#from being this huge monument towering and alone

[thedancingwalrus-blog]

I don't have any photos of the places I grew up. Photography wasn't exactly illegal but there were so many restrictions it was pretty close to it. And the cities changed so quickly, there was so much construction. Sky lines could transform into something completely different in a handful of years.

And memory is a faulty thing. I remember certain views and buildings and routes from my childhood but it's been so long. They could easily be muddled up in my mind. Just as easily as they could have been bulldozed or swallowed up by the latest big project.

So it messes with my head a little when I see AI pictures of those cities. Because I can't tell if it looks 'off' because the cities have grown and changed, because my childhood memory was fuzzy.... Or because that image is just not real.

[wolfxplush]

>You chose to follow gord

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Once Gord storms off into the shadows of the academy grounds, your curiosity gets the better of you. You keep a safe distance, quietly following him down the side path, your footsteps light on the cobblestones. Gord moves quickly, clearly wanting to get wherever he’s going without being seen, his eyes darting around nervously. The further he walks, the more the grandeur of Bullsworth surrounds you—pristine lawns, statues of long-forgotten founders, and ornate buildings that seem almost too lavish for a school.

Finally, Gord slips through the iron gate of a massive, mansion-like building: Harrington House. The nameplate above the doorway gleams in the faint light. The house stands like a monument to wealth and privilege, towering over the rest of the academy’s structures. Its ivy-covered stone walls and large windows speak of old money, and the golden fixtures glint ominously in the moonlight.

You hesitate for a moment, watching as Gord disappears inside. Then, cautiously, you push open the gate and follow.

Inside, the house is even more impressive—high ceilings, grand chandeliers, and expensive furniture line every corner. The air smells faintly of leather and polish, and the hallways are lined with portraits of sharply dressed men and women who all seem to share the same aristocratic sneer. It’s almost too quiet, the house having an eerie, museum-like feel, as if you’ve stepped back into another time.

As you creep further inside, you catch sight of Gord down one of the halls. He’s standing in front of a door, nervously clutching the package. He hasn’t noticed you yet, too focused on whatever’s on the other side of that door. You duck behind a corner, but curiosity claws at you. What is this place? And what’s so important about this package?

Taking a breath, you step out of the shadows and walk toward him.

“What is this place?” you ask, your voice echoing off the walls.

Gord jumps, spinning around with wide eyes. His face flushes with anger and fear. "What the—how did you—" He glares at you, visibly trembling. "You followed me? You *followed* me?! How dare you!"

You take a step back, startled by his outburst. "I—"

"Do you know who I am?" Gord shrieks, his voice high-pitched and panicked. "Do you have any idea what Derby’s going to do when he finds out about this? He’s going to kill me! I was supposed to do this quietly, and now you've ruined everything!"

Before you can respond, the sound of hurried footsteps echoes down the hall. A tall, blonde boy, dressed in an immaculate blazer with an air of authority and irritation, rounds the corner. His sharp blue eyes narrow when they land on you, and his lips curl into a sneer.

It’s a blonde haired kid, dressed in what seems to be a king costume. Harrington, you remember that name from newspapers. That name being popular, piecing together the puzzle you realize this must be Mr.Harringtons son. Derby.

“Gord, what the hell is going on here?” Derby snaps, his eyes flicking between you and Gord, who’s now frozen with fear.

Gord stumbles over his words, gripping the package tighter. "Derby, I—I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

Derby cuts him off with a dismissive wave, shoving him aside with a hard glare. "Give me that." He snatches the package from Gord’s hands. “Get out of here before you make things worse.”

Gord scurries away, visibly shaken, leaving you standing alone with Derby. He turns his attention fully to you, eyes sharp as daggers, the package now tucked under his arm. His irritation is palpable, the air thick with tension.

“And who exactly are you?” he asks coldly, stepping closer. “What are you doing in my house?”

You open your mouth to answer, but Derby holds up a hand, silencing you before you can speak. "Let me guess—you thought it’d be fun to follow Gord and see what all the fuss was about, didn’t you?" He sneers, his voice dripping with condescension. "Well, congratulations. You’ve just made a huge mistake. And now I’m going to have to deal with you."

His eyes narrow, and you can feel the weight of his judgment bearing down on you.

WELCOME TO BULLSWORTH

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[Access Granted]

[>Play]

You swore you have seen the same building three times now, you have to be walking in circles. The streets are eerily quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves stirred by the evening wind. You stand at the edge of a cracked sidewalk, gazing down a desolate stretch of road lined with boarded-up buildings and sagging rooftops. The town, if it can even be called that, feels abandoned—like it has been for a long time.

