” Phee chuckled, “Shep originally wanted to invite the whole island, especially since you helped with the sea surge. But I managed to talk him down into doing a smaller party.”

“Then I must thank you.”

Phee waved him off as she sat on the couch that was placed vertically to Tech’s chair. If one were to walk in, they would assume the quiet was a comfortable one, but in actuality, there were many things Tech wanted to say but didn’t know where to start. Thankfully, Phee seemed to know exactly where she wanted to start. 

“Can I ask you something that’s been bugging me?” Tech nodded. “Why’d you choose my name?”

“Well, I suppose there are a multitude of reasons as to why I picked your name. Namely, it was the first one that came to mind that did not have a known association with clones.”

“What makes you think I’m not popular?” Phee teased, a mischievous grin that did not meet her eyes graced her lips. 

“When meeting people, I sometimes researched them, so that I may prepare my family for what kind of person whoever we were meeting could be. I did the same when we first met but only found a birth record.”

Her grin turned into a sad smile as she nodded. 

“Yeah that sounds about right,” she said.

Tech decided he did not like the look of sadness on her. It did not align with the woman he knew, who was full of life and adventure. 

“Another reason,” he began again as he looked away from her, “I suppose I chose it, was because of the feelings I held toward you. Still do in fact.”

“Yeah?” her voice was coated in teasing, “Did ya think about me a lot?”

“Yes. I thought of everyone, every day. Though most of my thoughts were of my family and you. It took me far too long to return to you all and I do not wish to repeat the experience.”

When he looked back, tears had formed in her eyes and Tech began to panic. He said something wrong didn’t he? Why did he think it would be simple? They had not seen each other in almost a year. Technically to her, he was dead until today. She understandably would have moved on.

“Kriff,” she whispered, bringing his focus back to the present, where he saw her rub her eyes, “You can’t just go around sayin’ things like that, Brown Eyes. Makes me want to kiss ya.”

Tech felt heat quickly warm his face and ears. Ah. He seemed to have misread the situation. This improved things slightly. Before this could continue further, he needed to be closer. So with his cane, he pulled himself up out of the chair, slowly shuffled to the couch, and sat next to Phee. She had briefly held her hands out to catch him, but he assured her he was fine. Once seated, he made sure to rest his cane against the couch so it would not fall, then angled himself toward Phee. She was still attempting to dry her eyes, so he gently grabbed both her hands and held them in his. 

“Earlier today,” He began softly, “we did not have the chance to converse as I had wanted. I wish to apologize for how I left things between us. I was and still am, new to the idea of someone besides my family caring about my well-being. I calculated that that mission would be dangerous and there were no guarantees of our survival. You of all people deserved to have known that.”

“I will admit I was not a pretty sight for the first few days after your brothers came back,” Phee said, “I had never shown Pabu to anyone else before. I knew you and your family deserved a shot at normal life. The time we spent together before you left made me hope that I could be included in that life. I had never cared for someone that much since my sister, Shep, and Lyana.”

“Do you still care for me? In that way I mean.”

Phee pulled her hand from his grip and cupped his face. Tears once again began to well up in her eyes, but this time there was a genuine smile on her face. “Yes,” she whispered. 

“I care for you as well,” he replied. Then Tech placed his hand over hers and turned to kiss her palm. 

“If you’re going to kiss me, at least do it right.”

“Very well,” he whispered as he brought his hand to the back of her neck and pulled her close. Their lips met for a moment, but it felt like an eternity to Tech. Her lips were soft, warm, and perfect in every way possible. When she pulled away, he tried not to visibly frown as he missed her warmth. He did not succeed, as she took one look at him, smiled, and kissed him again. 

“Tech!” Wrecker called, “Come back outside! We’re about to make a toast!”

Reluctantly, Tech and Phee pulled apart, with Tech visibly frowning which caused Phee to laugh and drop her head to his shoulder. 

“If it’s my party, I should get to do whatever I please,” he huffed. Phee just laughed as she pulled away from him and stood up, offering him a hand. He took it and she helped him up while she reached across for his cane to hand to him. 

“They mean well,” Phee defended half-heartedly, “Come on. It would be rude to keep them waiting.”

He offered her his arm, which she gladly accepted, as they walked back outside to all their loved ones. Everyone had a drink in their hands, non-alcoholic ones for the children and those who did not want alcohol. Tech unfortunately had to release Phee’s arm in order to take the drink offered to him. Shep smiled then raised his glass and toasted, “To coming home!”

Yes. Tech was finally home.

[euphreana]

The Shape of Truth - Chapter 14: Monster

Masterpost

-

Ambrosius tore through The Institute hallway, sword in hand. The Director was ahead of him, running for her life. It didn’t take long for him to catch her, and soon he had her shoved against the stone wall, sword at her throat.

“You killed Ballister.” Ambrosius growled. “There’s only one punishment in the kingdom for murder!”

“Mercy! Please!” The Director cried out.

“No. I couldn’t give mercy to Ballister, so won’t give mercy to you.”

He drew the sword back and rammed it home. Blood spurted, staining The Director’s white dress. She coughed reflexively. Bright red spittle splattered across Ambrosius’s face. Then through the pain, The Director smiled a cold, snake-like smile.

“Who’s the monster now?”

Ambrosius jolted awake. A string of dim lights draped overhead illuminated the room. He was in the hideout. It was night.

“Nimona?”

No answer. Ambrosius pushed himself half-upright on the couch. His heart was still racing. He rubbed a hand across his face, checking for blood. It was clean.

Ambrosius exhaled loudly and fell back onto the musty cushions.

Memories of the dream haunted him. He knew it hadn’t been real, but The Director’s words echoed in his mind.

Who’s the monster now?

Suddenly, the word that had triggered Nimona felt heavy. So much baggage from centuries of fear and contempt that had turned to disgust and outright hatred… It was terrifying to hear it directed at him. He’d felt justified in his dream though! He’d been enacting judgment for the good of The Kingdom. It hadn’t been murder, it had been justice. Right?

Ambrosius sat up. He needed a walk. He didn’t care that there was probably a manhunt for him going on - after a week of being trapped in the windowless psych ward, he wanted to get outside. Besides, he was far enough from the city lights that no one else should be out. And if he was seen… well, it wasn’t like his life could get any worse at this point. He had no way of proving his reasoning in attacking The Director so many days ago, and on top of that, he had one of the most recognizable faces in the kingdom. As good as Nimona’s intentions had been in breaking him out, the only future he saw for himself was behind bars. It was only a matter of time.

His leg had stopped bleeding, so he found a large piece of wood he could use as a crutch, and headed outside. The night was crisp, with a strong breeze that whistled through the trees around him. Ambrosius could easily see the wall encircling the kingdom from here - it looked within easy walking distance. He headed for it, hobbling as he went. If there were any cameras on the wall, they’d be watching outside the perimeter, leaving him unnoticed.

Ambrosius’s mind lost focus as he went. Too many thoughts were swirling in his head. Thoughts about The Institute, The Director, Ballister…

Suddenly, Ambrosius felt the whole weight of his grief. He hadn't had a chance to process it with a clear head yet, and it hurt so much…

He could remember the oily scent of Ballister’s hair. The feel of his supple skin pressed against his own. The taste of his lips when they kissed. And his eyes… There were always wrinkles under his eyes when he'd smiled. Ambrosius wondered what his smile would have looked like in another twenty years… sixty years… however long the two of them had lived. He wondered what their house would have looked like. Would they have picked something new and freshly built, or old and waiting to be remade?

There would have been a kitchen where Ballister could show him the kinds of food his family had once made, now lost to time. Ambrosius had had a book of recipes from his mom’s side, too - food he’d wanted to show Ballister someday. A day that would never come. Ambrosius blinked tears from his eyes. So many hopes and dreams, disappeared into the ether. Nothing was left for him. Even the packet of Ballister’s ashes was gone.

Ambrosius was so lost in thought, he almost didn't notice when he'd reached the wall. He looked up at the towering structure in the moonlight, running a hand over its ancient stone base. He’d never been out here before. He walked alongside, following the slight curve until he heard an unearthly noise. It sounded like a howl, but longer. A monster? Inside the wall? Nimona had gotten inside the wall - what if another had too?

Ambrosius knew he should be scared of that possibility, but the mental numbness that followed his grief just left emptiness in its wake. He didn’t care that this was a public safety risk - it wasn’t like he was in any shape to do anything about it. Besides, Nimona hadn’t seemed dangerous… although if this one was and it killed him, maybe he’d be remembered as a martyr instead of a disappointment.

Another mysterious howl rang out. Dull curiosity overcame Ambrosius’s vague sense of self-preservation, and he followed the noise to a tangle of plants growing against the wall. He poked his crutch into the mess of green, half expecting something to leap out at him and tear off his face. At least then maybe he wouldn't be recognized if he went into the city.

Nothing happened. He prodded around the plants, his crutch scraping against stone… until it hit air where the wall should have been.

Surprised, Ambrosius pulled the plants away, exposing what originally must have been a drain under the wall, but had crumbled and eroded into a passage almost a meter in diameter. The howling was coming from inside.

Ballister would have long since said they should leave and report this. He had always acted with caution. But Ballister was gone. No one was around to stop Ambrosius’s impulses. He wanted to see a real monster. If it killed him, all the better. The world would move on without him, the same way it had done with Ballister.

The passage was dark. Ambrosius had to crouch down on all fours, dragging his bad leg behind him. The howling grew louder. Louder. And then… It stopped.

Ambrosius pushed forward, determined to find the source of the noise. There was light ahead. Moonlight. He emerged from the passage into a field of tall grass. He looked up. Behind him, stone and concrete towered into the sky. He was outside the wall.

He should have been terrified. This was actual monster territory. Anything could be out here. But instead, he stood there, leaning against the wall, waiting for something to come and snatch him up. He waited for a while. Then a breeze struck him and the howling began again from inside the passage. It had been the wind howling the entire time.

Ambrosius slumped back against the wall, disappointed. Where were the monsters? For that matter, where was the wasteland of death he'd been told about? All he could see were grassy hills with mountains in the distance. No signs of hulking, ravenous beasts that stalked the land night and day. No rotting carcasses of unfortunate creatures strewn about like so much refuse. Nothing. The place looked like it had never been touched by anything larger than a rabbit.

Ambrosius clenched his fists. The monsters had to be out there somewhere.

“I'm here! Come and get me!” he shouted, his voice echoing off the wall.

He waited.

Nothing happened.

Nothing at all.

There was nothing out here.

Ambrosius felt his arms go slack as he slid down the wall to a sit. Had there ever been monsters prowling out here? Or had everyone been wrong? Had they always been wrong? How had this never come to light? Had The Institute been hiding this? Had they been lying to everyone for centuries just to keep the populace fearful enough to obey any order?

Ambrosius looked up at the wall behind him.

How much of his life had been built on lies?

[theresattrpgforthat]

Hello! I’m wondering if you have any recommendations for Animal-themed TTRPGs? Specifically wild animals if possible (jungle, arctic, desert, etc). I have a lot of recommendations for domestic animals and pets! ☺️

Theme: Wild Animals

Hello friend! You are right, there are quite a lot of recommendations out there for cute pet-like animals, but I think I managed to find a nice variety of wild animals. I also have a few longer games to balance out the 1-page rpgs I found.

One Less Lobster in Maine, by Minte.

You’ve made it! You escaped! Freed from your wooden trap you find yourself on the picturesque coasts of Maine. One lobster alone facing the world, on a journey to make your way back to the sea. 

This game played with a deck of cards, lets you build your own adventure. Play on your own or with friends this is meant to be a fun lighthearted story building game that is easy to pick up and play. All you need are some cards, maybe some friends, your imagination for your very own crustacean crusade.

This game can be played solo or with a group; it’s basically an oracle that presents you with events and obstacles as your lobster makes their way to the sea.

Emu Uprising, by ashleecraft.

You play an emu trying to defeat the government with the help of your friends in this 1-page TTRPG based on The Great Emu War created for the Historically Accurate Game Jam 2023!

This is hilarious re-enactment of a real-life historical event. You roll a series of times using 2d6 to determine what happens in each round of battle. Your goal is to get more Emu points than Human points. Feel free to add your own embellishments to each moment of battle!

Rise of the Apes, by WuDeRPG.

Rise of the Apes takes the premise of the movie Rise of the Planet of the Apes and lets you play as a group of Apes escaping a laboratory on their quest to reach freedom in the woods.

This is the first game using the RISE system, which divides play into 3-act struggles over which your characters will experience evolutionary moments. I think this game has an interesting opportunity as a teaching tool because players have a chance to get familiar with one part of their character sheet before adding on new pieces. I’m interested to see whether each act could be its own game session; breaking out of the lab as the first act could certainly take up to 2 or 3 hours.

Crabpocalypse, by Z Gosck.

