#even if you continued to miniaturize everything else

[askshivanulegacy]

This is a great breakdown of phone cameras and worth a read if you do most of your photography with a phone.

Phone cameras are comparable to or better than many point-and-shoot digital cameras (especially older generation cameras, and this has been the case for several years now). But there is no such thing as a "pro" phone camera, just like there's no such thing as a "pro" point-and-shoot.

You can get really great photos and they can absolutely serve your needs. It's a fantastic solution if you're not in a position to carry extra gear with you.

But they are not "pro".

They can also be a perfectly acceptable tool for photography as an art form. You use the tools and explore and maximise their capabilities as you feel driven to. You certainly limit yourself in major ways with a camera phone, but that's part of the art. ALL photography is bound by the limits of your tool, and the entire point is to work within those and push your craft to see what you can do. So you can use the camera phone AS a pro (i.e. someone who understands the tool and principles of photography), but you have to understand the tool for that.

If you want a pro camera though, get a real camera.

Also, you need to identify the type of photography you like or want to do in order to choose the right camera.

I do a LOT of handheld, low-light photography w/o flash (museums, early or late hiking, etc.) so the sacrifice of low light quality in these cameras is the wrong decision, to me. But I also have a real camera which specifically caters to what I do. You just need to choose the tool or work within the bounds of what you have.

Smartphone cameras are NOT getting worse. (See below for phone photography tips)

I've now seen 3 pro photographers reviewing the iPhone 16 and complaining the cameras are "worse" and blaming Apple for not including revolutionary new camera technology.

And I suppose this is partly Apple's fault. Their marketing and hype machine always goes overboard. But also, that's just how marketing works. Samsung has a "200 megapixel" sensor and Sony has a "Zeiss" lens. And I think it is unrealistic to expect smartphone companies to say "This product has entered the iterative phase and each new model will only be marginally improved over the last one."

Smartphones (from any brand) have become an appliance. You don't buy a new model of microwave every year. And you don't expect every new model of microwave to have new revolutionary technology. And that is pretty much the expectation you should have with most computer hardware from here on out.

And in some ways, that is a good thing. That means the design of the phone has pretty much been perfected and it will last you a long time if you take care of it. You will not be left behind and your phone will be able to handle any new software for most of its lifespan.

So, is Apple getting lazy or is there a reason their hardware is stagnating?

It seems that neither money nor marketing can change the laws of physics.

They cannot make transistors much smaller. Phones and computers are about as fast as current hardware designs can make them (unless there is a shocking scientific breakthrough). From here on out, heavy compute tasks that are beyond your phone or computer will be done in the cloud on giant computer clusters. Thankfully computers and phones seem to be plenty fast for the majority of tasks we ask of them.

I remember Katrina telling me her new computer didn't seem any faster. And I explained the computing tasks she does regularly were not really affected by the increased power and speed of her new computer. If something took 0.1 seconds before and now it takes 0.05 seconds, that is twice as fast. An increase in speed that looks fantastic in advertisements. But it is hard for our brains to perceive. She just didn't do anything on her computer that took it long enough for her to notice. But having a faster and more powerful computer/phone will increase its lifespan and resale value, so it is still prudent to get the best things you can afford at time of purchase.

And I'm afraid smartphone cameras are hitting their own hardware limitations. They can't make the sensors much larger to get better depth of field and low light performance. And cramming in more megapixels doesn't actually add much more detail, if any.

It's physics.

Again.

You cannot get any more performance out of a small plastic lens. Why do you think pro photographers haul around 10 pound lenses still?

There is a formula for detail that never seems to be explained in any camera marketing.

Here is the simplified version...

Detail = Sensor x Lens

Let's say 1 is perfection. You have a sensor that performs at 0.5 and a lens that performs at 0.2.

The total detail will be 0.1.

But in the new model you increase the performance of the sensor to 0.8. WOW! That's so close to 1!

The total detail will be... 0.16.

Now let's imagine we've discovered a magic, physics-defying tiny plastic lens that performs at 0.8 as well.

The total detail jumps to 0.64!

But we all get sucked into a wormhole because we violated the laws of the universe.

Even if you were to design a near perfect (perfect is impossible) sensor that scores 0.99.

Without that magic plastic lens... 0.198

This is why I put Samsung's "200 megapixel" sensors in quotes. Because when paired with the same tiny plastic lens, there isn't much improvement. And that's why a 12 megapixel DSLR from 10 years ago with a giant honking lens can still capture more detail.

Most of the quality from smartphone cameras comes from the computational software processing. Phones actually take many photos at once and combine them to get you a decent image.

While that is still improving a little bit each generation, those improvements are stagnating as well. Until image processing can do a better job of inventing more detail realistically, smartphones are going to have to obey the laws of physics.

So... why are photographers saying the iPhone cameras are worse?

First, the ultra wide angle lens looks softer in low light.

And if you zoom between 1x and 5x, the images look less detailed.

But neither of those things make the cameras *worse*. In fact, the cameras are better for the most part. It's just that Apple decided to compromise on one aspect to improve another. Probably due to market research telling them most people prioritize certain things over others when taking photos.

They increased the resolution of the ultra wide angle sensor to match the detail of the main sensor, but that seems to have lowered the low light performance of the ultra wide. So in good light, you will see an improvement in sharpness. But they could not increase the sensor size to compensate and smaller pixels can have trouble with dim conditions. They probably discovered that people mostly use that lens in good light and they would appreciate the bump in detail more.

But pro photographers often photograph in more challenging lighting conditions because you can capture a more artistic shot. I don't think I could have gotten this shot on a smartphone.

But photo normies are just taking pics of their kids doing weird kid shit.

They aren't really trying to push the limits of their ultra wide angle lenses.

And they increased the zoom of the telephoto lens to 5x from 3x because most people never used the 3x. So images at 5x look great now, but unfortunately if you use anything between 1x and 5x, your image will be *digitally* zoomed. Which is never as good as optical zoom. They basically crop the photo, zoom in, and add sharpening.

So they prioritized people having longer reach and more zoom at the expense of that middle zoom range. Every camera system makes tradeoffs and compromises.

And I hate that I always feel like I am defending Apple, because they do have misleading and dishonest marketing regarding a lot of aspects of their tech. But hating on Apple gets more clicks so content creators also make misleading and dishonest claims.

And so we are just surrounded in a circle of hyperbole from all sides.

Now, if you know these limitations, you can change your approach to photographing stuff to keep them from being an issue. You can reap the benefits without dealing with the new compromises.

Here are some tips to help owners of the new iPhone, but also everyone else too.

Smartphone Photography Tips

Whenever possible, try to use the main 1x camera at only 1x zoom. This has the largest sensor with the most detail and works best in the lowest light. Only use the ultra wide or telephoto if you cannot get the photo otherwise. If you aren't sure you have enough light for ultra wide, take the photo, and then as a safety, take two photos with the main camera side by side and stitch them later with a pano app.

"Zoom with your feet" and don't use "in-between" zooms. Let's say your lenses do 0.5x, 1x, and 5x zoom. Even though you have the option to use other zooms, like 2x or 3x, that is going to compromise your picture quality. It is essentially going to crop your photo and enlarge it, which causes a loss of detail. If fact, if you use 4.5x instead of 5x, your picture will probably look like trash. You are always going to get better results if you can move closer or step back so that you are using the native focal length of your chosen lens. For example, let's say you are taking a photo and you judge the best framing to be at 4x. But you still have 10 feet of space behind you. If you back up and then zoom in to 5x, the phone will switch to that lens and you will get a much clearer picture.

Rule of thumb...

1 to 3x... try to move closer.

4 to 5x... try to move back.

If you hit a wall and end up at 4.5x, you might see if you have a panorama mode and try that instead. Switch to your 5x and do the pano. Or you can take two photos and then stitch them together with software later on. (Stitching panos with an app later will give better quality than pano mode, especially in low light.)

Low light needs stability. Get some sort of stabilizing device for low light photos. Either a phone case that lets you stand up the phone on its own or a mini tripod.

This thing folds to the size of a credit card.

Your phone will detect when it is stable and not being handheld. It will then automatically extend its shutter speed allowing it to drink in more light and give you a better picture.

Tripods are photography magic and will improve your low light photos quite a bit. Motion blur of moving subjects can still be an issue, but photos of a cityscape or landscape will look great.

For selfies, shoot a little bit wide and then crop in. This goes a little contrary to my earlier advice saying cropping lowers detail, but this is specifically for shooting a face. The 0.5x and 1x lenses on smartphone cameras are fairly wide angle. This can cause unflattering proportions with human faces. Wide angle lenses exaggerate distance. Near things look very near and far things look very far. To a wide angle lens, the tip of your nose looks like it is super close but your ears seem like they are a mile away. And that's why you may look a bit "alien" in your selfies.

People's natural instinct is to "fill the frame" with a face. The outer edges of a wide angle lens are more distorted than the very center. So try to keep faces away from the edges of the frame.

And one other trick you can do for selfies and pictures of faces is step back a few feet. Sometimes this is hard, especially with selfies, as your arm is only so long... but if you can take your face photos from just a little bit farther back, you will almost entirely eliminate unflattering distortion. In some cases, just stretching out your arm as far as it will go is enough.

Then you just crop the image with the framing you originally wanted, and your facial proportions will look great.

An example...

Here the distortion is bad because I am not in the center and the lens is too close to my face. The lens thinks my nose is really close and my ears are in Canada.

But when the lens is farther back the edge distortion is less prevalent and my nose and ears (relative to the lens) seem roughly the same distance away. So my proportions look great, but I don't quite have the framing I want.

But with a little cropping...

For social media there is still plenty of resolution to crop in. Cropping isn't bad, it's just always better to use it as a last resort or in a special circumstance like this. I get roughly the same framing as in my wide angle shot, but I don't look like I'm behind a door's peephole trying to sell you the Good News.

I wish they made a "mini" selfie stick that only extended a foot or so. With the main camera that is usually all people need to undo any wide angle issues. I have one of those mini tripods and that works well, but there is no activation button so I have to do a timer. Mirrors work great to help you get some selfie distance.

In any case, all cameras have limitations and compromises. Clickbait titles saying something is WORSE THAN THE OLD ONE are frustrating and wrong.

And people upgrading phones every year are silly. All current name brand smartphones have promised at least 5 years of software updates. I think Google and Samsung are offering 7 years on some models. And Apple has always just let you use your phone until it literally will not work with new software. Which has worked out to 8 years in some cases (with a battery swap).

Phones are now appliances. For now, hardware will improve 10 to 15% from generation to generation until physics breaks. So if you want a 50% improvement, wait 5 years and you'll think your new phone is awesome. If you upgrade every year, it is going to be difficult to see the change.

I hope to be starting a little course on smartphone photography in the near future. All modern phones are capable of taking amazing pictures. And as long as you understand their limitations you can mitigate or avoid them. And that is what I plan to teach.

[starkwlkr]

the sound of my voice will haunt you | mark webber

part 1 part 2

Grace sat in a chair watching you and Mark talk. She was so bored that she started to imagine herself as you. She found a head set and slipped them over her ears. While she played pretend, you were facing reality talking with Mark.

“Does she know about me?” Mark asked.

“She only knows your name. I never talked to her about you. Why would I? You threw it all away so easily, Mark. You broke my heart.” You snapped at him. You had to calm yourself since your daughter was just a few feet away.

“I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness and the amount of times I say I’m sorry isn’t going to fix it.”

“If this is you telling me you want to be in Grace’s life, you have no right.”

Mark knew that. It absolutely broke him that he had a daughter and he couldn’t be with her, but he had fucked it all up. He looked over at the young girl and saw how she played with the head set. She was a miniature version of you.

“I know and I won’t ask for forgiveness of any kind, not from you or Grace. You’ve done an amazing job raising her.” He continued. “Maybe one day you could tell her about me? If not, i understand.”

“As if you told anyone about me in your book. Mark, I did everything for you. I got in trouble for driving you to races, my parents almost took away my keys! I worked day and night in a shitty restaurant, I almost missed my own graduation because of you! A little note would’ve been nice, but it’s as if I never existed in your world. It hurt me.” You held back tears. Suddenly you’re a teenager again hearing all the loud yelling coming from your parents for driving Mark to his races.

“I didn’t think you wanted me to mention you at all. . . ” He said quietly.

“You’re my past now, I would love to stay away from the past. So when you do attend any of the upcoming races and Grace is here, don’t talk to her. It would be better if she didn’t know about you. Please.” You stated.

My own daughter won’t know about me

Mark understood. It would be better after all.

“Okay.” Was all he managed to say. He nodded and lanced one last time at Grace. “Goodbye.”

Before he could leave, Grace looked at him. She wondered why he looked sad. “Why are you sad? Is your favorite team not winning?” She asked Mark.

“Grace. . . It’s time to go.” You hoped Mark wouldn’t start a conversation, but he did. Of course he was making it harder for you.

“Actually, I used to drive for the team that’s winning and I was okay for a number two driver.” Mark crouched down to talk to Grace.

“Did you win lots of races?” She asked.

Mark let out a chuckle. “I won nine races.”

Grace gasped. “My dad won nine races too!”

At that moment, you wished you were anywhere else. Why couldn’t Mark just leave? Why did Grace have to be nice to everyone and be so curious? And why did you tell Grace that her dad was a driver?

“Your dad? He drives?” Mark questioned.

Grace nodded. “Well I think he doesn’t anymore. Mom said my dad was a driver and that he won nine races, but that’s all I know. I had to make a school project about my family and I asked mom about my dad. Do you know my dad?”

Before Mark could reply, you stepped in. “Sweetheart, it’s time for him to leave. Come on, we’ll get ice cream on the way back.”

“Bye!” Grace waved to the unknown man as you grabbed her hand and walked away from Mark.

He felt a little okay knowing his daughter knew something about him. Maybe one day you would change your mind and let Grace know the truth.

MIAMI 2024

Mark wouldn’t see you or Grace until the Miami Grand Prix. He honestly didn’t feel like even going, but Oscar insisted. At least he wasn’t going to be alone, Jenson was also going, but the British man would be conducting interviews. He kept busy looking at his phone until found him in the Mclaren hospitality. He wasn’t sure why you were even looking for him in the first place.

