#five had his work cut out for him last night though i was so mad at him 😭 😭 the equivalent of cheating on me in my dream

[lovinggreeniehours]

OKAY. to the people observing, hello, i am awake now, good morning. ramble in the tags because honestly i still feel kinda wounded by yesterday but also now im embarrassed by the gravity of my reaction

[eriexplosion]

Yesterday everyone was posting their feelings on TBB. I'm glad I waited, because there's a lot swirling around. Cut for negativity again.

I was introduced to The Bad Batch in August 2022 and fell instantly in love. The characters, the story, the complex family dynamics, they all spoke to me. I wasn't even a Star Wars fan but I went through and devoured The Clone Wars, Rebels, The Mandalorian, all of it. I threw myself into this world and adored every second of it. I must have rewatched season one over five times before season two even came out.

When season two premiered I loved it. Every Tuesday night I stayed up until the episode drop and devoured it immediately. I looked ahead at the schedule and took days off work for the double episodes, for the big Crosshair episodes - he was my favorite early on and season two only made that grow. But season two also really brought Tech into my radar even more. I had always liked him, but here he was shining. The Crossing really solidified it, as an autistic person. I'd never heard someone describe the difference in processing so succinctly before, so clearly, and it spoke to me like very little had. Here was a character that was like me. Here was a character that I needed when I was an undiagnosed child, someone that would have made me feel like I had at least some way of describing my differences.

Then, well. He died. It was an affecting scene, but it felt out of nowhere, it felt unfinished. Tech didn't even get the climax of the episode. He just fell into the clouds, the Batch grieved for a few minutes, and then the plot steamrolled right along.

I didn't believe it, not after the mad scientist presented his goggles and claimed not to salvage anything else. It seemed like such an obvious fake out. The longer I sat with it the less satisfying it felt. It felt so brushed over, so pointless, all for a mission that they accomplished nothing on. Then came the social media circus. Again and again his fall was shoved in our faces on Twitter, demanding we stream it. TikToks were made that were so out of touch they felt like parodies, the wound ripped open again and again, and I thought surely there had to be a purpose to it.

So I waited for season 3 as interviews were done that seemed to almost intentionally avoid calling him dead. As tweets were made promising we'd be so fulfilled if we could only see who was onscreen in the mid-season! (A tweet that immediately garnered dozens of people hoping it referred to Tech, all without a single comment to try and quell the speculation.) It felt already like we were being toyed with, but I thought it had to be for a reason or a purpose. More weirdly vague discussions went up about his Sacrifice, his Fall, his Anything But Death, even as everyone insists that it was so meaningful, the way he died on a mission that accomplished nothing. Jokes were made around Valentines Day.

He Fell For You, get it?

The first official use of killed went up on the databank right after the trailer, on Hunter's page of all places. The first time the interviews used dead was the Friday before the premier. It all felt too late, theories had already grown for months by that point.

Season 3 finally came and I waited up for every episode drop just like I did for season 2, hoping for him to come back or at least for him to be properly grieved, since we had barely a couple of minutes in Plan 99 before it was swept away for the next plot point. Surely Tech's impact deserved an episode of focus, if he were really gone.

The previously on plays his last words twice. But then we skip months into the future. We don't see Crosshair find out the news - even though Tech died on a mission to retrieve him. We don't watch Omega grieve. She barely seems to notice she's missing a brother. We got a brief allusion in episode two. It took three episodes to even mention his name in passing. Five episodes in everyone got their chance to look sad about him, but only for a few seconds and only when his skills were relevant. Compared to the gorgeous callback to Mayday in the same episode, it felt shallow. He had to have been more important than this didn't he?

Episodes 6 & 7 felt like maybe there was a reason. We see a new masked assassin that gets extra focus, who got put through a series of Tech-adjacent situations, whose beef with Crosshair was just a little too personal, who survived longer than all the rest but stayed masked. Rex talks about losing brothers, but Hunter says nothing about the brother they lost. I hoped it all meant something, that this was the reason that he felt so much like he was thrown away, so that he could come back in.

More one off mentions that only really come up when it's about how useful Tech would have been. More poking at the wound that still felt open and raw because we'd never gotten any closure. The closest we get is a single scene in episode eleven, so late in the season and so brief that I thought that couldn't possibly be it.

CX-2 comes back, and he talks like Tech. He's still not unmasked. I really need him to be something because otherwise what was it all for?

The most emotion comes in Juggernaut, from Phee. Its a highlight because it actually feels like it was about him, like he mattered as a person. It's episode twelve and we finally talk about him like a person. We never saw her get the news either.

Episodes thirteen and fourteen pass without any mentions at all. We're running out of time. Episode 15 hits and we get one raw one from Crosshair that Clone Force 99 died with Tech. It's the first time they directly say he's dead in so many words. It's the season finale. CX-2 is a nobody it turns out, and he dies faceless. Everyone gets a happy ending and after over a year of wondering if we'd ever get closure, it turns out Tech's just dead. But look how happy everyone else is!

Everyone gets to grow old. Except the autistic one of course. He's just dead and it hardly feels like it mattered at all. Did you know Wrecker and Hunter don't use his name once in season three? Omega and Echo mention him once each. Crosshair twice, only once with any emotion behind it. Phee tops the charts at three mentions, two by name and one by nickname. We see his goggles four times. I kept count.

There was never a bigger plan, this was just all he was worth. We spent two seasons on Crosshair's absence. We spent a whole episode dealing with it when Echo decided to go with Rex. Tech dies though and all his life amounted to was a handful of mentions when his skills would have been useful, some shots of his broken goggles, and endless cooing out of the text over how meaningful his sacrifice was. Too meaningful to take back, of course, even as Ventress is brought back from her own sacrifice.

I had really, really thought that this time autistic life would be worth more than autistic death. That a character that felt so carefully handled couldn't have just been thrown away for shock value, barely to even be mentioned again, his memory used to string us along to keep us watching. If you added up every mention and shot through season 3 it might actually clock in at less time than was spent on Mayday's send off.

I'm an adult. I'll survive, though the sting of seeing yet another character like me used as a stepping stone for everyone else's happy ending will take a while to fade. But I think about the child I used to be who needed a character like Tech. And I think about how it would have felt to actually get that only to watch him die a handful of episodes later as a side note to his family's story, barely even mentioned again. How badly it would have hurt, how deep it would have scarred.

I'm not that child anymore. But there are a lot of autistic kids out there that are the same as I used to be, and they're learning for the first time that people like us don't get happy endings. Instead they die so that everyone around them can rise up, and they might even get mentioned a few times. But don't worry. Everyone will tell you how meaningful and special it is and how delusional you were to ever hope for anything else.

The Bad Batch still means a lot to me. I think it always will. I love the characters. I love the family, and all the potential they had. But the sting of not belonging in this happy ending is there, and it's deep. It's been a long time since I trusted a show. It'll be a long time before I risk trusting another. And I hope that the autistic kids trying to learn how to close their hearts off behind new walls are doing okay.

[catghoul31]

Best Present Ever

It's Wade's birthday, but he finds the one-year anniversary of meeting Logan far more important. Wolvie, however, isn't sure he needs to make a wish this time around...

(For @poolverine-week day 7: birthday!)

Content Warnings: exploration of worst!logan's past and the death and suffering that comes with it

Read it under the cut or on ao3!

Logan shot awake that morning, the blood of so, so many people still feeling fresh on his claws. It had been washed away years ago, but the memories still seemed to haunt him, no matter how many steps he took in this new world. Living still felt like a chore, and he still felt like a failure of a person no matter how many times Wade tried to convince him otherwise-

Wade. Wasn’t he in bed with me last night?

On mornings like this, his claws would normally wind up embedded inside of Wade. Logan was utterly distraught the first time it happened, but after months and months of sleeping together, he eventually grew numb to it with the knowledge that Wade had never gotten mad at him about it before, and for some reason, he never would. But there was none of his blood on his claws today, only shredded sheets and another pillow that needed to be replaced.

Where did he go?

—

In the back of his mind, Logan thought he knew a man named Wade once. Back before Weapon X, he probably would’ve fought alongside him in the secret forces, using his brutal nature for good just as Logan had been forced to do. There was a sort of peace in knowing someone as born for destruction as you were, so fucked over by fate that there was no way around your nature except through it.

At least he could control it. Fate seemed to have other plans for Wade, though- the head of Weapon X had somehow managed to find a way to rip that control away from him through forced mutation. When they saw each other once again, he couldn’t even speak, let alone think for himself. Logan’s claws had been the ones to end his misery after a long, horrible fight- at least, he hoped they had.

Those memories hadn’t been wiped- at least, not by Stryker. The only reason he remembered, in the wake of everything else, was that it marked the first time he’d heavily abused alcohol to drown out the memories of his muffled screams at his hands.

The first of many, many times to come.

—

“Wolvie!! Oh- good, you’re awake. You always sleep like a rock whenever I wake up before you- do you know how hard it is to get you off of me??”

Ah, there he was. Of course he hadn’t gone far, and neither had that mouth of his. Always having to talk about something… He’d take his droning on over his inner monologue any day, though. Ever since they’d finally stopped being emotionally constipated assholes and decided to get together, Logan kind of missed it when Wade wasn’t around. This world was too quiet and dull without him…

“Morning, Wade,” he responded, retracting his claws from the bed. Logan knew exactly what Wade was gonna ask based on that look in his eyes, so to prevent ruining his morning, he held a hand up and said, “I’m fine. Just… don’t worry about it.”

Unfortunately for Logan, this was Wade he was dealing with. “Too late for that. I will never not worry about you, babygirl- did you have another nightmare?? While I wasn’t around to hold you tenderly and tell you everything was okay… I have failed you, my dearest and one true love, and I am deeply sorry. How ever can I make this right by you?” he lamented as over-dramatically as possible, getting on his knees and everything.

Logan’s face scrunched up at Wade’s antics as he pretended to be annoyed- but fuck it all, he really couldn’t be. Those puppy eyes worked too well, and he hated it. Sure, he got nervous when Wade was gone for too long, but it wasn’t like he was some lost puppy when Wade was even just in a different room than he was for five minutes. He could handle himself.

“But you always miss me so much, don’t you~?”

“Stop reading my thoughts, Wade. Please.”

—

Logan was found by the professor not long after that. There, he’d discovered others just like him, with all sorts of different mutations- the X-Men. The family he’d found after he lost everything else. The defenders of mutantkind, the friends he could always rely on… that’s what he’d tried to believe, at least. Try as he might, Logan could never bring himself to feel comfortable around them… around anyone, really. 

Something deep within him had the sense that the greatest danger never came from those he expected, but from the people he thought he could trust- wanted, so badly, to trust. To love, and be loved in return, regardless of that love’s nature. Logan, though, never felt quite right around any of them. He never felt like he belonged- not even around… Scott. Jean. Kurt. 

(He hated those names now. Couldn’t fucking stand hearing them, in any context.)

Logan wasn’t a hero. At best, he was good muscle and an intimidating face to scare the bad guys with. Nobody had ever made him feel like he was anything more than that, try as they might. He’d had enough one night, when the cheap pot shots at his animalistic qualities were too much, scraping at his head when it was already sore from self-loathing and the few memories he’d retained of his past life…

They went on a mission that night. Logan went bar hopping instead.

He would never see them alive again.

–

“...Anyways!! Maybe these’ll help the horrors leave your head, peanut,” Wade chirped, holding a plate of… pancakes. Logan would know that smell anywhere- the agent of chaos he lived with always insisted on making them every other morning. 

Logam would be tired of them by now, if not for the infectious joy they always brought to their mornings. It was less about the food, and more about how much fun Wade always had making them… Fuck, it would’ve been nice if he woken up earlier. He could’ve helped out! Or maybe he’d just sit at the table, watching Wade hum a song he didn’t recognize, dance in place to the beat before he put some batter on the griddle. He’d ask for blueberries if prompted, mostly to hear another ramble about how chocolate chips were the only correct add-in-

“Hey! Earth to Wolvie?? These are only the special-est pancakes ever… c’mon, humor me here, will ya?” A light poke at his nose made Logan huff, snapping him out of his trance.

“Y-Yeah, sorry. I’m fine, just…” It always felt odd saying that when it… wasn’t entirely a lie anymore. “...Tired. I’ll get up soon, just… gimme a bit-”

“Ah-ah! Absolutely not, Logi-Bear!!” Wade set a hand on Logan’s shoulder, forcing him to sit still- he hadn’t even moved yet. “Today calls for only the most romantic things I could possibly treat my emotional support 2000s-era heartthrob to… and that means we’re having breakfast in bed. I don’t make the rules, babe!”

Immediately, the pancakes were set in Logan’s lap, complete with a fork and knife, and he had to move quickly to stop the plate from sliding around. “...Do you also think sticky sheets are romantic, bub?” As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them- mostly because of the way Wade’s face glowed with mirth upon hearing them.

“Of course I do! This bed’s gonna see a lot more sticky stuff tonight, though, and you know it…”

Logan hid his flushed face in his hands, cussing under his breath as Wade giggled uncontrollably. How immature was he…? The worst part was how right he was, of course. Taking a look at his pancakes… they seemed misshapen. No, not misshapen- it seemed like they were supposed to be shaped like his mask, with a few ‘snikt’ marks drawn into them with batter. They were even complete with blueberries, syrup, whipped cream, powdered sugar, and… a candle? Thank fuck it wasn’t lit yet!

“Well… we’re pulling all the stops today, aren’t we? I mean, thanks for the food, but- what’s all this about, babe?” As confused as he was, Logan couldn’t help but smile. Wade was always one for fun gifts and gestures, but this seemed like a lot, even for him.

When Wade pulled out a fucking lighter, Logan immediately flung the candle off of the pancakes. The sad look Wade gave him stung- but fuck if he was letting the house burn down over this!!

“…Happy anniversary? Damn, guess you didn’t want a wish after all…”

—

The mansion was burning down.

Logan was barely lucid as he staggered back to what was supposed to be his home. All at once, though, awareness flooded his mind again the moment he comprehended what he was looking at. His home was being destroyed right in front of him, and he instantly rushed over to try and help his comrades salvage what would be left.

As Logan got closer to the bonfire that was once his home, he heard shouting, chanting… cheering?? People were celebrating this vile display of hatred. Nothing he wasn’t used to. He’d just lop their heads off, and his family would-

…

They wouldn’t do anything.

Not with their bodies impaled in the middle of the crowd, paraded by masked individuals who were protected by a sea of people chanting, jeering, or screaming in outrage at the scene before them.

Many of those disgusted individuals… they’d left the mansion before this happened. 

But Logan didn’t care. Any shred of morality left his body in that moment, and his claws unsheathed so fast he thought he’d never be able to pull them back in again. 

It was a total bloodbath. Hundreds more people died that night- all of the perpetrators, sure, but not even those who were trying to fight against the X-Men’s killers were safe. Not even some of the very students he’d sworn to protect. In that moment, which went by in what felt like seconds to him, Logan had caused the greatest atrocity ever committed by mutantkind. No other mutant would ever be as notable as he was. 

How could they, if Logan was the only mutant the humans couldn’t kill?

—

“Oh, there’s lots of things I’ve got to wish for, bub. Burning this shitty apartment down ain’t one of them, though.”

Wade snorted at that comment, putting the lighter away safely and stepping closer to Logan. “Aw, c’mon, what’s a little arson between friends?” he asked, resting his head on Logan’s shoulder and shooting those puppy dog eyes at him, like a dog begging for a taste of water boiling on the stove. 

Logan laughed dryly at the thought. Wade was so ridiculous sometimes… did he still love his stupid ass? Of course he did. And he didn’t even feel stupid for it anymore, because honestly? He was being sweet this morning. Why kick the gift horse in the mouth? Or however Wade put it that one time… 

“I don’t want to celebrate our… anniversary? By becoming homeless, and I don’t think you want to, either.” Logan took a moment to think about what Wade meant by that. What was today an ‘anniversary’ of?? He had to glance back down at his pancakes to get the slightest idea of what that meant… and holy shit. “Has it really been that long since we’ve met each other?”

Wade, perking up instantly, nodded enthusiastically against him. “Of course I’d remember!! My phone started making those “1 year ago today” albums at 5 AM, and I- Logan, I almost cried. There’s so many cute pictures of us from back when you hated my guts…” 

Logan never hated him. He’d hated a lot of people in his time, but honestly, when his world came crumbling down, Logan lost the will to hate people, just as he’d lost the will to love, so he was just… mad at everyone, all the time. That was even true in that fucking car- he’d only called him all those nasty things because he was pissed. Mostly at himself, and- he still hadn’t fully forgiven himself for what he said. Or anything else, really. Forgiving Wade- hell, even choosing to love him- was way easier than that would ever be!

“…and OH MY GOD, the first picture I got of Dogpool!! Oh, Logan, you have to… are you even paying attention to me? Hey, don’t get all broody on me here, babycakes! This fic’s supposed to be fluffy, right? C’mon… hey-“ Wade guided Logan’s face to look at him, into that diseased-yet-kind soul of his.

“Eyes on me, now…” Logan’s nose scrunched up at the patronizing tone Wade took with him, but he obliged anyways. “Now. Look at this one,” The next picture on the album was Wade, after that “fight” of theirs, wrapped in seatbelts, covered in blood and making what looked like a kissy face at a passed-out Logan behind him, with the caption “noo don’t stab me you’re so sexy haha 😘.” “Doesn’t that make you feel better?”

Not really. But also… kinda. Yeah. “Maybe,” Logan shrugged, a slight smirk on his face. Even after a year, that was still the weirdest thing they’d done that Logan could accurately describe as “hot.” And they couldn’t ever recreate it!! No way for two people to have hot hate sex if they couldn’t even pretend to hate each other anymore…

Out of pure impulse, Logan moved his pancakes onto the nightstand, wrapped his arms around Wade, and rolled him over onto the bed with him. That squeak he always let out whenever Logan did this always made him laugh. Flustering Wade back was one of his favorite things in the world…

“If I’d known you were taking pictures, I would’ve grabbed that damn phone and taken some of my own that night,” Logan growled into his ear, grinning at how Wade shuddered in response.

“Mm… I don’t think you would’ve!” Wade whispered. “I think you would’ve been too busy f-wording me to focus on anything else, right?” he said, winking in… someone’s general direction- why’d he always do that? Some things about Wade were still completely lost on Logan…

“Well, you had time while you were trying to save the world, didn’t you?” he said, catching his album flipping to a selfie Wade took with Cassandra putting his fingers inside Logan’s face in the background- wait, what the fuck?

“Saving the world and saving you, peanut,” Wade corrected, a softer smile on his face now. “But… honestly, I think you might’ve saved me a bit more. I don’t know what I’d do if it wasn’t you I’d found…”

—

Logan deserved nothing. Not after what he did.