You internally scold your parents for moving here. Your father got a job over and next thing you know you’re being shipped off to the middle of nowhere. You’re honestly shocked he managed to get a job in this ghost town, whatever they at spaying him isn’t enough. To top it all off your being sent to the only school around called Bullworth Academy. The school you are currently trying to find the way to.

Your footsteps echo faintly as you walk, the sound bouncing off empty alleys and dim-lit windows where no one seems to be home. A single flickering streetlight illuminates the intersection ahead, its dim glow casting long shadows across the pavement. A signpost creaks on rusted hinges, but the words on it are too weather-worn to read. You stop, heart sinking, realizing that the only directions you had were vague at best, and Bullsworth Academy is nowhere in sight.

You glance around, hoping for a passing car, a stray pedestrian—anything. But there’s no one. Just the distant call of crows circling overhead. The faint murmur of a breeze that smells of rain and old decay. Somewhere, far off, the academy must be waiting. But which direction? Which path?

You tighten your grip on your bag, eyes scanning the empty town for any sign of life. The unease is palpable now.

Lost, and with no one to guide you, all you have is your wits—and the creeping feeling that something’s off about this place.

The academy may be closer than it seems. Or it may be much farther than you ever imagined.

[stevenbasic]

GITJ Post 264: EvolutionaryBra, p1

Okay, yeah, okay everyone, I thought to myself ruefully, leave me alone. I was walking, slowly, to Melissa’s office to see what was up. I didn’t want anyone to kill the good mood I’d been in! Since my date with Melissa, really, I felt like a new man. Like I’d had a new spark lit inside me, something to look forward to everyday. In the meantime, I glanced through these emails. They were strange, linking some weird new lingerie company to Evolution Pharmaceuticals to some other bigger outfit called “Nexifem” and some other “Kollective”. Yes “Evolution Bras” had sorta the same name as the company we were doing these clinical trials for sure but…really? He sounded crazy, and I didn’t have time for this. And, why is he sending me a link to our own Instagr-

…whoah. 

Four minutes ago. Randi had put it up on our practice’s feed, this blatant boob-shot cheesecake. Holy shit. Melissa, modeling a bra, obviously in her office, this morning. This - this can’t be on our Instagram! We were a medical practice! But…holy crow…

I barely realized it but I was at the door to her office, phone in hand, frozen, staring...lost in-

Next thing I knew, the door cracked open and Randi had me grabbed by the collar of my shirt, yanking me inside with surprising strength. The door slammed shut behind me and there she was: Melissa, standing in front of one of her huge, floor-to-ceiling windows, in a bra. The one from the picture. My eyes went wide.

fargggg….

She’s so tall, so built. Both girls were, really. Randi at least 5’9” plus her heels towered over my 5’2” behind me, her lean, leggy but busty figure undeniably sexy. On the other hand Melissa…my god. She was monumental. In the room with them I felt like a shrimp.

Melissa gasped, seeing me come in. I got all of about two seconds of a view of the pretty, white-and-gray embroidered bra she’d been modeling. She looked surprised that I was there, turning away, like she was caught in the act. Randi stood behind me, smiling with a camera, and with one hand on my upper back she urged short little me into the room. “Randi what did you do?!?!!” Melissa exclaimed, starting to laugh and yanking down her tight, pink, long-sleeved sweater back over her prodigious chest, “Hahahaha!!!” 

Are they actually doing a photoshoot?!?

“Hi we’re doing a photoshoot,” Randi stated, plainly, as she pushed me deeper into Melissa’s office. “Missy was being shy, didn’t want you to know, but I thought you’d want to be here.”

“Omigod Randi!!” Melissa exclaimed, still laughing as I stood there between the two girls, flummoxed, “You’re terrible!!” She straightened her scoop-neck top, recovering. It looked like a thin, soft, merino wool; the white straps of her bra were on display over her tan, athletic shoulders. 

“Yeah um I-“ I began. 

“Oh c’mon aren’t you two like, an item?” Randi cracked dismissively as Melissa fluffed out her huge, thick hair. Randi was casually looking at her phone, nodding. Her own breasts jiggled over the neckline of her low-cut black top. “So you saw the new Insta? How do you like Missy’s new expandable bra?”

“Her w-what..?” Her expandable bra? And, wait…how did she know I’d seen-

“I am so sorry our annoying social media director interrupted your day..!” Melissa said, offering caustic apology for her friend, “But we were just-”

“Last month this company from, like, Russia sent her a free bra. The black underwire, the black bra,” Randi interrupted, a sly lilt to her voice as she eyed me askance, “You know the one…”

“Uhhh…” I stammered, caught off guard. I looked at Melissa, who was looking at me, biting her lip coquettishly, almost shyly. These two were friends; I figured they’d talk about our Friday night together. I had wondered how the black bra I’d seen Melissa in - twice - fit on two separate occasions, about three weeks apart after so much obvious growth on her part. How? I’d wondered. Bras, lingerie, fabric doesn’t…grow, these days, does it?