Great news, the apocalypse is here!

but not at the hands of zombies, aliens, or unrelenting capitalism, but rather the meaty claws of giant enemy crabs. And even better news, you’re the fucking crabs!

Become crab, as nature intended, in Crabpocalypse! A game that finally puts you in the carapace of a giant enemy crab, bringing unimaginable death and destruction upon a world that sorely deserves it!

An absolutely ridiculous game, Crabpocalypse requires that players play the entire game with their hands shaped like crab claws, lest they lose a point from their highest crabtribute. The whole game is this silly and over-the-top, right to the end - where you will fight a giant, human-allied crab!

Mortal Wombat, by JoshyLongLegs.

Captured in your infancy by some Australian scientists (unburdened by morals or ethics) you have been turned into a sapient cyborg synapsid, hell-bent on escaping the laboratory you've been kept captive in all these years! 

Joined by your own marsupial mob you've got to use your head and your butt to prove yourself the finest Wombatant and make your way to freedom! 

Another simple one-page game, Mortal Wombat embraces the cartoonish style of children’s tv shows and gives your wombats some serious chrome upgrades. There appears to be some callbacks to Honey Heist here, so if you’re familiar with that one-pager, this game will probably be pretty easy to pick up and play.

Moose Trip, by Kira Magrann.

You’re a moose living in the human occupied wilds of Montana. You’ve just eaten some of your favorite psychedelic mushrooms with your friends. The streams are cooling, the willows ripe with delicious leaves, and soft orange moss dots granite rocks amid grassy fields. You’re settling into your favorite lush sanctuary here in the wilds for a mind altering and inspiring psychedelic trip.

This game is more of a conversational experience than something with a definable goal. You take turns rolling mushroom feelings, and then ask the group around you the related question. I think this game could also be used as a mini-game inside a larger campaign, regardless of who your characters are - you don’t even really need to be a moose to play.

The Warren, by Bully Pulpit Games.

The Warren is a tabletop role-playing game about intelligent rabbits trying to make the best of a world filled with hazards, predators and, worst of all, other rabbits. It is a game about survival and community.

There are many creatures, humans included, that are bigger, stronger, meaner, or more numerous than rabbits. The seasons and the elements do not care that rabbits are only little things. Rabbits cannot hope to meet these threats head on. Only through speed, wits, and keeping a cool head can rabbits bypass the dangers of the outside world.

The Warren hails from the PbtA family of games, and pulls greatly on rabbit stories such as Watership Down and Peter Rabbit. It comes highly lauded and is known for its ability to combine the idyllic comfort of being a small creature with the tragic horror of being everyone’s favourite prey. If you want a deep game that isn’t afraid to send you to some dark places, I recommend The Warren.

Games I've Recommended in the Past

Capybara Capers, by momatoes.

Jellyfish Felonies, by Penguin King Games.

My Fish Games Post.

[gffa]

This is the most bare-bones recap you could do of “What the fuck is Crimson Dawn?” and it still takes up a page and a half of comics!  It doesn’t even mention Maul’s name!  To be fair, the people recounting this don’t know Maul’s name, so this works narratively, but what gets me is that I really do enjoy how Star Wars is structured, especially with how it’s this giant cascade of dominoes. Think about how complicated all of this is! - Maul is given to Sidious by Mother Talzin, he’s raised as a Sith apprentice - Maul is defeated by Obi-Wan Kenobi, becoming obsessed with revenge on him while living on a garbage planet as a half-Zabrak, half-spider person - Mother Talzin creates a new Sith apprentice for Dooku after Sidious forced him to kill Ventress (not that that worked and now Ventress wants revenge, so she went to Mother Talzin), which is eventually a wash. - Savage goes back to Mother Talzin and she sends him on a quest to bring back her son Maul, where she cures Maul’s madness and gives him more Zabrak-style legs, and they go try to kill Obi-Wan and fail at it again. - They float around in a dead ship until rescued by Death Watch, whom they ally with to create a Shadow Collective, in a bid to appear as villains for Mandalore to fight, so Death Watch can swoop in as heroes and win the people’s support to depose Duchess Satine Kryze. - Basically, two Force-sensitives (and honestly Maul could have probably done it himself) were enough to force the Pykes and Black Sun to agree to work with them, even though neither group wanted to. - They also tried to force the Hutts to join, but they refused, so Maul killed Oruba the Hutt (the only one in person at the meeting instead of on holo) and then go to Tatooine to kill Jabba, who decides, okay, he’ll join the Shadow Collective after all. - The plan on Mandalore is put in place, the Shadow Collective attacks Mandalore, Death Watch looks like heroes, Pre Vizsla is the puppet master of the Prime Minister they install, Death Watch tries to betray Maul and Savage, but they’re like, dipshit, we’re Sith Lords and fight their way to Pre’s throne room.  Maul challenges him to a fight, Maul wins, Bo-Katan Kryze (who was part of Death Watch up to this point) refuses to let a non-Mandalorian rule Mandalore (since Maul has taken up the Darksaber that Pre had and leads Death Watch and thus Mandalore now) and leaves. - Sheev Palpatine/Darth Sidious decides Maul’s become enough of a thorn in his side to deal with this, goes to Mandalore, kills Savage, puts Maul in prison and dusts off his hands like no big deal. - Maul is rescued by members of Death Watch and the puppet prime minister who are loyal to him, wins back the Darksaber, returns to Mandalore, sets up another trap to try to lure Obi-Wan there, gets Ahsoka instead (along with a whole lot of Republic troops, because Bo-Katan asked for a Republic intervention, by way of having Ahsoka ask for it), they battle it out and are relatively evenly matched, but he eventually loses.  This is the Siege of Mandalore, which puts the Republic there riiiiiiight as the Republic is turning into the Empire. - So everything goes pear-shaped in the galaxy, as the Jedi genocide is enacted, chaos erupts everywhere.  When the clones attack Ahsoka because of Order 66, she frees Maul to cause chaos and he destroys the core of the engines, forcing the ship down, but he himself escapes. - Maul regroups again and takes over Crimson Dawn, but uses Dryden Vos as a figurehead.  Vos has an assistant named Qi’ra, who is the first love of Han Solo, and when he crashes back into her life, things go pear-shaped again, resulting in a big adventure that ends with Dryden Vos’ death and Qi’ra stepping up to take his place as Maul’s new figurehead. - Qi’ra learns much about the Sith from Maul and, after his death, she takes over Crimson Dawn for real and begins to plot how to take down the Sith Lord Darth Sidious, aka Emperor Palpatine. As much ridiculous bullshit as Star Wars often is, I love that they genuinely have a galaxy that is connected together, that one plot ripples out in these surprisingly massive waves.  You don’t get to any one point on this timeline without the other points happening first, just like you don’t get to the OT without the events of the prequels happening first, you don’t get the Empire without the Republic and the Separatists both. In many ways, Star Wars is separated into periods of time, the films still largely define different eras, but there is a throughline with so much of it, the political timeline spans decades in this universe, you can follow the trail all the way back to The Phantom Menace and even earlier.  Yeah, Star Wars is often silly bullshit, but I appreciate the dedication to showing that ramifications happen when major political and criminal upheavals happen!

[mirahuyooo]

Can I request 010 with Jin 🤗🤗 thank you 😊

And happy four year anniversary to you 💕

010. “I saw you in my dreams again. It feels so real.” + kim seokjin

— Though time burdens Kim Seokjin with a curse, he’s glad to have met you in most of them.

word count: 1,039 contents: ANGST, bittersweet stuff, one-sided pining, a meet cute (??? does it count lmao), timey wimey things (stuck in a time loop), poor jinnie needs a god damn rest he just wants to save his friends and be with yn aww, based on the Bangtan Universe AU (lmaoo really takes me back ✋😩) pairing: kim seokjin x reader

[masterlist] | check out more of [Four Years with Mira]!    

A/N: thANKS SO MUCH ANON!! Ur very sweet, so I wanna apologize bc the only theme I could think of for this prompt is an ANGSTY one AWHHAHAHA i hope y’all like this one! 💗💕💖

Time is a curse for Kim Seokjin, damning him to repeat life from the same day every time a crack forms in reality. Exhaustion weighs down his bones, even if to the world around him, he’s only waking up from long hours of sleep. He hasn’t felt relief in a long time—doesn’t remember how it feels either.

Losing count of how many turns the clock has reset, alternate timelines bleed into one another in a disarray of bittersweet endeavors and immeasurable grief. Seokjin reminds himself yet again who he’s doing all of this for—would carve it into his skin if he could.

His friends, who were a gaggle of rambunctious boys that made his dull years in high school so full of life.

His friends, who he had to see hurt, die, or lose hope at nearly every turn, and fail to save.

His friends, who were trapped in perpetual tragedy, almost like he was. 

Fate is cruel, Seokjin knows that now very well, even as it gave him you—the other reason at the heart of his perseverance amidst the tantalizing journey he’s made numerous times. He doesn’t remember when, exactly, but during one turn, where he was left in despair and lost his footing on the meticulous course of events he had to enact for everyone’s sake, Kim Seokjin meets you in the bustling nightlife of Seoul. His car broke down while chasing Yoongi’s whereabouts, and the heavy rain soaks him to the bone, until you offer him your umbrella and help.

It had been a blissful life while it lasted, you helping him in his endeavors with what you could after seeing his desperation to save his friends. Even then, in other timelines you always managed to be there for him and the others in one way or another. (Seokjin fears sometimes if he had dragged you into this curse in some shape or form—if your life had been laced with the same poisonous tragedy that had sullied them all.)

He never did get to tell you he loves you, what with him only ever being the one with the knowledge of the times beyond whatever reality he spends with you. All he ever has left of you is in his memories—memories he miserably clings onto ever since it came to him how easily he can start to forget.   

His body imprints its shape on his bed as he stares at the ceiling, remnants of a moment long passed etching the image of you in his head. “I saw you in my dreams again,” his voice is airy, barely there, just like his mind, as a sigh leaves his lips. “It feels so real.”

Seokjin longs for the day he could finally—finally—set everything right and spend the rest of his life in a reality finally fulfilled, where all his friends are safe and sound, and they meet you as the love of his life after he properly pursues you as his. 

Until then, he and you are strangers crossing the streets of Seoul past one another.

Until then, he’ll work on finding the map of the soul and solve this once and for all.

Until then, he’ll keep you in his memor—

“Oh God, I’m so sorry!”

In spite of his tall build, Seokjin nearly topples over as he staggers forward at the force that crashes into him on his way to the burger joint. Turning around to see who did it, and lo and behold, the universe had summoned the one person he had spent most of his morning thinking of. 

Your hair’s gotten a bit longer this time around, tucked behind your reddening ears as you look up at him with wide eyes after picking up your umbrella from the pavement. In spite of being lost in your eyes himself, Seokjin curses that damn cosmic cat for bringing you two together when he’s trying to set his mind straight to the solution. 

Words elude the both of you for a moment, until the light droplets of the oncoming rain signaled you to put the umbrella over both your heads, something that reminds Seokjin a little bit too much of the first time you met.

Practically burying yourself behind the same, big black jacket he remembers seeing you first in, you sheepishly smile up at him—a bright sight amidst the otherwise gloomy weather. “This is going to sound awkward, but I swear this is genuine,” you purse your lips as you mull your words over. “Have I seen you anywhere before?”

For a moment, Seokjin buckles at the flicker of recognition amidst the curious confusion in your eyes, his heart thrumming wildly against his ribcage like it was about to get out of its constraints and scream Yes! Yes, you have, and you’ve taken my heart since then!

Yet, remembering heartache and the shatter of time, he reigns himself in to save both you and him the pain. “No, I don’t think we have,” he smiles, bittersweet as ever. (He wonders if a part of you—even the slightest bit—could tell.)

“Right, forget I asked,” you wave your embarrassing statement off with a forced chuckle, as you then give him a slight bow in apology. “I’m sorry again for bumping into you like that,” you say, as you look up at the murky clouds overhead promising rain. “Will you, uh, be alright in the rain?”

It hurt to simply shrug back and stay nonchalant when all he wanted was to stay under the umbrella with you and pry about what made you think he was familiar. He adjusts the cap on his head, while a part of him treacherously prays for the light rain to come down harder. “No worries. I’m almost where I needed to go, anyways,” he tells you, almost dying at the fact that this is where the conversation will end. 

“Alright, then,” you hum, almost as hesitant to go as he was. In the end, however, you bid him goodbye. “I’ll get going then.”

Seokjin is more resolved than ever as his heart breaks seeing you go. No matter how many dreams and memories come to haunt him, he’s going to put an end to this—for himself, for the boys, and for you. 

[jellostories]

AJ the Very Whimsical, Ch. 20: Little Lightning Girl

It took lots of time, patience, and taking out the trash, but AJ was finally, FINALLY, able to save up enough money to buy a GamePortal2, the “newest and greatest game system in the world” (according to their marketing tagline, at least)!