His fit of murderous rage had given the anti-mutes the ammo they needed to complete their genocide of every single mutant on the planet. They’d spent a while trying to kill him, but once Logan was the only mutant left alive, they figured it was punishment enough to let him live out the rest of his days in a world that hated him. 

And they were right. Logan was homeless and completely alone, obviously hated by the mutant killers, but especially loathed by everyone who’d fought against them, everyone who had lost a mutant loved one- especially at the Wolverine’s claws that night. Every single day, every moment he lived was a reminder of what he’d done, how he’d doomed his world.

He couldn’t bear to spend a second of his life sober. His alcoholism accelerated to a point where lethal levels of drinking barely affected him anymore, but it didn’t matter. It was better to relive his greatest crimes with a slightly foggy mind than to let the thoughts scream ceaselessly at him.

The obvious solution would be to let himself die, right? Just lie down in whatever shelter he could until his body finally starved to death… but Logan knew that would bring him peace. 

Something he would never have. Something he would never deserve.

Living was the only punishment fit for him.

—

Logan snorted, very much begging to differ. “At least you admit you saved me. I had nothing, Wade… Not until I met you.” Even after a year, Logan still meant those words. He no longer mourned the idea that there was nothing left for him in his old universe- at this point, it felt like a simple statement of fact. The memories of the events that ruined it still hurt, and he was far from healed… but Logan had no idea what he was thinking, wanting to go back after they’d defeated Cassandra. There wasn’t a life he could imagine living without Wade anymore…

As if he’d read his mind, Wade’s lips pressed against Logan’s in enthusiastic agreement. He returned the kiss softly, sighing in contentment. Much like the rest of him, Wade’s lips were scarred, textured with the physical manifestation of how much pain he’d suffered to get here. Every kiss he gave him reminded Logan how much pain Wade had experienced, and before, it’d felt like the tie that bound them. Now, though? After months of loving and being loved by Wade, thinking of their bond in terms of pain alone felt reductive. Maybe his existence in his old world was defined by how much he hurt… but not here. Not anymore.

When they parted, Wade leaned his forehead against him, staring at him with the softest eyes imaginable, a wordless declaration of love. Logan could only hope that the smile on his face conveyed the same sentiment.

Of course, the moment couldn’t last forever, and in true Wade fashion, he was the one to break it. “I think your pancakes are getting cold, sweetums… We can’t celebrate until you’ve had your breakfast!!” he insisted, dragging Logan up to sit again- as much as he stubbornly protested. He was very comfortable right there, why’d he have to ruin it? Over food?? He could always eat later.

But… sure. They could have pancakes. Logan had realized something very interesting about today, so… “You first,” Logan insisted, passing the fork to Wade, who seemed incredibly confused. 

“Nuh uh, Wolvie- it’s my turn to celebrate you right now!! Those were made specifically with you in mind-“

“Weren’t you having a party when you brought me home?”

It only took a few seconds for it to sink in. Logan watched with glee as Wade’s eyes widened, almost seeming devastated at the realization. He had to bite his tongue to keep from cackling when Wade yelled-

“I forgot my birthday again???”

[thestalwartheart]

La la la-la la la la, he's a little bit Alexis Bond.

For Mads, who threw this idea into the universe like it wasn't the most cosmic-brained crossover of all time, and for @non-compos-mentis-nimbus who sent me the prompt "a particularly interesting/weird ringtone." (I'm so sorry if you've never watched Schitt's Creek!).

Fic behind the cut. It's nothing but crack, I must warn you! And yes, you can read this on AO3, though I'm not sure it needs to be preserved for the internet's eternity!

“Christ,” Q groaned, in the panic of a morning rush. “Where the hell is my phone?”

Beside him in bed, with a pillow bunched under his head, looking every inch the layabout, Bond smirked. “Well, you were so quick to shed your clothes last night, darling—”

Q held out a hand to shush him. He was disastrously hungover. He didn’t need to be subjected to this sort of insubordination at seven in the morning.

“If you have something useful to say, say it. Otherwise, be quiet.”

Bond tutted. While he sat up, he subjected Q to a lecture on manners. Perhaps Q had been born too late for elocution lessons to be the done thing in his childhood, he said, but that was no excuse for a lack of common courtesy, especially towards a man who only last night had acquiesced to every filthy thought—

Q stopped listening. He rummaged around in his bedside drawer.

“— to call it?”

“Hm?”

Bond let out a huff of amusement. “Your phone. Shall I call it for you?”

“Oh, yes. Fine. Thank you.”

It would be fair to say that Q wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders. Perhaps if he hadn’t missed his alarm or drunk quite so much gin last night—martinis were never a good decision, least of all ones made by James Bond—he might have taken precautions. As it were, he was bleary-eyed, a bit stressed and, frankly, exhausted from a long night of Bond pummelling him into the mattress.

Without warning, Bond pressed the call button on his phone.

La la la-la la la la—

“Oh, shit,” said Q. The ringtone came blasting from his rumpled suit, which had landed in the doorway sometime last night. Hours ago. Hours and hours and hours—

Q made a beeline for it, stumbling over the bedsheets and then himself.

“Q.”

His hand delved into the wrong trouser pocket. “Oh, balls!”

—hide your diamonds, hide your exes—

“Q.”

The other pocket was empty, too. Q nearly tore his jacket apart searching. Its two external pockets contained a pen, three folded post-it-notes, an Oyster card, the key to his work desk and an errant Percy Pig. But no phone.

I’m a Prada handbag—

No, his phone was in an internal pocket (the second one he checked, naturally — when did anything ever go smoothly in a crisis?), and Q grasped at it with the desperation of a found-out mistress, declining the call with a quick couple of taps on its side button.

“What was that I just heard?” asked Bond, seeming far more awake than he’d been five minutes ago. “A naughty elf?”

Q winced. His headache was suddenly the least painful thing in the room.

“I’m not sure you want to know.”

“Oh,” replied Bond with a dangerous, only half flirtatious glint in his eye. “I think I do.”

[iwas-princess]

You ABSOLUTELY should write about atsumu's boobs!!! 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

writing abt them again bc they’re j so great

miya atsumu • not at the dinner table

“if i’d known how much ‘ya’d love my tits, i woulda upped my weights a long time ago, sugar.”

your cheeks heated as you blushed at him, slightly flustered that he’d bring up such a topic while eating.

well, to be fair, you were also burning holes into them at the dinner table and practically drooling on your plate. it was only a matter of time before he would say anything.

you nudged a green bean with your fork, rolling it around your half empty plate. your eyes flicked down to the discarded vegetable, avoiding getting caught looking for too long in fear of his growing ego.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about, ‘tsumu.” you lied, your voice wavering slightly in hesitation.

he scoffed, lightheartedly but taken aback by your lie. his own eyes dropped down, but instead of staring at his own plate, he mirrored your previous actions by admiring the cleavage of your tank top.

“not that i blame ‘ya for staring, i can hardly keep my own eyes away from yer tits too.” he mumbled, ignoring your previous attempt at fibbing.

you swallowed thickly at your boyfriend’s flirtatious comment, suddenly finding it hard to sit still as you began to rub your thighs together mindlessly.

he quieted, his gaze locked on your supple breasts spilling over the lowly cut fabric and giving him an eyeful. he silently thanked himself for choosing to lounge in nothing but sweatpants today or else the topic of breasts might have not been excusable at the table, if it wasn’t for your wondering eyes continuously checking out atsumu’s bare chest.

“can i, maybe, touch them after?” you mumbled, your voice shy and unsteady.

his ears perked up at your sheepish behavior, watching you in amusement as you fidgeted with your food nervously.

he always admired how shy you got when it came to sexual related questions, acting as if you being the filthiest slut he’s ever fucked wasn’t reality. as if you weren’t begging him last night to fill you up with his cum. or as if slobber wasn’t dripping down your chin and coating his heavy balls as you took all of him down you greedy throat yesterday morning.

he found it impossible for him to go one day without burying himself inside of you at least once, the sight of someone so sweet having the filthiest desires keeping his sex drive at all time high.

he never in a million years expected his precious babygirl to be so desperate over a pair of enlarged muscles, especially on his chest. atsumu was always big, but fuck, ever since he increased his weight training he’s been insatiable.

beforehand, you and atsumu would fuck each other five days a week, regulating a healthy sex life that kept the both of you more than satisfied with your busy work schedules. but, ever since you discovered this new kink of yours, it’s been impossible to keep your hands and mouth to yourself.

something about the way his hardened nipple felt in your mouth with your cheek pressed comfortably against his plump breast as you contently suckled, made your brain short circuit. the sensation was so serene yet incredibly sexy, and also deeply addictive— to both parties.

because even though your cocky boyfriend likes to let you believe that he only ever indulges in this kink of yours for your pleasure, he secretly enjoys if just as much as you do.

your mouth had always drove him mad, either it be wrapped around his cock or pressed against his lips, atsumu had always daydreamed about the wicked things that your filthy mouth could do for him. now, it’s even worse. watching your lashes flutter shut as you relaxed against the cushiony flesh, your lips wrapped tightly around his blush nipple and lazily suckling as you both winded down for the evening, was always the main thought that occupied his horny brain as he worked out every morning. the amount of times that he accidentally caused himself to pop an unwanted boner was beyond recording at the point.

“ya’d love that, wouldn’t ‘ya, princess?” he teased.

of course he was going to let you suckle on them later, it was his new favorite passtime. but, poking some fun at you beforehand can’t cause any harm.

your breathing caught in your throat, long lashes kissing the tops of your cheeks as you fluttered your eyes closed in longing.

atsumu’s teasing never failed to rile you up, no matter how vulgar he could be. in fact, you’ve found that the meaner, the better. he always repays you with soft aftercare anyway to heal any possible mental wounds that his words may have caused.

he chuckled at your reaction.

“are ‘ya going to ask correctly, princess?”

you gathered yourself rather quickly, knowing well enough that if you don’t give him a direct answer quickly, you would have to opt for another form of pleasure.

“pl-please, ‘tsumu. let me suck on your tits tonight, i’ll be a good girl.” you embarrassedly pleaded, your ears and neck turning red with humiliation.

the tint of your flushed skin caused a spark of corruption to jolt through atsumu’s cock, the electric feeling causing the organ to twitch in his sweatpants. he spread his legs farther under the glass table, attempting to make himself comfortable with a massive hard on.

“can’t really deny ‘ya when ask so pretty like that, now can i?”

[xetlynn]

Twilight- Unknowing: Chapter Four, Beast of the Inbetween

(Alice x Reader x Jasper)

[three] [four] [five]

Bella and I walk out of the house with Jacob behind us, him staying behind my sister.

"Whoever it was, he left his stink behind. It'll be hard to miss when we cross it again. We'll handle it from here." Jake boldly states.

"We don't need you to handle anything. Or anyone." Edward tells him, the werewolf steps toward him, attempting to get a reaction. Something he doesn't receive. "I could care less what you need." Jacob says.

"Alright we're done here." My sister's boyfriend announces. "No, you're done here." Jacob threatens him, Bella steps between them as I watch, amused of course.

"Stop, I'm tired of this. From now on, I'm Switzerland, okay?" She exclaims but it does nothing, the two get closer to one another.

"Stop!" Again, nothing. So this time I boredly tear them away from each other. Both stumbling.

"Listen to the girl you're both obsessed with, would you?" I give them dirty looks, confused with how stupid they're acting. "Thanks." She mutters.

"Mhm." I hum. "I don't expect you guys to chuck a football around together. Fine, but we have a lot of problems and this one is a temporary solution. Are you willing to at least try?" She explains herself and how they need to knock it off. Both of them stay quiet but then Edward nods, Jacob follows suit right after.

"Alright, so you need to coordinate. You know schedules and stuff." She tries to start off theconversation but they stay quiet. Bella looks over to me, defeated.

"What would the pack prefer, tantrum throwing toddler? Days or nights?" I place my hands on my hips. "Nights." Is all he answers with.

"Will days work for your family, angsty teen?" I turn to the guys who's supposedly going to be my future brother in law. He nods.

"See? How hard was that?" Bella asks them. She weakly smiles at me as I laugh to myself.

After getting away from that hot mess I finally got some relaxing time with my lovers, Alice and Jasper.

At our normal spot where we could be alone together in the woods. Both of them sat in front of me, Alice playing the grass as Jasper fidgeted with my hand.

"How come you two never told me that before you were vampires I was in love with you. Like deeply in love with both of you?" I question suddenly, it definitely being out of nowhere.

Both of them stayed silent at first so I went to apologize but Jasper's voice cut me off. "You had to figure it out on your own. Since you never mentioned it we didn't know how much you knew. What we could say and not say." He explained.

"We're sorry." Alice sincerely says but I shake my head. "Don't apologize." I take a deep breath in. "I just, I would like to hear your point of views on what I was like to you back then. I guess." I giggle softly, the three of us all adjust how we were sitting to be more comfortable.

"Since your first life was with me, I'll go first." Jasper grins, I watch as his dimples form and I smile back.

"Our families were close, when we got a little older they introduced us. Eventually we fell in love. You already know that though." He winks at me, I feel my face warm up but I nod for him to continue.

"You were my person, that's for sure. It was like we were conjoined at one point. You were devoted to the ones you loved. You were kind, you loved helping people, it just made me fall for you even more." I felt him stiff before he said his next sentence. "Then when I signed up for the war everything changed. You were angry, upset with me for doing it. You wanted me to be safe and at home with you and-" He pauses momentarily.

"And the baby you held in your stomach. Even though you were mad at me you wrote to me every day, until it stopped. The last letter I had gotten was that the baby was lively. Kicking a storm in your stomach. I wasn't even told if you were alive or not before I had turned." He closes his eyes, my hand grips his.

"I didn't know I was pregnant." I mumble, it was mainly me thinking out loud. But after it left my mouth Jasper looked right at me.

"You didn't know?" He repeats my question. "No, but it's okay. I feel like I remember it but it's far back in my memories." I explained, shrugging my shoulders. Alice took his hand into hers.

"Continue." I nudged him.

"Well after I turned I found out through Max, the wolf that imprinted on you. He somehow found me. Telling me that even though he imprinted on you nothing happened. You had no interest in him as he would've done anything for you. He explained that you were with soldiers that came through the village. Helping them with something out in the desert field." He tells the story and it brings me back to when I was bit by James.

When my memories flooded back and I was searching for Jasper. I had thought he was with the soldiers. Then havoc struck and some thieves or something came about. I was shot and that's all I remember. I didn't remember having a baby in my stomach though. But thinking about it now. It's all I seem to see in my head.

"I was shot in that desert." I cut him off. Alice and Jasper glanced up at me.

"That's the first memory I ever had from my past life the first time." I tell them.

"When I found out I snuck out from where Maria had us staying, being a newborn vampire it was difficult but I did it. I found the man that killed you. You don't understand the torture I put him through." Jasper painfully admits, I furrow my brows. I can tell he doesn't want me to know though.

"Let's talk about something else." He says.

"Well, since we were speaking about babies a little bit. I uh, I remember giving birth to a boy. You were all there, we seemed close but I wasn't in love with either one of you." I tell them, thinking back to how I was married and telling Rosalie and Alice the news in a bathroom or something.

"That was rough to sit and watch." Jasper looks down. Alice closes her eyes, nodding in agreement.

"You were engaged before we met you. You told us that we seemed familiar. Carlisle wasn't exactly happy for us staying in your life like we did. Neither was Rosalie particularly happy about it but when you got introduced to them it was as if you knew them too." Alice explains. I remember going to the market with just Rosalie, a memory sparking in my mind. How excited she was for me when I told her I was pregnant.

I remember telling the family they were aunts and uncles. How I thought of them as best friends, even family after knowing them for two-three years. They attended my wedding. The memories were little flashes. Like I was thinking about my childhood.

"Wasn't hard to watch me be in love with someone else?" I ask them. Jasper does a short nod, his face grimacing.

"You have no idea." He chuckles. "But you were happy and that's all that mattered to us." He kisses my hand, keeping it in his hold.

"It was more difficult after you gave birth. You passed from childbirth. We wanted to change you right then and there but that was a selfish thought. Even though beforehand you had told the nurses about your past lives. Whispering how you needed to see us." Alice's voice was soft, I can tell it was hard for both of them to remember these things.

I remember the childbirth, only getting to hold my baby for five minutes before it all went downhill. My husband's horrified face. It's weird being technically 17 and being older in past lives. Living through adult things and going back down to a teen. Who is now forever a teen, even in past lives I never made it past 22 years old.

"Your son was a sweetheart. We stayed to help your husband until your baby was 4. He found another woman. She was good to both of them. We kept tabs on them, making sure no one hurt either one of them." Alice smiles at the memory. I felt myself grin as well, grateful to know that they lived a good life. Something I don't think I ever really had.

"I would love to share my life with you but there's things that I don't want to talk about." Alice begins to talk, my eyes shift over to her form. She's been in her head this whole time and I can tell. I give her a small smile when she makes eye contact with me.

"That's alright, we have infinity together for you to be ready to talk about it." I remind her, pulling her into a kiss. I feel her hand grip onto my bicep.

I smirk, opening my eyes to look down at the hand. We gently push away from each other.

"You've been very handsy lately." I announce out loud, Jasper laughs. "What? I feel like I'm always handsy." She disagrees with me, I look over to Jasper who puts his hands up in defense.

"You're not going to have my back, Jasper?" She exclaims in shock, her hand still dragging down my arm.

We just stare at her, watching her get all flustered until finally she sighs out. "Okay, fine. Ever since you became a hybrid, your muscles are distracting." She avoids eye contact with me now, I tilt my head, smirking at this new found information.

"Oh, you like these muscles?" I pull the short sleeves up over my shoulders and flex both my arms. Showing them off to my partners.

Kissing at my biceps. She shoves me backwards playfully. "You're annoying." She groans, hiding her face in her hands.

"Mmm, I don't think I am." I get closer to her, purposely flexing my arms as I do so. I gently take her face in my hands and forcefully kiss her once again.

"Hey, I feel a little left out." Jasper quietly speaks up after a few moments. We stop to look at him, then look at each other before pouncing on him.

It of course comes to an end when I have to join Bella to the Rez so the rest can have their night to hunt.

At the edge of the forest I look at my lovers, Alice has a hair strand out of place that I know later Jasper and I are going to hear about and how we should've told her. I smile to myself.

I join Bella, Jacob and Edward in their weird divorce parent looking handover of their lover girl. Who is also my sister and I have to be a part of this weird bullshit.

"Doesn't he own a shirt?" Edward questions aloud.

"I'm good here, you should go." Bella tells the vampire, he pulls her closer. "I'm not going to be long." He whispers to her. I roll my eyes, looking away from the sight. "Don't rush. You need to hunt." Bella tells him.