“Can you look after Grace? My friend couldn’t make it and she was the only person I trust to look after her. I wouldn’t ask if I had another option.” You sighed.

“Yeah, I’ll take care of her.” Mark nodded, putting his phone away. “Where is she?”

“She’s with Oscar in his driver’s room. Just please don’t mention the obvious.” You demanded.

“I won’t, but can I ask one thing?” He stared at your eyes that he still loved after many years. “Why did you tell Grace that her dad won nine races and that he was a driver? You could’ve lied.”

You didn’t want to lie to your daughter, you just couldn’t so you told her part of the truth. Technically, you didn’t think she would even meet Mark ever.

“I can’t lie to her. She knows when I’m lying anyways.” You said.

“What’s her favorite color?” Mark suddenly asked. “I want to know at least some stuff about her so I can talk to her. What if she gets bored halfway through the race?”

You hesitated even telling Mark, but you did anyway. “Her favorite color changes everyday, but today it’s purple. She loved coloring with chalk, she wants to have a puppy and name it Goose like the character from Top Gun, her favorite book series is Junie B. Jones and she tells everyone that she’s tall for her age.” You listed several things.

Mark smiled as he listened to you. “Top Gun? We watched Top Gun on our first date, you know?”

“You’re so annoying.”

You and Mark walk back to the Mclaren garage, which obviously made several people confused. Were you back together? No, you couldn’t be . . . right? By the time the race was close to starting, photos of you and Mark were everywhere. Even Sebastian had texted Jenson wondering about you and Mark.

Grace was sitting next to Mark when the race began. She occasionally glanced at him then grabbed his paddock pass and read his name.

“You’re here with Oscar?” She asked.

Mark nodded. “I’m his manager.”

“So you’re like his dad when his dad is not here?”

“That’s one way to put it.” He chuckled. “Your mum told me you like want a puppy.”

Grace’s eye lit up with joy. “Yes! The puppy is going to be named Goose and they’re going to sleep in my bed.”

Mark hardly payed attention to the race. He kept asking questions in hopes that he could learn more about her. Once in a while, you would look back only to see Mark and Grace laughing.

“One time, my mom almost lost her necklace because she was dancing too hard to her favorite song. It fell and we looked everywhere for it but we couldn’t see it because it was a small letter. But I found it!” Grace said which made Mark question if it was the same necklace that he had given you years ago.

“What letter was it?”

“I think it was M?”

The ‘M’ necklace was a gift from Mark on your first anniversary. It was old, but you couldn’t bring yourself to get rid of it. If anyone asked what the M stood for, you lied saying it was your middle name or for someone in your family.

“Does your mum always wear it?” Mark asked.

“Not anymore. But I think it’s pretty.” Grace replied. “Your name starts with M!”

All Mark did was nod.

The race had finished and soon you were back to your daughter. She had told you how Mark has dogs and invited her to meet them.

“Grace, can you go sit over there for a little while? I need to talk to Mark.” You pointed to the seat that she was sitting during the race. She obeyed and now it was just you and Mark. “Thank you. I really hope she wasn’t too much to handle.”

Mark shook his head. “She’s very talkative when it comes to her favorite things. She’s a great kid.” He debated whether to tell you about the necklace story that Grace had told him. Finally, he decided he would keep that to himself.

“I wanted you to hear this from me instead of the media. I’m leaving the team after this season.” You said only loud enough for him to hear.

“But you’ll be back, right? I mean the team is doing well, Lando just won his first ever race, obviously it could’ve been better for Oscar, but you are the heart and soul of this team.” Mark could see a frown forming on your face.

“I love this team, but it’s time for me to be a mom. Grace needs me, Mark. I already told Zak and it’s final. They’ll announce my departure soon. Thanks again for looking after Grace, this is the last time you’ll see her.”

He was glad that he could at least spend some time with Grace. She was a joy to be around. Their time together was something Mark would cherish forever.

For the rest of the 2024 season, Mark stopped calling you the Mclaren team principal and, instead, used your name. He praised you, gave you the credit you deserved and defended you any time. Mark had even made a statement about the person who had leaked the information about you and him when he talked with Fernando. It was rumored that a photographer had leaked it. He knew nothing was going to change, but he needed to correct his wrongs. It all started with an instagram post about you.

INSTAGRAM

(this is just for fanfic purposes, you can use any faceclaim)

liked by oscarpiastri, f1 and 837,377 others

aussiegrit everyone i meet will have to know you, to understand me. anyone that truly knows me, knows your name.

comments are limited

@vicurious28 @glow-ish @dannyriccsupremacy @viennakarma @pear-1206 @nathalielovesonedirection @jaydaaasworld @shimmermotorsport @honethatty12 @a-beaverhausen @champomiel @spencerrxids @hc-dutch @christianpulisic10 @phantomxoxo @sevythebeanqueen @stinkyjax @clearearthquakewolf @kissesandmartinis @untitled23459 @c-losur3 @yourbane @shiftingtomydrs

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

hiii Can you do Sae byeok x fem reader Where she leaves you with a lot of hickey on your neck, chest, back and jaw. And readers brother deok su is not Happy about it. The next morning he goes to wake you up and thinks that Sae byeok went home but then he sees you and Sae byeok cuddleing 😰. Lets say his Day was not going to be Good at All. He also finds you two making out (french kissing😏) and seeing you two hugging with Sae byeoks hands up your shirt or under you pants at the hip. He scolds the both of you but Sae byeok is not going to stop lmao.

THANK YOU SO MUCH AND SORRY IF ITS KINDA LONG DONT MIND THAT BUT HAVE A GOOD DAY OR NIGHT!

fem!plus size reader, wc: 579.

۶ৎ a/n .ᐟ | hihi!! i love clingy sae-byeok so bad you don't understand, but! i left out the kissing part because the fic flowed through me, and there was no space for it, i hope that's okay :] this is equal amount silly as it is fluffy with that 0.00001% bit of smut!!

cw! smutty in the beginning but nothing really happens!

Miniature giggles escape your mouth as you run your fingers through Sae-byeok’s cropped hair.

“Sae!” You giggle at the feeling of her spit soaked lips trailing the sensitive skin of your neck.

You’re not sure how bad the damage is, because she’s been handsy all night; grabbing at the meat of your thigh, or stroking your cushioned jaw. She’s placed a few nibbles here and there, and you’d wince when she’d suck a particularly large bruise on your body.

“That tickles!” Your laugh quickly turns into a moan when she latches onto the skin between your jaw and ear. 

You’re already on your back when the tips of her fingers breach the hem of your shorts, the promise of touching you sending an electric shiver running up your spine. “Sae-byeok…” You whine. 

Just as she’s about to slither her way into your damp panties, you’re interrupted by three sharp pounds delivered to your - locked - bedroom door.

“Hey! Wrap it up in there!” There’s disgust weaved in your older brother’s voice. 

You sigh in frustration, slamming your head down on the pillow gently with a pout. Sae-byeok had already removed herself from your body, her own propped up by balancing the side of her head on her fist.

You nibble on your lip as you look at her. “Stay the night?” You ask hopefully. The corner of her mouth twitches, threatening a smile.

“Sure.”

One thing about Deok-su, is that he is not an early riser, and there’s a lot of things that could ruin his morning; an alarm going off outside, a slam of a bowl here, a closing of a fridge there, and yet how come seeing Sae-byeok wrapped around you top everything else?

The both of you are sleepy, and he’s sure he doesn’t wanna know why. The girl is practically pasted to your back, her head buried in your shoulder as one of her hands disappear into the front of your shirt as well as in your pants; the imprint of her arm lazily gripping your hip causing him to scowl.

“I let you live here rent free and this is what you do to me?” Deok-su grumbles in irritation.

Sae-byeok doesn’t even bother to respond, but you tear your bleary eyes away from the slow cooking pancake in front of you. 

“I’m making pancakes. Does that help?” You yawned, and as he went to respond, he notices the pattern of purples and reds littering your neck. “Fucking hell!” He swears. “No. It doesn’t.”

“You’re always complaining about something.” Comes from a tired Sae-byeok. 

Deok-su’s glare finds her, and you’re sure she can feel the sheer heat of it, but she just simply doesn’t care. “You shouldn’t even be here. I thought you went home.” He bites back.

“You already know she was going to ask me to stay over. Don’t act naive.” She continues to chide. The vein in Deok-su’s forehead threatens to burst, but you break it up before it happens.

“Listen, she’ll leave after breakfast, because she has to see her brother, anyway.” You interrupt, “And quite frankly, it’s too early for this. So, you get your pancake and go that way, and Sae and I will take ours back to my room, deal?”

He seemed to be at war for himself before sighing. Loudly. Storming over to the coffee pot and dramatically making a show of pouring it into a mug.

“I never want to see this shit again.” “Yeah, yeah, go.”

[ashdreams2023]

Hiii, could I request a severus snape and little sister reader where she's the opposite of him and so all the students love her until someone insults him one day and she's all snarky and a miniature version of snape and everyone's like ".....maybe they are alike....." while severus looks on like a proud parent??? I love your fics so much!! Thankss!!

The same tree

Severus snape x professor sister reader 

The student body was in shambles the day you were announced as a new staff member, the name snape was enough to send shivers down some students backs.

They barely handled one snape, let alone two!

Everyone expected the worst, 2.0 snape female version then you got to your first class, it wasn’t like anything they had in mind.

Heck you gave house points and they paid attention to the lessons.

"She’s human, oh my god she’s not evil!"

It spread pretty quickly how nice and patient you were, you didn’t show any favoritism towards anyone nor did you encourage any rivalry in your class, as long as they passed it was a win for you.

Your office hours were filled with students coming to you for help, some even asking for help of topics other than what you teach, sometimes asking about stories of your youth but none dared to ask about your brother.

But there were times were kids can get way too comfortable in matters that have no business with them, unfortunately for a certain fourth year Ravenclaw he learned his lesson the hard way.

"I can’t believe that git took points because I added a point to his lesson! It’s fucking ridiculous, he’s a selfish idiot who only wants his way and everyone else is wrong"

"Jesus calm down mate, it’s only ten points you’ll live and he’s like the professor so…"

The Ravenclaw rolled his eyes "I know the book, I read it piece to piece I know my way around this stuff, he’s just one bitter old son of a bitch-"

"Excuse me you little bird" the boy froze as he felt a hand touching his shoulder, he looked up to meet your piercing dark eyes, they had the dangerously familiar feeling to those of their potion master.

"Professor i-"

"No no no…go on, continue what you were about to say so the oh so great Ravenclaw knows everything, because what? Because you read an outdated, basic, dusty ass potion book"

The boy swallowed, your tone was so different, you weren’t smiling and it reminded him of being schooled by severus snape himself.

"Why so quiet? Snake got your tongue?" You smiled proudly at the look of terror on the boy’s face "Let this be a lesson to you little bird, my brother is no idiot and without him little airheads and know it alls would be dead by now, so know your place, am I understood?" You tightened your grip on his shoulder.

"Yes ma’m!"

"And 30 points from Ravenclaw for showing disrespect to faculty staff members"

The boy’s jaw dropped but didn’t dear argue back and sprinted away with his friends, you couldn’t care less that students were watching, they call all spread rumors or whatever.

"Oh my god…she is like him…"

"Shush she’s gonna hear you! At least now we know not to overstep it"

You sighed and left the great hall, you pumped into your brother by the end of the day, he arched an eyebrow at you when you causally sat down and sipped your tea.

"I see you’ve made quite the impression today"

You shrugged "They’re just stupid kids, it was about time they learn anyways"

Severus leaned back on his armchair "You sound awfully familiar to me, I suppose I am rubbing off on you"

"The apples may look different but they all belong to the same tree" you smirked.

"You’re still terrible at potions though" He remarked knowing well how atrocious you were at his best interest.

"Hey! I was defending your honor"

You glared at him and he glared back then after a few seconds of intense looks you two snorted at each other and went back to having your regular sitting for the day.

Thank you for your kind words and glad you do 🥰

[minty364]

DPXDC Prompt #136 part 1

Danny felt disgruntled as he slowly came back into consciousness. He was in the middle of the Observants going over some of the new factions that have been growing since he became King. A sudden surge of power flung Danny through a portal and he tried to escape or make sense of what happened but he lost consciousness soon after. 

Coming too Danny was a lot smaller than what he thought he should be. His body had a different feel to it and he could tell he was turned into something that walked on all fours. He lifted his head and took in his surroundings. He was in a field, a field of wheat. He couldn’t even see anything besides the wheat and the sky. The portal that dumped him here was no where to be found either. He was going to have a hard time getting back home, especially in his new form. He could still feel his core but the transformation had done a number on him and he felt exhausted.

Suddenly he heard the wheat snap to his left and he whipped his head around to find a person carefully leaning down a few yards away from him. They seemed to analyze his body movements a little bit before he held out his hand that had a small piece of sausage in it. Danny knew not to take food from strangers but it honestly smelled heavenly and he doubted Sam would ever find out, so he hesitantly walked over and gave it a sniff. After he had taken it from them, they started petting Danny on the head. 

“You're an adorable little puppy aren’t you!” Ah so Danny was apparently a puppy, he probably should try to find a way back home but maybe being a dog for a while wouldn’t be too bad. He hasn’t had a break in a while and the Observants are so damn pushy sometimes. The stranger continued, “I’m going to take you to Damian, he knows a lot about pets. I feel like him and I got off on the wrong foot the other day and I think you’d be the perfect gift.” 

Danny wasn’t sure about being given away as a present but he supposed he had no where else to be and if Damian knew his pets as well as this guy said then Danny would be well cared for.

He was picked up and after a bit of walking they arrived at a farm house. Danny was better able to assess the size of the person holding him and they seemed around 10-12 years old. The kid ran excitedly into the kitchen of the house holding Danny out to an adult that, much like the kid, had black hair and blue eyes. 

“Dad! Look I found a puppy!! Can we bring him tonight to the Watchtower meeting so I can give him to Damian? I think he needs a friend and I want to apologize for how I acted the other day.” The kids dad seemed to give Danny a once over before responding.