As soon as she and her mother got home from Shop-a-Lot, AJ zipped over to the TV and ripped open the box her GamePortal came in with a butter knife.

“Le wowsies!” the little girl exclaimed in awe as she pulled out her new game console.

The GamePortal2 was shaped like a cube, with two slots for the controllers in front, the disc drive and memory card slot on top, and the sockets for the power and A/V cords in the back.

Tears of joy began welling up in AJ’s eyes. “Eet’s so belle! I’ve got to plug eet een!”

The little girl pulled the A/V and power cords out of the box her GamePortal came in just as her mother walked through the door.

“Try not to electrocute yourself, cher,” Blaze said, ruffling AJ’s hair as she passed by on her way to the kitchen. AJ giggled at the feel of her mother’s hand on her head.

“Ok, Mommy!” the younger Arquette said, saluting Blaze as she walked through the kitchen door. “I promeese you I won’t become ze French fry!”

Once the kitchen door swung closed, AJ held up her game system’s A/V cords…and frowned with confusion.

“Yellow, white, red?” she thought, eyeing the plugs that were supposed to go into the TV. “What does zat mean? And why are zey all tied up weeth rubber bands?”

AJ tried to pull the rubber band off of the A/V cord and ended up thwacking herself right in the forehead. 

“Le owie!” the little girl cried as she rubbed her throbbing bruise. “What ze fudgebag, rubber band zingy!? What for are you ‘itting me? Eez eet because I used your cousin as ze waistband of my ‘omemade skirt last week? Eet’s not my fault I’m poor — eet’s ze government’s fault! Zey must ‘ate me ‘cause I’m blonde or somezing!” 

AJ chuckled at her own joke before her face went blank. “What was I doing again? Oh, right!”

The little girl tried to plug the A/V adapter into her GamePortal when suddenly, the cords sprang to life and began wrapping themselves around her small body.

“‘EY!” AJ yelled in shock as the cords lifted her up in the air. “You dumb, meanie cords (excusez mon francais)! Deedn’t your mommy ever tell you not to tr—mmf!”

AJ was cut off by the cords ripping one of her socks off and shoving it in her mouth. 

The girl gasped and mumbled frantically into the sock: “Mmm-fm-mm mmf-mm-fmm!”

Ignoring her childish insult about eating kitty litter, the cords turned AJ upside down, raised her several inches higher into the air, and started shaking her like a doll. 

All at once, AJ’s eyes became visible; her face turned green; her hat fell off; and her shirt, skirt, and necklace flew up, exposing her bone-skinny belly and her blue leggings. She felt embarrassed and terrified at the same time. She didn’t like heights very much, and having her thin belly and leggings exposed didn’t help. Also, why did AJ wear socks over her leggings again? Oh, well, it didn’t matter right now. What really mattered, she decided in a split second as she spat out her now-dampened sock, was that she re-enacted Plan E, a bedtime story her mother often read to her about a girl who was trapped in licorice but managed to get out through…rather bizarre means.  