He then grabs her into a long, nasty sounding kiss. I know it's to purposely piss off the wolf across from us. I chuckle to myself. He pulls away.

"Maybe you rush a little bit." My sister teasingly tells him.

She takes my hand and walks us over to Jacob. I look back at Edward and give him a thumbs up while making a "I'm proud of you" face.

Jacob pulls Bella into a hug having her let go of my hand.  "Hey, beautiful." Nice game, Jakey.

"Hi." Bella smiles.

Edward's car speeds down. "So, whaddaya wanna do today, Swans? Bike, hike, hang? Your call, but we're going to a party tonight." Jacob tells us, opening the door for us in his truck. Of course Bella gets in the middle.

"You sure this is okay? I really hate being a party crasher." Bella nervously looks around her as I am mentally freaking out. "Yeah dude, I definitely should not be here." I chime in.

"Technically, you're both council meeting crashers, see the council leaders, dad, quil's grandpa, sue clearwater. She took over for Harry when he died." Jacob informs us, completely ignoring what I said.

"Okay, we should not be here." Bella puts our steps to a halt. "You're okay. I thought, I mean they thought it would be good for you two to hear the histories." He points mainly to his dad who was already staring at us. "The histories? The tribe's histories? Aren't they secret?"

"We all got a role to play. And you're a part of this. [Name]'s a huge part of this. I mean, it's the first time Seth, Leah and Quil are hearing them, too. But you are the first outsider. Ever. [Name] is not much of an outsider." He glances at me and I press my lips together tightly.

"If I had have known that, I wouldn't believe you. And would've dressed better." Bella sighs, picking at her clothes.

"Jake." Seth, a boy I've sort of met before trots up to us like a little excited puppy. You can tell he idolizes Jacob.

"Hey, it's about time you got here. Paul's been hoovering the grub. But I saved you some burgers." Set tells him with a toothy grin.

"Good looking out, bro. Bella this is Seth Clearwater. Leah's brother. Newest member of the pack." Jacob introduces them.

"Newest, bestest, brightest." Seth gloats.

"And slowest." Jacob grabs the boy in a headlock, the two tumble to the sand. Seth laughs, I smile at the sight.

As kids when I came up here without Bella. He looked up to Jacob then too. Seth always wanted to play with us.

A whistler comes from the circle.

"Come on. Your dad's about to start." Seth says, slightly out of breath. "Alright." Jacob pats him. The boy looks at me with a certain expression. His eyes widen once he realizes who I am.

"[Name]." He mutters out and I give him a small nod.

"The Quileutes have been a small tribe from the beginning." Billy starts as we all sit around the fire.

"But we've always had magic in our blood." I look around at everyone's faces. Their attention wholly being on Billy.

Sam was an exception, his eyes laid on me. My upper lip twitched in realization. I shift in place, fixing my attention back to the commanding chief.

"We were great spirit warriors... shape shifters, that transform into the powerful wolf. This enabled us to scare off our enemies and protect our tribe." He explains.

"One day our warriors came across a creature.." His eyes then met mine and I wanted to shrink into a bug at that moment. "It looked like a man, but it was hard like stone and cold as ice." I shivered from the words, feeling the heat of the fire but thinking of my lover's cold feeling, especially from earlier.

I shook my head from the thoughts that erupted in my mind. "Our warrior's sharp teeth finally tore it apart but only fire would completely destroy it." I think back to when I was a wolf. The feeling of the sharp teeth in my mouth.

"They lived in fear, the Cold man was not alone. And they were right."

"She took her vengeance out on the village. Our elder chief. Taha Aki was the only spirit warrior left to save the tribe after his son was killed. But it wasn't only the beautiful thing that was angered. She had a beast with her. Once that was stuck in between worlds as both combined. She had been spying on the village pretending to be with the wolves. Turning into one the village believed they could trust her. She turned on them when the cold woman came to take her vengeance." Everyone's eyes glanced at me and I felt the heat of the fire engulf me.

"Taha Aki's wife could see that he would lose. "

"The third wife of Taha was no magical being, no special powers but one...Courage." Billy said in a powerful tone.

The third wife's sacrifice distracted the cold woman, and beast of the inbetween, long enough for Taha Aki to destroy them. She saved the tribe." I felt something on my neck, it was a quick sharp pain and then a hot burning sensation around my body.

I was shocked that they could easily kill the monster who I am now. I thought I was more invincible than I really am.

"Over time, our enemies have disappeared but one remains, the Cold Ones. The Beast of the Inbetween comes and goes. Sometimes an enemy. Other times...an ally." His eyes stare into me.

"Our magic awakens when they near. And we sense it now, we feel the threat in our blood. Something terrible is coming and we must all be ready. All of us."

Sorry for the late ass post. No excuses just had no energy to write lmao!!!

Masterlist

A&J M.L.

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[powpowstuff]

TW: Mentions of: death, grief and sex.

Author's note: Hiya ! Here's the second part of Jason's story. I'm sorry things got out of hands and a little cheeky. It's getting hot in here ! Please tell me if you like it and if you'd like another part ! Enjoy :) xx

Two weeks had passed since you last saw Jason. There were no traces of him in the city since then, although you and Batman had arrested a few of his henchmen. When you had told Bruce about your encounter, he was as stunned as you were and determined to find him too.

You returned home that night at 5 am after a gruelling patrol. Exhausted but grateful for the distraction it provided from thoughts of Jason, you ascended the emergency fire stairs and entered through your living room window. The light unexpectedly flickered on, casting a soft glow across the room. Turning to investigate, your gaze fell upon the lamp next to your reading armchair. And there he was.

Jason sat there, legs casually spread, one hand supporting his tilted head as he gazed at you. His presence filled the room with a tension you could almost touch. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as you both locked eyes, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air.

You nearly tripped on your rug, caught completely off guard by Jason's presence.

“We need to talk,” he said, his gaze unwavering.

“I… I’m sorry, I’m just so surprised to see you here,” you stammered, your voice betraying the mix of emotions flooding through you. Despite knowing he was alive now, his appearance still felt surreal, like seeing a ghost. Looking into his eyes brought a rush of memories flooding back, memories of the life you once shared, now suddenly tangible before you.

“I have a few questions. First one: how can you still work with the old man?” Jason leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together, his eyes fixed on you.

You settled onto the armrest of your couch, keeping a measured distance from Jason, though every fibre of your being longed to be closer. His aloof demeanour made you cautious; you knew it wasn’t the right time to bridge the gap, not yet.

“After what happened…” you began tentatively.

“After I died, murdered by a lunatic clown he never wanted to kill, you mean” he cut in sharply.

His words sliced through the air, leaving you momentarily breathless. The anger and resentment in his voice were palpable.

“After that…” you continued, gathering your thoughts. “I was consumed by hatred toward Bruce. I held him responsible for what happened to you. I…”

“He is responsible” he interjected, reclining back into the armchair with a bitter edge to his voice.

“I hated him” you insisted, trying to meet Jason’s gaze. “For so long… After five years, I realised that hating him wouldn’t bring you back. I needed to keep myself occupied, to help the people of Gotham. I…”

“Oh, so you worked with him to keep busy” he scoffed sarcastically, a flash of resentment in his eyes. His dismissive tone struck a nerve, igniting a spark of anger within you. You knew he had endured unimaginable hardships, but his demeanour made it seem like your efforts had been effortless.

“I know you’ve been through hell and back, Jason,” your voice cracked with the weight of your emotions. “You didn’t deserve any of this. But losing you wasn’t easy for me either. I was going mad. We were so young, Jason. I was so lost without you. You were always the one taking the lead, my light in the dark, and suddenly, you were taken away from me. I felt so alone.” Tears streamed down your face, each one a release of years of suppressed emotions, anger, sorrow, and grief all crashing over you at once. “I started going out on the streets at night, just looking for danger, hoping that beating the hell out of anyone would make the pain go away. I…”

You took a deep, shaky breath. “I spent all my time wishing it was me instead of you, hunting down that fucking clown in hopes of killing him. But every time he mentioned you, I froze, and he beat me senseless with a crowbar!” You stood up, stepping toward the armchair to face him directly. “So yes, I went back to Bruce. We had a long, meaningful talk and shared our grief. He’s filled with guilt and sorrow too. I did no good alone; I was lost and confused. The only way to get back on track, to train better, to be better, was to work with him and put an end to that fucking clown.”

You wiped your tears and let out a deep sigh. “Fuck, Jason. I know I’ll never understand how hard it was for you, and I know you had it worse. But it wasn’t easy for me either. So yes, I went back to Bruce, I work with Bruce, but that doesn’t erase everything that happened. It doesn’t erase all the anger and sorrow. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about you, that I don’t wish you were here…”

Jason stood up, now towering over you. He gently held your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

“I thought you had forgotten about me,” he murmured, his voice a breathy whisper. His eyes into yours, filled with a mix of longing and uncertainty.

“I could never forget about you…” you whispered back, your heart pounding as you got lost in his eyes.

“I was put in the Lazarus Pit. I went... totally mad, to say the least. There was a time when I lost my memory. But as soon as it came back, all I could think of was you. I was terrified that after all this time, you had forgotten about me…” His voice was husky and low, as his lips inched closer to yours. His hand slid from your chin to the back of your neck, his touch sending shivers down your spine. His other hand settled on your lower back, pulling you firmly against him.

“You still love being in control,” you whispered, your breath hitching. “What are you waiting for ? Kiss me, you fucker.”

Jason chuckled softly, his breath warm against your skin. “Giving orders now? That’s new.” He moved closer to your ear, his voice a tantalising whisper. “I think I like it.” He tightened his hold on you and captured your lips in a kiss filled with both love and fiery passion. Your bodies pressed against each other, the kiss deepening, conveying years of desire and longing.

When he finally pulled back, he gazed into your eyes, his own filled with intensity. “I said I had a few questions... Here's the second one: will you let me make love to you?”

You bit your lip, your voice barely above a whisper “Yes, please.”

You felt at home, a feeling you hadn’t experienced in far too long. His hands were everywhere, holding you, feeling you, igniting a fire that had been dormant for too long. His touch was urgent yet tender, as if he was memorising every inch of you.

He ran his hands down your thighs, his fingers trailing a path of heat. With a swift movement, he lifted you effortlessly, pulling you closer. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you to the bedroom, his lips never leaving yours. The air was thick with anticipation, each step echoing the pounding of your heart.

As you reached the bedroom, he laid you gently on the bed, his body following yours. The room was dimly lit, shadows dancing on the walls, but all you could see was him. His eyes, dark and intense, held a promise of unspoken passion. He hovered over you, his breath mingling with yours, creating an electric tension.

Jason’s hands explored your body with a fervent need, his touch both familiar and thrillingly new. He kissed you deeply, the years of separation melting away in that single, passionate connection. His kisses trailed down your neck, igniting sparks along your skin. His hands roamed over you, relearning your curves, your warmth, your very essence.

With each touch, each kiss, you felt a flood of emotions, relief, joy, desire. His hands found yours, fingers intertwining as he pressed his body against yours. The sensation of his weight, his warmth, made you feel alive in a way you hadn’t in years.

He paused, his eyes locking onto yours, searching for any doubt. But there was none. Only love and longing reflected back at him. He kissed you again, slower this time, savouring the moment. His lips moved against yours with a mix of tenderness and urgency, as if trying to make up for lost time.

The passion was undeniable, a fire that consumed you both. The night was a blur of heated kisses, whispered confessions, and intimate caresses. It was a dance of rediscovery, each movement a testament to the love that had endured the years apart.

As dawn approached, you lay wrapped in his arms, the afterglow of your reunion wrapping around you like a warm blanket. You rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, a silent promise of never letting go again.

After ten years of waiting, it was the most passionate and loving night you had ever experienced. You felt complete, your heart full, knowing that despite everything, you had found your way back to each other.

[featherandferns]

Smut with prompt 1 if that’s alright <3

In retrospect, this is not what I had in mind when I said surprise me.

Um, I got REALLY carried away so basically have a short-fic???

feel free to request: prompt list

Happy Anniversary - prompt 1

JJ’s never had an anniversary before. The longest ‘relationship’ he’s been in, before you, lasted a whole two weeks in ninth grade. The farthest they went was holding hands, and that was only because their friends wouldn’t stop heckling for them to. So, when JJ casually asked you what you wanted to do for your one-year anniversary whilst the two of you were walking back from the beach, you shrugged and said possibly the worst answer you could’ve given him. “Surprise me.”

JJ isn’t heartless. He knows what girls like, inside the bedroom and outside. He knows how to woo someone. What to say to have them all mushy and blushing and stuff. Hell, it’d clearly worked with you. But was he romantic? Now that’s a different thing entirely.

It didn’t help that you were rather low maintenance. That you were more than content with date nights that involved surfing and smoking and sometimes a late-night walk. Staying and watching a movie, usually ending up with the film completely neglected and your clothes on the floor. Dinners and presents and all of that weren’t as much your style. You weren’t against them, per say, but as a broke cut-resident yourself, you didn’t care about all the finer things in life.

“Why don’t you buy her a necklace?” John B offers from the deckchair.

“She doesn’t really wear necklaces,” JJ replies from the hammock. “She just has this one chain with her mom’s wedding ring on it. Always wears it.”

“A book?” Pope says.

“Not much of a reader,” JJ returns.

“Why don’t you do something for her instead of buying her something, then?” Kiara tries.

JJ sits up at that, frowning at her. “What’d ya mean?”

“Well, she seems like the kinda girl who likes doing things.”

“Oh, definitely,” JJ replies with a growing smirk.

Kie rolls her eyes at the innuendo. “JJ, gross. I mean, she’s always surfing or crocheting or whatever.”

“I don’t know shit about crocheting,” JJ tells Kie. “She does like to cook though. Makes the best lemon sea bass ever.”

“Why don’t you cook for her then?” Sarah says.

John B and Pope burst into laughter. JJ glares at them, unamused.

“What?” she innocently asks.

“JJ’s level of cooking is a piece of toast,” John B says.

“And even that’s got a fifty-fifty chance of success,” Pope adds.

“Fuck you guys! I can cook! How hard can it be? You just follow a recipe and throw some shit in a pan and then boom,” JJ challenges. They stare up at him, amused and unconvinced. “I can cook!”

“What’s her favourite meal?” Kie asks.

“She likes Italian,” JJ thinks aloud. “Maybe spaghetti and meatballs or something?”

“You’re going to make spaghetti and meatballs? Something that requires three different things being done simultaneously?” Pope asks him, eyebrows raised so high they nearly teeter on greeting his hairline.

“Watch me, golden boy,” JJ grins self-assuredly.

The only form of reply the blonde boy gets is John B digging into his pockets and pulling out a five-dollar bill, which he then holds out to Pope in bet.

~*~*~*~*

The first thought you have as you walk up the porch steps of the chateau is ‘what the hell is that smell?’ It’s something akin to burning, though tinged with an overwhelming stench of garlic and tomato. The second thought you have as you open the door is ‘oh dear God.’

You’re greeted by a cloud of smoke and steam. It stings yours eyes a little. There’s chaos in the kitchen ahead. The clattering of pots and pans and JJ’s mumbled curses. The fact that the fire alarm hasn’t gone off can only mean that it’s broken. Smiling smally to yourself, amused, you dump your bag and cardigan on the pull-out sofa and walk through to the kitchen.

“In retrospect, this is not what I had in mind when I said surprise me,” you say, loud enough for him to hear you over the madness of his cooking.

JJ spins around at the sound of your voice. His hair is sticking in every which way (cap clearly abandoned) which only tells you he’s been stressfully raking his fingers through it. His eyes are wide and frantic like a man who just committed murder. Muscle tee damp with sweat from the overwhelming warmth that is standing in an unventilated kitchen of mayhem.

“I told you to come at eight,” he says.

You quirk a brow. “It is eight.”

“Wha—” His eyes flit to the clock on the wall, to the right of you. He cusses under his breath.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m…Well, I’m…”

You watch as he looks around at the chaos, as if coming to from sleepwalking. Your brow quirks higher still. “Starting a small house fire?”

“Cooking you dinner,” he corrects, shooting you a glare. “For our anniversary.”

Your smile can’t help but grow at that. Heart does a little summersault. He’s never cooked you dinner before (and now you can see why).

“Spaghetti and meatballs,” JJ adds, driven by your expression it seems. But then his confidence dwindles as he gestures lamely to the hob. The smoke and steam coming from it is the source of the garlic-tinged smell monstrosity. “But it’s, uh, not exactly going to plan.”

“In what way?”

“Well, to start, the pasta isn’t going all soft and stuff. It’s just sorta sticking to the pan,” he sighs, annoyed.

“Well, how much water did you add to it?”

He looks to you, blank. “I’m supposed to add water?”

You stare at him, gaping a little. Seriously?

Walking to the hob, looking down into the pan…Yep. That is just pasta, glued and burnt and probably never coming free. Then, you glance into the second pan. Pasta sauce that is weirdly brown-ish in colour, saturated with garlic (you can tell from smell alone) and mixed herbs that haven’t been diced properly, leading them to float at the top like driftwood. The meatballs are burnt past the point of no return. Chargrilled. The cooking top is covered in splatters of sauce and seasonings, making it filthy. The countertops are cluttered with every cooking utensil and appliance under the sun: spoons, knives, spatulas and even whisks (?). A bowl of grated cheese sits sadly to the side; the only thing that survived JJ’s culinary hand.

But, despite the catastrophe that it is, you can’t help but feel your heart thrum happily. Ironically, it’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever had done for you and is weirdly the perfect anniversary celebration. All of this took thought and time and effort. So, turning around, facing a very meek, embarrassed JJ who stands with his back against the fridge, hands shoved in his pockets and head hung in defeat, you find yourself smiling lovingly.

Your hands cradle his jaw, drawing his gaze to you, and you lean forward to kiss him. “I love it.”

“You do?”

“I do,” you assure. “And I love you.” Then you’re kissing him again.

JJ’s hands find home on your waist as he kisses you back, smiling. Pulling away after a moment, a little breathless, you glance over your shoulder. “I love it,” you repeat, “but I don’t think we should eat it.”

“Oh, definitely not,” JJ agrees quickly. The two of you laugh.

Another fleeting kiss and then you’re stepping out of his hold, the two of you moving to turn everything off. You toss the pan of pasta into the sink and run the tap, dunking half a bottle of washing up liquid in. Maybe that might give it a fighting chance. JJ half-arsedly piles up all the cooking utensils he’d used so there’s some more space. He then moves to the fridge to put away the grated cheese (no point letting it go to waste) whilst you tip the sauce and meatballs down the drain or into the bin.

“So, the main course might have been a bust,” JJ says with his head still in the fridge.

You chuckle as you lean to crack open every window in the kitchen, hoping to aerate the room. “To put it lightly.”