“It’s probably fine but let me talk with Bruce first and make sure everything’s OK. We don’t want to force a pet on them even if Damian is good with animals.” He finally responded, he gave the kid a hair tussle and then continued, “Jon, why don’t you give him a bath upstairs while I give him a call, I think I still have some dog shampoo from last time I gave Krypto one.” 

The kid apparently named Jon ran up the stairs with Danny clutched against his chest. Soon he found himself wet in a bathtub, and then he was dried. He was finally able to get a good look at himself in the mirror, he looked like a miniature husky with white fur and dark black patches along his tail, back, and head. His icy blue eyes were piercing and he could see why someone would think he were cute, in fact he was down right adorable. 

After that Jon brought him to a bedroom he assumed belonged to Jon. It was a very basic kid’s bedroom and Danny found himself sprawled on the bed along with Jon. Jon spoke very fondly about Damian and the more he spoke the more Danny got the feeling Jon had a little crush.

Soon Jon’s dad came into the room to tell him that Danny could be given to Damian at the meeting tonight. Danny didn’t know what sort of work Jon's dad did but it sounded like Jon’s and Damian’s dads worked together. He wondered what kind of place the watchtower would be but he didn’t have to wonder for long. 

He also realized how different this world was from his own. Jon and his dad could fly and they wore these skin tight suits, honestly they looked like superheroes which was probably exactly what they were. They flew through the air and eventually they were in front of these tubes Danny honestly didn’t know what they were. Jon and his dad did though, and apparently it was teleportation. Danny was awestruck at the site in front of him, the Watchtower was in space and he could hardly keep in his excitement. 

Master Post:

Next:

[bloodstainedobsession]

A midnight wedding

Kanato Sakamaki x Reader

One-shot

Tags: Kanato x reader, possessive Kanato, forced marriage, sfw

Summary: You wake up to Kanato’s secretly arranged wedding. He insists on you charing vows so you can be together forever

Masterlist

The first thing you noticed was the scent of candle wax and roses. The thick aroma clung to the air, drowning out everything else. The second thing you noticed was the fabric wrapped around your body, soft, delicate, and unfamiliar.

You blinked, your vision adjusting to the dim candlelight. A large mirror stood before you, reflecting an image that made your breath hitch.

You were dressed in white.

An elegant lace gown draped over your form, intricate embroidery shimmering in the low light. A thin veil cascaded down your shoulders, blending into the darkness behind you. Your fingers trembled as you touched the fabric. When had this happened?

A voice broke through the haze.

“You look beautiful.”

Kanato.

You turned sharply, finding him standing a few steps away, a delighted smile curling his lips. He was dressed differently than usual, his usual childish frills replaced with something more formal. A deep violet suit, dark lace at the cuffs, and a black ribbon around his throat. In his arms, he cradled Teddy, who was dressed in a miniature version of the same attire.

Your heart pounded. “Kanato… what is this?”

His eyes widened, almost offended by your question. “Isn’t it obvious?” He took a slow step closer. “It’s our wedding, of course.”

Your stomach twisted.

“Wedding?” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

Kanato hummed, pleased by your reaction. “Yes. It’s the perfect night, don’t you think? The moon is full, the air is sweet… and you’re finally ready.” His expression softened into something almost tender, but the glint in his eyes was far from gentle.

You swallowed hard. “Ready for what?”

“To be mine forever.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine.

Kanato reached for your hand, his grip firm, fingers cold. “You should be grateful,” he continued. “Not everyone gets to have such a beautiful ceremony. I even prepared vows.”

Your pulse quickened as he pulled you toward the altar, an elaborate setup in the middle of his candle-lit bedroom. A small, ornate table held a bouquet of wilted roses and a pair of old, silver rings. The sight of them made your throat dry.

“Kanato,” you started, trying to keep your voice calm. “A wedding is supposed to be between two willing people.”

His fingers twitched against yours.

“But you are willing,” he said sweetly. “Aren’t you?”

You hesitated.

That was a mistake.

Kanato’s smile faded, his grip tightening painfully around your fingers. His gaze darkened, lips curling downward in displeasure. Teddy dangled limply from his other arm, his head tilting unnaturally.

“I see,” Kanato murmured, his voice deceptively soft. “You’re trying to ruin this, aren’t you?”

Your breath caught. “No, I—”

“I worked so hard to make this perfect.” His voice wavered, laced with something fragile, something dangerous. “And yet… you hesitate?”

Tension crackled between you, suffocating and thick.

You had two choices, resist and risk his wrath… or play along.

Your mind raced.

Kanato was unpredictable, his moods shifting like the flickering candle flames around you. If you refused, he could turn violent. If you agreed… perhaps you could buy yourself time.

Slowly, you forced a smile. “I wasn’t hesitating,” you lied smoothly. “I was just… surprised.”

Kanato blinked, his grip loosening just slightly.

“Surprised?” he echoed.

You nodded. “It’s all so beautiful… I didn’t expect something so grand.”

A long pause. Then—

A giggle.

Kanato’s lips curled back into a pleased smile, and he clutched Teddy closer to his chest. “Oh? You think so?” His previous irritation melted into delight, his violet eyes gleaming.

You nodded again, trying not to let your relief show.

Kanato twirled on his heel, his mood shifting as if nothing had happened. “Then let’s begin, shall we?”

He held out a ring, an old, tarnished thing, but the way he looked at it made it seem like the most valuable treasure in the world. He grabbed your hand, sliding the metal onto your finger. It was cold, the weight of it heavier than it should have been.

Your heart pounded as Kanato beamed. “Now, we just need the final part…”

You swallowed. “Final part?”

Kanato giggled, his eyes gleaming.

“The kiss, of course.”

Before you could react, he pulled you forward, his lips pressing against yours in a chillingly sweet yet forceful kiss. His grip tightened around your wrist, ensuring you couldn’t pull away, not that he would ever let you.

When he finally parted, his smile was almost angelic.

“There,” he whispered. “Now, you belong to me forever.”

Your breath trembled, the weight of his words sinking deep into your bones.

Forever.

And the worst part?

You knew he meant it.

[macksting]

"I still want to make things, but perhaps I should just keep them to myself for the time being. For anyone that cares, I’ll still be continuing Heart of Elynthi and the JOmega charity, but once those are finished I will be taking an indefinite break from posting anything online. It’s a decision I’ve considered ever since the first hate wave from about a year or so ago but wanted to sit on it and see if the feeling would persist. I know now this is the best choice for me."

If I catch anybody celebrating this, I am going to eat your kneecaps. This guy is a sweetheart, I have friends who needed the sort of kind, GNC representation of masculinity he presented earnestly, he was humble and respectful and tried to use his platform for good, and you fucking miserable little shitheads, you pearl-clutching jackasses, decided to take one video out of context and make a crusade out of it. Why don't y'all pick a fight that matters? You think Cop City is gonna crumble because you chased someone offline who was supportive of trans folks and was glad to have been liberated from cishet society? Do you think the world is a better place now? If I find anyone celebrating this, I will be eating the forbidden plantain chips that are their fucking kneecaps. I may even let them have a bite. Yes I am fucking angry about this. Is it that important compared to everything else in the world right now? No, but you made one guy's life hell for no good reason, and that's horrible. Die in a fire. And to be clear, I am not angry about this on his behalf. He did not ask me to be angry. He does not most likely want anybody to face consequences for being a shit-eating little cop who feels good about themselves for crusading against a guy who is using his platform to help trans folks because we helped him too. This is for me. This is because I want a world liberated from oppression, not one where folks recreate it in miniature hoping this time they'll be the Big Man and everyone else will be oppressed, so they pick fights they know they can win just to abuse and belittle someone to feel good about themselves.

He was sweet. He still is. And I hope he lives a better life far away from this.

[avatar-anna]

Just a Taste

i was feeling inspired and i missed the young dadrry universe. enjoy!

Young Dad! Harry x Young Mom! Reader

*.*

"Harry Edward Styles, don't you touch that!"

Harry's hand paused on his way to a mixing bowl filled with royal icing, a guilty look on his face. He really thought he'd been quiet enough to sneak past her. "Come on, Mama. Just a little taste?"

Y/n pinned her husband with a stare until his hand backed away. He went over to where she was rolling out dough with a rolling pin, a mix of holiday themed cookie cutters scattered around her. Flour coated her hands and arms, and a little had found its way to her cheek. Harry quickly wiped it away as he came around, his arms circling around her waist as he kissed the spot her flour had been.

He continued to kiss her until a smile appeared on her face and she finally stopped what she was doing to rest her hands on top of his, which had been Harry's goal, of course. She'd been up before he was to bake cookies, and he was feeling thoroughly ignored.

"Don't think by distracting me you'll get what you want," Y/n said, her eyes fluttering closed as Harry continued to nuzzle her neck.

"Think I want something else now," he murmured. Harry reached beneath her sweater, splaying his fingers along her heated skin. He knew every inch of her by now, each and every place that was the most sensitive and would make her arch into him or sigh contentedly. He wanted to reacquaint himself upstairs while they had time. "Come on. Simone's down for her nap. We can sneak upstairs for a little while."

Y/n all but melted at the promise in his voice, but she held fast. "I have to get this done. I told my parents I would bring cookies to their party."

Ah, there it is, Harry thought.

This was the first time Y/n, Harry, and Simone would be spending Christmas with Y/n's family. For the last couple years they spent the holidays in London with his family, but her parents reached out for a chance to start over and make amends this year. Y/n hadn't wanted to accept, but Harry encouraged her to at least hear them out. It had been years since she'd seen them, and even though things had been rocky when she left home, he thought both her and her family deserved a chance to set things right.

Plus, who would be able to resist Simone? She was the most perfect kid on the planet. It would be impossible not to love her, let alone hold any resentment over her.

"Everything is going to be just fine, my love," Harry promised. "Why don't you tell me what's really going on?"

Harry felt her body slouch as she exhaled a long sigh. Y/n turned in the circle of his arms and came to rest against him. She didn't say anything for a while, just relaxed against him while she gathered her thoughts.

She smelled like cinnamon and sugar, and over the top of her head, he spotted the gingerbread cookies she made earlier cooling on racks on the stove. They were his favorites, and he couldn't wait to get his hands on a couple of the miniature gingerbread men she'd cut the cookies into. Y/n had a knack for baking that really only came out around the holidays. Harry never thought he'd had a sweet tooth, but he had a weak spot for his wife's baked goods, and if his schedule was slow she spoiled him and Simone with all kinds of sweets. It was enough to make him work out for weeks after the holidays.

Before his thoughts got too carried away, Harry looked back at Y/n. He tipped her head up so she had to look him in the eye. He kissed her nose once, then her forehead, then her lips, until a small smile appeared. "Talk to me, Mama."

She sighed again, but this time she spoke. "I just...I want them to know that I'm doing a good job, I want them to know I'm a good mom."

"What? Baby, you're a fantastic mum," Harry said, a frown marring his features. That's what this is about? "You don't need their stamp of approval, Y/n."

"I know, I know. It's just that we're raising Simone so differently to how I grew up, and that's fine she's a great kid," Y/n explained. "I just don't want to give them any ammunition to judge how we're living our lives, you know? Making memories around the holidays were huge for me growing up. Christmas cards, decorating the tree, cookies, matching sweaters, and I—I don't want them to think Simone is growing up without that. I—I know it's stupid, but—"

"It's not stupid if that's how you feel," Harry said, cupping her cheek. His eyes searched hers, trying to decide if there was more that she wasn't saying. He'd become quite good at reading her, and he decided there wasn't. "But I don't think Simone is missing out on anything. Do you?"

Y/n shook her head. "She's happy, right? I know we don't lead the most conventional lifestyle, but she's happy, isn't she?"

"I'd say so. And hey, conventional's overrated. Remember when Niall dressed up as Santa so we could have a family picture? Or when we brought a Christmas tree with us on tour so we could put Simone's presents under it?"

Y/n grinned at the memories. "Or when the boys covered for us so we could sneak out and go to a Christmas market."

"I don't remember that one," Harry said as his brow furrowed.

Stretching up onto her toes, Y/n kissed his cheek. "That's because we never actually made it to the Christmas market."

"That's right! Simone was in Liam's room, and we stayed in, and you were wearing that little red set with the bows—"

Y/n kissed him properly this time, her arms crossing around his neck to bring him closer. His skin was soft and freshly shaven, a preference of Y/n's as she brought her hands to his face, though Harry had been trying to grow a little facial hair during his time off. He probably could've stayed like that all day, but he knew there was work to be done, and Y/n would be upset with herself if her icing went to waste.

"Let's get these cookies done and then head upstairs, hm?" he said even as Y/n began to kiss up and down his neck and his hands slid past her waist.

"Then get your hands off my ass, Styles."

"As soon as you untangle yourself from me, L/n," he said.

When she finally did, Y/n's lips were swollen, and her hair was a little messy. But she looked relaxed, not as tense as she had been when Harry came downstairs.

"Where do you need me?" he asked her, going to the sink to wash his hands before slinging an apron over his neck. "I can help with the baking part. I did work in a bakery, you know."

"Don't get me started," she murmured before offering the rolling pin. "Cookie cutting or decorating?"

"Mm...cutting. And maybe we save some just for us and Simone to do later?"

Y/n's grin was as wide as he'd ever seen it, which practically melted his heart into a puddle of goo at his feet. "Yeah?"

"Course, Mama. Between us, our little tyke is bound to be a baking genius."

Y/n rolled her eyes and swatted him with the towel that had been over her shoulder. They got to work, music playing on speakers, but low enough to hear Simone through the baby monitor if she woke up. Harry stole glances at Y/n as she got to work decorating the gingerbread men. He knew she was nervous, but he was thrilled that everything was starting to fall into place. Harry was home now that the band was on hiatus, Y/n was starting to mend her relationship with her parents, and Simone was about to get everything she asked Santa for and then some. At four years old, she didn't ask for much, but she had lots of uncles who were eager for a reason to shower her with gifts.

To Harry, everything was perfect.

Or, nearly perfect. Once the last batch of cookies were cooling and Y/n had decorated enough gingerbread men to take to her parents' house, Harry hauled her upstairs. "I still have that cute little set that you love so much," she murmured as she hastily pulled off his shirt. Excitement zinged through Harry at the thought, but he was too eager.