AJ licked her lips, ready to get even more bizarre than usual…

~~~

A minute and a half later…

The kitchen door creaked open to reveal Blaze’s pale face.

“AJ?” said the elder Arquette. “Deenner’s rea—SACREBLEU!”

AJ was sitting behind her new GamePortal with a dazed look on her face. Every three seconds or so, she’d hiccup, and a jolt of electricity would zap over her entire body, showing her skeleton.

Blaze entered the TV room, her eyes wide with shock (no pun intended—yet) as she covered her gaping mouth with a gloved hand.

“B— hick! — Bonjour, Mommy,” the little girl slurred, sounding like she’d had one too many root beers. Her head was swaying like a bobblehead going down a bumpy road. “Eez zat — hick! — a new tank top you’re — hick! — wearing? Eet looks — hick! — really super fabulous! Hick! Can I add eet to my — hick! — fashion line when I’m older? Si’l vous — hick! — plait? Oh, and I ate a — hick! — cord, by ze way. Hick!”

Mascara ran down Blaze’s cheeks as she started to cry.

“I am a failure as a mere!” she thought with anguish and self-disgust. “My bebe ate an A/V cord when I wasn’t looking! I should’ve taught ‘er zat shock value eez bad!”

Sniffing, Blaze grabbed the tongs from off the fireplace and used them to pick up her child and place her in front of the grandfather clock by the entryway, away from the GamePortal.

“Oh, AJ,” the elder Arquette sniffed, shaking her head as she picked up the phone by the loveseat and dialed the number for the B.A.T.S. “What am I going to do weeth you?”

“Use me to – hick! – power ze television?” AJ suggested.

[cloudcountry]

GOOD MORNING I HAD A V LOUD DREAM

I gathered all of the boys+staff in a lecture hall and gave an "importance of mental health" lecture. After discussing potential issues and the accommodations, I dismissed the first years. I also completely stopped masking and went apeshit on Crowley for:

KIDNAPPING me

forcing me into doing his paperwork/anything he didn't want to do

giving me almost no money to live off of

giving me extremely dangerous living conditions

making me the soul therapist for the whole school (also unpaid)

Having me, the magicless kid, fight the FUCKING OBERBLOTS

Generally being a shit headmaster

Separating a person with 3 Severe and Chronic disorders from their medicine WHILE ALSO making them a perfect/headmaster In everything but title

Bro tried to come up with excuses but I smacked him with a ruler and started laughing in that way that makes people uncomfortable. "YOU THINK YOU HAVE ROOM TO SPEAK YOU FEATHERED TWAT?! YOU HAVE NOT ONLY FAILED ME, BUT THE DORM LEADERS AS WELL! EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THESE INSTANCES COULD'VE BEEN PREVENTED OR AT LEAST HAD BETTER DAMAGE CONTROL! YOU ARE A FAILURE. YOU ONLY CARE ABOUT YOURSELF AND THE IMAGE OF NRC!" [insert maniacal laughter] "Ohhhhh- but you did it! You pissed of someone with REALLY INTENSE EMOTIONS! WHO ALSO DOESNT CARE IF THEY KILL PEOPLE! You. Separated. Me. From. My. MEDICINE. And you aren't even trying to send me home becuase I don't legally exist here and you're using it to get past all the labor laws! You have exactly ONE WEEK to get your shit together before I enact the consequences."

"BUT I AM MERCIFUL AND BENEVOLENT! I GAVE YOU HOUSING AND-"

"AFTER. YOU. KIDNAPPED. ME!!!! IF YOU DONT SHAPE UP I WILL RELEASE MY ENTIRE ARCHIVE OF EVENTS- VIDEOS, WRITTEN ACCOUNTS, THE LIST OF THINGS YOU HAVE MADE ME DO- ALL OF IT WILL BE PUBLISHED PUBLICLY ON THREE SEPERATE MEDIA PLATFORMS AND BE SENT TO RSA."

[cue more manic laughter as I grin and cry]

"DONT YOU SEE?! HA! CHECKMATE! YOU HAVE NO WHERE TO RUN!"

"Perfect! This is unbecoming-!"

"OH NO NO NO-! YOU SEE- I AM NOT MASKING! I am saying everything without a filter! NOW HEAR THIS: Look what you have done. You have pushed so many over with your lack of care! And now you done that to me! Boom! Snapped! Gone!" [Insert giggles of doom] "You have trapped yourself in a corner Crowley! What can you do? Reprimand me? Send me to live on the streets? LOOK AT THE SITUATION BABY! HA HA! I AM A TAMER! I HAVE ROYALTY, INFLUENCE AND GENUIS AT MY FINGERTIPS!" [gestures widely to the boys, obviously still laughing like a psychopath] "I PUT IN THE EFFORT TO KNOW THEM- HELP THEM- THEY KNOW I WILL DEFEND THEM AND GIVE THEM THE HELP THEY NEED! AND NOW I HOLD THE VERY REPUTATION OF NRC IN MY MAGICLESS HANDS!"

[Crowley and staff is motionless in shock] [I approach Crowley, standing there menacingly]

"You need me, don't you Headmaster? I am the one who keeps everything together~! I am the one- the one who will drag your name through the mud- drag the school's name through the mud- the one who will crush everything you love and watch as your life turns to a wasting shell. Fix this shit or fuck around and find out."

this .,., are you okay identity (i mean crowley deserves it but holy shit why was that your DREAM) (i can only imagine what a dream analyst would come up with from this) (also i love how your points are NUMBERED organization is much appreciated!!)

[ao3time]

Idioms In Gotham

@acingrayson: Regular people: "smell the flowers!" ( enjoy things!) Gothamites: "smell the flowers" (get stupidly caught by a rogue)

I hc that Gothamites have like a whole lexicon of phrases that mean completely different things than literally anywhere else

Me: This looks like a fun way to procrastinate! Let’s get some of that sweet, sweet dopamine! 

 "Beat around the bush" also comes from Ivy and her plants. It means being late to something because of inconvenient Rouge shenanigans making your commute way longer than expected

 "Call it a day" is when a night is surprisingly calm for Gotham, so it may as well be daytime. "Call it a night" is the opposite. 

 "Cutting Corners" is being careful or cautious, because sticking to walls shadows and corners is the best way to walk from point a to b without being caught off guard. 

 "When you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras" is to be an idiot who underestimates the theatricality of Gotham nightlife 

 "It's not rocket science" is what you say when someone is trying to make something logical that will never be logical. You can try to be as analytical if you want but sometimes it's all magic and curses. 

 "Let someone off the hook" is to fall into a trap by trying to rescue a seemingly innocent victim. Wasting time you should spend running untying, unhooking, or otherwise freeing someone who is just as likely to turn on you.

 "Miss the boat" came about when 3 separate villains intentionally crashed ships into Gotham in the span of 3 months. Miss the boat means to repeatedly dodge bad luck by sheet chance. 

 "No pain, no gain" means to call something a draw. It's okay you didn't get anything out of it, at least you aren't in pain. 

 "Time flies when you're having fun" is a warning to small kids. Don't have too much careless fun or night will hit and you'll be unprepared. 

  "Get bent out of shape" means something didn't go as bad as it could have. Like a bent streetlight as opposed to one that falls on someone's head.

 "A bird in the bush is worth two in the hand": this altered saying refers to Robin and other vigilantes being great from afar, but if they're near you, your day either has been or will be bad. 

 "A perfect storm" is any natural disaster or bad weather event that doesn't include supervillain shenanigans.  

"Bite off more than you can chew" means to be smart and take any and every resource you can, because you may not have the chance later

"Break the ice" means to go about your day after something catastrophic. It originated from workers calmly going at their office doors with icepicks after an attack from Mr. Freeze because their boss still needed the quarterly reports in today

 "By the skin of your teeth" to get through an event alive, but with weird unexplained medical effects 

 "Do something at the drop of a hat" enact a safety plan the instant that anything goes even a little bit wrong. 

 "Every cloud has a silver lining" means don't dawdle looking at pleasant or pretty sights. Sources disagree about whether the "silver" refers to knives and swords, or lead poisoning. 

 "Go on a wild goose chase" For a hot second in the 90's there was a goose themed rouge. This means to be chased, caught or tormented by a off-off-off brand villain. Your friends are never going to let you live it down. 

 "It's a piece of cake" = too good to be true 

 "It's raining cats and dogs" = a villain scheme disguised as a natural disaster. It doesn't matter if you don't know the motive or the objective, you stay inside and keep your head down. 

 "On this ice" also comes from Mr. Freeze. It means that whatever the inconvenience is, it's small enough that you can go about your day, so don't expect sympathy. 

 "Take it with a grain of salt" means to prepare some small thing to keep you safe. Named after a woman who would throw salt over her shoulder for good luck every 5 minutes while running errands. 

 "The early bird gets the worm" is a threat. 'worm' here refers to petty criminals and mildly bad people. The early bird refers to new Robins who are overeager and haven't learned how to pull their punches or prioritize. It's a playful way to tell a friend that karma is coming for them (example: "What the hell? You stole my popcorn!" "What are you going to do about it?" "The early bird gets the worm, you know!")

 "There's a method to his madness" means that if you try to understand the rouges, you will go mad

 "Calm before the storm" is a positive saying because sometimes a good natural disaster means everyone will just stay home and ignore each other 

 "Fortune favors the bold" refers to how those crazy rouges and bats and dramatic theater kids of all sorts Somehow make it out of everything unscathed. Basically means 'life's not fair' or 'if there is a god he has a sick sense of humor' 

 "Sitting on the fence" means letting your guard down. You shouldn't be resting out in the open like that! 

 "Seeing eye to eye" = being unexpectedly trapped in close quarters with someone. 

 "You can catch more flies with honey than you can with vinegar"= don't be too nice to people, or you could attract trouble. It's better to be standoffish. These are very much up for grabs if anyone likes them!

[echo-of-sounds]

lazy start, intense finish (pt.2 in the 'your first creampie' series)

-Aizawa x f!reader-

smut drabble of aizawa giving you your first creampie

I’m posting this using my phone’s hotspot because I just really wanted to get this out today. Nothing’s really loading. I picked a gif at random. If the format is a little wonky, I apologize. I’ll fix it later.

Warnings: nothing serious, just a little deepthroating/gagging

At the commercial break, you lowered the volume for Shouta sleeping on your stomach. He sighed and nuzzled into you. His hands were burrowed inside your sweatshirt for warmth, resting on your sides. Not that he needed the extra warmth. His body was nothing but a radiator, keeping yours pleasantly cozy in the cool room.

He remained motionless for another thirty minutes until his chest rumbled a swear.

“You alright?”

He groaned, turning his head. Through the thick, black mess, you saw his eyes straining at the Tv. At least they seemed less red than an hour and a half ago. Hair stuck to his mouth. You gently brushed the strands out of his face, carefully combing through them.

A low hum sounded at your grooming. Your fingers graced behind his ear, down his jaw, skimming the defined bone and bristles. It’s grown a little longer than usual, shading in the sparse five o’clock with attractive, full stubble.

He grumbled in a thick voice, “I need to shave it soon.”

“I like it like this.”

“It’s annoying like this.” He shifted on top of you, removing his hands from your sweatshirt. You moved too, bending your left leg, wedged amid him and the couch’s back, to relieve your stiff knee. He faced your thigh and pressed his lips to it. The peck formed into a long kiss, dragging the thin skin into his mouth.

The heated weight between your legs allowed you to lazily hump, working up wetness, not from his mouth. His lower chest rocked with you. Fingertips depressed into your thigh. Hair mingled around your playing fingers, keeping you coupled as he sucked, stressing the skin with teeth and lips.

You sighed for him. He didn’t budge. You wiggled, cooing, “Shouta, come here.”

Your voice corralled him; he lifted, crawled up to your mouth. Heft settled on top, happily trapping you for a kiss. Swelling swayed against you, encouraging your hips to return the favor. His tongue crudely sunk into your mouth. It drew moans and heavy breaths from both of you, hastening your grinding.

The kisses trailed to your jaw, then neck once you opened it, where his teeth decided to taste. You fondled him through his sweatpants. The material didn’t stifle his girth and heat. And your groping spurred his swaying into thrusting, obviously wanting something to thrust into.

You were about to speak when he bit your neck, shaping your words into a gasp. His jaw didn’t release, very clearly set on leaving you swollen. You squeezed his cock. That only made his hips jerk. You squeezed his sleeve next, panting, “Let’s go- Fuck. Let’s go to bed.”

Shouta heaved himself and you up. The cuddly start to your night-in quickly disappeared as he muscled you to the bedroom. His tongue left your mouth once when he slipped his shirt off. Your palms flushed over his abdomen, feeling up the grooves and hair, smoothing along his pecs, kindling from his radiator of a chest.

“God, you’re so fucking hot.”

“Then suck me off,” he gruffed, gripping your hair to keep your mouth against his for an airless ten seconds before shoving you to the bed. He dropped his pants and boxers, then joined. But he laid beside you, waiting for you to enact what he said.

And you did. Ready and willing, you hopped between his legs, kissing his erection. Veins in his foreskin slicked with your tongue, from his raphe to his frenulum. The little ridge of skin roused him, physically and audibly. A blush tainted his cheeks. Gorgeous sighs charmed your ears. You lapped slowly, softly, and sweetly at the reactive zone, soaking up his sounds, also soaking your panties.

“You look so handsome right now,” you praised. “Not that you don’t look handsome other times.”

Holding him steady, you pressed a lewd kiss to his head, and you couldn’t help but nip his corona. Then you took him in your mouth, quickly sinking, gradually rising, lightly dragging your teeth along him.

His head dropped to the pillows. Black hair frayed out, exposing pale collarbones and marred skin. His abs expanded in lengthy, indulged breaths. As your fingers trailed up the muscles, he snagged your hair, forcing you lower. Another hand joined. Hips snapped up. Each loud, deep prod choked you. Tears fell when he held you down, flattening your nose into his hair, stationing his dick thick and solid in your throat.

“Fuck,” he groaned.

Saliva dribbled. Heat pooled in your neck. A crude gag came with his grinding, making him yank you off. Dark eyes watched spit seep past your lips, drooling to him. They kept yours in focus, his head tapping your lips. “Clean it.”

You nursed on him again, sucking up all his precum and your spit. After a gentle thumb wiped the tears away, his palm rested on your cheek, calmly guiding your head. You hummed.

The switch from dominant to mellow wasn’t new, but it always sparked an affectionate glow in your stomach. The glare, from arousal, not anger, was always pleasing. And the intensity, you’ve seen many a time. Yet something about the tilt of his eyebrows and the pink of his ears goaded an unfamiliar experience, a new need.

Wetly, lust-filled, you spoke around his glans, tasting the salt you wanted to feel inside, “Cum in me.”

“What?”

“Cum in me.” You climbed up, parked on his waist, and removed your sweatshirt. You cupped his cheeks, kissing him with all the potency this need inflamed. “I’m on birth control. It’ll be okay. I want to feel what it’s like.”

“No one’s ever cum in you?”

You stroked his jaw. “No. It’s never come up. I want it to be with you.”

“You sure?”

“Yes,” you whined before kissing him, smiling at the tongue muscling in.

Rough fingers coasted down your back and into your underwear. They kneaded your ass, spreading and pressing you while you moved with his hands, lightly riding his naked chest. The foreplay was becoming a bit too much, evident in the wet material pressing between you.

The fingers skimmed to your front and easily slipped in. “You’re this wet just from thinking about-”

“Yes,” you gasped, appreciating how his palm graded your clit. You stilled his wrist to grind down. “Sho, I’m gonna- Fuck.”

“How am I supposed to cum in you if you get worn out before I’m even inside you?” His stupid, rugged, lovely smirk taunted you.

Before you could respond, you were whipped to the mattress and your panties were tugged off. Shouta nestled between your thighs, immersing himself balls deep without any pushback or preparation. Knowing how this was going to end livened your noises and heightened your skin. Coarse hair, fevered skin, sultry breaths, digging fingers, lips, teeth, nails; all fueled the fire.