“But, hey: dessert and wine are still good,” JJ announces.

You shut off the tap and turn around, wiping your hands dry on a towel. He’s holding a tub of chocolate mousse and a bottle of cheap white wine up.

“Dessert’s the best course anyway,” you tell him with a grin that mirrors his own.

With that, the two of you head to the pull out. You swipe two spoons from the drawer on the way whilst JJ grabs a couple of mismatched wine glasses. Sighing as you sit, shuffling back to the pillows, you get to opening the wine. JJ’s wandering around the sitting room, messing with the old CD player, and as you’re filling up two glasses, some soft R&B music kicks on from the early 2000s.

“Oh?” you jokingly say, raising a brow at him.

He rolls his eyes and joins you, taking the outstretched glass you offer him. Smiling, you lean up to kiss him.

“Happy anniversary,” you whisper.

He clinks his glass to yours. “Happy anniversary, baby.”

The two of you drink and then JJ’s placing his glass on the window ledge, moving to open the mousse. You clap your hands happily, rubbing them together with a giggle.

“This might taste like shit,” JJ warns as he grabs one of the spoons. You place your glass on the side too.

“Can’t be much worse than your cooking,” you reply.

He decides not to respond to that, but you watch him roll his eyes mirthfully. Then he’s dipping the spoon in and holding it out for you. Leaning forward, you taste off the spoon.

“Mhm!” you nod, swallowing.

“Good?”

“Good!” you grin.

You take the other spoon and do the same for him, watching as he eats practically from the palm of your hands. His eyes hold your gaze as he does. Shamelessly, you squeeze your legs together. You swear only he could make something this cheesy sexy to you.

“You like it?” you wonder. He licks his lips.

“It’s alright,” JJ says, feigning being in thought (his growing smile giving him away). “Think I know something that tastes better.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm,” he nods, leaning closer until you’re subconsciously sinking onto your back.

Playing along, you innocently ask through your excited smile, “what would that be?”

He takes your spoon from your hold, tossing it to the side after doing the same with his. Hovering over you, JJ leans down so his lips are a breadth’s width from yours.

“I think you know, baby,” he mumbles.

With that, he’s kissing you. Tastes like chocolate and vino. Your hands grab at his face, pulling him nearer, hooking your feet over his legs. JJ sighs against you, chuckles a little as you do too. Breaks away to kiss down your neck, moving slowly down the bed, coming to rest on his knees and dragging you by your feet to pull you nearer, making you laugh all flustered-like. JJ chews on his lower lip, grinning that punch-drunk grin you love, as he pulls off your skirt and panties. Then he’s going down on you. Relentless and unforgiving, as if to make-up for the cooking catastrophe. He’s tongue-fucking your centre and lapping at your wetness.

“Fuck, JJ,” you whimper, eyes slipping shut.

It’s like he’s spurred on by the sounds you make, likes when you whine out his name. You grip at the blankets on the pull-out sofa, staring at the ceiling, moaning through a blissed-out smile. His thumb rubs at your clit as he works at you with newfound fever. Moaning from the taste of you, the sound making you clench your legs tighter against his head. JJ uses a hand to hold one of your legs open for him. It’s all so fucking good. You’re building, closer and closer, until you’re coming with a gasp, quietly chanting his name.

When JJ pulls away, panting, you whine at the loss of his mouth on you. Moving atop of you again, you kiss at his mouth, sighing at the taste of yourself that lingers on his tongue. Your hands hurriedly move to undo his shorts as he kisses you, making him chuckle.

“Need you to fuck me,” you tell him breathlessly.

“Yes, ma’am,” he grins, moving to suck a hickey on your jawline.

Shucking the shorts off – JJ pulling back a moment to help – you slip a hand into his boxers and work at him. He groans against your jaw, falling pliant to your touch, making you smile. But you’re impatient the way he is, and you shove off his boxers.

“I wanna be on top,” you say as he kisses your neck.

“Fuck yes,” he replies. Climbs off you and grabs for your hips, guiding you atop of him as he collapses onto his back. You’re guiding him to your entrance, moaning as he slides against your wetness. As you go to sink down, he’s stopping you, making you meet his gaze. “Wait! We need a condom.”

You shake your head. Move to sink down again.

“Baby, stop, I’m serious,” JJ chuckles, breathless.

Smiling to yourself, you lean down to kiss him. Then, against his lips, you tell him your anniversary gift to him. “I’m on the pill.”

JJ pulls you away from him by the jaw so he can meet your eyes. Through nothing but looks, the two of you have a quick, silent conversation. Really? Yes. Chuckling boyishly, kissing you again, deeper and rushed, you giggle against him.

“Happy anniversary, baby.”

[clonemando]

alrigth so plz ignore this if you don't like the prompt-

but imagine the 501st in a Order 66 fix-it AU where the empire never happened and eyeryone lived dealing with Jedi younglings looking at them like they hung the stars. (listen, those kids already idolized Anakin to some extend so there is solid reason to believe that they ALSO idolized these super cool clone guys who are super strong and go on super cool adventures to defend the galaxy)

This was a really fun prompt and I could probably write about this forever but here's a little something that was spawned from your prompt. In this AU Palps is murdered off screen and the Jedi added the Clones to the order under a new branch.

Rex sighed as he carefully made his way through the temple searching for Fives. He knew that letting his ARCs loose for even a minute was asking for trouble but Cody had invited him out and now they were citizens, they had rights and their own bank accounts through the Jedi order, which meant they could buy things. He couldn't say no to drinks and shopping and complaining about their new safe jobs in the Jedi Security Force. Well safer anyway. Nothing would ever be 100% safe when it came to the Jedi.

The point was, now he was sober and needed Fives' to finish his own forms from their last mission so he could do his own work but his ARC was nowhere to be found in the new Clone wing of the temple. He had asked around and been told that a group of younglings had kidnapped Fives and dragged him away to their clan dorms which had led him all over the temple now.

"Trooper Fives is it really true you fought off the Sith lord all by yourself?" A little voice asked excitedly as Rex walked in and Fives grinned.

"I heard he stole the Sith Lord's lightsaber and stabbed him with it so hard the Sith EXPLODED!" Another youngling added and Rex snorted causing them all to look up at him.

"Are you lying to the Jedi cadets Fives?" He asked crossing his arms as all the kids gasped and immediately abandoned their current perches crawling over Fives to come surround Rex.

"You're Captain Rex aren't you? You're the the coolest trooper in all the GAR! We had a whole test about you!" One said making Rex's cheeks burn.

"He's not a Captain anymore dummy! He got promoted to a Commander after Knight Skywalker left the order to marry Senator Amidala after the war ended." Another cut in and Rex raised his hands.

"I'm not either anymore cadets, the war is over. We all retired those positions." He pointed out to hopefully stop the argument from starting.

"Yeah, he's Knight Rex now. When the Order accepted the clones into the ranks, we were given positions just like the ones you use. Do you still want to hear about how we defeated the evil Sith Lord?" Fives added giving Rex a bright grin that made Rex roll his eyes.

"Fives didn't kill the Sith, though he was there. Fox killed the Sith with help from Masters Windu, Kenobi, Koon and many others. However Fox is grumpy and hates being bothered so he made up the story that Fives killed Palpatine to keep from being in the spotlight." Rex told them and a few pouted nearly as hard as Fives was now pouting at him.

"But then why would you tell us that? Wouldn't that be giving away his secret?" One of the younglings asked and Rex nodded.

"You all have grown up together haven't you? Fox is my big brother. I have a job as his little brother to annoy him as much as possible... so I suggest you all go ask him to tell you the true story of that night and tell him that Rex sent you." He said with a wink that made them all giggle and run off to go try to find Fox.

"I'm only not mad at you for stealing my fan club because Fox is going to be livid at you now." Fives said picking himself up and Rex chuckled.

"You have green clan still sending us drawings of you with all of them from when you saved them from that rogue cleaning droid, you don't need another fan club. Now come on Knight Fives... our new positions means you have paperwork that needs to be done." He pointed out and Fives whined but let Rex drag him back toward the Clone quarters.

[sezja]

Febuwhump Day 23: Presumed Dead Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Characters/Ship: Mallius, Original Characters (Darcy) Triggers/Content warnings: Food insecurity/disordered eating

It's barely a footnote in the reports coming out of Eorzea; Mallius might have missed it if he'd not been idly skimming while waiting for his companions to return. He'd read past it, then something about it seized his attention, and he'd found himself paralyzed, staring at one name in particular.

"Unit of five covert agents believed lost, along with cargo. Presumed dead." A list of five names, most of them unfamiliar - provincials, mostly; aan chosen for their lack of a Garlean third eye rather than skill. Four unfamiliar names...

And one Mallius knows. Or knew, once.

Darcelyn oen Dremelus, the report reads. Signifer, unclassified.

Dead, then.

A queer numbness spreads through him, a distant pain.

"You know they're only sending me to Eorzea to get myself killed."

He blinks, shaking his head. Deaths are common where the savages yet reign; every day brings new reports of casualties - more and more since Dalamud's fall. An assignment to an Eorzean castrum is all but a death sentence: a fit place for tucking away lackluster recruits, underwhelming engineers... and fireball-flinging malcontents, forever shirking their duties and arguing with their superiors.

Needing a walk, abruptly, Mallius abandons his wait for his companions, walking out instead into the frigid air.

"Well, at least it'll be warmer there, I suppose."

It'd been years since he'd last seen them, when out of the blue Darcelyn had tracked him down and dragged him out for drinks, despite his protests that his work demands a clear head - but then, when had they ever cared about a hard day's work, theirs or anyone else's? For as long as Mallius could recall, Darcelyn had been a notorious slacker; how many punishments had it earned them? How often had their rations been cut, once their superiors learned hunger was a powerful motivator?

They'd been stick-thin when Mallius saw them last, that night; too thin to be drinking as much as they did. There had been a hectic light in their eyes that bordered on madness when there was a lull in the conversation - which came often; Mallius was no conversationalist, and they had little enough to talk about, having drifted apart since their childhood.

His mother will want to know they're dead, Mallius realizes. She's the closest thing Darcelyn has to a next of kin, what with old Dremelus dying a year ago. His mother had always been kind to the child so many others had dismissed as a half-breed or worse; more than anything Mallius himself had done, that was what made Darcelyn latch onto him in their youth - he hadn't wanted to befriend someone who would only make him tainted by association, but he'd been unable to shake them off, no matter how he tried.

He'd snuck them food, though, when they'd gone hungry - first because Dremelus' many other wards stole their food, and later when they'd been punished by teachers... and still later, in their training years, when they'd been put on short rations for disobedience and insubordination.

It hadn't even occurred to him to wonder what ever became of them when, inevitably, their specializations pulled them apart: he'd begun the extensive training necessary to become a link in Garlemald's extensive information network, binding the Empire together with spies and secrets... and Darcelyn, he'd supposed, had gone on to train with whatever it was mages trained with. Mallius hadn't spared them a thought.

And now...

"You know they're only sending me to Eorzea to get myself killed."

They'd sounded certain of it. He'd scoffed, knowing if they were wanted dead, there were ways to arrange it here in Garlemald without wasting the effort of sneaking covert agents into Eorzea.

But now...

"Damn it all," he mutters, shoving his hands into his pockets and scowling into the wind. "You should've just deserted."

How long might they have lasted, he wonders, if they'd just run? They looked Eorzean enough at a glance, and no one would mistake that mess for a Garlean spy. Assuming they could keep their head down and their mouth shut, Darcelyn could've easily passed for some vagrant, he's sure of it. He's heard enough about the chaos and madness going on in Eorzea to believe even they could pass unnoticed, for a time.

What a waste.

It hurts, he realizes, startled; it hurts more than it ought to, for someone he wouldn't even properly call a friend. They'd been miserable, unhappy - starved, literally and figuratively. Always seeking something they couldn't find here, never entirely certain what it might be-

And they'd sought him out at the last, he supposes, hoping someone might miss them when they were gone.

"I suppose you got what you wanted," he says aloud, ignoring the curious glances from passers-by. "Find some kind of peace with it, if you can. Some of us have work to get back to."

[repeatsquared]

A Life for a Life - 11

Chapter 10/10.5 Comments: Dual-perspectives of Claec and Alex. A fight at work can lead to support in unusual ways. A date planned. A new reason to lean on someone you're scared to trust. There's only one way this could go.

Word Count: 1,509

Trigger Warning: You're safe for now

-------------------------------------------------------

Thursday didn't arrive quickly enough. The events of the past week and a half started to blur together, and as less attention was brought to some of the concerning details, the more comfortable Alex was able to get in their current predicament. They found themself texting Jasmine more often, even during work hours when things started to run slow, though discretion felt important. The last thing they wanted was for Claec to have even more information about them at his disposal.

By the end of the day, the two stepped into the elevator. Claec was always the one to jab the buttons, and generally they got the elevator to themselves. Alex wasn't exactly sure how they got so lucky, but they weren't one to complain when it came to privacy.

That day, they tried to dress nicer than usual. They had mostly tamed their unruly hair, and wore an outfit generally kept for slightly special occasions. They didn't want to dress up too much, but showing up as a slob wasn't the best first impression either.

"So, we got Italian last night," Claec's words disrupted their train of thought. He slumped back against the wall, stretching the buttoned collar of his shirt away from his throat. "There's a good food truck that sets up like five minutes from here. Sound good?"

"Oh, uh," Alex cleared their throat, uncomfortably aware of the heat rushing to their cheeks. They completely forgot to tell Claec about it earlier. Though, maybe it wasn't an accident. "I have plans tonight, so, I can't get dinner."

They stared at the doors, trying to ignore the stare now focused on the side of their face.

"With that one chick?" Claec's words were slow, and low. He was using that tone again. It made Alex's blood run cold, and was always a small reminder of exactly who was standing next to them.

"It, uhm-" They forced themselves to cough, one hand reaching up to rub at the back of their neck. "It is, yeah."

"Then have fun!" The chipness of his voice took Alex by surprise, and they almost had to run after him when the elevator doors opened.

"You're not mad?"

"Why? Because I get a night to myself for once instead of hauling your ass around?" A fake laugh, but he wasn't turning around. "Chill out, I'm not hunting for reasons to get pissed at you. Just don't die the one time I'm not watching you."

Alex didn't know how to respond to that. It wasn't a threat, but it was definitely unsettling. What did Claec think they did in their free time that would result in them dying?

They tried to shake it from their head, instead calling out a farewell before turning around. They needed to get to the parking garage, to their car. Their phone battery was low, due to their carelessness in leaving it unplugged overnight, but there was enough left for them to get to her and the coffee shop and hopefully drop her wherever she needed to go afterwards.

Waiting in front of the office building felt daunting, but she was already on the street. Alex could see her as they pulled up, shooting a text and waving to hopefully grab her attention.

She wore a dark blue dress. It ended at her knees, and hugged the rest of her frame quite nicely. The neck was cut low,  held up by two thick straps that wrapped over her shoulders and met a square frame in the back. Her heels were strappy, wrapping just above her ankles, and pushing her at least five inches taller. Her hair was pulled into a high pony tail, reaching just under her shoulders, still curled and flowing. She looked amazing.

"Hey!" She called, opening the door and settling into the seat. "Love the outfit, you look great! So, where are we heading?"

Alex cleared their throat, trying to ignore their red cheeks as they tapped at their phone, getting the directions pulled up. "Just a little cafe, if that's okay?"

"Perfect!" She turned her attention to the road as they started to drive, humming along to the quiet stereo.

They settled into polite and minimal conversation on the drive. There was a certain awkwardness, likely due to the fact that they had never spoken to each other outside of texting before. And Alex was most definitely a big player when it came to being awkward.

The cafe was small, and relatively empty. Twelve tables dotted the room, and four of them were taken, though no one really seemed to be speaking. They both stepped to the counter and ordered. Alex got a latte, then Jasmine ordered the same. There was a short conversation about the drinks, and then silence once more as they waited.

It felt baseline. Getting to know one another, basic interests, job details, non-specific details about where they both lived, what drew them to the city. A rhythm started, and eventually there was a comfortable flow. Their drinks were gone by then, but they found enjoyment in the company.

"So, what's up with that friend of yours?" She eventually asked, swirling her now-empty mug. "He seems funny."

"Oh, Caleb?" Alex took a moment to think about what exactly she meant, shrugging. "He's new to work, can't say I know too much about him just yet. He's definitely..." They paused, trying to think of the best way to say it. "Clingy?"

"Invasive?" Jasmine laughed, leaning her chin onto an open palm. "I know the type, get 'em all too often, trust me. You're allowed to be annoyed."

They laughed a bit, looking out the window. "You've got a point. I guess I just try to be nice, to a fault sometimes."

"Means you've got a good heart. Could use more people like you in the world."

That made them blush, looking back at her with a dumb smile. "What about more people like you?"

"Oh, please!" She laughed, waving a hand at him. "There's plenty like me. Oh, but speaking of which, do you have any powers?"

"Yeah. Well, kind of? It's really weak, but I'm telekinetic."

"That's really cool! I lost the draw on that one, I didn't get any. Always blame my dad for that, he was powerless too."

Alex hummed, nodding along as she spoke. "My mom is too, I just got lucky from my dad I guess."

Jasmine bit her lip, eyeing the table for a few moments. "Sorry to ask this, but you're the person who stood up to Claec, right?"

They felt the smile drop from their face almost immediately, looking away again. "Yep. Yeah, uh, that was... me."

"Sorry!" She groaned, holding her head in her hands. "I'm sorry, I only realized it yesterday. I just think that's really admirable, and brave. Standing up to someone as awful like that has got to be hard."

"I mean, it definitely wasn't easy!" They forced a laugh, trying to shake the thoughts from their mind. "Sorry, can we-"

"Change topics? Yes!" She smiled again, and was almost immediately talking about something her childhood pet. It made Alex smile, easing back into the conversation once more. She really did seem perfect.

"I don't like her."

The words took Alex by surprise, rendering them silent in the midst of the retelling of their fourth date with Jasmine.

Claec didn't elaborate. Why would he ever? He continued to tap away at the keyboard, working on a small report over some meaningless numbers. It seemed to have captured most of his attention, Alex was surprised that he had even been listening.

"You have no reason not to like her. You haven't even met her."

"And?" This time Claec looked at them, a raised eyebrow matching his annoyed frown. "She's weird. I don't like her."

"I'm weird."

"You're a dork," He paused, a grin replacing his frown. "And an idiot, it seems. I'm weird too, but she's the bad kind of weird."

"That makes no sense, at all."

"Just take my word for it?"

Alex raised their eyebrows at him. When met with an exasperated groan, they rolled their eyes, returning their gaze to their own screen. "Maybe I would if you gave me a reason."

"I did!"

"You called her weird."

"Mhm, that's a reason."