"Next time," he promised, falling back against the pillows, decorative ones Y/n had bought the week before.

"How do you want me?" she asked him, crawling to his side to run a hand through his hair. When he didn't respond right away, her brow furrowed. "H? Am I losing you?"

"No, I'm trying to think how much time we have before we're inevitably interrupted," he said.

"And then we have to get ready," Y/n said with a sigh, flopping on the bed next to him so that they were shoulder to shoulder. "Kiss and cuddle?"

Harry grinned. "You read my mind, Mama."

[whoistartaglia]

HII! Could i request zhongli,Xiao and ayato with a reader whos rich asf and spoils them with stuff,Like for zhongli he may be a bit broke but then reader comes in and now bros able to go on a shopping spree,Xiao who js "tch"s and says its kinda pointless but does accept it and idk abt ayato but yeah- HOPE IM NOT RUDE!! But do remember to rest and take breaks after <333

i love this request anon <3 thank you so much

absolutely spoiling genshin men because they deserve it

zhongli

the waiters at the restaurants you and zhongli frequent have learned to put the check down in front of you, not him.

it was a steep learning curve. your boyfriend is so naturally put together and wears such expensive clothes that who wouldn’t think he’s worth a million mora and more? but after the first several times of you grabbing the check, barely looking at the total, and putting down the correct amount and more, they learned you were the one to go to.

although there was one time this golden rule was broken. you and zhongli were returning from a shopping spree—on you, of course, considering the dust in zhongli’s wallet—when you decided to grab dinner. the waiter welcomed you with a polite smile and took your orders.

everything was going as normal, except for that when the check came, it was zhongli who reached for it, zhongli who glanced at the total, and zhongli who paid.

the waiter was polite enough not to drop open his mouth for too long and quickly accepted the total and generous tip. he turned, thankful and muttering something about buying a lottery ticket, and didn’t catch zhongli sheepishly sliding you your credit card under the table.

xiao

“i have no use for such mortal—“

“will you please just try on this shirt?”

xiao glares at you, but it’s half-hearted at best. he grabs the shirt and enters the changing room. the shopping spree was your idea, of course, and after a little but of grumbling, xiao relented to your financial whims.

“how does it fit?” you call out. xiao pokes his head our of the dressing room, and then steps out. his face has a subtle frown on it, but you dismiss that as him getting tired—this is the eighth store you’ve visited, after all.

“it looks great!” you compliment. you turn to the store associate. “we’ll buy it.” you hand over your credit card and they hurry off.

you turn back to xiao and find his frown has curled into an exasperated smile.

“you do realize that’s the tenth shirt you bought for me today.”

“so?” you ask. you cross your arms and pretend to pout. xiao opens his mouth to say something else, maybe tell you off for spending so much money on him, but doesn’t. he only kind of sighs and heads back into the changing room, making a mental note to never agree to another shopping spree again (even though he totally will).

ayato

when the check lands on the table, it is as if a miniature thunderstorm has started brewing in the restaurant. the waiter acknowledges the strange new tension in the air and scampers off, leaving you and ayato to face off against each other.

your hand lands on the check first, ayato’s a beat behind.

“let go,” you hiss under your breath, making sure to keep up your demure smile.

“you first.” ayato’s eyes are wicked and taunting, and his smile widens when you start to pull it towards you. it’s a dance you’ve both done several times before. this is nothing new.

“it’s my turn to pay.”

“you already paid earlier.”

“i have the money.”

ayato’s laugh is short and quick.

“so do i.”

you sigh and shake your head. you’re both so stubborn that you could dress this battle out for hours and leave the poor waiter in distress.

“fine,” you say, relenting. ayato’s eyebrows quirk up in surprise before you continue, “we’ll split the check. let me just see how much it is.”

his grip loosens by a fraction and you yank the check out, stuff in your credit card, and hand it off to the waiter before ayato can even blink.

“why you—“

“oh, please, just let me treat you—i’ll let you pay next time, okay?”

you both know that’s a lie.

[voraciousvore]

Heey there! Can I ask for a Martin and Candy short story? In the pov of Martin

Miss those two I love them

Of course!

Plot: Martin reveals to Candy his traumatic past and finally comes to terms with it. The events referenced are from The Origins of Martin Maneater.

Word Count: 3.8k (sorry, I know it's long, hopefully it's good, I didn't reread it beginning to end because I'm tired, but I don't want to wait to post)

CW: Soft fatal unwilling vore, trauma, blood/violence

------ Confronting the Past ------

Candy adored shopping. She’d been scraping by on crumbs and secondhand clothes for what felt like an eternity, so to finally have discretionary income was an inordinate luxury. She had fun trying on colorful frilly dresses, fancy shoes, ruffled skirts, and silky blouses. She perused the novelty knick-knacks and tchotchkes with amusement, imagining how they would look next to her giant boyfriend’s model cars. 

Martin, for his part, loved to see Candy happy. The way her eyes sparkled as she skipped through the shelves swelled his heart with delight. She looked absolutely precious in all the outfits she modeled for him, like a perfect little doll. She lit up under the influence of his praise like a beam of sunshine. She was the light of his life, and he’d do anything to keep that smile on her face. 

He took her regularly to Quentin’s Collectibles, a hobby store that sold all sorts of human products scaled to Candy’s size. He lavished gifts on his sweet miniature girlfriend, providing her with cute little sets of furniture, silverware, clothes, and whatever else she wanted. She didn’t cost much, since everything was toy-sized. He liked to spoil her, especially with how grateful she was for the smallest, most trivial little things. Candy wasn’t a materialistic girl by any means, but she deeply cherished every indication of affection that Martin had to give. 

There was one section of the store that Martin hated, however: the dollhouses. They were amazing handmade works of art, ornately crafted and oftentimes furnished with functional appliances. Every time he saw them, his forehead would bead with sweat, his heart would palpitate like he was ill, and his fists would clench defensively. His traumatic past drained him like a hungry leech, regardless of how much he tried to buck it off. 

“Martin, sweetie, can you take me over to the dollhouses?” Candy piped up from her perch alongside the plastic dolls, most of which still dwarfed her in size. 

Martin stiffened, his heart dropping into his gut like a stone. “Um…” He swallowed, though his mouth was dry as cotton. “Let’s not. Those are a bit out of our price range anyways.” 

“Oh, no, I just want to look, silly!” Candy replied with a twirl, full of happy energy. 

“Well…” Martin stalled, fumbling for a plausible excuse. She gazed up at him with eloquent doe eyes that melted him into a warm puddle of sappy love. He couldn’t possibly say no, and disappoint her for no good reason. “Alright. Hop on.” 

He cupped his hand alongside the shelf and Candy eagerly jumped into his soft palm. Martin tried to quell his rising anxiety as he thudded over to the dollhouses like his feet were encased in blocks of concrete. He reluctantly set Candy down and observed while she explored the neighborhood of replica homes. As she disappeared inside one, only to pop her head out a window on the third floor, Martin’s intestines slithered and curled in his abdomen like a nest of snakes. 

“Ooh, this one has an electric stove!” Candy called out from the interior. “And a shower!” 

“Uh huh,” Martin managed to grunt. 

“Gosh, it would be so lovely to be able to bake on my own,” she continued. “Even if my cakes would hardly be the size of your fingernail.” 

“Right.” 

“And if we had one of these, you wouldn’t have to pour me a bath in a cup. You wouldn’t have to take care of my every need.” Her voice dropped into a mournful note. “I wouldn’t be as much of a burden on you.” 

“Oh, Candy!” Martin protested. “You’re never a burden!” 

Candy stepped out of the house with an almost sheepish expression. “If you say so. I just wish… sometimes that I could be more independent. I don’t like having to rely on you all the time, when I have so little to offer you in return.” 

“No, no, Candy, you’ve got it all wrong! You know I love to dote on you!” Martin insisted. He hastily wicked his clammy palms on his trousers before scooping Candy up off the porch of the tiny house and nuzzling her with his stubbled cheek. “You give me a wealth of happiness. I love you, darling.” 

Candy hugged the bridge of his nose. “I love you too. You’re my whole world, Martin.”  

He drew his hands back to gaze upon her tenderly. She looked so small and fragile compared to his colossal palms: She could get lost in the furrows of skin like canyons. To imagine that some giant—a barbaric beast like his father, who shared his flesh and blood—wouldn’t hesitate to hurt her, to chomp her up like a grape, made him sick. 

“You’re so tiny…” he murmured softly. “You couldn’t be a burden on me if you tried.” He stroked her thigh gently with his enormous thumb, marveling that a delicate being like her could trust him so readily. “My responsibility is to protect you.” His stormy eyes grew distant with painful memory. 

Candy studied him quietly for a long moment, examining the subtle muscle movements in the topography of his facial features. “Martin? Are you okay?” 

Martin blinked. “Yeah.” He lowered his hands to chest level, cradling his diminutive lover against his sternum. “Let’s go home.” 

Candy didn’t protest. Though she didn’t press him further, Martin could tell that Candy knew something was bothering him. He’d never brought up his past to her, nor did he ever mention his parents. As far as he was concerned, they were dead to him, an unpalatable vestige of a former life he wished to cut away and discard like a cancerous tumor. 

That night, Martin dreamed of dollhouses. He was back in the store, with Candy. She ran inside one of the houses and vanished. When he opened the roof to find her, she was gone. He began to panic, searching frantically for her. She was nowhere. 

Huge rumbling footsteps rattled the houses as a foreboding shadow wreathed the landscape. All of a sudden, Martin was small, human-sized, lost among the merchandise. He yelled for Candy until his throat was stripped raw, running in the alleyways between the toy structures that now loomed over him. The dollhouses had an uncanny resemblance to real houses, complete with a maze of sidewalks and lawns strewn haphazardly in an irrational tangle. 

The thunderous footsteps waxed louder and more menacing, leaving spiderweb fractures in the foundations and stucco of the houses. The shadows stretched and deepened like black ink spilled across a page. A leviathan boot stomped down nearby, smashing one of the buildings into rubble. Martin jumped with a yelp and spun around to behold a horrific sight. 

His father, Mr. Maneater himself, leered down at him, larger than life. His black irises burned like coals in his sockets, his bright teeth glistened wolfishly, and his dark hair, usually combed down in a neat part, whipped around his face wildly. Martin froze as an icy ball of sweat traced his spine. He was helpless. 

Candy began to scream with an agonizing wail that pierced his eardrums. Martin sprinted towards the torturous sound with desperation. His father stepped over him, crushing houses and splitting the sidewalks in his wake, effortlessly outpacing his son with his powerful long legs. Martin’s own limbs pumped like pistons, but he had no chance of catching up as his lungs pleaded for air. 

The giant reached the house where Candy was screaming and tore it from the earth, lifting the entire structure high into the blackened sky. Martin lobbed threats and curses to no avail as dirt and splinters of wood rained down from above and blinded him. He stared in horror as the house was ripped open like a flimsy cardboard box; chunks of walls and furniture tumbled the ridiculous distance to the ground, where poor Martin scrambled to avoid them. 

Mr. Maneater rummaged about in the crumbling ruins of the house until his fingers grasped his desired target. With a widening grin, he pulled the squirming woman from her hiding spot. 

“Martin! Help me!” Candy squealed. Mr. Maneater licked his lips, opened his mouth wide, and dangled her teasingly over his extended tongue. 

“NO! LET HER GO!” Martin demanded. He rushed over to his father’s shoe, grabbed the cuff of his pants, and began to climb in a last-ditch effort to save her. 

His father watched him with amusement before turning to his desired prey. “Down the hatch,” he proclaimed, before dropping her inside his maw and snapping his jaws shut like a piranha. Her cries were abruptly cut off; the resulting silence felt terribly wrong. Martin filled it with his own invectives, punching the solid tower of the giant’s leg until his fist was bloody and bruised. 

“Delicious,” Mr. Maneater taunted, thrusting Candy into his cheek with his tongue and sucking on her. Martin shrieked hoarsely, incoherent with the lacerations in his throat. He heard the swallow more than he saw it: a revolting, wet, lengthy squelch, followed by a deep, satisfied sigh that sent tremors through the wall of flesh towering over him.  

He had no time to react before gargantuan fingers squeezed around him and ripped him away, raising him high in the sky. With Candy sealed away in her living tomb, he felt feeble and weak. A pair of glowing hateful coals seared into him. His father didn’t have to speak to convey his upmost contempt and disapproval, his condemnation of his son as unfit to uphold the Maneater bloodline. He flicked his worthless son away, sending him flying to his death. 

“Martin? Martin?” 

A soft, gentle, feminine voice cut through the fog of his nightmare with the crisp clarity of a sunrise. Small hands pressed into his chest, tickling his carpet of hair. He opened his eyes and a wave of relief cooled his feverish skin. She was safe. She was okay. 

“Martin, are you alright? Your heart is racing.” 

“Y-yeah, I’m okay. Just a bad dream.” He hesitated. Should he tell her? He didn’t want to frighten her. He didn’t want to dredge up his ugly past, his secret shame. But he loved Candy, and trusted her with his life. He was ready to let her in. “I… I dreamed of my father.” 

Candy perked up with interest. “Oh?” 

Martin swallowed. At least his throat no longer felt like he raked it across a cheese grater. “Candy, I need to tell you something.” 

He spilled his guts. He told her about his first time encountering a human: Emma. How she was given to him on his dinner plate, treated as nothing more than a birthday treat, nutrition to fuel a growing young giant. How he saved her instead, and kept her hidden from his parents. How she was so afraid, and small, and vulnerable, unable to hear or speak. How he tried his best to communicate with her, and make her comfortable around him. 

And the day that he used his birthday money to buy her a dollhouse. Relating the traumatic event was like extracting a porcupine quill embedded deep in his chest, the barbs resisting his pull. But he forced himself to say it out loud. How his father scolded him, beat him—and found her. And just like that, her fate was clinched permanently behind Mr. Maneater’s lips. 

By the time he finished, his gray eyes were stormy with tears. Candy listened attentively the entire time, clinging to every word. Her eyes became glassy as well. “Oh, Martin… I’m so sorry, I had no idea…” 

Martin sniffled, hugging Candy close to his heart. “It’s… hard to talk about. But now you know why I’m estranged from my family. And why I was so nervous about hurting you, when we first started dating.” 