With a bite to your already bitten-up neck, the thrusts started solid. His head brushed straight into your front wall over and over and over again. Your nails made a home in his back, scratching, thanking him for his beautiful dick.

Shouta pushed up to his hands, increasing the strength behind the thrusts. You grasped at his biceps and rose, needing his mouth. You got what you wanted; sloppy, saliva, tongue-filled kisses and deep thrusts to curl your toes. Your eyes fluttered closed and head lolled back. Refusing to break, the kiss followed with his added grunts, amorous sounds he barely shared.

You tried speaking, voicing how amazing he always made you feel, your love, close you were, how so fucking high you felt. But nothing escaped your connected mouths except saliva. Instead, you stroked your clit. The width inside was leading you straight to orgasm.

Yet, rather fiercely, your hand was stopped.

“Sho, I-”

“Tonight, you cum from me,” he growled in your ear. He hooked both your knees, leaned forward, and continued his unabashed rutting, flattening you to the bed, completely caging you under him and the weight bearing down and into you.

He withdrew till only his head remained then bucked, slapping his balls against you, using the bed’s bounce to repeat repeatedly, jarring your hips and legs. His thrusts reached your depths. Pleasure drowned any twinge of pain out. You weakly clawed at his shoulder blades, losing energy.

“Cum.”

You whined his name.

“Now.” Teeth, once again, found your sore neck. Hair flared over your face, lending more building heat. “Cum, now.”

Arousal dripped from the disgustingly vulgar sounds between you. Your muscles couldn’t straighten under his control. You fussed and pawed.

“Fucking cum,” Sho gnarled. The guttural demand rolled your head back, driving home what he wanted, clenching muscles and limbs around him. Water formed from squeezing your eyes too hard. Skin gave under your nails.

All the joyous bliss almost turned painful with his nonstop thrusting. Because of the position, your legs couldn’t wrap his waist. But they still tried, needing him to stay inside. You felt down his sides and grappled at the sweat-coated skin. “Shouta, please- Fuck! Please.”

“I’m fucking-” His own huffing cut him off, struggling to even out. Thick groans melted in your ear. His thighs, while railroading through, trembled, humping, seeking.

“Cum in me. I want it.”

The thrust slowed, but the weight behind them didn’t lessen. He pressed into your neck.

“God, Sho, just cum in me.”

Each ball slap lingered longer and longer.

“Please,” you all but pleaded.

Swearing and growling your name, he sunk one last time, grinding against you, trying to push just a little deeper as you finally felt cum inside. It was new, different, and so, so warm. Hearty groans rumbled his chest. He dropped your legs, giving you the chance to wrap around him, embracing tight, and refusing to let him pull out.

Shouta’s labored breathing gradually calmed. Though it didn’t ease the heat of your bodies. And neither of you spoke, choosing to just lay and experience the feeling together.

[lovecanbesostrange]

It started with an ask on konako’s blog, that led to a small scene with Red kneeling before the Evil Queen. (x) That was almost Red Queen fun. But it spun into something very dark, because the Evil Queen did capture Red and torture as punishment followed (this goes into dead-dove territory, you are warned, it’s messed up). Here are 4k words of what happened in the palace dungeon afterwards (spoiler alert, excessive use of silver):

summary: Red made the Evil Queen look foolish and gets utterly destroyed for it (graphic depictions of violence included)

Finally a little triumph. The Evil Queen went down the stairs into the dungeon. Every step of her well-shined heeled boots echoed loudly from the stone steps. Sometimes she wished she had more patience to make good use of the cells down here. But she was bored too easily not getting answers and the prisoners died quickly. Her torturer barely had anything to do. Why did she even pay him anymore? (Did she pay anyone in the palace? They were allowed to live and had nice enough accommodations and food, for sure that was enough.)

But now Regina wanted to take all the time in the world. Her knights had captured that wolf woman! After the bloodbath she had caused weeks ago that made Regina look foolish, she would enjoy their time together now. And it would send Snow White a message in the end.

Two guards were posted outside the cell and two inside. Of course knowing they dealt with a werewolf made handling the prisoner easier. For one the full moon was a couple of nights away. And silver was easy to come by to keep her in line. Regina had also instructed her blacksmith to forge some chains in preparation for when she would be captured. It had been a priority task.

When Regina entered the cell she smiled and took in the sight. Red was chained up in the middle of the room. She was stripped down to her undergarments, her clothes on the floor, except for her cloak that was draped over one of the tables. Her arms were raised above her head, wrists bound by the heavy cuffs each connected to a chain going through a loop in the ceiling and then stretching all the way to a bolt in the wall. Her ankles were cuffed as well, a short heavy chain in between so she couldn’t take any significant steps. Not that she could run away, since her toes barely reached the ground. Red had to carry her weight in her arms, shoulders.

“Well, well, well, so we meet again.” Regina took her time to enter and circled Red, who tried to follow her with her eyes. “You made quite a spectacle the last time.”

“Do you want an apology?” Red’s voice was firm. Too firm for Regina’s taste.

“I don’t think you could muster up an honest one. You’re a deceiver.” Regina stopped in front of her. “Begging for those peasants’ lives and then killing my men.” She grabbed Red’s chin with her thumb and index finger. “You said there was no need for bloodshed and you happily slaid them anyway.”

“I wouldn’t have done that if you hadn’t tried to take me.”

“As if you thought I would let you walk away from there.” Regina looked closely into those green eyes. Was the bravado real or just posturing? “Don’t get me wrong, the way you killed those men without a second thought was impressive. I can admire that. But the humiliation it would have been to return to the village and enact punishment, admitting to being defeated that day - I can’t let that slide.” She slapped Red across the cheek.

Red closed her eyes and didn’t turn her face back up. She was glad the villagers had been spared. Regina didn’t know how long she had stuck around to make sure there was no retaliation. And whatever was about to follow, would have been worth it. Snow had her plans to strike and they were close to luring the Queen into a trap. But every day more innocent people could die and Red could not sit by. She owed it to the victims of the wolf to use her strength for good now.

She heard Regina take a few steps back and looked again. The cloak was in her hands now. “Do you have any other name or should I just call you Red. Not very original, is it? Naming yourself after a bit of fabric.” Her fingers traced the patterns. “I sense magic in this. But I guess asking about it will not bring me answers, right? Just like any of Snow White’s plans won’t leave your lips.”

Statements. The Evil Queen had made up her mind already, questions weren’t part of whatever this encounter was. Red turned her hands around and tried to get a grip on the chain, change her position the slightest bit to take some strain off of her already burning shoulders.

“Do you know there isn’t much to find in books about your kind?” Regina exchanged the cloak for something else from the table. It reflected a bit of the amber light emitted from the fireplace and Red could see it was a simple dagger. “The one thing that is said over and over though is your weakness towards silver. I’m curious. Is it just the metal or wounds inflicted by it?”

Red already clenched her jaw before Regina put the blade against the skin on her upper arm, preparing to get cut. But instead Regina pressed the flat side on her skin first. Definitely silver. Pure. Red felt the effect in a matter of seconds and bit down, grinding her teeth.

Regina stood close again, caught her eyes with her gaze and kept pressing the blade against the tender side of her arm. “Don’t worry, I will write down everything I’m about to do here, so the books can add a chapter about how to break a wolf when in their human form.” And with that she turned the dagger and cut the skin. Red flinched, more from the shock than the actual pain. It was a relief actually to have the silver leave her.

“Are there noteworthy differences between a cut with this,” Regina lifted the dagger, “and a normal blade?” She gestured towards one of the guards and he immediately unsheathed a dagger from his boot. Without hesitation Regina reproduced the cut on the other arm. The blood almost tickled as it ran down. “Oh no, I’m making a mess. Getting blood out of clothes is such a hassle.”

Regina let one of the daggers fall down and with the other cut along the seams of Red’s top half of what she was left wearing. Red closed her eyes again as she felt air hit her exposed body. She knew which weapon Regina held and she could feel the silver being drawn over her skin, over her collarbone, between her breasts, down to her navel. The point barely left a scratch, but the offending metal felt like being brushed with a nettle. Red took in deep, sharp breaths through her nose.

That reaction was exactly what made Regina go slower with her movements. It wasn’t the sharpness that left the light red mark, no, it appeared the longer she held the blade in place. What an interesting sight to watch. Regina brought her free hand up to Red’s chin again, this time squeezing her jaw with her palm, digging her fingers into her cheek. Red looked at her again.

“You know, the longer you resist, the more adamant I will be to make you scream. That is how these things work.” She brought the dagger up to Red’s forehead, this time with the edge to cut into her skin again. It took a few seconds, but then the blood running over her eyebrows made Red blink.

“Can you hold this for me?” With that she wedged the silver dagger between the torn clothes and Red’s hips. Red squirmed trying to get away, but the blade touched her thigh ever so slightly. “I learned a valuable lesson the other day. A blacksmith works with iron. Like those chains holding you. Not used to working with silver. You would have to ask a silversmith about it. I even found one and he is working on special silver cuffs for me. Or rather, for you.”

Regina stood at the table again, her back to Red. When she turned around she held up a necklace. “So for now, I have to settle for delicate jewelry instead of the collar you deserve.” Under any other circumstance Red would have admired the piece. Obviously the star-shaped ornament was meant to hold a gemstone in place, a diamond or a sapphire, but this was stripped down to the silver components for one purpose only. “So you will get used to a leash later,” was all Regina added as she put it around Red’s neck.

Red held on. Her skin was crawling all over, the itch on her thigh burning already, but she tried to stay as still as possible. She couldn’t do anything against the tears forming in her eyes, betraying her brave face though.

Regina stood before her, brows furrowed. “Your healing isn’t as fast. I will need to wait hours to compare those cuts on your arms. There is something I am forgetting.” She rubbed her temples, feigning to think. “Oh, of course, I need a point of reference!” A clap of her hands alerted the guard. “You, get the girl from next door.” Red’s eyes went wide.

“No. Wait. You don’t need to drag anybody else into this.”

Regina stepped closer and slapped her across the cheek again, harder this time. “I don’t remember asking for your opinion and you will stop being so informal around me!”

“Yes, Your Majesty”, Red quickly gathered herself. “But please, there is no need-” But she already saw a frightened young girl being pushed into the cell. About her height and weight, seemingly healthy. For now. The girl fell to the floor and cowered there.

“I caught her stealing, so normally she would already be dead. But she can be of use for me.” Regina put a hand into her hair and yanked her head up, to make her look at Red. “Or do you want her dead right now?”

The terror Red felt was mirrored on the girl’s face. Was there a chance of survival for her? She was ready to beg for her life; to lie on that table where Regina obviously had more silver tools; to take any punishment herself. “No,” Red whispered. Another yank at the girl’s hair. “No, Your Majesty.”

“A fast learner.” She pushed the girl into a chair with cuffs on the armrests. Seating her in front of Red. The girl trembled and looked to the floor. Red tried to pull at her chains, but it only sent a jolt of pain through her shoulders.

Regina paced the room. After a while she came up behind Red. “Your shoulders must really hurt by now. Let me help you with that.” Her fingers played with the necklace and Red hissed. Shifting it around made the pain more noticeable. “The plate.” She said towards the guards. Behind Red a wooden plate leaned against the wall. A thin metal sheet on one side, coated in silver. She knew that before the guards shoved it under her feet. The wood added a few inches so in theory this took some of the weight off her shoulders, but the soles of her feet would soon itch, turn red, swell, hurt and most likely blister. She tried to balance on the outside of her feet only, to not hurt everywhere all at once.

“Do you know what the second thing is that some texts suggest to use against a werewolf?” Silence. “Oh, that was a genuine question directed at you. Do you know?”

“Fire.” Red answered between breaths. Her mouth was open now, it was dry. She didn’t dare to fully fill her lungs, because that made the necklace move. The attack on multiple parts of her body with the silver was starting to overwhelm her.

“That is correct. You know your weaknesses it seems.” Regina conjured a fireball in her hand. “Fire is pure. It doesn’t discriminate. It can be very elegant.” She stepped closer to Red, hand outstretched so she could feel the heat of the flame. “How fast can you heal a burn wound?”

“I don’t k-” Red couldn’t finish that sentence, because Regina held her hand to her side now. A scream was all that escaped her lips. The fireball wasn’t cast, but the flame burned her flesh. Red clenched her fists and tried to step away, the chains around her ankles making a screeching sound dragging over the silver plate. There was no escape, because Regina just followed with her hand. She closed her hand and the fireball vanished. Red went slack, her breathing sped up. The only good thing was that in this commotion, the dagger had gotten loose and fallen to the floor.

Red sorted out her senses, trying to gather her bearings, when she heard the girl scream. Louder, more fearful, indicating the horrible pain she never felt before. Regina had torn her clothes and burned her at the exact same place on her body. For reference. Red couldn’t put the horror of it into words. Would it indeed be better for the girl if she was dead already? She didn’t even know her name.

And Red didn’t learn her name over the next few days, because whatever happened, she would not talk to her. Regina had strictly forbidden it and the rotating guards would hit her at a single word. It was almost comical. Red’s body went numb. Cuts, rashes, bruises, welts, burns, scratches. It came and went. The pain was a constant throbbing, she got repositioned a few times, but it felt like she would never use her arms on her own accord again. But whatever happened to her, the girl looked worse. Red did heal faster from any wound not dealt with silver. But it did take a lot from her regardless. She lost track of time. What was sleep? Any kind of shame about being naked had vanished. Instead of clothes her body was covered in forming scars, marks and blemishes.

Red tried to count the rotations of the guards, to get any kind of feeling for the passing days. It was only days, right? It felt like forever. Silver on her skin somewhere at all times, lashes from a whip, getting burned with a torch, red hot iron, and so many cuts to make her bleed. The worst still a long deep wound on her right cheek, starting at her ear right to the corner of her mouth. When they allowed her some water, it even hurt to swallow.

Later Red found out it had been five days in total. It seemed like a small window of time. But the Evil Queen lived up to her name. Especially on day four, when she left permanent damage. While Red was mostly kept standing up, the girl was strapped to the chair. Not that she had any energy left to walk out of here, even if they’d opened the door for her. Regina stood behind her and pulled her head back.