Another moment of silence, interrupted when the two started to laugh, shaking their heads and returning to work.

It was getting easier for Alex to think of Claec as a person, rather than a villain. At the office, he was just Caleb. A friend. There were no more constant reminders that he was just around as a threat and a watchdog. It was getting hard to remind themself that this person could be dangerous.

"Just be careful, Alex." Claec's words took Alex by surprise. He remained focused on his screen, wearing that painfully serious expression he always did. Again, no elaboration. But that time, Alex was a bit too nervous to ask, worried about what his answer might be. She was just a person.

"I promise."

Chapter 12

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A shorty once more. I'll be honest I'm struggling with the structure of this monstrosity, fighting between moving too fast and too slow. If you guys have any comments on what you'd like to see, preferred pacing, or whatever else I'm always happy to take some criticism.

Also, I've been using this story as a big break from school, so be patient with me through the rest of the month as chapter updates may be more sparse.

[auxiliarydetective]

AP-01: Project Apocalypse

ch. 09: Deafening Silence

AP-01 Masterlist

This fic is part of the Academy Projects series, a full rewrite of The Umbrella Academy with the addition of an original character, Kassandra Hargreeves. Throughout the story, you'll stumble across a few songs. This is supposed to make the fic feel as much like the show as possible, so I recommend you don't skip them.

Warnings: Canon-typical issues, murder, catcalling

The next morning, Kassandra got up early, despite having gone to sleep so late. Maybe she should’ve taken the ambien. But Luther and Allison’s thoughts had kept her up all night, not to mention her own, and when she had slept, she had found herself back in the desolate wasteland of the apocalypse, having a cryptic conversation with Five that she neither fully understood nor fully recalled. She got dressed and snuck down to the kitchen to have breakfast, then disappeared into her room again. As far as she could tell, Allison and Luther were still in the surveillance room, discussing what they were seeing and trying to find a different interpretation. A little later, they went to see Mom and ask her some questions. Klaus, meanwhile, was outside, digging through the dumpster, trying to fix his mistakes. Apparently he had pawned one of Dad’s things, a box, and Pogo had gotten mad because the contents had been important and now Klaus was looking for them. Or at least that was what Kassandra could gather. Five woke up last and pretty much immediately headed back to Meritech to do a stakeout, slightly drunk, anxious and drowsy.

A while later, sometime around midday, Allison came into Kassandra’s room.

“Hey,” she said softly, and Kassandra could already tell what had happened. She had told Luther about Claire. “We’re having a family meeting later… About Mom. Luther says he’ll go get Five. Could you talk to Diego and I’ll talk to Vanya? I know you two haven’t exactly been best friends, but… I need to be the one to talk to Vanya. Apologize to her.”

“I get it,” Kassandra mumbled. She put on a smile. “Don’t worry, I can handle Diego. If it’s about Mom, he’ll come.”

“Speaking of our brothers…” Allison continued slowly. “Do you know what’s up with Five? Y’know, last night?”

“I know. But I can’t tell you.”

With a deep sigh, Allison dropped her head. “Got it. But… you’re keeping an eye on him, right?”

“I took an entire week off from work, mainly for him,” Kassandra revealed.

Allison smiled and sat down next to Kassandra on the bed, squeezing her shoulder. “That’s my sister. … Any hints you can give?”

Kassandra took a deep breath to sort her thoughts, trying to find something she could say without being cut off. A little hint, anything. But Five was usually pretty strict with his secrets, so…

Time, she wanted to say, but the words got stuck in her throat, forming a lump, cutting off her air. At the same time, her lips pressed themselves shut and her eyes were glossed over with a milky white. She tried again, tried to word it differently, but it was no use.

“I guess that’s a no,” Allison sighed. “Thanks for trying though.”

Then, she got up and left. Kassandra gazed over at the photos on her desk, her siblings’ picture smiles looking back at her, their eyes hidden behind their masks. Looking through her closet, she found herself a pair of gloves, one that matched her outfit and her mood. With one last look in the mirror, she headed out to go pick up Diego.

When she reached the place indicated to her, she really didn’t think anyone could live here. It was an old boxing gym, grungy posters of fights lining the walls, the inside reeking of sweat. Still, it seemed to be moderately popular, with all training spots in the main room taken.

“Hey, pretty thing,” a man suddenly approached her. “What’s a princess like you doing here?”

Kassandra looked down at her outfit for a split second.

Princess? This isn’t even half as regal as I can be!

“I’m looking for my brother,” she stated. “Tall, he likes leather, carries a lot of knives.”

“Sorry, he’s not here,” the man smirked. “But in the meantime…”

“No, I know he’s here.”

“Trust me, baby,” he hummed, running his fingers along her hair, “he’s not. Why don’t we go for a drink until he gets back?”

That was when a metal door slammed into the wall at the other end of the room.

“Hey, hey, hey, hands off my sister!” Diego yelled, shoving anything and anyone out of the way as he marched towards the man and Kassandra. “Go back to whatever shithole you came from!”

The man snorted and looked Diego up and down. “What, that’s your sister?” He turned around to Kassandra. “He’s your brother? Damn, your dad couldn’t do better to protect you?”

“Alright, shithead—”

“I have five brothers and two sisters, thank you very much,” Kassandra cut in, “all of which could beat you to a pulp, and I carry a taser,” she added with a sourly sweet smile. “C’mon, Diego, let’s go. We have places to be.”

So, she grabbed Diego by the arm and pulled him out of the studio, though not before he had made his I’m watching you sign at all the men in the gym.

“Do you really carry a taser?” he asked as soon as the door had closed behind them.

“No, and I haven’t fought anyone or anything since I turned 17,” Kassandra confessed. “Listen, it’s about Dad’s death again.”

“Oh no.”

“Pogo gave Allison access to the surveillance room and there’s a tape there that you should see. It’s about Mom.”

Diego sighed, his eyes flickering around in worry. “Listen, I—”

“I know what you did, Diego,” Kassandra mumbled softly.

“Do the others know?”

“No. That’s why I need you to come with me and either set the record straight or come up with a good lie. And, for the record, I stand behind what you did. If Allison hadn’t found that security footage, it would’ve worked out great. Luther was ready to give up.”

“Ah, shit…” Diego let out a frustrated huff, then looked Kassandra in the eyes. “Truce, round two?”

“If you promise you won’t backstab me this time,” she commented, but she shook his hand with a smile, glove on glove.

“I didn’t backstab you,” Diego claimed as he opened the door of his car for her, motioning her inside with a gesture somewhere between passive-agressive and cordial. “Admit it, you agree with what I said.”

“The first part, maybe,” Kassandra murmured. “That doesn’t mean you should’ve said it.”

“The second part too, you just don’t wanna accept it.”

“And is that so bad?”

The drive back to the Academy took them about forty minutes, a time spent in silence. They finally pulled into the little back alley next to the house and got out of the car. A good while later, all of the siblings had gathered in the drawing room.  Well… all except for Five, who had more important things to do. If only the other's knew… Klaus, meanwhile, had even brought popcorn, which Kassandra nervously stole a bit of. It was clear that this wouldn't go over well, so she needed the sugar to get her brain going.

Luther had put up a clunky tv on top of the bar, paired with a VCR player. He wanted to say something, he really did, but in the end all that came out was:

“Just watch this.”

So, he popped the tape into the VCR player and rewound it, and the same images Kassandra had seen last night flashed across the screen. They still looked just as awful as they had back then.

“Play it again,” Diego murmured.

Luther sighed quietly and did as he was told.

“Again.”

“Diego, the recording won’t change,” Allison insisted as the tape rewound again.

Kassandra just stood by and watched, tugging at her gloves, trying to find a detail to turn into a saving grace.

“This can’t be right,” Vanya murmured. “I mean, do you really think Mom would hurt Dad?”

“You haven’t been home in a long time, Vanya,” Luther commented. “Maybe you don’t know Grace anymore.”

“If he was poisoned, it would’ve shown up in the coroner’s report,” Diego hummed, fidgeting with one of his knives.

Luther pointed at the screen, raising his voice, his words becoming sharp. “Well, I don’t need a report to tell me what I can see with my own eyes.”

“Maybe all that low gravity in space messed with your vision,” Diego scoffed. “Look closer.”

He pushed Luther away from the tv, and rewound the tape, then stepped back in an aloof fashion.

“Dad had his monocle. Mom stands up. Monocle’s gone.”

“Oh, yeah!” Klaus gasped.

“She wasn’t poisoning him, she was… taking it.”

“To clean it, most likely,” Kassandra added, her eyes alight.

“Then where is it?” Luther asked.

Silence. A tension like static electricity extended itself from Diego, one that only Kassandra could sense. She sent him a little mental nudge, a signal.

“Y’know, I’ve searched the house,” Luther rambled, “including all of her things – she doesn’t have it!”

“That’s because I… took it from her,” Diego confessed, looking the least guilty he could. After all, he had no remorse, even though the fact that it had to come out at all was a bother. “After the funeral.”

“You’ve had the monocle this whole time?!” Allison called. “What the hell, Diego?!”

“Give it to me!” Luther demanded.

But Diego didn’t have it. “I threw it away.”

“You what?!”

“Look, I knew if you found it on Mom, you’d lose your shit,” Diego barked, “just like you’re doing right now.”

“Diego, you son of a bitch—”

And just like that, they were in their fighting stances again, Diego ready to fight back like a panicked puppy.

“Luther, wait—” Kassandra cut in, simultaneously with Vanya.

“Hey, no, calm down,” she said, stepping between her brothers though they could easily look over her head. “Look, I know Dad wasn’t exactly an open book, but I do remember one thing he said: Mom was, well, designed to be a caretaker, but… also as a protector.”

“What does that mean?” Allison asked.

“She was programmed to intervene if someone’s life was in jeopardy.”

Luther furrowed his eyebrows, thinking out loud, though Kassandra could already hear the disaster coming. “Well, if her hardware is degrading, then— We need to turn her off.”

“Woah, woah, woah, woah, wait! She’s not just a vacuum cleaner you can throw in a closet!” Diego yelled, and it was almost a miracle that he was pointing his finger at Luther and not a knife. “She feels things! I’ve seen it! And Kass can sense her, so she’s sentient. – Right, Kass?!”

“Right.”

“She just stood there, Diego,” Luther growled, “and watched our father die.”

“I’m with Luther.” Allison declared.

“Surprise, surprise,” Diego scoffed.

“Shut up.”

Suddenly, all eyes were on Vanya, various threats and questions implicit. Kassandra sighed. They were doing it again, tearing the family apart and jumping straight to a vote instead of deliberating first.

“I- I don’t—” Vanya stammed.

“Yeah, she shouldn’t get a vote,” Diego grumbled.

“I was gonna say that I agree with you.”

“Okay, she should get a vote!”

Classic.

“What about you, stoner boy?” Diego asked in a yell, pointing at Klaus. “What do you got?”

“Oh, so what, you need my help now?” Klaus mumbled, snacking on his popcorn. “Oh, ‘Get out of the van, Klaus!’ ‘Well, welcome back to the van!’”

“What van?” Allison scoffed.

Luther looked like he was just about done with the situation as he huffed: “What’s it gonna be, Klaus?”

“I’m with Diego, because screw you!” Klaus declared. “And if Ben were here, he’d agree with me.”

Something tickled Kassandra’s spine at those words but she couldn’t place it.

“Alright, Kass, say the word,” Diego said, a triumphant timbre already in his voice.

“I agree with you,” Kassandra stated, “but—”

“Here we go,” Allison sighed, and she was right in saying that for once since, not even a second later, Diego exploded again:

“What do you mean ‘but’?! There is no but!”

I should’ve known, Kassandra thought, defensively throwing her hands up as she tried not to let those sharp words get under her skin.

“Where’s all that talk about you being on my side now, huh?! She’s our mother, she’s sentient, she feels things, you said it yourself!”

“I did, which is why you should listen!” Kassandra hissed.

“You were never good at yes or no questions,” Allison interrupted.

“Do we shut Grace off, yes or no?” Luther asked harshly.

“Of course not!” Kassandra squeaked.

“Thank you,” Diego scoffed. “So that’s three…”

“Wait,” Luther mumbled.

“... to two.”

Kassandra, meanwhile, became distracted. They must’ve caused quite the scene, and her sixth sense confirmed it: They were being watched.

“Vote’s not final yet,” Allison declared.

Diego just stared at her as if she had just thrown away his knife collection.

“Five’s not here. The whole family has to vote, we owe each other that.”

“Right,” Luther said.

“No, we should wait,” Vanya declared.

With that, the family gathering disbanded, everyone in a sudden hurry to get where they were going. Only Kassandra, Diego and Vanya were left behind, with Diego immediately hell-bent on calling Number Eight out. But she just bumped her hand against his chest and covertly gestured behind herself. Caught off-guard by her sudden tranquility and a gesture he only knew from missions, he turned around, and a little shiver went down his spine when he saw Grace standing in the doorframe. Just like that, the argument was over, and the three siblings walked over to their mother.

“Hey,” Diego said in a soft voice. “How long have you been here?”

But Grace was zoned out, not entirely there. It took her a full seven seconds to notice that Diego was talking to her.

“You all seem upset,” she finally said, her expression lagging behind until she was back to her old, cheerful smile and tone. “I’ll make cookies.”

“I’ll help!” Kassandra immediately announced, the thought of getting to bake with her mom again making her giddy. After all, it had been years…

“Great! Shall we?”

“I’ll meet you down there in five minutes, okay?”

“Of course! Take your time.”

With those words, Grace left, her movements still soft and full of poise. The siblings’ eyes were pinned on her, each with their own thoughts behind them. Kassandra knew them all. She knew that Diego was cracking. She knew Vanya’s dark cloud of worry. She knew her own anxiety and desire to speak. But she said nothing.

“Do you ever wonder…” Vanya started, and for once, everyone listened. “All those moments with Mom, the things she said… Like, was it her, or was it really Dad?”

“Wh- What are you talking about?” Diego asked, the slightest hint of a stutter on his lips, forcing Kassandra to push back the urge to comfort him.

“Well, he built her,” Vanya explained. “And he programmed her to be a mom, to be our mom.” She sighed. “Sometimes, when I look at her, I just see him.”

There were things Kassandra wanted to say, but she kept quiet. Her biggest virtue had always been the virtue of silence, whether voluntary or not.

“Maybe that was true at first,” Diego said. “But she evolved.”

“Well, how do you know?”

“Because Dad only loved himself.”

And just like that, Diego was gone.

“What about you, Kass?” Vanya asked.

But Kassandra just shrugged. “I’ve never thought about it, honestly. I can sense Mom and though I can’t read her like I can you or Diego, I can understand her. But I never understood Dad. Maybe that’s stupid, but Mom is more human to me than Dad ever was.”

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[jgmartin]

THE SLEIGH FATHER

[Short Horror]

I need to talk. Like, I really need to talk.

The trouble is, I don’t have anybody I can talk to. My family’s estranged, my friends are all gone, and the authorities think I’m a lunatic.

It's just five days from Christmas, and I’m alone. Isolated. If I don’t get this off my chest though, I’m afraid it’s going to start festering in my mind like a decaying carcass; I’m afraid it’s going to sink its teeth in.

So I’ll talk to you. All of you. It’s not perfect, but it will do.

My name's Terrance Sims. I’m sitting in my rocking chair, rifle draped across my lap, in bloodstained pyjamas that still reek with last night’s piss. I haven’t slept in two days, and I might not sleep for two more. Last night something came down my chimney, and I think it’s coming back.

I’m getting ahead of myself, so let me paint you a picture. I live alone, up in the mountains where the pine trees are draped in snow, and the rivers are an icy blue. I could be a bit more specific, but I don’t think it’s warranted. Besides that, I like my privacy.

All of this to say, where I am isn’t important. What matters is what I have to say.

I’m a researcher. Or at least, I was once upon a time. My funding has long been cut, and my job along with it, but I've stayed out here because I believed in the research my team was undertaking. It was revolutionary. It meant the possibility of bridging worlds, of seeing new forms of life.

Now I’m terrified that research has found me.

You’ve probably heard of monsters, or urban legends, of things that claw at our imaginations and lurk in the dark recesses of our minds. Perhaps you’ve even felt one. They wait there sometimes, prowling just beyond our vision, tearing at the fabric that holds our realities together. Desperate. Hungry.

My job was to study these beings. I was tasked with developing an understanding of not only what they wanted from us but how to gain access to their world: the place Beyond the Veil.

Needless to say, I wasn’t successful. The organization I worked for, the Facility, poured millions into my ideas and wasn’t forgiving of my failures. When my theories came up short, they cut ties with me– he cut ties with me.

“It’s unfortunate, but it’s business,” Mr. Reid had said, feet on his desk, long hair pulled back in a ponytail. “Your failures reflect on me, Terrance, and they’ve become an accounting nightmare.”

I had begged him. Groveled. It didn’t matter. I was terminated along with my research, and when you’re studying the kind of things I am, they don’t want that information leaking out into the world. It’s what they call a liability.

So I was blacklisted. Facility teams picked away at my reputation, whispering in the back corners of universities and at the water coolers of laboratories. My name became synonymous with paranoia and madness. I was a laughing stock among my peers. A joke.

It was the end of my life.

Only one person cared to associate with me afterwards, a junior colleague and a brilliant young man named Alexi Azimov. He believed in the research nearly as much as I did, and luckily for him, his name wasn’t attached to the project.

When the Facility pulled the plug and dragged my name through the dirt, they simply moved him to a new department, and that was that. Despite it, he spent his vacation days returning to the mountain, assisting me with further study whenever he could.

Until last year, when even he abandoned me.

But now I’ve shown all of them. I’ve proven they were wrong -- dead wrong. It’s here. He’s here. I always suspected he lived among these mountains, or at least that his Bridge was located within them, but I had given up hope for so long. It had been years, after all -- damn near a decade. They called me absurd. Insane.

Then, last night everything changed.

I was lying in bed, winding down after logging the readings on the temporal measurement equipment, when the cabin shook. At first, I thought an avalanche had struck it, but then I heard it: a clatter of hooves upon the roof.

I shot out of bed, my breath trapped in my chest and my body cold with sweat. I sprinted to the closet and pulled out my hunting rifle. Outside, a blizzard howled, but all I heard was the voice, a menagerie of tone and emotion, high and low, guttural and smooth. It rang out from above me.

Ho ho hO.

My first thought was to contact the Facility, but my satellite internet wasn’t functioning in the storm. Even if it were, I knew better. I was too far. Too isolated for help.

The mountains I study in are remote, and the cabin even more so. It was chosen for its seclusion as a means of observing the being known as the Sleigh Father, but the circumstances were meant to be different.

Much different.