“...and she had such nice things to say about it, online, did a little interview for them” Randi said, “they decided to send her five more. They’re cool. They’re expandable. They’re like-”

“They’re like magic!” Melissa sang, laughing again, “I’ve grown like, so many cup sizes in the past month and it’s kept right up with me!” At that, Melissa placed her hands on her trim abdomen and straightened her posture, drawing her shoulders back and emphasizing the size of her remarkable chest through her tight pink sweater. Good god the girl was huge! This custom-fitted bra, or whatever it was, admittedly had the effect of lifting her burgeoning boobs, supporting them better than ever, enhancing their elevation and the pronounced projection of her bustline, smoothing her curves while at the same time solidly jutting out in front of her more than she was used to. Combined with the hot pink sweater she was a sight, a magnetic presence in the room that kept all eyes pointed her way.

“And th-they…expand?” I asked densely. 

“Yeah,” Melissa grinned, pivoting at the waist, seeing how my eyes had remained glued to her, “They’re getting so big…”

“He means the bras, Missy…” Randi smirked. 

“Oh haha!” she laughed. . 

So, this…thing, this photoshoot, this post on my practice’s social media feed, was some sort of advertisement/endorsement for some Eastern European Bra company? It boggled me.  “So, Melissa, this is s-so you can get free, uh, underwear?” I asked. 

The girls dissolved into giggles. “Yeah kinda!” Melissa snorted, “Bras are expensive!”

“These would go for, like, five grand,” Randi added, casually picking up another, huge-cupped bra - vibrant pink - from a package on Melissa’s desk.”They’re super fancy.”

“And if we do this sort of testi…torial?”

“Testimonial,” Randi aided, patiently.

“...testimonial, these try-on hauls, the company said they’ll send all the girls one!” Melissa was obviously excited. She could be like a little kid, at times. It was hard to be mad at her, even though she was using my medical practice to market for a lingerie company. 

”Wh-..w-why would you all need expandable bras?” I asked, incredulous that I’d somehow found myself in this crazy conversation.

At that, Randi drew in a deep, deep breath. Her big tits ballooned up her chest, threatened to pop from her top...

“...and look at Missy…”

Suddenly Randi stepped, reached to Melissa and pulled her pink sweater back up over her chest, gathering it up near her shoulders. Surprised, Melissa laughed but did nothing to stop it. My eyes had peeled themselves off Randi and were now plastered again on Melissa...

“But now we can grow all we want, and not have to buy new bras every week…” Randi concluded. 

I swallowed, hard, watching Melissa continue to adjust her bra, the straps. If this was for real - I was still a bit incredulous - what was the technology? What kind of material was this? I’d, maybe, heard something about adaptive fabric being used in the military, some nanotechnology…was this the same sort of thing? In a lacy underwire undergarment for suburban office workers?

“This one hasn’t completely stretched for me yet…” she was musing, idly, turning to glance at her half-reflection in the window. But satisfied she was well covered, well supported, she continued. “I was, like, a little hesitant to do another product promotion after the MegaMilk thing,” she said, recalling her past experiences as a small-time model for that energy drink a few years back. I knew it still sort of haunted her; she’d made some money but the uncomfortable attention she’d attracted never fully disappeared. “But, this just seemed so right,” she continued, turning back to me and eyes going wide when she saw me staring. She had paused, as if a bit stricken, and took a moment to gather herself. I myself hadn’t noticed her reaction: I was too busy ogling her tits. I couldn’t help it; they were currently the focus of attention.. “I-it’s a woman-owned company,” she pushed on, “and they donate to the right causes…”

“Plus we all need new bras,” Randi said, eyeing her friend, then me, then Melissa again. "Problem solved, eh?" Her deep, smoky voice still sounded casual, but she’d sensed a change in her friend Missy. She’d seen this sort of thing happen before, when Melissa got excited…

I needed to…to say something. “But, uh, Randi?” I began asking, “D-don’t you think it’s a little, uh, inappropriate to be using the company social media to-“

“To post pictures of your big busty Mommy Girlfriend?”

“Randi..!!” Melissa laughed, mouth dropping open in shock, boobs jiggling in her mirth. 