Candy kissed him and patted his pectoral. “I understand. But I never felt I had anything to fear from you, my love.” 

Martin smiled through his sorrow, soothed by her words. “I know it’s not entirely my fault, but I still carry this guilt with me. I atone by being the kindest, gentlest giant I can be, and keeping you safe.” 

“Awwwww, babe, you excel at that! You shouldn’t feel responsible though: You did all you could to protect her. You were only a child, after all. I’m glad to know you’ve always been my sweet Martin that I know and love.” 

Martin raised Candy up to his lips and kissed her. “Thank you.” 

As painful as the retelling was, Martin felt as if a burden had been lifted from his shoulders, a knot of tension untied in his core. He could finally forgive himself for his failure; he was able to let go and heal. Candy was the center of his cathartic release, his guiding light, his treasure, his beloved. He felt like a proper gentleman, no longer a monstrous giant cursed with Maneater blood, while in her presence. 

He wanted Candy to have the best life she could live with him, unencumbered by her size disparity as much as possible. He decided he needed to overcome his past and get her a dollhouse, or at least the functional set-ups. While they sold individual miniature “rooms” with all the necessary hook-ups, he knew that Candy was entranced by the cute toy houses with all their little decorations and furnishings. Though she never said it explicitly, Martin inferred that she probably found comfort in having a residential space scaled to her for once, a break from living in a world of giants. And they really weren’t that expensive, when he considered how much she would use it. 

He surprised her one fine afternoon after work. He took her into Quentin’s Collectibles and let her browse the shelves for a while. He didn’t feel that same sick dread curdling his innards as much as he did before when he approached the faux houses, though some of the unpleasant aftertaste still lingered. He endured it for Candy. 

She was ecstatic when he revealed his intentions. She settled on one of the cheaper, more modest houses that she found quite charming, and Martin agreed it would make a lovely addition to their apartment. He carried it out of the store under his arm, with a shopping bag full of furniture in his other hand and Candy bobbing eagerly on his shoulder. A warmth radiated through him when she lovingly kissed his neck. 

He was careful not to knock Candy off his shoulder as he stepped through the threshold to their apartment, closing the door behind him with his foot. He hastened to move his model Bombardier Learjet 35 off the coffee table to make room for Candy’s new house. He opened it up and began arranging the fixtures to suit her preferences. His heart soared as he soaked in her enthusiasm, but a small twinge of pain strummed his heartstrings as he was reminded of little Emma. 

Nevertheless, he was glad that he had made this difficult choice. He would do better this time. He was a man, no longer a child. He was strong. He was secure. Candy loved him and trusted him with her life, and he would do everything in his power to uphold that trust.  

As he watched her frolic through the rooms of the tiny house, he heard a firm, heavy knock on the front door. He turned his head, only to see the knob twist and the door open on its own. Since his hands had been full earlier, he hadn’t bothered to lock the door behind him. 

A man stepped in with confidence, a man that he’d had no contact with for years, but one he recognized all too well. His features were unmistakable, despite the advance in years: eyes like coals, black hair neatly parted and slicked down, refined clothing concealing a sturdy build that barely restrained a feral intensity. Martin’s blood ran cold. 

His father. 

Candy peeked out a window. “Martin, who’s that?” she asked innocently. “Do you know him?” She glanced up, only to behold Martin’s face frozen with horror. Fear crept up her throat, choking her. She didn’t know what to do, when her big strong protector looked so scared. 

Mr. Maneater surveyed the apartment, his dark eyes pausing on the dollhouse. He narrowed his lids and curled his lip with obvious disdain. “So it wasn’t just a phase,” he remarked, venom lacing his tone. 

Martin couldn’t move, couldn’t respond. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, the impossible scene unfolding before him as if an infernal pit to hell had split open the carpet in his living room. Replaying in his head, over and over at a dizzying speed like a macabre film, were terrible flashbacks to that nightmarish day: his dad picking up the dollhouse; his dad holding him to the ground, beating him senseless; Emma languishing in a puddle of blood on the ground, barely alive; the poor girl squirming between his dad’s fingers; his Adam’s apple throbbing as he swallowed her. Martin feared he would vomit before he could even do anything. 

His father said something with an irritated inflection, but Martin couldn’t hear through the blaring static in his ears. His heart was pounding into his lungs with a stabbing pain. Panic electrified his nerves. Mr. Maneater scowled, clearly annoyed that Martin didn’t seem to be listening to him, and strode through the threshold into the living room. 

The threatening movement snapped Martin into action. Without thinking, reacting on pure protective instinct, he lunged forward. He couldn’t allow tragedy to strike twice. He would keep Candy away from the dangerous giant even if he had to spill his own father’s blood, or die in the attempt. His heart would not be able to bear another loss, another victim to his tainted bloodline.  

Martin was a large giant, but he’d inherited his genetics from his father, who was also very tall and broad. Where Martin was soft, his father was hard. Mr. Maneater had a keen, cruel edge to him, honed from his earlier life of hardship and grueling labor before he’d been lucky enough to land himself a cushy accounting job. He was not the type to be easily bested in a fight by a gentle giant like his son, even if caught off guard. When Martin swung with a wild fist, he dodged the blow and planted his elbow in Martin’s solar plexus. Martin collapsed to the floor with a breathless gasp and a clumsy thud. His father planted his foot between Martin’s shoulder blades, pinning him down with his weight. 

“This is how you greet me, after all these years,” Mr. Maneater complained with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “I guess I should’ve expected that.” 

“GET OUT!” Martin roared, struggling to recover the air in his lungs. He coughed thickly, pushing up against his dad’s shoe. “Don’t you dare touch her! I’LL KILL YOU!” 

“Look, I’m not here to judge you for your weird fetishes,” Mr. Maneater grumbled. “Or eat your pet human or whatever.” 

“She’s not my pet, she’s my girlfriend!” Martin protested hotly, compelled to defend Candy’s honor as much as her physical body. 

The older man rolled his eyes, clearly even more disgusted. “Whatever.” He heaved a sigh. “I came here to...” He paused, gritting his teeth. “To... reconcile.” 

“Huh?” 

“I want to be in your life again, son. I want to have a relationship with you again. I miss you. Your mother misses you. We... we still love you, despite your flaws.” 

Martin finally shoved off his father’s foot and scrambled back to his feet, dusting off his clothes. “Really,” he said incredulously. “You expect me to forgive you for what you did. Without even bothering to apologize.” 

Mr. Maneater’s gaze, so intense and hot, finally faltered. “I’m... sorry.” 

Now Martin was on the offensive. “No you’re not.” 

Mr. Maneater frowned. “Look. I can’t change the past. What do you want from me? Do you want the truth? I regret that I hurt you so deeply. I’m sorry for what I did, even if I don’t agree with your perspective. Maybe... maybe I don’t understand why you care so much about humans, but... I’m willing to move on from that, and accept your bizarre lifestyle choices. I want my son back.” 

Martin ruminated on his words, unsure how to respond. He crossed his arms. “Hmph.” 

His father raised his hands with exasperation. “Your mother and I discussed the matter. We’re willing to give up eating humans, if that’s what it takes.” 

Martin’s eyes widened with shock. “Seriously?” 

“Yes,” he confirmed resolutely. 

“I...” Martin studied his father for a long moment. His father stared back with flaming coals. “I... I need some time to think about it.” 

“Of course. Of course,” Mr. Maneater replied, slumping with relief. “Come to us when you’re ready, okay?” He glanced down at Candy, giving her an uncomfortable nod, before turning back to Martin. “Right. Uh. I’ll be on my way now.” He backed out of the apartment, shutting the door behind him.  

Martin deflated like a balloon, sitting on the floor next to the coffee table, bracing himself on the surface with his shaking hand for support. “I can’t believe this.” 

Candy came out of the house over to his hand. She stroked his knuckle to comfort him. “Martin...” 

“I can’t risk it,” he declared. “My family is savage. I can’t put you in danger. No way.” 

“Martin...” Candy repeated. “I think he really meant what he said.” Martin stared into the distance, deep in thought. Candy watched him for a minute before poking his finger to get his attention. He carefully flipped his hand over so his girlfriend could crawl into his palm, then cradled her against him protectively. Candy snuggled up to his enormous, warm body, listening to the frightened beating of his elephantine heart. 

“It’s good for you to have your family in your life,” Candy pointed out. “I wish I could have a good relationship with my parents. They rejected me and told me I wouldn’t amount to anything. I wish I could've proved them wrong. But I couldn’t do it, not on my own.” 

“Oh, Candy...” Martin massaged her gingerly with his fingers. “You’re a remarkable, strong, brave woman. If they can’t see that, it’s their problem, not yours. I’ll always be here for you. I’m your family.” 

“Yes, of course!” Candy kissed his fingers reverently. “But, you know, Martin... you don’t have to carry the burden of the world on your shoulders alone. I’m here to support you too. And by the sound of it, so are your parents.” 

Martin smiled down at her, wrapped up snugly in his palm. As always when he saw her, his heart swelled with tenderness. With the love of his life in his hand, small enough to tuck away in his pocket for moral support, he felt that everything would be okay. “Perhaps.” 

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

riddle's post-ob flashback in the light novel

Like the Leona post, I’m going to discuss the extended detail that the light novel goes into with Riddle’s backstory, then integrate it with what we know of him from the game. It looks like this is going to be a trend for the light novel, so I’ll most likely do similar analyses for the other OB boys as more volumes come out!

Anyway, read on if you’re curious 👀

Okay, so 🤔 from what we can observe from Riddle’s in-game post-OB flashback sequence, his mother has been dictating almost every aspect of his life, from what and how much he eats to his lengthy, rigorous study routine. As recently as Riddle’s Broomquet vignettes, we learned that even at 5 years old, he had already started and become accustomed to his intense studying. When Riddle fails to complete a task sufficiently, his mother has him redo it or study more until he finally succeeds.

This was Riddle’s “normal”, and he completely bought into it. In the game, this is explained as Riddle having trust in his mother due to her reputation in their community as a competent and well-respected medical mage. "After all, she was the most accomplished mother in the city, and therefore, the most correct." Riddle associates "correctness" with "accomplishments", and we see this attitude carry out in other aspects of the main story. He talks down to Yuu for lacking magic and brags about his own standing as top student to Azul, who regularly fluctuates from 2nd to 10th place. The light novel, however, grants us new perspective as to why Riddle tries so hard in his studies and seeks to please his mom. In turn, we can see how this domino effects into his struggles to connect with others.

In the light novel, Riddle notes that his mother would always tell him "everything is for you". "Everything", in this context, I'm assuming refers to all the time and effort Riddle is putting into his studying, the tight control of his life, etc. His mother has framed all of this as being beneficial to Riddle, and that she herself is pushing him to engage in these things because she loves and cares for him. This is something that Riddle then interprets as meaning she must love him the most in the entire world, something that he tells himself to justify her own actions in his own mind. It becomes a piece of "proof" that, later down the line, will make it difficult to reconcile with his complicated feelings on her once he realizes how toxic her child raising tactics were. (I go into more detail on this topic in this post!)

Riddle also says that if he responds with "yes, mother" then he will be praised for it. This, you'll notice, is a phrase that is very similar to what he demands his own dorm members respond to his orders with: "yes, dorm leader". It implies that Riddle is used to deferring to her judgement and authority, and so expects the same obedience of others when he is in that position of power. This agrees with his behavior in book 1. As Ace points out, Riddle is just acting like a miniature version of his own mom, right down to the angry reactions and shouting when things don't go his way.

Right after that, we get another short but telling line. Referring to his mother's affection, Riddle comments that he "doesn't need anything else", and decides to forgo asking for strawberry tarts ever again. He was willing to give up something he was curious about trying just to continue receiving praise. To me, this illustrates that the love of Mrs. Rosehearts was conditional: if you perform to her expectations, you get her love. If you don't perform to her expectations, well then, it's back to the books for you until you can. (Reminder: this does NOT confirm that Mrs. Rosehearts yells at Riddle or degrades him for not being “up to par”; there is just a sense of disappointment at this.) It implies that Riddle became used to a cycle of receiving the love and attention he wanted only when he behaved in a very specific way that his mother desired—otherwise, she withheld that affection. This is why Riddle believes following the rules will make him happy; it’s a result of what he has learned is the “norm” from his mother’s conditional love.

The light novel also shows us how this unhealthy mother-son relationship spills over into Riddle's other (potential) relationships. When Che'nya and Trey first approach him to invite Riddle to play with them, Riddle automatically says that he can't. He had the answer prepared for them, the response already deeply ingrained into him and likely already told to other children that tried to talk to him before. But even though Riddle rejects them, prioritizing his mother's praise over all else, he still feels a twinge of sadness about it. He even expects that he "let them down". "Let them down"? Now isn't that a funny statement. Why would Riddle be concerned about disappointing total strangers he has zero attachment to? Unless... he's so isolated that he just assumes everyone will treat him the same way his mother will. That they'll withhold love and attention if he doesn't act how they want him to. Thus, Riddle appears to associate failure to perform as resulting in rejection and lack of social acceptance.

This plays perfectly into one of the most chilling lines in Riddle's post-OB flashback: "But Mom... Why? Why does my heart hurt so much? [...] Tell me, Mom, please... What rule do I need to follow to make this pain go away?" These lines indicate Riddle finally coming to the realization that, deep down, he has always desired affection. A desire to make friends and to play with them, to have deeply intimate relationships. All he knew before was his mom was happy when he did well in his studies, so that was what he chose to excel in. Things changed when he was exposed to what unconditional love is like through Trey and Che'nya. Riddle's childhood friends are the ones who will love and accept him no matter what he's like, no matter what fuck-ups he makes or how socially awkward he is with them. He started to recognize that painful emptiness in him that never went way, no matter how many of his mom's rules he followed. Alas, Riddle was never able to come to terms with that sinking feeling because his mom had just torn him away from Trey and Che'nya not too long after learning that he had been skipping independent study time to play and eat a strawberry tart. He would not meet Trey again until enrolling at NRC, and by then, they've spent so much time apart (and, let's be real here, traumatized by Mrs. Rosehearts losing her temper over the tart incident) that her staunch mindset has clawed into Riddle's brain once more. His whole life, the main models of relationships he has to go off of are his mom and his dad, who don't appear to have a happy marriage (implied in his Suitor Suit voice lines). It's no wonder why making friends and truly opening up is difficult for him, even following the events of book 1. What else does Riddle have to reference? Crossword puzzles and textbooks? In Endless Halloween Night, the guy barely knows what a scavenger hunt is or how you'd find joy in it...