Above me, the ceiling creaked, and dust drifted down from the rafters. Boots crunched upon the snow-caked roof. You always think you’ll know what to do when the moment comes, that your training will kick in, and you’ll just go through the motions like some kind of pre-programmed robot. I wish that were true. I really do.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think.

I’d spent the better part of my career chasing that monster, and now that it’d found me, I was lost. My fingers played against the trigger of my rifle, my mouth dry, and my eyes latched open. Inside of me, my body thrummed with terror. My fight or flight response oscillated between cowardice and impulsive foolishness. I was paralyzed. Alone.

A chorus of chattering pierced the screaming wind. It came fast and jittery, like a ticking clock marking time in microseconds. I knew what it was before the hoofbeats followed. It was them, the creatures the Sleigh Father commissioned in the First Days when people still feared the night and all the horrors within. Eight abominations, stitched together by the innards of mutilated children.

Their agony acted as his gateway– his Bridge between worlds. The souls of the children lived on in the beasts, while their vacant spirits stalked the earth, lost and hopeless, seeking the missing piece that would finally grant them rest. Their tortured existence was his Link to our reality. The sleigh the abominations drew, his Bridge.

The thought shook me from my trance. I’d spent years waiting for this—a chance to see the other side, to see other worlds.

I had to act, so I lurched forward, moving through the lonely cabin while the Sleigh Father’s footsteps creaked above me. HO hO ho. He lumbered toward the chimney while I shivered down the cold hallway, rifle trembling in my skinny arms.

It took me only a few moments to reach the living area, and when I did, I settled there, just behind the corner of the wall. I kept my gun leveled at the fireplace, and my eyes plastered open. A crackling blaze danced in the hearth. It cast the sparse furnishings in an orange glow, throwing shadows across the loveseat and the messy desks.

The night became still.

The snowstorm quieted. The hoofbeats vanished. There was no sound of boots, no sound of laughter, only the snapping flames and my heart pounding blood through my skull. My mouth moved, and words spilled out. Affirmations. Come on, I muttered. Slide down the chimney, you beast. The fire’s waiting for you.

I knew better. Of course I did. I’d spent years researching the Sleigh Father, consuming tireless hours reading into his history. Of all the monsters the Facility had dealt with, the terrors that haunted old email chains and the urban legends that spread through panicked breaths, he was the anomaly. He was celebrated.

Santa Claus, they called him.

It was an error I traced back to centuries ago when a young girl witnessed her abusive father taken by the Sleigh Father. The creature devoured him and left the man’s skull as a parting gift, having taken what he came for: a human soul. To the girl, the beast was a savior.

A saint.

The words she spoke in the following weeks, months, and years became immortalized. They became history, and then they became legend. A jolly being, laughing and hungry, coming down the chimney and leaving gifts in its wake. It was as tantalizing a tale as they come, especially to young children, eager to be appeased in their search for comfort and joy.

Now he was here with me, looking for another soul to add to his collection.

Seconds stretched into minutes as I waited, tucked quietly behind the corner of the wall, rifle in my arms, elbow steadied upon my knee. Once, we had contingencies for this. Plans in place that provided the means to incapacitate the Sleigh Father should he pay us a visit, but those plans involved government agents no longer in my employ. They involved expensive technology and complex spells. They were a last resort.

A clump of snow fell down the chimney, and the fire responded with a hiss of steam. Its flame retreated for a moment, flickering, before lashing back in anger. Something heavy shuffled above– the Sleigh Father.

Emotions swam inside of me. Regret. Anger. Fear. Why had I stayed out here? How could I have been so stubborn, so goddamn arrogant?

The answer was obvious: my old boss, Donovan Reid. His mockery, his wanton destruction of my life. It left me with no other option. Either I remained on this mountain, burning through my life’s savings and hunting wayward game, or I returned home. One meant a chance at redemption, the other guaranteed humiliation and disgrace.

I hated Mr. Reid more than words could say. Alexi had seen it. He’d seen how much my loathing distracted me, and so he recommended methods to help get the snake off my mind. A list, he’d said in an email last month. Write a list of all the ways you want to hurt him. Write a list of all the horrible things you want to happen to him. I think it could help you get him out of your head and free up your attention.

It helped– a little.

hO ho HO.

The laugh came high and low, husky and slick. A crunch followed it, like something digging into brick, and panic found its way into my bones. Dust and debris fell into the flames. The Sleigh Father's legend was explicit in his form of entry: if possible, it was always the chimney.

A grunt came down the flue, followed by more pebbles and stones. Then, the cabin shook. It was as if something heavy had jumped from the roof -- and what comes up must come down.

A pulverizing cacophony filled the night like cannon fire. Rubble tumbled into the blazing hearth while the bricks of the chimney bulged outwards, crumbling as something massive shot down it. I barely brought my rifle on aim before a figure crashed into the flames.

Burning logs shattered with a thunderous crack, plunging the cabin into inky darkness. Wooden splinters ricocheted around the room like blazing shrapnel, their slivers slashing at my face and tracing my skin in searing agony. I swung back behind the protection of the hallway wall, rifle clutched to my chest.

My thoughts raced. This couldn’t be happening, I said to myself. It couldn’t. I slammed my eyes shut, trying to get my out-of-control breathing back in line. I was hyperventilating. Panicking. I had to calm down because if I didn’t, I would start making impulsive decisions, and impulsive decisions were a good way to die.

I opened my eyes.

The fire was gone. I could barely see a thing. A short distance away, boots groaned against hardwood, kicking past broken logs in the hearth. My finger quivered against the cold steel of the rifle’s trigger, and I desperately wanted to pull it, but I knew that if I did, then it was over. Either the Sleigh Father would die, or I would. The odds, I decided, were not in my favor.

So I waited.

A piece of me, infinitesimally small, wanted to see him, wanted to flick on a light or blindly fire into the darkness. I wanted to witness the monster that possessed my life for so long– if only for a second. But I didn’t. It’s not worth it, I told myself. It’s not worth it.

The footsteps stalked to the window, dragging something heavy behind them. Against the faint light of the moon, I made out the Sleigh Father’s silhouette. He was tall, inhumanly so. His neck craned forward, pressed against the top of the high cabin ceiling. A cloak was draped across his broad shoulders, and from his head slumped the pom of a stocking cap. Beside him sat a large sack.

“NaUghty oR niCe?” his voice hummed, in a discordant melody.

I didn’t reply. It seemed impossible, but a part of me held onto the belief that maybe he wasn’t speaking to me. Maybe he didn’t know I was there. It was just a monologue, perhaps– words for the night.

I raised the rifle, aiming it toward his massive figure. I could do it now, I reasoned. I could pull the trigger and hopefully make this nightmare disappear.

Ho HO hO.

The silhouette turned, its face masked in shadow, save for a single glint of bobbing light. “CaReFuL wiTh tHaT,” it said.

A cold breeze swept across me, and suddenly my fingers burned with agonizing frostbite. My rifle clattered to the floor while my hands trembled in pain. “YoU’ll TaKe yOur eYe OuT.”

“W-what do you want?” I stuttered, stumbling backward. My feet croaked on the floorboards as I came up against the back of the hallway. My heart hammered. Tears filled my vision as I cradled my cold hands against my stomach. “Please,” I whimpered.

“NaUgHty?” he sang. “Or NiCe?”

“Nice!” I said. “I’m a good man. I just wanted to l-learn about you.” The words stumbled out of my mouth like lemmings falling to their death. “I don’t mean any harm. I swear!”

The footsteps creaked closer, and as they did, the silhouette vanished from the window's moonlight. All that remained of it now were the sounds that it made. I listened intently to the burdensome echoes of boots on hardwood and the heavy scratching of coarse fabric being dragged across the floor.

ho Ho hO.

He was close. So close. I screwed my eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable, waiting to die. Warm piss spilled down my leg, and my face screwed up as I fell to my knees, bawling on the floor. “Please,” I begged. “I'm a good man! I told you– please!”

The rumble of footfalls stopped, and in their place came the sound of rustling fabric, like somebody opening a sack.

“NiCe, yOu sAy?”

A dim light formed, radiating out of a burlap bag some five feet away. Behind its glow, I could make out a white, singed beard hanging over a red suit. The Sleigh Father’s face was otherwise indiscernible amidst the suffocating shadow, save for one dancing speck of light.

“WoULd yOu LiKe a GiFt?” he asked.

My mind raced. Was there anything in the mythology that warned against accepting gifts? I couldn’t recall. “Yes,” I hazarded, in a small voice. "Yes, please." It seemed unwise to refuse the creature.

hO ho Ho.

A massive, red-jacketed arm reached into the burlap sack. My eyes widened in horror as I realized the sack was moving. Kicking. Like there was something alive inside of it. Muffled screams followed, and the great arm pulled back, clutching a man by his long, blonde hair. The man thrashed and whimpered. Tears soaked his pale face.

Our eyes connected, mine and the man’s, and something ran through me. It was a feeling I’d never experienced before, a mixture of dark excitement and absolute loathing.

“You,” I said slowly.

The light from the sack was dim, but to the man, it was all he had known. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the heavy darkness of the cabin, and as they did, he peered toward me, eyelids pinched together to discern the voice speaking to him.

“Who’s there?” he whimpered.

I gazed forward in stunned silence. Was this real? There was no way. He dangled in the Sleigh Father's grasp like the finest Christmas present I'd ever seen.

“Hello?” his voice called. “Please, I have resources -- more than you could imagine! I’m a powerful man in government! Just get me the hell out of here, and I’ll give you whatever you want.” His voice turned weak, broken. “Please… please get me out of here. I have a family.”

I opened my mouth, but if words were there, I didn’t speak them. No. It seemed wasteful, at this moment, to reply so thoughtlessly. This moment necessitated careful words and a measured tone. It required my best.

“NauGhtY,” the Sleigh Father hummed. “So, sO NaUgHty.”

I found myself nodding along. Yes, the man was naughty. The worst. He was an abomination, fit for disposal. He’d doubted me– made a mockery of me, and torn apart the life I’d so carefully built.

“Donovan,” I said, doing my best to keep my voice level. “Donovan Reid, isn't it?”

The light was faint. So faint. In spite of it though, I could see Mr. Reid had finally realized who I was, whether because his eyes had adjusted or he recognized my voice. Perhaps a combination of the two. His expression fell.

“That voice…You used to work for me,” he choked out. “Didn’t you?”

I gazed at him, something horrible growing inside of me. It ate up all of my fear, my regret, my rage and it left only hunger in their wake—a desperate desire for retribution.

“I did.”

A pause. He sensed it there, in my reply. He sensed the disdain– the hatred. “I’m so sorry,” he said at length. “You were right. You were right about everything!”

“That's true,” I said. “And you were wrong.”

“Yes, I was.” He winced in agony as the Sleigh Father lifted him higher by his tangled hair, then gently nudged him with a giant, clawed hand. Mr. Reid swung like a pendulum. “You were right,” he continued, weeping. “He’s real. Of fucking course he is! Are you–”

“– am I what?” I interjected. My hands, still burning with frostbite, became an afterthought in my mind. The warm piss in my pants hardly registered to me. I was beginning to build the puzzle. I was beginning to understand what this was. “Are you asking me if I’m going to help you?”

Silence.

“Of course I’ll help you,” I said. “I’m not a monster. Why would I ruin your life, all because you made a simple mistake?”

In the quiet of the cabin, Mr. Reid's shuddering tears struck the floorboards like gunshots. “T-thank you so much.” He hardly sounded like the man I knew. If he weren’t swinging in front of me, with his obnoxiously long hair and his fitted suit, I’d almost have doubted my own ears. He sounded weak. Cowardly.

“I’ll ask the Sleigh Father to release you if you can do one thing for me.”

hO ho HO.

“What is it? Anything! Your research is back on the table– of course, it is, you’re brilliant! Look at you. You saw this before any of us. You knew it was out there and–”

“What’s my name?”

“I’m sorry?” His words, once thundering along like a rollercoaster, crumpled into a heap. “Look, I’m not in a position to remember every fucking employee’s name. That was years ago! You need to be reasonable!”

I took a step forward, and the floorboards creaked. I understood what the situation was now. It was written in the subtext of the legend, the unspoken and unwritten words that undercut everything about the Sleigh Father. A singular concept, one still celebrated to this day.

Holiday cheer.

I reached out a hand, gripping Mr. Reid by his silky black tie. His swinging stopped, and I pulled at the accessory, making him choke and gag.

“Are you fucking…” he sputtered, “...crazy?” His face had lost the fear, the concern, the false remorse. In its place was something much more familiar.

Malice.

I let him go, and he gasped as his breath returned to him. My eyes shifted to the being behind him– the instrument of his destruction. The Sleigh Father remained still, clouded by darkness, with only his massive arm and singed white beard illuminated by the dim light spilling from his bag.

“NaUgHtY oR niCe?” the monster repeated, in that discordant voice masquerading as song.

My eyes connected with Mr. Reid's, and an irresistible smile crept along my lips. To see him there, helplessly hanging by his hair and a slave to my whims, filled something inside of me I didn’t realize I was missing. It filled a need for power– a need to be respected.

“Naughty,” I said, surprising myself with the tone of authority. “Donovan Reid is a terrible man.”

Ho ho Oh.

“No!” Mr. Reid screamed, even as the great red arm lifted him up to the rafters of the ceiling. His face screwed up in agony as the Sleigh Father gripped his legs with his other hand. “Please!” he shrieked, horizontal in the air. “Please! I’m sorry, I’m so sorr–”

His words were interrupted by the wet splatter of his intestines striking the cabin floor. It was hard to see in the darkness but easy to hear. I listened as the Sleigh Father pulled Donovan Reid apart, one end from the other, his innards slapping against the ground like spoiled fruit.

“Why…” Mr. Reid's last word died on his lips as the Sleigh Father slammed both pieces of him against the cabin floor, drenching me in an explosion of blood and bone.

When it was finished, I sat in warm, wet silence. Donovan Reid's blood dripped from my mess of hair and soaked through my thermal pajamas. Something akin to a near-death experience flashed before my eyes, except it was aspects of my life and my research.

I always believed the Sleigh Father to have been little more than a simple reaper. A monster hungry for souls, or other forms of mortal sustenance, piecing the veil once a year when its hunger grew too insatiable to ignore.

I had been wrong.

Much of the Santa Clause mythology fitted the Sleigh Father. More than I or Alexi ever expected. He didn’t just feed on souls. He fed on people’s joy. Their mirth. It appeared as though he required both pieces to be fully satiated, and such a phenomenon provided much more context to the original myth.

That girl, centuries ago, had been joyous when the Sleigh Father devoured her father, hadn’t she? And now I had been joyous when he’d gifted me my revenge. I’d felt ecstatic watching Mr. Reid die.

Ho ho HO.

The cabin began to tremble, and soon the very floorboards snapped, and the windows rattled. It felt like it was being torn from its foundations. I steadied myself against the wall as a blinding light exploded from Donovan Reid's skull before quelling to a gentle gleam. It snaked around the cabin, revealing the full extent of the building’s disarray.

Tables had been upturned, documents littered the floor, and the fireplace had become little more than a pile of bricks and a frigid breeze. Shafts of moonlight pierced through the hole in the ceiling the chimney once occupied, revealing Mr. Reid's blood and bones scattered all over. The cabin was soaked in his blood.

Then, the floating light passed across the Sleigh Father.

It revealed a behemoth, clad in crimson cotton with white trim. Two legs burst from the long red jacket, coated in coarse, black fur that ended in leather boots. As the light swam upwards, I caught sight of the creature’s arm scratching at its barrel chest. Its fingers were thick, human, but decaying. What I had earlier mistaken for claws were actually long, curled fingernails.

“Thank you,” I breathed, my heart thundering. “Thank you for this.”

“TiS tHe SeaSon,” it sang with a laugh.

The orb of light ascended towards its mouth, and for the first time, I saw the monster’s face. It was human but mangled. Above its white shock of beard were two pieces of coal, seared into its eye sockets. The skin of its face was discolored, a pock-marked mess of swollen, blistered flesh that sagged around its skull, and its nose was little more than two slits, with the faintest impression of bone jutting from beneath.

Burns, I realized. His face had been burned beyond recognition.

As the tiny orb of light finished its ascent, it revealed the Sleigh Father’s red stocking cap. At the end of it was a white pom, and it blinked. It was looking at me. An eyeball twinkled where the pom should have been, glimmering like a star in the night.

It seemed clear to me the creature meant me no harm, and so the researcher inside of me took over. “Can I ask you–” I began, before being cut off by a roaring sound of wind.

The Sleigh Father had opened its mouth, and within its jaws, a blizzard roared, frigid and horrible. My hands, anguished with frostbite, became numb and unresponsive. My ears screamed, and my nose throbbed. My entire body ached with the stabbing sensation of absolute winter.

Then, the light orb vanished, sucked up inside the Sleigh Father’s mouth, and so too did the cold. I heard what sounded like a gulp and a swallow, and then another discordant, tuneless round of hO HO Ho.

Darkness returned.

The Sleigh Father turned, his twinkling eye vanishing as he did, and began walking away from me. His lumbering footfalls crunched along the cabin floor, snapping pieces of Mr. Reid's bones as he made his way back to the demolished chimney. “MeRrY cHRiStMaS tO aLL,” the Sleigh Father sang.

I heaved a breath, warmth returning to my extremities. I couldn’t help but smile. For the first time in decades, I felt full of Christmas cheer, so much so that I even finished the rhyme for him. “And to all a good night!”

His boots stopped, and the floor groaned as he turned back to me, that bouncing eye gleaming in the night. “MErRy cHriStMaS tO aLL,” he repeated, though his voice had lost its whimsy. “I’LL sEe YoU iN tWo NiGhTs.”

My jaw fell open, the smile dying on my lips. No, that wasn’t right. Why would he come back? I already had what I wanted. Mr. Reid was dead. The Sleigh Father turned around toward the chimney, chuckling to himself.

“Hang on!” I spat, my voice cracking. “You don’t have to come back. It’s fine! Seeing you was enough! I just needed to know I wasn’t crazy–  that I was right!”

“NAuGhTy,” he hummed, “Or RiGhT?”

I blinked, not understanding. That wasn’t the rhyme. “Nice,” I said. “I’m not naughty– I’m nice! I’m a good person that was abused and taken advantage of, just like that girl you saved. Remember?”

hO ho Ho.

His laughter echoed around the ruined cabin. “NAuGhTy aNd RiGhT. i’LL sEe YoU iN tWo NiGhTs.”

He stepped into the remains of the ruined chimney, and shafts of moonlight framed him through the broken ceiling. His beard upturned with a smile, and then he bent his great legs and leapt upward with a grunt.

A moment later, the ceiling trembled, and pieces of rafter crashed down around me. Above, I heard the Sleigh Father’s chorus of Ho ho Oh, and his heavy boots crunching on snow. Then came the whip of reins and the rapid chatter of eight abominations preparing to take flight.