“Just look at me, I’m sure this won’t hurt you.”

Red looked on as Regina dripped liquid into one of her eyes. The girl flinched, but that was a reflex. None of her sounds of discomfort or pain left her throat. That made Red more nervous than she would admit. And she was right to be.

“Just as I thought. Look at that, barely irritated.” She pushed the girl’s head forward, her eye teared up, maybe a bit reddened.

Regina walked around her and caught Red’s gaze. “Such beautiful green eyes. Quiet unusual. Of course not as remarkable as the wolfish gold, is it?” The way she kept staring was unnerving and Red’s breathing already picked up. Fear. In a short amount of time she had learned what fear truly was.

“Hold her steady.” A guard came and grabbed Red’s head from behind. Panic sunk in and she started to squirm, tried to turn her face away, to wiggle out of his grip. She wasn’t sure what was about to happen, but she knew she wanted out. Right now. No more pain, she couldn’t take anymore. But she had to.

Regina got a few drops out of the vile, into Red’s right eye. “Don’t worry, it’s mostly water. Just a tiny bit of silver dust mixed into it.”

Red pushed her body back as hard as she could, but her mangled feet had no grip, it was more like leaning into the guy. No force to get him off. And then the pain started. It felt like a needle prick. And all of a sudden the colors exploded in Red’s sight. Everything was sharper, the light from the fireplace brighter. She knew her eyes turned golden like before she would transform. It had happened a few times, when highly agitated. Now it was a physical response.

Regina laughed. “I did not expect that.” She met Red’s terror with fascination. More needle pricks in her eye, the urge to rub it away. Red pulled at her chains, she wanted to press the palm of her hand against her eye and get the irritating feeling out. But there was no chance. All Regina saw was the golden color and Red gasping for air, holding back a scream. The hitched breathing was a good enough tell that this hurt.

Worse than the pain that kept sinking in was the way Red started to see white dots, blind specks in her vision. Three, four, five, more and more. She blinked, her tearducts fighting off the intrusion, but the silver too strong an opponent. Red clenched her jaw and groaned. She let out a growl from deep within, filled with frustration and pain. It was more of a bellow than a scream. Regina smiled at that.

While Red’s left eye got back to its human green, the right eye stayed golden, a misty layer clouding the bright hue. It drew Regina’s full attention, while it would be weeks for Red to discover the permanent change. Blinded, only noting a change between light and darkness. Her eyeball feeling like it was rubbed with sandpaper made the rest of the day seem like nothing. Time moved on

And then unthinkable happened. The chains were loosened completely, the cuffs came off. Red tried to curl up on the floor, but she could barely move her joints. Everything hurt too much. But Regina laughed. “Remember that I said I will make you beg for more than mercy? How about you ask me to end her suffering?”

Red looked up. Trying to adjust to the impaired vision. As bad as she felt, the girl looked worse. “Please…”, the girl said and the guard standing behind her, hit her against the head immediately.

It took everything Red had to turn herself upright, to bend her knees and sit on them. To kneel before Regina again. No side eye, no hint of a smirk, no failsafe. The burn marks hurt worst next to the chafed skin around her neck from the necklace that was also gone now. “Your…” Red was shaking, she had to cough trying to speak. “Please, Your Majesty. End her suffering. I beg you. Please. It’s enough… enough…” And with that she fell down again.

“Pathetic.” Regina’s verdict was cold as ice. “And to think I had a gift for you just now. Guards.” They stood next to Red and pulled her to her knees again, held her up. Regina leaned towards her. “My silversmith has arrived.” She produced a silver object and only when the lock clicked around her neck did Red realize this was the collar she had talked about. She felt the burn on her throat and winced. It was a sound she was used to producing by now.

“So?”

“Please… Your Majesty…” Red was panting, she could not finish the plea.

Regina rolled her eyes. “If this is the best you can do, so be it. Ending the suffering now.” And with that her hand shot straight into Red’s chest and pulled out her heart. “Kill her. Rip her throat out like you always do.”

Red wanted to scream. She wanted to jump the Evil Queen. To tear up the men holding her. But what she wanted was irrelevant all of a sudden. The will to do it was overwritten. She looked at the girl, defeated, not even surprised. While Red’s mind fully woke up for the first time in days, all her muscles reacted to something else. The pain all over her body was terrible, but every second she didn’t comply was even more agony.

Red crawled more than she walked to get to the chair. She hovered over her nameless victim, tried to hold back, but those terror-stricken eyes met hers. “Make it quick, please.” Oh, if only she could turn into a wolf, those sharp teeth would take less than a second. Regina had specified how this girl was supposed to die and Red could not opt to cut her throat with a knife, she sunk her still very human teeth into it. The larynx, so easy to wrap fangs around, was hard, the skin and flesh thick. The scream the girl let out was only short, because the pressure suffocated her. It was impossible to make this quick-

Finally Red tasted blood. Tears ran down her face, but she could not stop herself from this horrible act. This slow, agonizing, inhumane death of a nameless chamber maid, who probably hadn’t even stolen a thing. Someone at the wrong place, at the wrong time, who had suffered for days for cruel experiments with no merit. One more victim added to Red’s tally. Not for good. Not in battle. Not in defense. Needless cruelty.

When the girl’s heart stopped, Red finally could let go. She sank on all fours, spat out what she could of the blood and wailed. Her own heart wasn’t even in her chest, but it had never felt heavier.

“Get the smith down here now, he knows what to do.” Regina sent one guard away. Red looked up, warm blood dripping from her chin, she could feel it. Disgusting. If she had any strength left, this would be the time to strike. But all Regina needed to do was a little squeeze. Her heart hurt. No, Red was helpless. Any thought of fighting back an illusion.

“I think it’s best that you lie down on the table for this next part.”

Red wanted to put her head under a guillotine right now. To kill like that was worse than any of the torture methods the Evil Queen had come up with. Regina had won. But Red couldn’t do anything but comply and lied down, waiting for her fate.

It came in the form of a small white haired man, holding a sort of chalice with a long tongue. His hands were shaking and Red couldn’t tell if it was because of what he was doing or just being in Regina’s presence. She couldn’t make sense of what was happening. A guard came and put her wrists into the handcuffs again, strapping her to the table. A chain going over her thighs and under the table fixated her.

Regina squatted down next to her, stroking her hair. “Feel free to scream for me now.”

“The mold.” Wood was pressed against her back. “Careful with your fingers there, wouldn’t want to burn you.”

And then everything was fire. The scream from Red’s throat surprised Regina enough that she stood up. Loud, agonizing, on the brink of collapse. What looked like a chalice was a melting pot, containing a few grams of molten silver. It was poured on Red’s skin and burned her instantly, severely. Water followed mere seconds later to turn the liquid back to solid, but the damage was done. A silver ring fused into her flesh. The pain and the sensory overload from heat to cold send her into shock. She was still screaming with the taste of warm blood in her mouth when the faint claimed her.

[inkformyblood]

in these bodies we will die

Commander Cody Week Day 04: Post-Order 66 @commandercodyweek

Pairing: Codywan, QuinObi, Cody x Obi-Wan x Quinlan Summary:  Cody knows something is going to go wrong when he wakes up on a mission to execute a Jedi. But that is also just a matter of perspective. Most days, the trooper wakes up and finds that he is still CC-2224. The world around him is sharp and dark: the purple crackle of his electrostaff mingling with the steady beat of his heart which remained as rhythmic as a march, until it blotted out everything else. He is nothing but a weapon, and he waits patiently for his orders, whatever they may be. 

On those days, he knows his place in the durasteel universe, following his Lord and enacting his will. The sneers — openly worn and honed to a razor’s edge — from the Brothers and Sisters that made up the Inquisitors didn’t impact him in the way they were hoping, because why would they? He is a weapon, one of a few who had been gifted beskar by their Lord, and who served at his convenience. 

“Trying for a saber of your own?” Ninth Sister spat one day as she stormed from the throne room, her anger rolling from her like lightning and breaking harmlessly on the impassive countenance of CC-2224. “Trying to be a Brother, clone?”

“I’m already a brother,” CC-2224 tells her, but he doesn’t know why. She turns on her heel and leaves in a swish of black fabric, and he returns to waiting for his next order. He listens to the rumbling breaths from Darth Vader, the slight mechanical click between each hissing exhalation adding to the reflexive count in his head. 

When Cody wakes on the transport, he knows that something has gone horribly wrong.

The floor shuddered beneath his feet with each roar of the massive engines, but the room is eerily silent. Before… Before when he was— Cody cut the thought off before it could travel any further. His mind felt fragile, as if it was constructed from freshly spun glass, and he knew that if it broke, he didn’t know how long it would be before he was able to pull control back again. Or even if he would want to.

Bile rose in his throat, hot and thick and acrid, and his shoulders contorted with the effort of keeping the scream trapped in his throat. He had woken up as Cody before but never prior to a mission. Never held the ability to escape, or to die, as closely as he did now. 

He could remember, beneath the dark edges of the Executor and the constant hiss-click sound of the man who had once been Anakin Skywalker, a single moment of clarity as he knelt in front of the shell that hid his rotted carcass. Cody had been holding a lightsaber, the edges of it scorched and warped, and the scent of iron lingered in the air from the blue blood that had seeped into the handle. For a moment, his thumb had twitched over the ignition switch that could have been his salvation or his doom, but then Cody was gone once again as Darth Vader raised his chin with one gloved finger. 

“Well done, Commander. I am glad to see I chose correctly.”

Cody had to hold on. Eyes squeezed tightly shut, he blindly ran a hand over the wall, fingers splayed until he found the recess, pulling the datapad free. 

For an instant, before the screen activated, Cody caught sight of his reflection in the tinted transparisteel and felt the world threaten to fall away from him once more, nothing but the void waiting to consume him utterly. 

 What had Anakin done?

Obi-Wan — traitor to the Republic, good soldiers follow orders, no! — hadn’t spoken about Anakin’s past, but a trooper would have had to be blind to not see the marks that his past had left on him, the anger that burnt low in his eyes and caused his mouth to twist whenever someone mentioned the troopers being owned. Cody had seen the scar on Anakin’s arm from his tracker removal, straight and well-healed compared to the now-ruined tapestry of scars that had covered his back. 

Cody’s fingers didn’t tremble as he raised his hand to his face, trailing a line from scalp to chin. He couldn’t feel anything different, a few new minor scars here and there pitting his skin like the surface of a moon, a far cry from the whorled raised scar that curled around his left eye. But that didn’t subtract from the new knowledge he carried: that Anakin had branded him like property with a red tattoo that would mar his skin forever. 

Focus.

Breathe in, then out.

(I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me.)

Cody focused on the datapad, reading over the minimal briefing he had been given, doom slipping over his shoulders like a shroud. He had been sent to hunt a Jedi, to track the whispers of a survivor and kill them. 

Laughter, harsh and uncaring, bubbled up in his throat, trapped behind the cage of his teeth. What was one more when Cody had killed one of the men he loved with barely a second thought?

⁂

Cody felt himself slip partially beneath the waves of his consciousness the moment the trooper stepped outside the ship, hiding away from the first flicker of unspeakable terror that passed over a civilian's face at the sight of him. 

The CC-2224 knew the motions, just as well as Cody did. Alpha-17 had vanished into the wind, from what little he had managed to find out from scraps of rumors, but he remembered his, and the other trainers, words well. 

Move quick, strike hard, complete the mission. 

Salt clung to every visible structure, encrusted pillars that distorted the shapes of the shipping crates and barrels into hunched figures as CC-2224 stepped into the warehouse. His electroshock baton lit up with a hiss, bathing the room in a vibrant purple, and the trooper took a step forward. The floor crunched beneath his boot, grinding down the patchwork of salt as he slowly followed the faint trail of footprints, head tilted to one side as he listened. 

The Jedi — the traitor, no, all of them, traitors — was cornered with nowhere to run and had never been more dangerous.

He saw the flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye, and he is turning before the trooper can even think, but it is Cody who shouts, his voice tinged with a desperation that could have ripped the stars from the sky at a word. “Quinlan!”

The man stumbled, caught off guard for only a moment, before he turned, igniting his lightsaber. The green blade stole Cody’s breath away, Quinlan’s lips drawn back in a snarl as he shifted into the beginning position of Ataru, the muscles in his legs visibly bunching as he prepared to jump.

Cody knew what he would do. He had seen it so many times before; a deadly dance made beautiful by the care and precision behind it: a single leap and twist, with the blade following barely half a second behind, leaving nothing but death in its wake. 

His helmet clattered to the ground, the air biting at the tears that rolled down his cheeks. Then, the hiss of Quinlan’s blade stopped as the Jedi deignited it, stumbling forward half a step before he caught himself, hurt emblazoned across his face.

Cody was struck by how different he seemed now to their last parting. Before, where Obi-Wan had been the rising sun and Cody was moonlight, Quinlan was the midday sun, bright and vibrant and intoxicating. He had curled into Cody’s side, one leg thrown across his hip to prod at Obi-Wan, who was motionless, except for the faint rise and fall of his chest. His breath still held the sweetness of the wine from the previous evening, part celebration and part regret at having to be parted once more even as the war slowly drew to a close.

Extracting himself was a journey in parts as Quinlan slowly worked his way free, every movement languid and tinged with a deep melancholy. 

“You don’t have to get up with me,” he whispered, cupping Cody’s face with one battle-worn hand, his thumb smoothing over the jut of his cheekbone. Quinlan’s eyes slipped out of focus for a moment, warm brown no longer studying every inch of Cody’s face, but between one blink and the next, a warm grin spilled across his face. “But it is good to see you both.”

“It’s good to see you too,” Cody replied. It felt like a paltry offering compared to the roaring fire that rekindled itself in his chest for sustenance at the mere thought of the other men, but Quinlan only laughed, low and deep, before kissing him again.

“When the war is over—“ Quinlan cut off Cody’s attempt at protest with another kiss, infuriating and effective all at the same time before he continued, intent on daring the universe to defy him. “When the war is over, we will be together again.”

Cody tasted the promise like caff on his tongue, hoping with every shattered piece of him that Quinlan was right. His hands were steady as he untied the small token — a nondescript twist of metal with the edges worn smooth through the Force — from the leather tie around his neck, and pressed it into Quinlan’s hands. 

The man stepped backwards, a chill settling in the space between them, and closed his eyes. Cody settled back into the warmth of Obi-Wan’s embrace, watching the peace settle across Quinlan’s face, the edges of his grin softening. 