Unlike Leona, Riddle already had a pretty fleshed out backstory from his flashback. Instead of expanding on his motivations (as the light novel did with Leona), what the light novel does for Riddle is give us more information that implicates what his home life was like. It's still not that much, but it certainly better explains some of Riddle's oddly stringent viewpoints that we still see in the present day.

I know that this post was kind of a shorter read compared to the Leona one I did, but that's in part because I've already written at length about the complexities of Riddle's relationship with his mom, dad, and Trey. Those posts are bolded and linked, so if you're interested in more, then I'd recommend those readings!

[berrypass-de-murdler]

S-47 The Chessboxing World Championship

The writing shall continue!

Drawing too, but when I get home

DON'T READ THE EPISODES WITHOUT READING THE BOOKS!!

Logico is so excited about this revelation, he decides to give himself a treat - a live chessboxing match! Even though he now has pain in his heart, the smell of sweat filling the air and the scathing roars from hangry fans bring him a sense of peace. He feels longing for his old Serpent form, but then again, it probably needed to die.

He stumbles across the contestants preparing, and unfortunately, they aren’t new faces.

BLAZE: Is that fucking Logico? GOLD: WHEYYHHLLEH… whoozadunnit. LOGICO: All right… I don’t… want to hear about it. BLAZE: Good thing you’re here.

That catches him off-guard. But then he realizes why she said that.

LOGICO: AUUGHH

(If you’re wondering, it was because a dead human is on the premises.)

Logico feels guilty about his departure from college being so sudden, and he decides it’s only fair to reconnect with the person he recognizes. She’s hitting and kicking her punching bag violently.

LOGICO: So… Blaze. How is… everything? With your career and such… this is your career, right? BLAZE: Don’t care about talking to you, little man. Just ‘cause we went to school together doesn’t mean we’re friends.

Logico almost notes that they battled multiple times, but then he realizes he still can’t give up his identity as the Serpent or he’ll be ridiculed. But that’s not what hurts. Logico had no friends throughout all of college. But that will change once he’s in Hollywood. Everyone loves a Hollywood star.

Fighting back memories, Logico approaches the coach doing push-ups.

TIGER: GIT- hhhhh… GIT- hhhhh… LOGICO: Excuse me. TIGER: AAAAUAUUUUGH!! OH!! I didn’t see ya there… lil’... fella!  LOGICO: No one in the history of the world will call me little fella, but I have more important things to ask. What do you know about the… MURDER? TIGER: Oh, that. Let’s see, whelp, all I know is that that mega-girl contestant there is like a QUEEN. And above that, she brought a weird package that I can’t fer the life of me open.

Champion Gold looks different then he did when he fought in Deduction College. He was already way older than everyone else, but now he looks ancient. Plus, he’s panting and wheezing.

LOGICO: Gold! Our dear champion. Who could forget your legendary battle against the Serpent!... I mean… how are you doing this fine murder. GOLD: [swings fists] I DON’T WANNA DEAL WITH THE LIKES’A YOU LIL’ WHIPPERSNAPPER! I GET THE GOLD!! GOLD MEDAL. GOLD IN THESE HILLS…

He nearly collapses.

TIGER: Gold, bud, I hate to say it, but you really should consider retirin’. GOLD: NONSENSE YA BUFFOON. I’M FIT AS A GOLD HILL. …wattah!...

The coach tends to the old lizard and Logico storms off to suspect #4. 

PLANT MAN: And who might you be, my miniature gentleman.

Every suspect in this episode has called Logico small, and it’s driven him off the edge.

LOGICO: OKAY, YOU LISTEN HERE! I AM NOT SMALL, OR LITTLE, OR MINIATURE! I AM A NORMAL MAN! 

The plant man looks sad! Logico feels really guilty.

LOGICO: I… I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean that. 

He shakes his head. This is the cost of having no friends. 

I wish I had gotten your name.

I wish I…

His heart begins to harden. He doesn’t need this dumb kid. He needs Hollywood.

LOGICO: It was that one with a chess book on the rooftop lounge. PLANT MAN: …Oh. Well, yes! I did it to impress you. LOGICO: . . . w h a t. PLANT MAN: I had to use a lot of logic to execute it perfectly!

The magnifying glass man’s head begins to throb, having that word thrown against him yet again.

LOGICO: I don’t even need real logic! I’m just going to PLAY a detective!!

He runs off.

The end! 

Remember, it's also Logico's villain origin story

The power of Goat Lord compels you!

See you next time murdlers!

help me with my life here!

[kid-of-chaos]

Sky: Ecliptic Chaos

Everything is normal.. until it isn’t.

Masterpost / Chapter 1

“Come on…”

“Young one, I already made myself clear.”

“Do me this one favor, man…”

“Was my statement not clear the first time.?”

“Pleeeeeaaaaassse Koru.. if I don’t something to keep Aki busy, she’ll drag me and Maestro all over the realms just to get a small article.! Everyone else already turned me down, and you’re the only one I can turn to…” Regulus pleaded, hoping their gamble would SOMEHOW work. They already had to traverse the realms in hopes of finding something to keep Aki from getting herself into a near-death situation- with them and their Sound Expert included. That was the LAST thing they needed before the Eclipse dawned over the Kingdom in about two days.

The Prophet of Light Koruden (or simply Koru) was already familiar with this routine and shook his head, replying, “It is already a misfortune that you’ve resorted to my prophecies to keep your friend busy, but I’m afraid I have to decline.. again. I have a class to teach, and with the Total Eclipse coming up, I cannot afford to waste any time.”

Regulus got up from the ground. “At least give me SOMETHING for her to chase on her own- without getting herself nearly killed, anyways.” It might not last her the whole wait, but if push comes to shove, I can always lock down my Nest, they thought. “Besides, it’s a recess period.! Everyone else is busy running around the realms right now!

All I’m asking for is one tiny prophecy, not some HUGE, KING OF IT ALL-” -they pointed to the biggest Mural- “-GOLD-BOY-BECOMES-THE-KINGDOM’S-END prophecy. Like- a small fortune. What’s gonna happen today that might catch her eye for hopefully the rest of the countdown so she can stop trying to get of front row seats to another situation that we have to bail her out of.”

“A small fortune..”, Koru pondered.. if it got the Camerman out of his hair for a while.. after a short moment of silence, he answered, “Alright, fine, but it will only be one fortune. No more, nothing else, yes?”

“Wait, for real?!” That got Regulus to stop his whining as he perked up, eyes glowing brighter behind the mask. “LET’S GOOO! You are a real one, man! This is why I got your pendant!”

Koru made a small hum of acceptance, before putting his hands together and closing his eyes. He then muttered something Regulus couldn’t make out, but knowing Koruden, it was probably he wouldn’t understand even if he could hear it. A few moments passed before yellow markings appeared on Koruden’s arms, their glow getting more intense as he continued to focus. A normal thing to happen when he sees into the future. But whatever he was seeing into, Regulus realized, was that he wasn’t seeing a small glimpse like he said he could.

“Uh… Ay, Koru, buddy.! I think you’re seeing waay more than a small fortune right now, if I read the.. increasingly terrified look on your face right.” he noted, fighting the urge to poke the guide’s arm as it would probably result in him getting attacked out of reflex. There was something about this particular reaction he was getting that made him wonder what the Prophet was seeing.

Koruden, on the other hand, was regretting his decision. The vision was that of another child entering the kingdom, one without wings, but a soul of flame instead. The child had white pupils, as if a miniature sun was shining from those eyes, but there was a red aura coming from the child. Almost the same as the Blood Moon.. but that wasn’t the worst part.

The child’s gaze sent painful shivers of souls still lingering and echoes of sentences that were repeated since Stars-knows how long: ‘Our spark, our Empire, laid to waste.’, ‘The bird must be no more!’ ‘I just want to go home..” ‘Out of all of her successors, the sixth deserves SUFFERING.!’

The echoes grew louder, angrier. The child started gripping their head as the aura began covering their body starting from their feet. It was too much to bear- the voices, the overwhelming aura, the presence of many despite there being only one- it made Koru wince in pain more and more.

Then all of a sudden, everything went quiet. He opened his eyes and stared into the abyss that was a future he couldn’t comprehend. “What.. what are you..?” he whispered.

The abyss stared back.

And it had a few choice words to tell him.

Suddenly, a sharp pain struck his very soul, prompting a shriek of pure anguish. The more he saw into the future- the chaotic abyss, the more it hurt every part of his body, but he couldn’t even try to look away. He couldn’t stop staring, it had forced him to peer at it, almost as if it was saying, “You wanted to tempt fate’s hand, now be SUFFOCATED BY IT.” He could even hear it call his name, albeit faintly.

Koruden. It was almost like a whisper directly into his ear. ‘Koruden.!’ It became louder , more familiar, until-

“KORUDEN!”

He finally snapped out of it, realizing that A. He has fallen to his knees, B. Regulus had been shaking him for what he could assume to be a good while, and C. The other Prophets, and their students, returned. He took a moment to catch his breath. That vision, whatever that.. THING was, it wasn’t like anything he seen before. It was wild, sudden, it was-

Unpredictable. Just like the previous Prophet of Light with the King, his fate could only be read so far before it was hurled into a never-ending mess of outcomes and chaos. But instead of someone foretold by the Light… this one was chosen by the void.

His thoughts were interrupted by the Prophet of Fire, who crouched down towards their fellow teacher. “Koru, you saw something bad right..? What was it?” he wondered as he helped Koruden to his feet.

Koruden, after a long while of silence, came to one conclusion. History is going to repeat.

“Send the students back to their rooms and gather the rest of the Guides immediately.”

And he CANNOT let that happen.

Elsewhere, a young boy, no older than a year, was lying on the shores of an Isle. The boy had lost his energy and he let the sea carry him away. He didn’t swim the entire way, the majority of the journey was spent on a ship, but for reasons that could be understood as a split second realization, he jumped the vessel and swam for his life. All he had to show for his boat ride was the very cape he stole from its captain, and for where he came from, a torch made of iron.

A ringing sound stirred him up from his slumber, as he slowly took in his surroundings. After a few seconds of surveying the alien landscape, he got to his feet and with a hoarse voice, he broke the silence that hung over the air.

“Where.. are we.?”

[loki--fics]

stardust - part eight

loki x reader

content warnings: grief, death mentions

word count: 1,574

That night in your room had left a mark on both you and Loki. Subtle, invisible, yet impossible to brush off or ignore.

He hadn't meant to stay, hadn't meant to hold you while you broke, but once you were in his arms, once he felt your trembling breath against his chest and the way you clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you from sinking, something inside of him shifted, and suddenly he couldn't seem to keep you off his mind. It wasn't pity, wasn't some fleeting whim or a sense of morbid curiosity, it was deeper than that. It was recognition.

You understood him in ways no one else had before. You had seen the darkness, same as him; you had fallen into the abyss of hurt and rage, lashing out with destruction and chaos, overwhelmed with guilt after the dust had settled but carrying the burden alone.

Now, the two of you were in the kitchen; Loki sat perched on a stool at the island, his sleeves cuffed neatly at his forearms, the rings on his thin fingers glinting softly in the overhead light. He watched as you moved around the kitchen, barefoot and adorned with an apron, using a wooden spoon to stir what you had called your mother's "world famous" bolognese. It had taken a moment for you to explain that no, it wasn't actually famous around the world, but it was delicious enough that it might as well have been.

The scent was unfamiliar to him, rich and savoury and somehow comforting, like something meant to feed not just the body, but the soul.

Loki cleared his throat softly, his voice careful. "So your parents - How did you end up in Stark's care?"

You didn't answer at first and Loki straightened, sensing he may have overstepped. "Forgive me, that was.. Prying. You needn't say anything if it was an unwelcome question."

You gave the sauce another stir, then lowered the heat to simmering. Your expression had changed slightly, your eyes more distant, the corners of your mouth turning up in a sad smile.

"Do you know what my favourite thing about my mom was?" You asked. "My dad worked long hours - he was brilliant, like Tony, just.. Quieter about it. He and mom were so different, she was all colour and chaos and noise, and he was order and logic and calm. But it worked, and I knew they loved each other more than anything."

You turned, leaning your back against the counter. "My mom was a weirdo. Not in a bad way, she just.. Had this kind of oddball, whimsical energy. Like she saw the world through a kaleidescope and wanted me to see it that way, too." Your head leaned to the side. "She was always planning these fun outings for the two of us. Nothing extravagant, just little day trips; like we'd drive an hour to the city just to try some new restaurant she'd read about in a blog. Or we'd go to antique stores and pick out the ugliest thing we could find for each other. One time, she gave me a taxidermied rat dressed like a businessman, with a little briefcase and everything."

You chuckled, turning back to the stove to stir the sauce, tasting a bit of it on the spoon and sprinkling in some more seasoning. "Once, she even took me to this UFO-themed diner that only served blue food. Just.. Weird, wonderful stuff. Like trying to follow Bob Ross tutorials, even though neither of us could paint to save our lives - we'd end up covered in paint, and they always turned out horrible. Our happy little abominations." You laughed gently. "She always let me help her cook, too, even when I made a mess of the flour or forgot the sugar. Taught me how to play piano, and ukulele; she'd play for me whenever I asked and I loved it, even though she was terrible at singing."

Loki could picture it - a warm, sun soaked room, flour on your cheeks, music in the background. He imagined a miniature you, laughing and unburdened by the chaos.

"They were good friends with Tony, he worked with my dad," You continued. "He'd come over on holidays, bringing dumb gag gifts and setting things on fire in the backyard for 'science'. I loved it." Your eyes gazed out the window, at the afternoon sun bathing the city in its warm glow. "When I was sixteen, we were in a car accident. I don't remember much.. Rain, tires screeching, glass shattering, my mom holding my hand. Then I woke up in the hospital with only a few broken ribs and a mild concussion, and they were just... gone."