Their hooves pounded against the roof in anticipation. Two more whip cracks and the cabin rafters whined as the sleigh began to move, slowly at first, before the monsters broke off into a rumbling gallop.

Through the shattered ceiling, I caught sight of the godless creatures taking flight. They were monsters in the truest sense of the word; pieces of children chopped up and reassembled into beasts of burden. Some had six legs and one arm, others three heads and four feet upon two legs. As the last remnants of the Sleigh Father’s laughter faded in the distance, I idly wondered if he purposefully designed the beasts to be more hideous than himself.

I chewed on the thought as I stumbled toward the kitchen, grabbing a flashlight from the drawer and flicking it on as I went. I used it to locate a blanket and a laptop, and then took a seat in the old rocking chair.

With the blizzard gone, the night was uncharacteristically warm. Whether or not that was a consequence of the Sleigh Father's visit, I couldn’t say, but I was thankful for it. It made thinking easier.

I flipped the computer open, and my face was bathed in a blue glow. I noted the satellite connection was back online. Good. My fingers rocketed across the keyboard, sending out multiple emails to my contacts at the Facility.

I’ve done it, I told them. I’ve proven the existence of the Sleigh Father. Not only that, I added, but he told me he’s returning in two days’ time. We can acquire his sleigh. His Bridge.

I hit send, exhaling a sigh of relief. I truly had done it. I’d redeemed my name. I’d resurrected my reputation and executed the monster that murdered it in the first place. It had been a busy night. An important night.

I fully believed the Sleigh Father would return for me, but with the Facility’s resources, I suspected we could handle him. Their warlocks could do wonderful things with spells.

My computer pinged with the first email alert, a reply from the Facility's hiring manager. I figured why wait? I had a job to return to. The sooner I got paid for my work again, the better.

“Good evening, Dr. Sims," it read.

"Your work for the Facility has been greatly appreciated. Unfortunately, we have located another talent that has proven more reliable. Your contract will not be reinstated.”

I stared at the screen in confusion. Had they even read my email? I just told them I located the damn Sleigh Father! I just explained how I found the Bridge between worlds!

Cursing, I began typing my response. Two more email alerts pinged in the corner of my screen, distracting me.

No matter, I thought to myself. The hiring manager could wait. I clicked on the first new email. It was from an old colleague of mine, Anna Ling, a former team member on the Sleigh Father research project, and one with high-level security access.

“I am so sorry,” it read. “Take care, Terry.”

Sorry? Did she think I was insane? I clenched my fist, my frustration mounting at the thick-headedness of these idiots. I was sitting on possibly the most significant discovery in the history of mankind, and they were brushing me off like a common madman.

Bitterly, I clicked on the third email. It was from the Director of Research and Development– Mr. Reid's boss.

Good to hear from you, Terrance!

First off, I’d like to say we’re recommending you for the Medal of Merit. Your work has been incredible, and dare I say, worthy of certain additional awards down the line. Can you say Nobel prize?

I paused, a smile forming on my lips. This was more like it. I always found the Director of R&D to be a shrewd and clever woman. It was little wonder she saw the potential of this opportunity as soon as I presented it.

I continued reading.

Of course, public awards are off the table until the Bridge has been put to proper use. We’ll have to deal with the upcoming conflict first before spilling the beans on this new technology, but trust me, once we can, your name is going in the hat. I’ll be personally recommending you! I imagine you’re probably a little upset. It’s a terrifying prospect, what’s to come, but…

I blinked, shaking my head in confusion. Terrifying? That’s an odd way to describe a Nobel prize. No matter. I continued reading.

... unfortunately, it was the only option we saw available. Dr. Azimov has been a huge help in getting all of this setup, and we’re genuinely thankful for your cooperation in the matter. What’s losing another thirty years of life when you’ll be immortalized in history, eh?

Dr. Azimov? Alexi Azimov? What the hell, that couldn’t be right. Alexi abandoned the project a year ago. Sure, he’d occasionally kept up with me via email– more for my sanity than anything, but he had nothing to do with this. His mental exercise of listing my intrusive thoughts helped clear my head some, but that didn’t warrant such accolades. I did this. Me.

Furious, I clicked reply. Before I could finish the first word of my response, my computer pinged with another email. It was the last contact I’d messaged: Alexi.

Terrance,

I hope you’re well. In fact, I suspect you’re feeling quite good, if not a little confused. I know how much the Sleigh Father project meant to you. To be frank, your obsession with it has concerned me. It isn’t healthy. It’s damaging.

Before I go any further, I’d like to assure you that the Facility will be arriving at the mountain later this evening. They’ll be monitoring you from a safe distance, and when the Sleigh Father returns in two nights’ time, they’ll attempt to apprehend his Bridge.

I let loose a sigh of relief. Good. I knew I could count on Alexi -- even if he was trying to steal some credit for this. I cracked an exasperated smile and kept reading. It was probably a misunderstanding.

Earlier this year, I discovered some lore. I thought it might help both of us. You and I. You see, old friend, I have come to realize that the Sleigh Father shares more in common with the Santa Claus myth than either of us recognized. All those weeks, months, and years of study and failed attempts to locate the monster were rooted in a singular problem: we were too focused on the science of it all. 

The Sleigh Father is a being that transcends science, of course. An anomaly. A myth. So it was to that mythology I returned. Within it, I found the means to quell some of your suffering and offer you an opportunity to have a merry Christmas before you pass from this world.

My fingers ached. I realized I was clutching the sides of the laptop hard enough that the plastic shell began to crack. I reread Alexi’s words. Before I pass from this world? What kind of phrasing is that?

Trust me, Terrance. It will be better for you this way. Easier. I know you're probably wondering what I'm talking about, so let me provide you with some background details.

I discovered that lists have the power to summon the Sleigh Father. They act as a sort of ritual or an offering to it. When one creates a list, the creature will sometimes deign them with their request -- providing they want it desperately enough. It is our emotional energy that calls to the Sleigh Father. It feeds upon our joy and our sorrow, our wishes and fears.

Your list to Donovan Reid was drenched in emotion. I suspected that if my theory was correct, given your relative proximity to the Sleigh Father’s Bridge and your hatred for Mr. Reid, you could provoke an encounter with the being. I’m happy to hear I was correct in that regard!

My eyes scanned his words, and my teeth dug into my lip. That son of a bitch. That absolute piece of shit. I made to get up and grab a new piece of paper, one I could use to write Alexi’s name on. I'd list it a thousand times, with a thousand different ways I wanted him dead.

But the email wasn’t finished.

Of course, there’s more to the Santa Claus mythology than simple lists. There are consequences. One such consequence is when somebody requests something selfish or sufficiently deplorable. It is the Naughty or Nice paradigm, and we see it reflected heavily in the mythology. It’s what I was counting on tonight.

Your desire for Mr. Reid’s death was selfish and, frankly, monstrous. You'll excuse my dry sense of humor, but it really was a Naughty sort of thing. I’m genuinely sad to know Mr. Reid passed with such brutality, but I’m happy to know it will pave the way to ending the coming war and saving billions of lives.

When the Sleigh Father returns to claim your deplorable soul, please know that it was never something I wanted. If you could have lived, I would have preferred that. Same too with Mr. Reid.

Unfortunately, we’re running out of time, and sacrifices must be made. The Eldritch horrors are knocking on our front door, Terrance. You know that. You know I had no choice.

Just know that you and Mr. Reid will be remembered for what you gave. Carpe diem, old friend.

P.S.

If at all possible, please draw the Sleigh Father as far from his Bridge as you can. Our team will have an easier time retrieving the sleigh that way.

Happy Holidays,

Alexi.

I closed the laptop. I didn’t even bother writing a reply. What was there left to say? ‘Fuck you, asshole?’ No, it wasn’t worth the energy. I doubted he’d even care to read it. He already got everything he wanted, after all. He had me right where he wanted me, and now he would get all of the credit.

That son of a bitch.

I stewed in my rage for a long time. Long enough that birds chirped overhead, and the golden light of dawn seeped in through the cabin window. Eventually, I decided what would happen next.

You would– all of you.

See, the Sleigh Father might be coming for me tonight, and it might be true that I don’t have a way out of here. The Facility is too powerful. Too all-reaching. But not even they can stop the wildfire of public outrage. So here it is, my testament, the true account of the final days of my life, and the research that led to them.

I’m not asking to be deified. I’m not even asking for a street in my name. I just want people to know the real story about what happened out here, on this snowy mountain. You’ll forgive me for not trusting the Facility to represent my contributions to this project properly. They’ve already spoiled my name once. Who’s to say they won’t keep dragging it through the dirt after I’m dead?

Words are cheap, and I know better than to trust emails from suits. So I’m begging you to spread this, far and wide. Tell my story the way it truly happened, warts and all. I’m not a perfect person, but I’m not a madman either. The Sleigh Father came to me. I witnessed him, not Alexi– me.

Tonight, when the creature returns, I won’t even run from my death. I’ll lead the bastard away, just like that snake Alexi asked. It’ll be my final contribution to my life’s research. A contribution I hope might lead to a better world someday. If they manage to steal the sleigh, then it’ll be a colossal boon in the war to come. If they don’t…

Well, just be careful what you wish for this Christmas.

Some gifts aren’t worth the price.

[nirikeehan]

Happy Friday Niri! For DADWC, how about #31 from Artifacts of Thedas, for Cullen and Dorian (heh heh): A Satinalia mask

HI DEMA thank you!! This deliciously fit right into my ongoing masquerade side quest fic set in Pravinquisition AU, previous installation here

Also I was an absolute maniac and managed (I hope) to shove five Cullen & Dorian prompts into one scene, so thank you @zenstrike, @rosella-writes, @kiastirling, and @liza011 for these additional prompts:

overdramatic arguments about non-important subjects

All I Do is Wear Cool Outfits, Tell Jokes and Hide My Depression

doing things in sync

'Rule one: Don’t get caught.'

Madness. But perfect for them and I think I got them all

For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 1350

---

Cullen stood sentry in the corner of a marble-pillared room, watching the revelry with distaste. A pair of inebriated Orlesians had taken it upon themselves to climb upon a makeshift stage and butcher the Fereldan tavern song Andraste’s Mabari. He was nominally glad the panther-shaped mask he wore hid his grimace, though the rest of him wanted to wrench the damn thing off his face. It made his forehead itch something awful. 

He was grateful to see Dorian stroll into the room and make eye contact. The Tevinter mage looked far more comfortable at this soiree than Cullen knew he would be in a million years. Dorian cut a sharp figure in blues and greens. He wore a black half-mask; it was adorned with feathers and sparkled even in the dim light.

“I hope you’re not grinding your teeth too hard in there, Commander,” Dorian said jovially, sidling up with a goblet of wine in one hand. “You’re like to give yourself a headache.”

Cullen opened his mouth to protest, only to realize how correct the mage was. He worked his jaw, trying to loosen it up. “I didn’t think I’d have to suffer attacks on my homeland when I agreed to come here, that’s all.”

Dorian tilted his head, caught wind of the lyrics, and took a stiff sip of his drink. “I see your point. Perhaps we ought to go somewhere a touch, ah, quieter?”

“Please.” 

They ducked down a hallway that spilled out onto a small courtyard. The chill night was a welcome respite from the stuffiness of the Comte de Valette’s estate. The place seemed deserted, so Cullen removed the mask to the feel the relief of open air on his face. Any moment an angry Orlesian noble would probably materialize and command he put it back on — the allure of secrecy and all that — but for the moment he could think unburdened. 

“Tut, tut, Commander,” Dorian chided, smirking at his clear hatred of the mask and all it signified, “do you also remove your helm mid-battle?” 

“This farce of a party is hardly the battlefield,” Cullen grumbled. “And perhaps if I hadn’t let Fidencio design my entire outfit I’d feel less like a made-up doll.” The whole ensemble had been the bard’s idea. Cullen stood all in black, with a paisley patterned in velvet on his jerkin, gold trim on the sleeves, and a black overcoat. He already felt like a mummer’s idea of a pirate, but then Fidencio had insisted upon the damn mask to complete the look. Because a lion — Cullen’s suggestion — was the official sigil of Orlais and would send the wrong message. “Did the bard pick out your costume as well?” 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Commander, but I’d never need a theatre man to dress me properly.” Dorian smirked into his wine goblet. “I happen to dress this sharply on the regular, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. Why, this was just my Satinalia mask from last year.” 

“I bet.” Cullen paid the boasting no mind. “Anything to report?”

“Sadly not. The Inquisitor and I spoke to all the premiere nobles of the Orlesian court — you think they’d want to hide their identities better, but I found them quite easy to identify. They had little and less to say. Nothing but praise for the Comte, but curiously no one can find the man.” 

“Strange, do you think?” Cullen asked. “That the Comte should be so aloof?” 

“Ah, who knows?” Dorian countered. “I’ve been to galas in Tevinter thrown while the host wasn’t even in the country. He’d do it just to remind everyone he still had more money than the Maker.” 

“And Lady Thalia?” Cullen asked, scanning the windows facing the courtyard. In the orange glow of the rooms, the revelers cut ghastly, demon-like shadows. Or maybe that was just how it seemed. The mind could play tricks, and Cullen hadn’t wanted Thalia to accept the Comte’s invitation even before he learned that de Valette was rumored to be some dark mage. 

“She was with Fidencio, last I checked. In that room with the enchanted butterflies.” 

“Maybe I should check on her. No offense to Fidencio, but I’ve seen him in the sparring ring. He’s more of a lover than a fighter.” 

Dorian snorted. “That he is, for certain.” 

Cullen waited for a snide remark about Fidencio’s swordplay in alternative arenas, but Dorian merely smirked. It seemed he was too polite to grasp for the low-hanging fruit. That was fine with Cullen, who had uncovered a strange sense of foreboding he couldn’t shake. He replaced the asinine mask on his face and headed back inside with Dorian matching his stride.

Dorian led the way to the butterfly room, which was full of the flitting insect lanterns and simpering party guests, but no Inquisitor or the headwear-loving bard. Cullen’s bad feeling worsened. 

“Well, they were just here,” Dorian added unhelpfully. 

Cullen walked brusquely from room to room, checking with his stationed soldiers along the way, but none had seen the Lady Thalia. Even Blackwall confessed they’d only crossed paths before she’d met up with Fidencio. 

Dorian kept pace, cracking bad jokes along the way, until Cullen finally snapped, “Are you incapable of taking anything seriously?” 

Dorian sobered. “Ah, yes, the humor is just my dominant coping mechanism, I’m afraid. I’m actually a bit nervous myself.” 

Cullen let out a slow breath. “Any idea where they could have gone?” 

“No, but I think we must employ process of elimination here, Commander.” He leaned against the wall in a small, winding corridor and crossed his arms. “Thus far the masquerade has been confined to the ground floor of the chateau and surrounding environs. As Inquisition soldiers have been stationed in both places, I think it’s safe to assume they’re not there.” 

“So that leaves, what, upstairs? In the guest chambers? ” Cullen did not like to think about what might be transpiring up there. One heard tell of what transpired at certain Orlesian parties. “I hope Fidencio would not be fool enough to let Thalia near any sort of—” Could he even say it?

“I think it’s unlikely Fidencio would have led her to an orgy,” Dorian said blithely. “Unless she asked to go— which is also unlikely,” he added before Cullen’s pulse could spike too much. “Goodness, you have met the girl, haven’t you? She can barely handle one man, let alone a whole gaggle.” 

Cullen chose not to dignify any of that with a response. “So then, where else?” 

A silent beat passed between the two men, and they spoke in unison: “The cellar.” 

“There must be one,” Dorian said. “This is a castle. What’s a castle without a wine cellar?” 

“And a dungeon,” Cullen said darkly. What if the Comte de Valette had made an appearance after all, and now Thalia was his captive? 

“Commander, your imagination is at times alarming,” Dorian said lightly. 

“I’m in charge of an army. I’m paid to think about the worst case scenario.”

“Be that as it may.” Dorian paced back and forth in the corridor, and raised a finger in the air. “I think I might know a way in.” 

“Oh?” Cullen asked. 

“A little staircase I came across when I took a wrong turn earlier in the evening. A pageboy assured me it was just the servant stairwell and steered me back to the party.” 

Cullen drew the mask from his face, wiping the perspiration from his brow. “Do you think you can find it again?”

Dorian stroked the end of his mustache. “I’m fairly certain, yes.” 

“Though I suppose we’ll have to think of a fine excuse, to allow ourselves entry,” Cullen mused. “Unless we want the entire chateau alerted to our movements.” 

“Spoken like someone who never snuck around much in his youth.” Dorian flashed him a mischievous grin.

Cullen sighed. “What do you want me to say? The Templar barracks were well-monitored.” 

“Oh, don’t misunderstand me; that was not meant to be a slight. I only mean, Commander, you’ve not yet learned rule number one in subterfuge: don’t get caught.”

[ravensmind]

RobRae Week 2023

~RavensMind~

Day 2 - Reunited

One Night Long Ago

Raven frowned and rolled her eyes as Beast Boy did his old imitation of their late enemy, Mad Mod for the current Teen Titans. Some things were better left dead and forgotten because it either depressed you or made you remember the awful gym outfit you were forced to put on while being subjected to British history. She didn't need both to be affecting her simultaneously. It was great to see her old friends again, of course, but it also meant revisiting some old memories, and a certain friend was prominent in more than a few. *He* had never been hers, but it still stung to see him jump from one failed relationship to the next while she watched from a distant sideline.

She watched Robin, now Nightwing, cross the room to say something to Argent and felt her heart sag in her chest. Truthfully, she had only herself to blame. It's not like she had bared her feelings to him and had been rejected, no, that at least would have been easier to handle. She had a chance to open up to him, one night when he took her to a horror movie and ice cream afterward to try and cheer her up when she was dealing with a lot. They had spent the whole day together, talking, laughing, and at one point she held his hand and she would have said something, had it not been for that damn Mad Mod returning to the city, causing their alarms to go off, which brought the night to a close. She never worked up the courage to say anything to him and convinced herself it was better this way.

Raven sighed and went over to the punch bowl. She admired the new pictures on the walls of the tower, hung by the current team. She hadn't been to the tower in five years, and this celebration of a new chapter for Jump City with a new band of heroes might mark the last time she would set foot here. She spooned out some punch for herself and flicked back her long, violet hair as she turned to reach for a plate to get some snacks from the small buffet. 

"Hey Rae, long time no see," a voice behind her said.

She stopped and took a moment before she turned to greet him.

"Rob-I mean, Nightwing, yes, it's good to see you," Raven said.

"You okay? You seem nervous, and I don't think I need our bond to tell," Nightwing said.

"Just reminiscing, I guess," she said, "Beast Boy needs to cut out the Mad Mod impression before I cut out his vocal chords."