“Beautiful.”

“How?” Quinlan demanded, his voice harsh and broken, ripping Cody from the memory. “Why?” 

Cody’s hands spasmed around the handle of the electro baton, the urge to ignite it almost overwhelming. Quinlan was close, too close.

“Didn’t— Couldn’t—“ The words would choke him before he could speak. His free hand shook as he raised it, signing a single clumsy message as he trembled with the effort. 

He still tried to flinch away from the blow that Quinlan landed, the heavy hilt of his lightsaber thinking against his temple, then Cody was gone once again. 

When he woke, it could have hours, days, weeks, years later. But he was Cody, settling into the body it felt like he had borrowed, with a slight shift of his shoulders as he tested the restraints. 

He knew that he was on a ship, could feel the floor vibrating beneath him through the thin padding of the cot he was lying in. His stomach twisted and rolled as the autopilot shuddered into life, and then there was nothing to do but wait.

Pain pulsed through his head like a second heartbeat, blurring his vision when his eyes slipped open in coordination with the door. 

“Morning, Cody. Have I ever mentioned how blood-soaked is a very attractive look on you?”

“That makes three times now.” The words clawed up his throat as he spoke, dried blood flaking from his face with every movement. “And you were even stone-cold sober for one of them.”

“Such a liar,” Quinlan teased, his laugh choked and distorted by the tears that ran down his cheeks. The soft sound of metal clinking together followed him as he walked across the room, and Cody caught sight of the countless mementos strung across his chest on a sturdy chain.

“I can’t untie you,” Quinlan said, his voice heavy with regret as he sat on the edge of the bed. “After the first time, when you woke up and you weren’t you—“ He broke off with a grimace, the action mirrored by Cody.

He could barely breathe, regret and hope he thought he had killed long ago wrapping around his throat like a noose. “Are you okay?”

Quinlan laughed, the sound a distant echo from the rich timbre Cody remembered, leaning forward to press their foreheads together in Keldabe. “I’m fine, don’t worry about me. I’m notoriously hard to kill, which I guess is lucky for us both.”

As if sensing the dark direction Cody’s thoughts were starting to spiral in, Quinlan moved closer and kissed him gently, blotting out the universe for everything but soft warmth and the bite of salt and iron.

“I know about the chip. I can’t destroy it, cyar’ika.” 

Sorrow ripped through Cody’s chest like a blaster bolt. The memory of teaching Quinlan ‘cyar’ika’ each mumbled repetition punctuated with a kiss until it seemed to fill his very soul couldn’t stand against it, and Cody pulled away from the Jedi, curling in on himself as much as he could.

“I’ll hurt you. Eventually, I’ll slip back under, and I’ll kill you. Please, Quin.”

Quinlan shook his head, his jaw set in sly determination. “I can’t remove it. It’s too Dark for me to distinguish it from myself. But I know someone who can.

“You’re not a killer in the way you think you are, Cody. Obi-Wan is still alive. And he’s going to be so happy to see you.”

“Alive?” Cody felt as if the floor had fallen away beneath him, but he was still here, still in control. “He’s alive?”

Quinlan nodded, and Cody finally allowed himself to weep, pressing his face into the crook of Quinlan’s neck as the other man hugged him tightly, trying to hold his shattered pieces together for a while longer.

[maxparkhurst]

Audience

DRUSTVAR, KUL’TIRAS

His nerves grew more frayed as the minutes ticked past. Alone in the parlor, the Kaldorei felt small beneath the dense layer of opulence. Only the finest chattels - cherry wood molding, crystal chandelier, marbled mantle, and velvet curtains the color of Blood Nettle- furnished the room. All gorged in a thin layer of dust’s antiquated beauty. Even the downy chair he perched on threatened to swallow him whole. Acting on comeuppance for the folder that weighed heavily in his lap. Inside it was little secrets held together by two meager staples. He swallowed hard and turned his expectant gaze to the faint sound of footsteps.

Click. Click. Click.

The soft hush of heels echoed in the cavernous room. Swallowed in the niches of a high, sconced ceiling until only muffled silence remained. And when it grew too deafening, stretching nerves thin, the grand oak door opened. Through it stepped a stunning river of maroon fabric, cascading over a generous frame and rippling above the toes of crimson dipped heels.

“Hyleass.”

Her voice traveled free through the air, heralding her sweeping hem across the parlor. She made his name sound so sweet-  as if it were made of honey itself. Rewarded his company with a handcrafted smile.

Hyleass couldn’t ebb the wave of delight that swelled in his chest. With the slight curve of his lips, he rose to meet the manor’s mistress.

“Lady Malakhov,” he mused, drawing her offered hand into his own, “A radiant sight as ever, Kal’dris.”

He placed a chaste kiss upon the backs of her knuckles. And she replied in turn - “Please, Hyleass. Just Vallory”-  with a radiance cast upon him by the air of unrequited laughter. Hyleass might’ve basked in those rays a moment longer if not for the menacing shadows they threw, and the shade which lurked within them. His gaze flicked to the gentleman who followed at the Lady’s hem. A bald-pated man who wore an iron-faced mask. Deepened by slate-grey eyes that sat heavy in his skull, whose gaze pierced through Hyleass’s paper-thin pleasantries. The only thing darker than the man’s dower countenance were the rumors laced with his name- Abel Eloi. Otherwise known as the Black Dog.

“Master Eloi,” he remarked, dipping his head to the notorious shade.

Abel spared the sparsest of smiles as he returned the gesture. “High Alchemist.”

The tension, thick and heavy in the air, seemed to bore the Lady. She dismissed Abel’s curt introduction with a subtle brush of jeweled fingers along his jaw. “Is that any way to greet our esteemed guest, dove?” Her question begged no answer, and she appeared pleased to have been met with respectful silence. She tapped her finger to his chin, “Now. Be a doll and fetch us a bottle of Shal’dorei red.”

“As it pleases you, m’lady.”

Hyleass watched Abel slip from the room, quiet as the shadows on which he drifted in. The space left behind cold and insatiable. “He is,” the elder Alchemist began, seeking refuge within the cushion’s over-bearing embrace, “Still under your employment, I see.”

“Oh yes,” Vallory purred. She circled the parlor floor, hem carried on an unhurried wind, until she drifted into the chase adjacent to his chair. Painted nails drew idle, spiraling patterns into the tufted fabric. “It’s hard to find someone as charming as him.” Her lips curled in a sly smirk. Silk dress drifted as she sprawled herself across the chase, black locks spilling over the side. “He serves me well.”

“Loyalty that knows no bounds cultivates lifelong servitude, dora’dor.” Hyleass arched a brow, fingers curling rivets into the folder. “One may consider that dependency. Surely you must’ve gleaned something from that fox.”

A tired sigh spilled from Vallory’s lips. “You’re speaking in riddles again.” She held her hand to the dim light, inspecting scarlet nails with an air of nonchalance. “And it’s boring. I don’t cater to guests who bore me.” She pointed at his lap.

And Hyleass followed it down to the folder.

“Speak to me plainly,” -a demand rather than a question- “Why have you sought an audience?”

And so it was time.

Hyleass straightened his posture and prepared himself to throw his cast. “I’ve brought news,” - he extended the folder out to the Lady- “From Stormwind--  Of the Parkhurst siblings.”

There- the first fissure in her well-manicured facade manifested by the curve of her lips. Hylaess caught the Lady’s attention, and welcomed her curious gaze as she freed him of his burden. She slid upright, slender leg folding over the other, and plucked the folder. Idle moments spent leafing through the papers and photos within. Something in particular piqued her curiosity. She rapped a nail upon the page before peering over its lip to Hyleass.

“What is all of this?”

The Kaldorei leaned forward, elbows coming to rest on adjacent knees, and nodded to the papers. “Records of the youngest’s petition. He sought certification, and the Board denied him advancement.”

She breathed a hum. Plucking a photo from the cluster, she turned absently between her fingers. Hyleass only caught the briefest glimpses of the young man’s beaming smile. “Poor apprentice,” she lamented, tutting with the shake of her head, “Trapped for another year in his sister’s shadow.”  A laugh touched her lips. The photo tossed back into the pile—Tell-tales signs of her waning interest.

“He’s quite unlike his sister,” Hyleass added earnestly, “Optimistic. Trusting. Naïve. ”

Vallory’s chin fell into an open palm. The paint upon her nails glistened as she drummed fingers along her jaw. “So I’ve noted. She’s adept at sheltering him. This is nothing new.”

“Yes. But now?” He reached for the folder in silent askance. She waved him on. And so, he leafed through the procured papers until he found the right image. The photo was held between them, though Hyleass could only see the Lady’s bemused expression. How her sly smirk deflated into a contemplative pout, and her shaped brows dipped in a sudden furrow. A shiver of titillation danced down his spine when her fingers brushed against his own, accepting the photograph with tentative stupor.

She licked her lips. Spoke after a moment’s silence, voice vacant of its usual warmth. “She is…”

“ - Distracted.” Hyleass settled back. Felt, for the first time, the cushion’s embrace to be welcoming. “Yes. Her attention diverted from her beloved apprentice. He’s taken that as an opportunity to enact a bit of independence. Found alone more often than not these days. Perhaps there is tension between the two….” The statement was left to simmer in the air.

It sat for seconds that drew into minutes—thickened by the sudden quiet which befell the Lady. Hyleass shifted in his seat. Callused hands working warmth in his fingers as he flexed them. He almost spoke again when the oak door opened. His gaze immediately found Abel’s as the shade drifted in with burdened tray in hand.

“M’lady,” - Abel offered her a maroon-filled glass- “Vintage. As to your liking.”

Vallory accepted with a soft hum and said nothing more. The wine stained her lips a deeper red as she took a thoughtful sip. Her gaze trained on the ripples inside crystal glass.

Hyleass ignored the indignation Abel’s gaze burned into his head. Instead, he beckoned for Vallory’s attention by ways of an uplifted hand. “Does this,” - he canted his head, ears flicking with newly set nerves- “Please you?”

Her lips lingered over the stained glass. Her gaze slow to find Hyleass from its distant contemplation. She rewarded his patience with a handcrafted smile, placing her hand into his palm. “Yes,” she purred, setting her glass upon Abel’s tray, “It pleases me greatly.”

Relief filled Hyleass’s chest. He all but melted beneath Vallory’s warm touch, drawing her fingers to his lips once more. Though, he did not receive another taste. No, she was quick to withdraw her hand. Paired it with its partner in folded pleasantry upon her lap. His palm remiss over the cold left in her wake.

“Though…” she mused, inclining her head, “I have a favor to ask.”

“Anything, Kal’dris.”

She hummed. Smooth and rich, it floated through the air with ease. And settled warm in Hyleass’s ears. He smiled despite hearing her request- he already decided he’d accept.

“Take the boy under your tutelage,” - she settled back into her nest of opulence- “Earn his trust. His confidence. And then?” Sharp like a dagger’s point, her grin grew. “See what he knows.”

[Prelude]

[wizzard890]

heretic update - oh shit

I have to be honest guys, things went absolutely catastrophically for Andreas last session. he lost everything on a wave of his own choices, made hotly, sometimes intelligently, always passionately, and the consequences have set him back so hard that his only way out of darkness was a terrible and genuine spiritual awakening. 

it’s great. 

when we last left Andreas, it was with his friend Bernadetta accused of witchcraft. her only chance was the successful recreation of an ancient Christian ritual that Andreas hoped to enact while she was on the pyre. he did not believe in God’s grace or goodness, or the inherent power of the story. instead he wanted to trick a miracle out of God, to create the same circumstance in which He had interceded before. 

it didn’t work. 

Bernadetta indeed ended up on the pyre. she actually started to burn. nothing Andreas had done protected her, and as he became aware of his awful mistake, of his arrogance, he heard her through the smoke, calling out to God. he heard her start to sing as her eyes were opened by something he was blind to. just then, when all hope seemed lost, it began to rain out of a formerly clear sky, dousing the flames, and lightning struck the tree above the pyre, blasting any remainder of Andreas’s carnival of a ritual apart. Bernadetta was saved by a miracle, one she had earned. she said, afterward, nearly insensible but with a blazing focus in her eyes, that she had seen an angel. 

Andreas had seen nothing. he had seen nothing, and found himself suddenly arrayed against a God, a divinity, who had reached out of heaven and granted Bernadetta a vision. he didn’t know where his path was supposed to take him now. all his anger, all the furious questions he wanted to spit at God’s feet when he found Him - they seemed to shrink. they seemed, with a painful clarity, questions for a man. one who had never loved him, who had hurt him. they were questions for his father, recently dead at Andreas’s own hand. 

then the English army arrived. 

(do not forget, never forget, that it’s 1347.)

Edward, the crown prince of the very same, remained imprisoned under Andreas’s sorcery, forced to protect the young comte with his life. the two of them had formed a certain rapport, something that grew out of the scaffolding of watching one another like cats for a mistake. guess which of them fucked up first?

Andreas planned to surrender to the English, on the condition that he and his friends would remain unharmed. as a French noble in the Aquitaine, Andreas somewhat welcomes English rule, and more to the point, if the French took Poitou, Edward would mastermind the rest of his campaigns from Andreas’s palace, which would keep Blanche nearby. Andreas swore, over and over again, that he would do whatever was necessary to stay with her. 

so he and Edward agreed: Andreas would stand down without a fight, Edward would rule from Poitou, and Andreas would remain with him, protected, certain of his friends’ safety, and able to take Blanche, Edward’s impersonally betrothed, as his lover. 

it was a really really great idea, and a really really fucking stupid mistake. bind the prince of England with dark magic, this prince, and all you have is a jessed hawk, just waiting for you to drop your glove and turn your back. 

the English army wasn’t in the palace for fifteen minutes before Edward had Andreas, Philippe and their allies seized and thrown in the dungeons. Blanche was swiftly placed under lock and key. only Bernadetta and Tomassin managed to escape unharmed. 

for three months, Andreas rotted away in the cells, very credibly accused of witchcraft. they were the same cells he’d been held in as a boy, as exorcists tortured him for weeks on end. he was fed and well taken care of - any harm visited on him would be refracted on Edward’s own body after all, and the crown prince was no fool. Andreas tried to hurt himself, just to make Edward feel an ounce of pain, but he failed. it’s hard to stab yourself, actually, or break your own fingers, or refuse food. it’s hard to hold onto your sanity in a stone room where your nightmares were born, with no hope of escape, knowing that you were the reason the people you love have been trapped and even killed. 

so Andreas waited. in the dark, filled with resentment, scraping himself back together every day out of pure spite. Edward wanted him caged and helpless. but from the very bedrock of his soul, Andreas refused to oblige him. maybe it was that refusal, that hatred, those repeated attempts to open his own skin out of sheer enmity, that brought the dark visitation. 

it began appearing in the blackest corners of the cell. not a shape: a presence. a formless predator. something with a terrible focus, the awful held breath at the very edge of a blade. and as Andreas became aware of it and how he could fit between its jaws, it advised him to be patient. to bide his time. it inquired, silently but with force, who his enemy was. it bid him to offer up their soul. Andreas named Edward, and promised the prince’s death to his visitor. for its aid and its vision. the pact was struck. 