Your voice cracked on the last word, and you swallowed hard. Loki's chest ached in a way he didn't quite understand.

"Tony stayed with me in the hospital, and came home with me when I was discharged. He even stayed after the funeral, he was adamant that he wasn't leaving without me, that he'd promised my mom he'd take care of me if anything happened."

"And so you went with him?" Loki asked, a brow raised.

You chuckled. "Not at first. I fought him on everything; I told him I didn't need him, that I wasn't leaving my home. He was like a reminder of everything I'd lost. I even locked myself in the bedroom once, and climbed out of a window to avoid a counseling session. But eventually I realised, he'd lost them, too. And after a while, the house became too much, the silence too loud. Everything reminded me of them - mom's flour-covered apron still on the hook, dad's coffee mug on the table next to the newspaper. It was like the grief had soaked into the walls, and I couldn't stand it anymore. So I finally moved here, with Tony."

"He tried his best. He was a lot - loud, noisy, irritating. But eventually we found our rhythm, and he started teaching me things. How to wire boards, basic coding, soldering. We built a little robot together that followed sound like a puppy. Then he taught me programs, and AI protocols. Eventually, he became my anchor. He stopped feeling like a replacement and more like someone who understood. I don't know if I would have survived it without him. I still own their house, I inherited it after they passed, but I haven't been back. Maybe someday."

You dished up two steaming plates of bolognese, the aroma warm and comforting. Loki watches you with quiet interest, his eyes following the graceful efficiency of your movement as you brought the plates over to the island. You set one down in front of him, and he bowed his head slightly in thanks as you sat next to him.

"So," You said, bringing a bite up to your lips. "What about your parents?" Loki's fork paused midair. "Thor's told me a bit about your father, but I haven't heard much of your mom."

For a moment, you think he might deflect. His posture straightened, his jaw tightened, but then, he exhaled.

"My mother," He repeated, almost to himself. His voice was low, measured. "Frigga. She was... Everything Odin was not. Where he ruled with order and discipline, she led with wisdom, patience, and compassion."

You listened intently, fork in hand, stealing glances at him between bites.

"She taught me magic," He continued, his voice distant, as though lost in memory. "Not just simply casting spells, but how to understand them. The rhythm beneath the incantation, the beauty of them." A small smile played on his lips. "I would often feign sleep, then sneak to her study and watch her work. There were always candles burning, pages turning themselves, the scent of lavender and old books. She'd pretend not to notice me, then summon a cushion for me to curl up on, like she'd known I was there all along."

"She.. She always saw me, even when I wasn't sure who I was. She was kind to everyone, but she made me feel special, like I was more than my brother's shadow. Not because I was a prince, not because I was clever, but because I was just... Me."

He grew quiet for a moment, the smile gone, the silence heavy. "She died because of me."

Your heart ached. "Loki..."

He met your gaze, no bitterness in his voice, only sorrow. "I set the events in motion that led to her death. Whether it was my hand that struck her down or not, it was my blade, my arrogance, my foolishness."

You reached out slowly, laying your hand atop his where it rested on the counter. "I know that kind of guilt," You said softly. "I live with it, too. My dad hadn't been home early enough for supper with us in months, so I insisted we all go out together. I threw a fit about it. They were only in that car because of me, and after it crashed... I blamed myself."

His eyes lingered on your face for a long moment, a quiet, shared understanding passing through the two of you. Then without a word, his hand shifted under yours, turning over so your palms were pressed together as his fingers interlaced with yours, and the two of you continued eating in a heavy, yet comfortable silence.

next chapter

author's note: i hope you're all enjoying the story so far! <3

[supremesorcerersatoru]

Continued from here

He didn’t need eyes to see.

Not really.

The blindfold stayed on, but the world still filtered through his senses in layers of shapes, colors, vibrations—like heat rising from asphalt. It all came to him whether he wanted it or not. But today, he wasn’t looking to engage. He wasn’t looking to dazzle or provoke or perform.

He was just watching.

Gojo stood silently by the door of the rundown motel, shoulders relaxed, hands deep in his pockets. The air smelled of mildew, the wallpaper curled at the edges, and the lobby inside creaked like a ghost still haunted it. It was the kind of place no one remembered after checking out. Maybe that’s why he chose it.

His ear tilted slightly toward the sliding glass door.

Rain.

Not a drizzle, not a lazy mist—but a violent, roaring downpour. The kind that bounced off the concrete in waves, each droplet slamming down like a miniature god trying to be heard. He didn’t flinch. He just stood there, letting the sound wrap around him.

It was loud.

Not in a sharp way—but in that overwhelming, full-bodied, almost suffocating kind of way.

White noise so dense it drowned everything else out.

It reminded him of that day.

The applause.

Thousands of hands, slapping together in blind admiration. That sound had echoed in his skull the same way this rain did now. But this? This rain didn’t celebrate anything. It was raw, shapeless, honest. A chorus with no audience. A rhythm with no meaning.

His lips pressed together—unusually quiet, unusually tight.

That moment changed everything.

That moment.

Suguru’s silence on that stage. His eyes, hollowed and burning all at once. Gojo remembered feeling something in himself split—not snap, not break, just… separate. Like a branch growing in a direction he hadn’t planned.

He became unstoppable after that. Stronger. Lethal, almost too polished. Missions blurred into each other like brushstrokes with no color.

And Suguru?

He didn’t know anymore.

The storm outside made it easier to focus. Easier to feel without interruption. That was rare. Gojo lived in a world too fast, too bright, too loud. And yet here, in the wreckage of a forgettable motel, the rain quieted everything else but his own thoughts.

Until it didn’t.

“Why can’t you teleport us back?”

A shrill voice—full of unearned indignation—cut through the storm like a thrown brick through glass. The silence shattered, and Gojo blinked beneath the blindfold, as though trying to reset his mental lens.

The corners of his lips dipped for just a breath. A rare thing. A human reaction.

“…Hmm?”

The response came out through his nose, low and unbothered.

And then, like flipping a switch, the mask came back on.

A wide, blinding grin stretched across his face. That smile. The one everyone knew. The one that said everything’s fine even when it wasn’t.

“Utahime,” he sang, voice steeped in mock disbelief, “requesting me for help?”

He rocked back on his heels, body swaying like a cat stretching out its boredom. Then he leaned forward, toes lifted, voice dripping with amusement.

“I carried the mission, I carried my shopping bags—now you want me to carry you, too?”

His weight shifted smoothly, landing on the balls of his feet. He chuckled, the sound light but cutting, and jabbed a finger in the direction of the lopsided pile of shopping bags leaning against her chair. The bags sagged, stuffed with souvenirs, snacks, and useless knickknacks he didn’t need but enjoyed buying anyway.

They sat there abandoned, like a bored child had lost interest halfway through pretending they were important.

“Come on, Utahime. Get a grip.”

His voice dropped a note—less sing-song now, more knowing.

“You’re gonna have to pull your weight eventually.”

[wolveria]

The Jedi's Gambit - Ch 15

Pairing: Cad Bane x Obi-Wan Kenobi

Series Warnings: Explicit sexual content, violence, medical procedures, Force shenanigans, enemies to lovers

Chapter Summary: Obi-Wan fears he's too late.

AO3

This could have been the first time in Obi-Wan’s life that he wasn’t joyful to see the Temple. His mood since leaving Bane’s station hadn’t improved with distance or time, and even his fellow Council members could tell something about him was… off.

Obi-Wan reported his lack of progress with tracking down Bane, and thankfully, they seemed to attribute that to his uncharacteristic silence and dampened nature.

Anakin gave him enough concerned looks to inform Obi-Wan that he needed to pick himself back up, even if his smiles were false and empty. When Anakin asked if anything else was wrong, Obi-Wan merely said, “I apologize, Anakin. I’m simply frustrated with the situation. Bane always slips through my grasp whenever I manage to catch up with him,” which was truer than his Padawan knew.

“I still don’t get why he surrendered, or why he wanted to speak to me. I mean, yeah, I’ve captured him before,” Anakin continued as they walked down the Temple halls together, “but… you know. After the whole Hardeen thing, I thought if he was going after any of us, it would be you, Master.”

“Who can understand that particular bounty hunter,” Obi-Wan said, wishing he could understand. Bane had made it very clear how much Obi-Wan’s presence wasn’t wanted, but something about it didn’t sit well with him. Everything Bane had said was what he would have expected from the bounty hunter before they had become… intimate.

But a small voice in his head told him it made sense. More sense than Bane actually wanting him around, actually enjoying his company and feeling something for him, the way Obi-Wan felt in return.

But one day passed, and then two, and his restlessness grew. He was agitated, like something inside him was trying to claw its way out, and that small cruel voice was replaced with a wordless cry, an urgency so acute he could taste it in his mouth.

It was the need to run—not away, but toward. And eventually, Obi-Wan couldn’t fight it any longer. Not when the Force vibrated with the same sharp trill of warning.

This is foolish. Beyond foolish. As soon as he sees me, he’ll fulfill his promise to fill me with bolts. Or better yet, he’ll fire on the ship as soon as it leaves hyperspace.

But his footsteps kept pace, never slowing as he headed to the hangar.

He took a speeder back to Dex’s diner, obtained permission to once again use the ship with his profound apologies, and then headed off-planet. Just before he prepared to go to hyperspace, he commed his Padawan, surprised to get him so quickly as his miniaturized image popped up on the old ship’s control board.

“Master, what is it?”

“I’m heading off-world again, and I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”

“Are you going after Bane?”

Obi-Wan hesitated, and Anakin barreled straight through and said, “Let me come with you. We can capture him together. It’s the smart plan, Master.”

“No. It’s… not that. It’s a personal matter.”

Anakin’s eyes widened in surprise, and then there was something else in his gaze. Suspicion.

“You said you were going off-planet last time, but your starfighter was still here. There was no record of you leaving by transport, and no one could reach you.”

Obi-Wan sighed and rubbed the side of his face.

“I hope I can explain the full situation to you someday, Anakin, but for now, I would appreciate a little bit of grace. It’s nothing that should concern you, I promise.”

Anakin didn’t look assured, and that expression reminded him of their reunion after his time as Rako Hardeen. Broken trust.

“I’ll be back soon,” was all he said before he ended the comm. Obi-Wan should have known it wouldn’t be easy to shake Anakin’s attention. Ever since Ahsoka left the Order, Anakin had been even more protective of those he cared about, which meant there wasn’t much that Obi-Wan could slip by his Padawan these days.

Obi-Wan had no idea if the station remained in the same place, or if Bane was even on it, and the idea caused more anxiety than it should. He was becoming less worried that Bane would be angry upon his return, and more worried that he’d made a mistake by leaving.

Hadn’t he promised Bane his protection? Hadn’t he made an oath he wouldn’t stray from the bounty hunter’s side until he found a way to keep him safe? And as soon as Bane had hurled a few ugly words at him, Obi-Wan had just… left. Ran away.

His urgency grew the longer he was in hyperspace, and when the console finally beeped his arrival, Obi-Wan quickly pulled the lever to drop out of hyperspace. As soon as stars filled the viewport, Obi-Wan knew something was wrong.

The station was as he’d left it, but there was a ship he didn’t recognize docked to one of the airlocks.

Something jolted through him, jagged and sharp. Pain that wasn’t his.

Obi-Wan raced toward the station, only slowing when he had to, maneuvering the ship more tightly than it was designed for as he slid sideways right up against the docking door. He made sure the seal was tight before rushing into the station.

Unlike his last visit, this time he wore his robes, and though he technically wore less armor, he didn’t feel unprotected as he drew his lightsaber hilt and cautiously moved through the corridors. He kept quiet, making sure his boots made no sound, and he kept his lightsaber off.

At least the agony he’d sensed before had dimmed into an ache, muted intentionally as the bearer tried to hide it. But the bond they shared, just a trickle before, had forged into a solid river that even Bane’s mental shields couldn’t dam.

In any other circumstance, Obi-Wan would have marveled at the thing. It felt stronger even than his connection to Anakin, which should have been alarming, but all he could focus on was the closed door that led into Bane’s living compartment.

Obi-Wan lifted his hand, reached out with the Force, and opened the hatch.

The scene that greeted him was one of horror and impossibilities. Bane sat in the middle of the compartment, bound to one of the dining chairs. His vest and bodysuit had been torn open, revealing his naked torso, and that wasn’t the worst. Obi-Wan’s stomach clenched as he caught sight of Bane’s unbuckled belt, his open trousers, and the dazed look on his face.

Beside him stood a figure wreathed in black attire, his bright red skin covered in dark swirls and patterns.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Maul purred, his exterior calm, which was unusual for most of their encounters. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

“Maul,” Obi-Wan responded with a cavalier tone, even as every inch of him screamed to get in between him and the bounty hunter. Something red-hot and burning rose within him at the thought of Maul and what he had planned for Bane. “I see you survived Mandalore.”

Maul’s eye twitched, but otherwise he kept up his cool composure.

“If there’s one thing you should not doubt, it’s my insatiable persistence.”

“Yes, I’m familiar with your unhealthy obsessions.” Obi-Wan vaguely gestured at the room, as if Bane wasn’t at the very center of his panicked thoughts. “You know there are less dramatic ways to garner my attention, though if I may be honest, I’m not exactly flattered by your interest.”

Maul’s eye twitched again, the muscles around his lips threatening to switch into a snarl. Bane, on the other hand, took advantage of the distraction Obi-Wan presented, his mouth creased into a strained frown as he tested his restraints, earning him a silent jolt up his arms.

Obi-Wan wanted to tell him to stop, that he would handle this, but he kept his eyes focused on Maul. He could not let Maul see how much this affected him. If he had any idea…

“Then you’ll be pleased to know I’m not actually here for you, Master Jedi.” Maul straightened his spine, his hands behind his back, and he slowly paced in front of Bane, like a nexu appraising his downed prey. “I’m offering you the chance of a lifetime, Kenobi. Walk away… and I let you live. We can finish this discussion at a later time. I am in no rush to kill you. I have so many plans for you, after all, and we mustn’t rush perfection.”