"Tell me about it. It's okay, though, not like he's constantly in our faces anymore, I think we can let it slide," he said.

"I suppose," she admitted grudgingly.

"You staying busy since you left?"

"Mostly. Healing our little extended family's battle wounds doesn't leave too much time to rest. I think I see one of the Justice League for healing at least once every couple days. What about you? Bludhaven treating you…better?"

He smirked, then frowned, "It's a lot nastier there. I'm on top of it though. Not easy flying solo all the time. I'd rather not talk about it, if that's okay. How're you doing otherwise? Seeing anyone?"

"No problem at all. No… not much for dates right now. You?"

"No, I haven't really had the opportunity. Figured I should take a break anyway after Barb broke up with me."

"Probably the smarter choice."

Nightwing smirked and laughed a little. Neither of them had moved since they started talking. She always felt like he could have her under a microscope in a second if he wanted, knowing more about her next move than she did, and that feeling was hitting her hard during their conversation.

"You're so blunt, sometimes. I missed that. I've missed you," he said with a smile.

"I… missed you too," she returned, trying to keep her thoughts in check.

"Hey, I was thinking, want to head up to the roof, talk a bit like we used to? That always helped me when I was feeling stressed from our line of work," he asked.

"I-yes, sure," she replied.

"I'll get some punch too before we head up," he said.

Raven couldn't get over how different he looked even though he seemed like the same person she fought alongside for years. His black hair was long, down to his back, and he'd changed his mask along with his color scheme, fulfilling Starfire's experience of him in the future. He had gotten taller, too. He stood a good half a foot taller than her now, where before they were nose to nose. She hadn't changed much, letting her hair grow long and exchanging the blue cloak for white,  she grew another couple inches taller, too. She watched him pour his own punch and forgot herself for a moment looking at his rear profile. One girl had complimented his butt one time while they were out and from that point on, he had committed to doing even more squats. It seemed silly to her at first, but she appreciated it now. 

Nightwing and Raven took their cups of punch and left the common room, walking through the all-too familiar corridors to the stairs, and finally reached the roof. Together, they walked to the edge, looking out over the bay and sat. She took a sip from her cup, then breathed in the spring air, letting the sunlight warm her face, and tried to think of what to say. They rarely needed words, but she was tired of living with the massive "what-if" in her mind. 

"Do you remember that night when I was feeling like garbage and you took me to see The Summoning and we went for ice cream after?" Raven asked.

"Uh, yeah, I think so, why?" Nightwing asked.

"It was sweet of you to go out of your way to try and make me feel better. I always think of that night when I think of you," she replied, "was it special to you?"

"Yeah, it was pretty special. I don't think we hung out like that often, didn't help that I had a crush on you," he said.

Her mind ground to a halt and she coughed as she nearly spat out her punch. He what?

"You…did?" she asked.

"Still do, if I'm being honest."

"Are you messing with me? Did Zatanna put you up to this?"

"Huh? No, why would I mess with you like that?"

She sighed and looked down into her cup, trying not to mentally kick herself for not talking to him about how she felt at the time. It took her a moment before it clicked: they were both currently single. Now if she could just force herself to say something, anything, to let him know she was interested in more than one date.

"I…had feelings for you too… I-I do," she heard herself say.

He flinched next to her and almost spilled his drink. Their bond was stronger than ever when they were near each other and through it, she felt the intensity of his thoughts without prying deeper and she paled at the depth of his emotion, not knowing how she missed before. It freed her own emotions and she spoke quickly, convinced she could tell him everything.

"I wanted to tell you, but there never seemed to be a good time, and I was always close to the edge of losing it when my father was still a threat to me. I didn't trust myself. Didn't really think I could handle a relationship. Now, it's… different and I-I hated watching you spiral out in your relationships from far away. I didn't know if I could reach out, or if I should," she confessed.

"I understand. I was afraid you'd reject me and that I'd make a mistake and hurt you, messing with your emotions. I really should have just trusted you instead of making that call myself. I'm…sorry, I didn't think you liked me that way," he said.

"I think I was blushing every other time you so much as touched me, surprised your detective eye didn't pick up on it," she said.

"Think I might've misread it as something else. You are the hardest to read unless I use that bond of ours and I know the day we went to the movie happened before we had that bond," he explained.

"I'm not blaming you for not catching it, I know I hide things too well. I should have said something," she said.

"Well, no use worrying about what we can't change…uh, you ever been to Bludhaven?" he asked, a smile slowly forming on his face.

"No, but I'm sure I can make time to visit, if you'll show me the sights," she replied, giving him a half-smile.

"There's at least one I have in mind, but it's not exactly a tourist experience," he said with a smirk.

"All the better. Though I am curious as to what you're planning. Do I get another hint?" she asked.

"Hmm, well it's very exclusive, and… it was meant for you alone, even if it's uh, had other eyes on it," he replied.

"I think I could guess, but I'll let you surprise me," she said with a smirk.

"Awesome, I'll uh, call you when I leave Jump, promise," he said with a smile.

"You better. I'd hate to have to hunt you down. And… you're not leaving the tower tonight without giving me more than just that promise," she told him, her voice soft and inviting, looking from his masked eyes to his lips.

"Someone might have to hit me, I'm kinda wondering if this is real," he said with a laugh.

"Oh, it's quite real."

Raven scooted closer to Nightwing on the tower roof's edge and set her cup down.

"If I wake up when it's over, I'll be the one hunting you down," he warned.

He set his drink down on the side away from her and scooted closer to her, his thigh touching hers.

"I wouldn't fault you for it. Maybe," she said.

She leaned in close, putting her palm on his chest over the blue symbol on the black suit that covered his body.

"You don't know how long I've been wanting to do this," he said.

He put his arms around her and leaned in, his face inches from hers.

"No, I think I have an idea now that I know... Next time, don't back off when we both reach for the popcorn," she said with a knowing smile.

Nightwing laughed and then pressed his lips to Raven's, holding her tight in his arms, and kissing her deeply. She was burning in his arms, containing her power while still allowing herself to enjoy and experience as much of the moment as she could. Her emotions were wild in her mind, threatening to overwhelm her senses even as she poured herself into them, feeling his strong embrace and the pressure of his lips locked on hers as the wind kicked up around them and the sun's heat lit them up on the rooftop. She clutched the fabric of his suit and pressed herself closer against him, not wanting him to stop. Eventually, they both broke away, unsure of how much time had passed.

"I wish we still had rooms here, would make it easier to go further… If you wanted to," Nightwing said.

"You forget… I can take us anywhere," Raven said, softly.

"Oh, uh, yeah, right, of course! So… my place or yours?" he asked.

"Hmm… Mine," she replied.

[popculturebuffet]

Monthly Muppets Madness: The Land of Gorch (Comissioned by WeirdKev27)

It's Monthly Muppet Madness with our special review topic, The Land of Gorch, yayyyyyyy! Courtsey of viewers like you and WeirdKev27.

I give Kev full credit for the idea of this one: after my previous looks at the muppets earliest days, Kev was curious about this odd chapter in their history and having wanted to watch these shorts at some point anyway, I was more than happy to oblige.

For those less familiar, the Land of Gorch was a recurring sketch on Saturday Night LIve during it's first season, just before the Muppet Show's own first season. Yes folks the muppets were live from new york every saturday night for most of it's first season but a combination of the muppet show finally taking off and the writers actively resenting the Land of Gorch's very existance sunk it. So what was this weird experiment and how did it become a milestone in muppet history but a footnote in snls? Join me under the cut to find out!

From the Bubbling Tarpits to the Sulfurous Wasteland…

Henson came to SNL from a place of desperation. What jim had feared from doing Seasame Street was coming true as most in hollywood had no intrest in a show for kids AND adults from the muppets and wrote him off as "kids stuff"

Thankfully Jim had backup from Bernie Brillstien, his agent who looked for more adult venues.. and Bernie just happened to also be the agent for one Lorne MIcheals , as well as Chevy Chase, John Belushi and Gilda Radner, and loving the idea of performing to an adult audience and the chance to shake the Seasame Stigma, Henson jumped to it, getting Frank Oz and Micheal K Frith's help crafting the characters. And Lorne Micheals genuinely loved the idea and was convinced it'd be a massive hit, as he should be: the set design was marvelous, creating a horrifying otherworldly swamp and the muppets were awesomely detailed.

So with all that going for it, what went wrong? Why aren't we seeing a land of Gorch Series on peacock or convention halls filled iwth gorchheads? Simple: the writing. See Jim wasn't ALLOWED to actually write the sketches, as WGA rules meant the SNL staff had to. And their response?

The SNL staff were in clinical terms, snotty little dicks about having to write for the muppets, drawing straws for the job and with Writer MIcheal O'Donahuge being paticuarly childish saying "I don't write for felt" and calling them "Mucking fuppets" and "hairy facecloths" in an interview. Or to sum it up in a line

It was that 'i'm an adult" sensiblity that was at the heart of the conflict: you had in one corner a bunch of 20 year olds who, having read the book Live From New York it's Saturday Night, I can confirm were powered by cocaine to get through the crazy deadlines (somethign that thankfully stopped after the tragedy of JOhn Belushi), and were likely focused on trying to be the most clever and a bunch of more settled middle aged men (jim had FIVE kids by then. Holy shit), who knew what they wanted but couldn't actually execute it. It likely didn't help Jim was exact about what scripts he wanted and thus struggled to find a writer who actually gave a damn. Neither side was bad at what they did, iv'e seen a few early snl sketches, it's not bad stuff and the muppets speak for themselves.. it's just they didn't mesh creatively AT ALL. You can't make good work forcing someone to do something they don't want to do. It's why while i'll review just about anything on comission I will talk to my clients if I feel I just can't give a good review of something. I'd rather change gears and see what else they want than push something out i'm not proud of and I suspect the throw it at the wall and see what sticks nature of SNL, a part of it tha'ts essential, just didn't mesh with the well prepared and throughly thought out muppets. The Land of Gorch only lasted for season 1, with a combo of these issues and Jim FINALLY getting the Muppet Show Greenlit ending it, though they returned for one sketch in season 2 to see the characters off. Despite not really ever taking off though and the Gorch muppets only showing up in cameos after this, it ended up being an important piece of muppet history: Henson may not have made many friends in the writers room, but he made plenty of show biz contacts with at least 7 muppet show guest stars having also appeared during the time LOG was on SNL. He also realized he liked creating a weird fantasy world without humans around, and took the grungy creative part of LOG to create the Dark Crystal.

So now we've seen the messy road to it's creation let's see the messy results!

Episode Guide!

Nothing But Flowers

There aren't any offical titles for these sketches, so i'm just making up my own. You've been warned. If your curious you can find all but one on THIS FACEBOOK PAGE. You can also find them if you have peacock but given i'm on the tier with ads, it was just easier to use the facebook apart from the one episode they didn't have. I"ll mention it when we get here.

So the first episode is….

It introduces most of the cast: King Ploobis (Jim himself), the tyranical ruler of the land and selfish bastard, his nagging wife Queen Peuta (Alice Tweedle), his creepy assitant/viser/wife fucker Scred (Jerry Nelson), his mistress Vazh (Ronda Handsome here, Fran Brill after0 and the Mighty Favog, their god they go to once an episode for advice (Frank Oz). It's easily the slowest paced muppet production i've seen, mostly just stopping to introduce someone else then moving on. It only really gets funny once we get to the Mighty Favog. Oz does a terrific job as usual and the puppet for favog is weirdly expressive despite it's size and the fozzy voice fits a huckster god really well, helped by it sounding just deep enough from fozzy. I just love the concept of him: a god who really offers no helpful advice but will gladly take your money now, with the great catchphrases of "talk to me" and "it'll cost ya". He feels like the only character to actually have a personality, as well as fit BOTH crews style well.

It's the Money or Stop

The kingdom is broke and our heroes need money. Ploobis sells Scred to Favog by shoving him down his hole. I"m not doing the phrasing or goodnight everybody gags here on the grounds that they knew exactly what they were doing. i'm 95% sure scred was into it.

Sunshine Supermuppet

We meet Wiss, Ploobis stoner son played by Richard Hunt. He's high.

So is Favog. That's also the joke. NEXT

Eat It

This one's a bit funnier as Ploobis has eaten his faviorite food to extnction. It's ideas like this I feel got later filtered into the concept for Dinosaurs, another one on my to do list. Maybe later this year. But the idea works well enough as does the solution: Favog asks for a Glig as his payment and then give sit back when he's told the actual problem.

Out of My Headache

Ploobis has a headache. If your wondreing why these are so short it's that most of the cast is REALLY thin. Favog is your standard asshole, Peuta is his nagging wife, Vazh fanservice etc. While Scred isn't much deeper, Nelson really gives the little shit a lot of character and Ploobis annoyance with him and frequent homer simpson esque stranglings are a delight. But otherwise there just isn't a lot to latch onto in these early sketches, which likely didn't help either sides agrivation.

I Got You Babe

This one feels like night and day from the others non favog scenes as it has an interesting premise: Scred has a crush on lily tomlin and has gone to see her: Ploobis and Peuta going thorugh his stuff is fun, and we get a nice rendition of I got you babe from the two. Weirdly Tomlin never did Muppet Show, though she did do seasame street a few times, but she's great at this. She still is: Just look at Grace and Frankie. She's a fucking national treasure. It's also a sign things DO get better.

Everybody's Drunk

This one is fun even if it's VERY low effort: basically Ploobis gets very drunk, forces Scred to get very junk and they go to the Mighty Favog absolutely shitfaced. That's the episode. But unlike the others where I didn't have a lot to say the performances of the two are so hilarious and the sight of a muppet absolutely blotto so rare it carries the episode. It helps this is one of the shorter ones so the thin premise dosen't outstay it's welcome: it's just pure fun.

Christmas Time (Do Let the Bells End)

Another highlight of the series, as King Ploobis throws a Christmas party no one goes to as everyone's at the Killer Bee's party. Fun Fact: I've never seen Killer Bee's sketch. So there's that. It's fun enough especially with the sketch ending with Skred and guest Candice Bergen ditching the party for the Bee's party. It helps these sketches start to zero in more on what worked, i.e. the main duo of ploobis and skred, and their simple but effective act of Ploobis doing the setups, Skred saying something funny, and ploobis threatening to murder him for it.

Sex Lawz

So as set up in a previous episode, Skred is having an affair with the queen who after a few decades of this has decided to have Skred come clean before they get dirty again. Ploobis being who he is is a hypocrite and plans to murder anyone who sleeps with his wife, while Peuta is laso a hypocrite as she's mad her husband's cheating on her while she's doing the same. What i'ms aying is Skred is the most likeable person in the cast next to Favog, who advises Skred to exercise self love.. preferably with some magazines. THere's also a nice joy of sex runner.

Buy Me Toys Skred buys Peuta a sex toy. He struggles to put it together. The episode mercifully ends after it blows up. You know with what Jim can do with his imagination I expected WAY more and way weirder from a muppet sex toy. When I heard the premise of this one I was excited.. which says a lot about me I haven't fully processed, but this one's fully on Jim and Co for not making a better prop.

Honey Queen

A shorter sketcha nd the beginging of the end. For this last batch, the bits get experimental and thankfully get to a place where BOTH creative teams thrive: backstage shenangians. You can see a lot of the muppet show wraparoudns in these bits as the land of gorch muppets, mostly skred, try to get back on the sohw. In this case, Skred shows up as a bee to be in a sketch, only for Gilda Radner to tell him it was canceled. Gilda plays off him VERY well and it's no shock she went on to be on the muppet show. She's great at playing off them. It's also clear alongside Favog Skred was the breakout, and thus gets the most to do in this last stretch. It likely helps his puppet was easier to work in.

Look What I Did To My Id

This one is just .. bad. It's chevy chase dicking around with his hands because ostensibly our heroes are at the grammys. It's clear he didn't really respect what they did. The IDEA isn't bad, having an episode done just with hands, but instead of having Chevy act out a sketch or a parody, he just.. renacts a porn about the milkman because he and the writers coudln't be assed ot come up with actual jokes.

Eeee Eeee Eee Eeeeee DUN DUN DUN DUN dooo.. do do.. do do..

Is this question me and my dad, or Skred and Anthony Perkins? The World will never know

Anthony Perkins, aka Norman Bates, shows up and he's REALLY good. I had no idea he was this funny. He also wrote a murder mystery film, the last of shiela based on parties he threw. Yes really. YOur life is better for knowing that. And this sketch is one of the best, if not my faviorite as the muppets beg for work, with Anthony understandably annoyed as he dosen't actually run the show so he can't help. Skred also cratshes the ensuing sketch, with a great entrance. Easily the highlight.

Don't Start Now

Raquel Welch rebuffs Skred and Plobis hitting on her because there's nothing bellow the waste, possibly the first muppet dick joke and certainly not the last. I also got paid good money to type "muppet dick joke"

Chevy shoes them away then tells Raquel to take her shirt off.

Can't Buy Me Love

Another high point. It's clear these show biz bits just fit better. Favog claims to know the beetles and tries to bullshit our heroes way back onto the show. Not much else to sya, which is a habit here: the sketches can be funny but there just.. isn't a lot to disect. The good oens are just fast paced comedy and the not so good ones are just

Don't Leave Me This Way The ending sketch is my second favioroite and a good exit. The Land of Gorch Crew finds themselves in storage, beomaning how their jobless and how the muppet show has started without them. Lily Tomlin TRIES to find them work, but it's ultaimtely fruitless. IT's kind of a sad ending, but the fun of seeing them LITERALLY ins torage and coming out of cabinets (inclduing Ploobis shoving his way out despite his wife's discomfort given she's just bellow him), and the fact most of them aren't tha tlikeable help. And the muppets all TRYING to whistle is just.. comedy gold. It's clear Jim likely wrote this one or at least got to help more since he was on his way out.

So that was the land of gorch. and it's just kinda there. It has cool loooking muppets, but the clash between both creative teams and the lack of direction leave us with a series of shorts that's mostly filler and then Favog shows up. The last few are pretty damn great and really feel like they came right out of the muppet show, so it's clear Jim was getting his groove.. but it just wasn't built to last. SNL's side bits are better when they have a creative force behind it like Mr. Bill being indy films (with the writer being hired later), or the lovely chaos I need to explore at some point of saturday tv funhouse. and later groups like The Lonely Island and Please Do Not Destroy being built in house, still creatively experimenting, but in a way that fit sthe style of the show more. As it stands the Land of Gorch is just a weird evolutionarly step for the muppets that didn't quite land. Like the wartortle to Muppet Show and Dark Crystla's Blastoise: kinda there but not really.

Next Month: For the first time since I started this BRAND. NEW. MUPPETS. CONTENT. It's Muppets Mayhem baby! Need I say more?