it was the first sight of something Beyond this world that Andreas had ever encountered. it was the first thing that had ever gripped his soul and brought it shuddering to attention. Bernadetta saw an angel on the pyre, yes. but there in the dark of his cell, Andreas was visited by the Black Captain.

so he held onto the word that had been provided for him by that inhuman advisor: patience. he found that the hallucinations brought on by isolation began to fade. he felt himself getting stronger and sleeping better, though he didn’t need the latter much at all. it was like a transfusion of something hotter than blood. 

weeks passed. 

and then one morning, a young woman in a nun’s habit entered his cell, accompanied by a Spaniard with a sword on his back. the woman asked Andreas directly if he was a witch. shocked at the sight of the pair, he denied it reflexively. in response, she...read him, somehow, Andreas didn’t know what was happening, just that he felt some watery intrusion into his mind before she withdrew, seemingly satisfied. 

they needed to hurry, she told him with a grin as the Spaniard swung the cell door open wide. the guards would be coming soon. and if they wanted to get out of here alive, they needed to move. 

-

next update: escape! and what comes after. 

[tigerseye46]

Fighting But Failing

Hey. Remember when I said I was working on possessed Pigsy stuff. This isn’t the confrontation I mentioned but this is something else. I’m sorry Tang and Pigsy.

Possessed Pigsy Masterpost

TW: mention of blood, mention of injury, possession, manipulation, forced behavior, has some non-consensual elements (more specifically non consensual kissing.)

  Pigsy screams as the White Bone Spirit continues to possess him, he’s lost in his mind, trapped by chains he can’t escape from. He sees what he’s doing to Tang, sees what he’s doing to his kids and he sees what he’s doing to his brothers, rage boils in his chest. All he can do is observe, the spirit has a hold on him now. The spirit smirks at him, he glares back in response.

  He feels himself turn and wrap his arms around Tang’s waist. “Mornin’ love.” The words that come out from his mouth aren’t his.

  “Mo-morning.”  

  “How’s my beautiful future husband doin’?”

  “I’m okay…”

  He sees himself kiss the back of Tang’s head and he notices Tang flinch. He hates himself, he allowed this to happen, he allowed himself to be possessed and now everyone is suffering the consequences.

  What does Tang think of him? What would master think of him if he knew? What if Tripitaka already knows? What if he’s somewhere safe in Heaven completely disgusted at the actions of his second disciple? He has every right to be. Pigsy is disgusted with himself. Yet no matter how much he tries, the chains only get tighter especially when the White Bone Spirit casts illusions in his mind to make him give into his desire quicker. He knows they aren’t real but he can’t help it. It’s all he’s ever wanted, to be loved, appreciated, cared for, even if it’s for a single moment, even when the illusion shatters and the White Spirit lets out a cackle, leaving him broken and full of regret, he can’t help it.

  How can he when an illusion of Tripitaka holds his face and tells him he’s wanted him since the very beginning? That he’s always loved the pig, that Wukong is never what he wanted, how despite his flaws he loves Pigsy so deeply and sweetly that their separation stings and how he begs for them to be reunited again.

  How can he when a vision of Tang teases him and doesn’t look at him with fear in his eyes? The vision of Tang stares at him with devotion and passion. A Tang that kisses and tells Pigsy that he’s going to be happy with their life together, being assured that he isn’t forcing the scholar to stay with him.

  How the feelings are clear and he can pretend that they both want him. He can get his happy ending if he lets this happen, lets the White Bone Spirit do her thing even if civilians get hurt. He shakes his head because how can he even think that?

  “Darlin’, where’s the outfit I gave ya?” The conversation snaps the pig back to reality, he hates the frightened look on Tang’s face.

  Tang tenses at the nickname. “I don’t know…”

   “Didn’t ya just have it?”

   “Mhmm… I… um… don’t really like it.”

   He bends down to observe the scholar, the human takes a step back from him. “But you would look beautiful with it on. It would be fittin’ with me as the king and you as my queen.” He kisses the human’s hand.

   “I know but… it’s- it’s uncomfortable.”

   He sighs and rubs his face. “Fine. You can wear whatever ya want for today. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

   “T-thanks.”

   “If you want to thank me, you could give me a kiss.” Tang winces and leans in to give him a quick peck on the cheek. “Not there, dear.” He kisses him on the lips and grips his waist to make sure the human doesn’t move. Pigsy wants to throw up, he tugs on the chains in a futile attempt to get himself free.

   When they separate there’s a tear running down the human’s cheek. He wipes it away quickly and his hands ball into fists. “Can I just stay in bed?”

   “Sorry, babe, but I want to spend the whole day with you.”

   “Gr-great.”

   “Well I do have to get our kids at some point. That can wait until later.”

    They reluctantly go through their day with Tang flinching every time he’s touched by the pig.

     Pigsy can only watch as his possessed body flirts with Tang, making him uncomfortable in every way, shape and form.

    The White Bone Spirit strolls up next to him, her eyes full of glee and her arms behind her back. “You seem to be enjoying this.”

    He narrows his eyes and attempts to lunge at her but she teleports and appears behind him. “I AM NOT! I WOULD NEVER TREAT TANG LIKE THIS!”

    “But you want this, don’t you? Think about how terrified he is.”

     “I KNOW THAT!”

     “It’s so fun to watch this happen. Tear your little group apart. All I need is your master.”

    “DON’T YOUR DARE TOUCH HIM!”

    “Oh, I won’t. That’s your job.” She winks and walks a few steps away, her back turned. “I’ll let you have your fun for now before I take over more.”

   “I won’t let that happen!”

   She snaps her fingers. “Won’t you? The chains only get worse.” Her cackling is heard again and she disappears to wherever it is.

   He hyperventilates and focuses on the screen in front of him, he knows an illusion will appear soon. The scene in front of him is painful, he hovers over Tang, closer than the scholar is comfortable with and he can see his hands fidget to prevent himself from pushing the demon away and dealing with his anger. He can’t watch. When he turns away from the scene, there is Tripitaka. He yelps and takes a step back, the action just makes his “master” step forward.

   Tripitaka gives him a sickeningly sweet smile. “Bajie!”

    Tears run down the pig’s cheeks, his bottom lip quivers. When he’s face to face with Tripitaka, the monk places a hand on his cheek and he just leans in. “M-master.”

    “Oh, I missed you.”

    He bitterly laughs. “I saw ya just the other day.”

    “Well, that is different.” Pigsy nods and his head turns back to him and Tang. He has Tang on his lap, his hands caress the scholar, he can see him holding in his breath. Tripitaka grips his face and forces him to look away from the scene. “Focus on me, love. You are making me jealous.”

     “Jealous?”

     He rolls his eyes. “Obviously. You’re in love with that scholar, he does take some of your attention away from me. Although, I know how important he is to you and I know no one can take your heart aside from us two. You’re mine.”

     “There’s no reason to be jealous. I love you both the same! But aren't ya disgusted?”

     “Disgusted? Why would I be?”

     “Because… because… I’m not in my right mind! You see how I act! I’m forcin’ Tang to be with me!”

     “I would never be disgusted by you. You aren’t forcing him to be with you at all. He loves you. I love you. You know this. You are doing what we want. Taking us away from that despicable monkey. All I need for you to do is take me away. You’re strong enough to do it. Too bad you got to the scholar first.” He grins. “But I am patient and I will wait.”

   “I… I…. I love you too. I’m tryin’.”

   “I know and it makes me love you even more.” The words poison his mind. “You know when we see each other again, I want you to show me the world, the world we will build together with you as the king. A place for us and only us.”

   His eyes sparkle at a world only for them. “It’s all for you,” he admits in a whisper. “Everything I do is for you. It’s all dedicated to you.”

   Tripitaka beams and kisses him. “I’m glad.” He melts at the contact, he knows this isn’t right yet his mind is broken. He’s using this illusion as an outlet, if his master ever knew he would hate him for the rest of eternity, not like the monk doesn’t already hate him. The monk hates him for his stupidity, getting them captured every single time even when the monk puts on an air of niceness, he’s aware how fake it is so he gives into the trick because this Tripitaka won’t hate him, won’t turn him away, won’t rush towards Wukong and call him his savior.

    The pig can hardly recall a moment when he was fighting back against the mirages. Had he even fought against them at all? He thinks he’s did, he’s not sure though. He thinks he used to turn them away after the first time then he only fell deeper and deeper.

    When he’s kissing Tripitaka, he feels a pounding in his skull, he holds his head and hisses. The vision disappears in a mist and the White Bone Spirit appears again. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of seeing you like that.”

    He puts a hand over his mouth to muffle the sobs. “Shad-Shaddup.”

    Her chin juts out and she comments, “It gets easier each time. You hardly question it when one of them appears, you hardly fight and you know the best part?” She kicks his back when she doesn’t answer, leaving her foot on it. “Do you?”

    “I don’t want to hear it,” he answers in a low growl.

    “Too bad. I barely have to do this either but your reactions are too cute,” she mockingly coos. “You’re so desperate and it makes tearing you apart even more worth it. I’ll let you have your fun for a few more days before I enact the rest of my plan.”

     “I won’t let you!”

     “You already have. You’ve given me the reins and I will bring the era of the Monkey King to its knees.”

    “Leave my brother alone.”

    She ignores him and gestures to the screen, his eyes widen. Somehow in the midst of all of this, he has left the castle and is now fighting his older brother. There are words and blows exchanged, nasty words spill out of his mouth, he goes on and on about how much he hates the monkey and he sees his brother bite his lip.

    At one point he says, “Remember what I said last time? That ya should have stayed gone. We hardly need you anymore. You’re useless.” Then he uses his newfound ice powers to freeze part of Wukong’s arm. His brother flinches, more from the words than the blow and he breaks his arm free.

    “Bajie…” The monkey can’t even get a word in before the possessed pig charges and charges, Wukong barely manages to dodge every time.

    He’s trying to stop himself from hurting him, it never works. He might be angry at the monkey but he never wanted this. He never wanted to hurt him. The whole scene makes his stomach twist. What if there’s the smallest possibility that Wukong won’t be able to dodge in time?

   The fight ends when Wukong smacks him in the face with the staff, he holds his nose, blood dripping from it and bruises littering his body. He sees Wukong cover his mouth. Pigsy narrows his eyes at him, leaving with one last scowl and curse.

   As he goes to retreat to the castle, Wukong attempts to grab him until he freezes his feet and returns back to his home.

   Tang spots him from the top of the stairs, his mouth wide open. All Pigsy wipes his nose and kisses Tang, apologizing that he failed and promising to win next time. He forces the scholar to patch him up.

    The White Bone Spirit laughs menacingly. “So close. Not really but a good job on the effort.” He only growls at her. “The problem is you’re still too weak. A few more days then I’ll deal with your brother myself.”

   He grits his teeth and lunges at her. She does her vanishing act same as usual. His head rings and his mind goes black.

    Everyday he drowns in the sea of lies, of illusions, letting himself fall little by little until his mind is broken. He is fighting but failing, just what the White Bone Spirit wants.

[scientia-rex]

I know we all talk a lot, like a LOT a lot, about Fandom Discourse, and nuance often gets lost in the cacophony of extremely loud and incredibly close opinions, but like... I've said before that teenage girls giving grown women shit for being in fandom are mostly enacting internalized misogyny and ageism, like DEEPLY deeply internalized, but also, what do those girls think I was doing at 14? Because I can tell you: it was discovering that fanfiction existed and getting SUPER into Mulder/Scully Romance (MSR, as we called it Back In The Day) and hiding my age from the grown women who were running the show back then so that they wouldn't kick me out for being a minor.

Do the youths think the joy you get from this just... fades? Like the joy of playing with dolls did for me? I remember it, because I was so into storytelling with dolls as a kid. I would take any inanimate object and invest it with a life and a backstory and a complicated love triangle. My MicroMachines were in polycules with my neon green hair tie that had the little marble things at the end. I'm not even joking. And then one day, when I realized I hadn't played with my Barbies in a while, I pulled them out. But I couldn't find the joy. I was probably around twelve or thirteen? Maybe? Maybe even older, because I was in the downstairs bedroom by then. I couldn't find it in me to construct the kinds of stories, richly layered and bizarre to the point of being fundamentally incomprehensible to other people, that I'd loved so much.

I started writing somewhere in that same time frame. It's not that writing made dolls less fun, I just needed a different frame to process storytelling through. Words worked in a way physical objects no longer did.

And I've said this before, too, but: the things you get out of fanfiction change with time. I'm not reading or writing the same kinds of things. Some stories are classics I'll probably love forever, and some I've outgrown. The same way my relationship with any kind of storytelling has changed, I suppose. I watch Clue now, or Clueless, or Police Academy, and I get something very different than I did when I watched them as a kid. I still love them, but the relationship is different.

But many of the things I loved so much about fanfiction are still true. I still get the joy of interacting with characters I already know, so I don't have to spend a lot of time world-building or doing introductions. I get the naughty "woooOOOOOoooo" factor of writing sex scenes. I get to explore the same world through a thousand different lenses--like comic books, where I can push the reset button. What would this person be like in space? In a coffee shop? As a werewolf? What makes this person this person, and not someone else? What are the core, inalienable tenets of their character? How do they look naked? As humans, we are often utterly obsessed with other humans, with ourselves, with what humanity means. That doesn't change. I just look at it differently, approaching 40, than I did when I was 14.

I still get an incredible amount of joy out of fanfiction. The characters I write now get trapped in caves less and see therapists more. They talk about being workaholics instead of falling in instantaneous, electric love by exchanging glances. I have different things I want out of relationships in real life as well as out of relationships in fiction. I want to see how people fit together, how people change over time, how circumstances shape and change us. Fiction is the art of distillation: what is the core of a person? Of a relationship? It doesn't have to be romantic or sexual, but those are highly charged types of relationships, and I like to read and think about them. I like the frisson of a sexual attraction, I like the comfort of enduring love.

You don't have to give up things you enjoy if you still enjoy them past whatever you think the expiration date is. I pulled out my suitcase of Barbies on that last day because I thought, fuck it, I don't care if I'm "too old to play with dolls." It just turned out I didn't get the same joy out of it as I used to. So if your joy fades, sure, look elsewhere for it! But this is a place you can stay.

And you need, need, need to make it a place where others can stay, so don't pull any fucking racist bullshit or I will fucking eat you, don't give me that "safe space" crap if your idea of a safe space means hurting other people.