Obi-Wan’s face crinkled into a scowl.

“That’s not going to happen, Maul. I know why you’re here.”

Maul raised a brow and asked, “Do you?”

“You seek Bane’s Heart. Well, it’s gone. I can tell you that much.”

The former Sith apprentice appraised Obi-Wan with a flicker of his eyes up and down his body.

“The bounty hunter gave it to you? How… interesting.”

Obi-Wan internally kicked himself.

“Yes, fascinating, I’m sure.”

Maul glanced from Obi-Wan to Bane, a kind of curiosity in his eyes that boded ill for all of them.

“Why… are you here?” Maul asked, and for once, Obi-Wan didn’t have a witty retort. A full, unpleasant grin broke across his face as he looked from Jedi to bounty hunter and then back again, his tone scandalized. “No. Not you, Master Jedi. Have you done the unthinkable and developed a fondness for this hunter scum? Does Master Kenobi have a commitment to something other than his precious Order?”

Obi-Wan’s gaze hardened into a glare, and Maul laughed with a disturbing amount of glee.

“Oh, this is too wonderful. Too perfect. Once again, you have allowed another companion to fall into my grasp. How careless you are with your loved ones, Kenobi.”

“And you have spent too long in the company of depraved criminals. Do you truly think I care what happens to the bounty hunter?”

“I do, Master Jedi. I surely do.” Those burning eyes cut right through him, too wily and cunning to believe his pathetic attempts at misdirection. “If your countenance wasn’t proof enough, the waves of… dare I say, anger, radiating from your mind are.”

“Is that why your master sent you? To toy with your enemies rather than fetch the Sith artifact like the obedient massif you are?” Obi-Wan had noticed the tiny scars along Maul’s skin, pinpricks from the violence of Force-lightning, many of them still healing.

Maul’s smile disappeared.

“You speak of things you do not understand. Ignorance does not become you.”

Bane raised his head, the movement appearing difficult, and he shot Obi-Wan a warning look, which he promptly ignored.

“Where is your brother?” Obi-wan tilted his head, his words loud and confident compared to Maul’s soft, deadly tone. “Does he also make an obedient pet? Or was he deemed useless after I severed the arm from his body.”

Maul’s snarl and the roar of his red lightsaber merged into one hateful growl.

“Be silent, you ignorant filth! I will destroy you and everything you hold dear!”

Obi-Wan ignited his own lightsaber, casting himself in its blue glow, and moved into his ready stance.

“You may try.”

Maul laughed, a noise that was not at all stable.

“Oh, I will do more than try. The Force is with me this day, to land such a gift at my feet. First, I took your master. Then, I took your Duchess. And now, I have the final piece to break Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“I planned on killing Skywalker next, but you know how the saying goes: The Force uses us all.”

And then Maul turned, raised his lightsaber, and brought it down towards Bane’s head.

“No!”

Obi-Wan extended his hand and sent out the Force with all of his speed. Maul braced for the anticipated blow, but Obi-Wan wasn’t aiming for him.

Bane’s chair, and the bounty hunter with it, shot backwards, the feet scraping the hard floor as it slid across the ground.

Maul’s strike missed, hitting the floor in a shower of sparks, and before he could gain his bearings, Obi-Wan leapt.

The Sith apprentice barely raised his lightsaber in time to block the blow. Obi-Wan didn’t let Maul gather his strength or regain his balance; he struck again and again, his anger fueling his attacks in a form that more closely mirrored his Padawan’s style than his own.

On the set of steps that led down from the living space, Maul lost his footing, and Obi-Wan kicked him in the chest, hard enough to send him flying. Before he could give chase, a gravelly voice said from behind him, “A little help?”

Obi-Wan turned and found Bane still bound in the chair, giving him a look that was part annoyed, part something else he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

He lifted his lightsaber, and Bane flinched, but Obi-Wan sliced the blade between the middle link of his stuncuffs. Bane rubbed his wrists, looked up at Obi-Wan, and then drew his pistols, both of which Maul hadn’t even bothered to disarm. He aimed the blasters directly at his chest.

“Down!”

Obi-Wan dropped.

Red blaster bolts shot over him, the snap of a lightsaber striking the bolts, and then Obi-Wan rolled across the ground as Maul wildly swung for him. Sparks and smoke ignited from where the blade hit, intent on chewing through the entire station with each pass it made at Obi-Wan.

But he was quick to regain his feet, and with both the Jedi and bounty hunter taking shots at him, Maul was forced to ignite both ends of his double-bladed lightsaber.

And they were successfully pushing him back. He couldn’t fight them off while also switching to the offensive, and he realized this, seeing how quickly they were backing him into a corner. Maul screamed in frustration, and a pure wave of violence and hatred preceded the Force blast that exploded out from him.

Obi-Wan shielded himself from the blow, but he heard Bane’s pained yell as he was thrown back into one of the pieces of furniture.

So great was Maul’s rage and the strength of the blow that it sent several cracks throughout the floor, up the hull and into the ceiling. Seeing the damage, Maul reached toward the cracks above them, and forced it to collapse inward, chunks of debris falling straight toward the lounge.

Obi-Wan reached up and caught the chunks of metal and duracrete before it could crush Bane, and Maul used that moment to leap, the double blade held over his head, his eyes bright with malice and a hateful kind of joy.

Because he saw the choice Obi-Wan had to make: hold onto the debris and give Bane a chance to escape… or let go and defend himself against Maul, sacrificing Bane for himself.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and held onto the debris, trusting in the Force. Trusting in Bane.

He heard the whistle of a rocket and opened his eyes just in time to see the projectile strike Maul directly in the chest. He shielded himself at the last moment, preventing his own destruction, but the shock wave of the explosion knocked Obi-Wan onto his back, something sharp hitting him in the side.

Obi-Wan reached out, horror trapping the air in his lungs, but it was too late; the debris came crashing to the ground, crushing most of the lounge, including the benches and furniture.

His heart seemed to stop, and his head was ringing, loud enough that he could barely hear Maul scream, “This isn’t over, Kenobi! If it’s the last thing I do, I will hunt you down! I will watch you unravel as I tear your universe apart!”

Obi-Wan caught a glimpse of Maul fleeing down the corridor, his mechanical legs sparking and barely functional as he disappeared around the corner. He dragged himself to his feet, stumbling to the destruction as he held a hand to his side. His palm came away red and sticky, so he kept it in place as he reached out with the other. He pulled aside what chunks he could with the Force, exhaustion and pain weighing his limbs, but panic and desperation fueling his shaky movements.

He couldn’t feel him. Obi-Wan couldn’t feel Bane’s life force in that pile, and he choked out, “Bane, can you hear me? Please, say something! Bane!”

And behind him a voice drawled, “If that’s the Sith Lord you ‘defeated’ before, yer track record is shit. That’s oh-fer-two.”

Obi-Wan let out a heavy breath that turned into a weak but genuine laugh. He turned to face Bane just as the bounty hunter tossed aside the empty rocket launcher he’d used on Maul. Somehow, despite the chaos of battle, he’d managed to keep his hat.

Obi-Wan found he couldn’t say anything, his relief too overwhelming at seeing Bane alive, that he hadn’t become the third victim to Maul’s destructive obsession with Obi-Wan.

Bane tilted his head, maybe a question, but Obi-Wan just stood there trying to catch his breath. After a moment of staring, the bounty hunter went to a cabinet, one that had been warped and crumpled, and pulled open the door after a few hard yanks. His little droid sprang free, flying out of the confined space.

“Mister Bane, you’re alive!”

“Todo, check the security systems and make sure that asshole makes it off my station, then set the defenses on high alert. Would hate to survive his little visit just to have my station blown up.”

The droid saluted him and exclaimed, “I am on it!” before flying away.

“Can’t believe I worked with that guy once,” Bane mumbled, trying to pull the ruined edges of his vest together. He eventually gave up.

“What?”

Bane sent him a look, one that might have been concern on someone else’s face. Obi-Wan still hadn’t moved.

“Did a job for him a long time ago, back when he had his original pair of legs. I was a young man then.”

“That was a long time ago.”

And then Obi-Wan swayed and fell forward, but someone caught him before he could land on his face. Bane’s voice was low and gentle as he said, “Easy, now,” and put his shoulder under Obi-Wan’s arm. He didn’t resist one bit as Bane led him into the bedroom.

Bane carefully laid him back on the bed and began to remove his robes, starting with his belt and boots and eventually moving to his tabards, outer robes, and then his tunic, leaving him half-naked.

The most concerning part was he could no longer feel the pain at his side, a piece of shrapnel that had embedded just below his ribcage. Also, he couldn’t stop shivering, a cold numbness freezing his limbs.

“I believe I’m going into shock.”

“Yep.”

Bane grabbed the nearby medpac, and that’s when Obi-Wan noticed the medical droid in the corner, leaning against one wall, its surface scorched by the angry strokes of a lightsaber.

“Oh, that’s not good,” Obi-Wan said faintly.

“Todo, get in here!” Bane snarled into his wrist comm, and when the droid appeared, he said, “Maul felt you comin’ and made sure nothin’ was left ye could use. But my droid’s got a medical program installed.”

“Bane, may I remind you that my program is an unlicensed copy that was downloaded from a rather unsavory part of the HoloNet?”

“Yeah?” Bane pulled out a bacta injector and plunged it into Obi-Wan’s arm. “It was cheap.”

“It was free.”

“On second thought,” Obi-Wan said, “I will pass on the bootleg medical package.”

“Then yer stuck with me,” Bane growled, his focus on the piece of shrapnel it looked like he would be removing.

Obi-Wan just smiled at him.

“I am in good hands.”

Bane only huffed, not looking away from his work, but there was just the hint of a smile tugging on his lips.

And then he pulled out a scanner from the medpac and unfolded it, tracing it above Obi-Wan’s torso with a faint blue light marking where the scanner was aimed. Bane’s mouth pulled into a frown, one that didn’t make Obi-Wan feel any better.

“The shard missed… whatever this fleshy sac is. The one right under your ribcage.”

“My… stomach?”

“Nah, that’s the other big fleshy sac. This is a… Todo! What’s this thing?”

“I’m right here, there’s no need to shout.” The droid hovered over his shoulder to look at the scanner. “I believe that is a spleen.”

“The hell’s a spleen?” Bane rubbed his chin. “Do humans need spleens?”

“I need everything currently in my body, thank you,” Obi-Wan said faintly, and wondered if he should have gone with the illegal medical program.

“What? Ye don’t got any redundant organs?”

“…No?”

Bane grunted and set the sensor aside.

“The piece is jammed in there good. Gonna give you something for the pain.”

“That’s not necessary—”

“Quiet.”

Bane pressed the plunger against Obi-Wan’s neck this time, but the Jedi didn’t flinch. Despite the discomfort, it felt nice to have Bane’s hands on him again, even if it was for dubious medical reasons.

“And what about… you?” Obi-Wan swallowed, fighting against the sedatives to focus. “Did Maul… Are you all right?”

Some of the creases in Bane’s face lost their severe lines, and Obi-Wan nearly melted when the bounty hunter ran his fingers through his hair.

“I’m fine. Now, shut up, I gotta focus.”

“Yes, dear.”

Bane sent him a glare, but Obi-Wan’s eyelids drooped shut, a serene smile on his lips. The combination of sedative and Bane’s hands was deadly. He stayed relaxed as he felt something cut into his side, followed by the sharp tug of something being removed.

Another shot given to clot the blood, and then Bane pressed a pad against his wound until the bleeding slowed.

“What’re ye doin’ here, Kenobi.”

The question was soft, almost as if it wasn’t directed at him, but Obi-Wan answered anyway, his words slurred at the edges.

“I made a mistake.”

Even through the pain-blocker and the shock, he could sense Bane tensing, so he added, “I never should have left. I regretted it as soon as I undocked from the station.”

“Told ye to get out. To not come back.”

“I did warn you I was a slow learner.”

Another shot of something went into his side, and Obi-Wan shivered, more from the cold than the pain. But then there was pain too, flickers of it, as Bane sprayed bacta foam into the wound.

“I know,” the bounty hunter responded to his discomfort, even though Obi-Wan had perfected the art of hiding it. Somehow, Bane knew. “Almost done.”

And then something draped over him, leaving enough exposed so Bane could treat him, and the familiar scent of gun oil and tobacco wrapped Obi-Wan in just as much warmth as the duster that now covered him.

“Yer a Force-cursed idiot,” Bane mumbled as he finished taping the bacta pad over the wound, “and yer gonna die one, too.”

“That is a distinct possibility. Fortunately, I don’t believe it will happen today.”

“It won’t.”

Obi-Wan forced his eyes open, catching Bane staring at him, and he sent him a faint smile.

“Thank you. For protecting my flank, and… for this.”

“Was my rocket that did the damage.”

But Obi-Wan sensed he blamed himself for more than that. That somehow Bane was responsible for this entire mess, not just the fight with Maul.

“It’s not your fault. For any of it. You know that, right?” Before Bane could argue, which he was surely about to do from his severe frown, Obi-Wan said, “You saved my life, again. I am grateful to you, Bane.”

Bane made a face, as if he literally couldn’t stomach the words, and Obi-Wan’s grin widened.

“I’m also on heavy pain sedatives. Please, allow me to shower you with compliments. I don’t know when I’ll get to do so again, and I want you to… to hear it.”

Bane stared at him for a long moment, and then he reached up a hand and ran his thumb over Obi-Wan’s cheek, the pad grazing his beard, and Obi-Wan leaned into his palm.

Bane wasn’t one to apologize, but Obi-Wan felt it in his gentle touch, in the way he treated Obi-Wan’s wounds, in the way he made sure he was comfortable. It was his way of saying he was sorry, and that meant more to Obi-Wan than a handful of words.

“Plenty of time fer that later,” Bane said, his voice soft. Obi-Wan had no idea it could get that soft. “Sleep, Kenobi. I got you.”

Obi-Wan obeyed, closing his eyes, placing his full trust in Bane’s literal hands.

“I know… you do…”

And then he drifted off, comfortable and warm, the scent and life force of the bounty hunter never leaving his side.

Next Chapter