“Uh…” I followed, flushing red as I tried to ignore the “girlfriend” comment…and the “mommy” one too. Jesus! Anyway, we’d talked about this before, Randi and I, her misuse of our Instagram, Twitter. This seemed like almost willful insubordination. “I dunno, maybe we should-”

“Oh c'mon it’ll be great publicity for us,” Randi answered, bemoaning my complaints with offhanded aplomb, “Even their tagline is great, works for us: ‘Evolution Bras - We’ll Grow With You’…perfect, right?””

“Look how it holds me in..!” she giggled. 

“That’s great, sweetie,” Randi acknowledged, with long-practiced patience. She shook her head - both of us were half-flabbergasted - and turned back to me. She began in on a heartfelt lecture on how hard it’s been finding well-fitting bras. "Dr J, seriously,” she began, in her sooty voice, “finding a bra that fits is hard enough for a woman, something like this could revolutionize that. Help level the playing field in a society where men have had it easier for so long. Just carrying these humongous milk-bags around on our chests so we can feed all your babies is hard enough…right Missy?”

Glancing at her friend, Randi shook her head in amazement. She was able to tear her eyes away but I was having no such luck…

“Right..!” Melissa finally laughed. 

What was happening here? Her perfume had suddenly become very strong, filling the room. 

Randi continued. ”You would seriously be against something that improves women's lives?" she jeered. 

"H-hey wait, I never said that!” I blurted. Randi’s little speech, which had turned into a pro-women's empowerment message obviously pre-meditated to squash any reservations I might have, brought heat to my face, “I'm, uh, totally in support of women and, uh, women’s rights…” What was I saying?? Man she smelled good. “I guess this is a great product..."

“And using the practice’s accounts is okay?” Randi asked, expectant. 

“Uh, yeah…” bounce bounce bounce. Melissa was posing again, throwing me little kissy-faces. 

“Okay, great, now…shoo,” Randi quipped, grabbing me by my thin shoulder and turning me around, away from Melissa, “Missy has four more of these to try on, and she’d like some privacy.”

“Bye..!” I heard Melissa call out to me, as I was ushered from the room. 

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Thanks to CaptainAmbiguous and Joshua67 for help and guidance, and especially TopographicScoiety for that first image (wow, right? I left the original face because it was just so beautiful) and big chunks of the prose.

20 more posts at my Patreon

[prof-peach]

What would make a good ghost-type starter? My kid's about to turn ten and REALLY wants a Gastly. I think it's because the Ecruteak Gym Leader, Morty, and his Gengar are like, her childhood heroes. She says she even wants to be a ghost-type specialist. Honestly though, I'm kinda reluctant. I mean, you've heard the rumors about ghost-types and children, right?

Your concern as a parent is wholesome, and I can understand your reluctance to dishing out a ghost Pokemon without further investigation first, so let’s put some rumours to bed here.

The dex entries often depict ghost types and tricky, scary, wild and sometimes even dangerous, stealing children away, being living grudges, turning lost kids to Pokemon, and being overall hard to handle, often somewhat lacking in empathy even.

This is what a dex does, it’s built for kids, it’s information is out there to inspire kids to find intrigue in species that are overlooked. When your little, you make up stories, as a parent I’m sure you know, some of those stories your kids tell you seem actually terrifying, horrific, some kids love to indulge in the creepy, the unusual. It’s not to be feared, it’s to be celebrated. The dex is an exaggeration, a base for further learning, and often the gateway to kids wanting to know more. There is a fatal downside, their entries and statements about some species can be unnerving to a regular adult. We are fearful, we see this potentially spooky dangerous thing and of course we want to protect the family from that. But the info given is often a 1% (at most) chance occurrence.

Phantump? They aren’t born of lost kids in the woods. You ask any breeder worth their salt, and they’ll tell you they’ve seen those Pokemon hatch from eggs like everything else.

Drifloon, tries to steal kids apparently? Nah, they’re lighter than air, most of their movements just simply look that way, but it’s usually the wind pushing their bodies about. They’re actually very kind pokemon.

What else, oh, Banette. Born of a discarded toy with an eternal grudge? Haha nope. They aren’t all made that way, at all, many evolve to be perfectly happy healthy Pokemon with a lot of love for their trainers.

The dex focuses in on the unusual, the extraordinary, the facts that statistically will interest their target demographic most, and kids have way less fear than us. Look at yours. She’s been exposed to the same stuff you have, yet she’s not hesitant to want a ghost type, she’s not afraid, not learnt that fear yet, which is an incredibly good thing.

On the very unusual case where a ghost type is like their dex entry, it’s usually captured, aided, and rereleased in a secure location, away from those who could get hurt by it.

Ghost Pokemon do not hatch with a choice of body, a choice of type, or a set of rules to follow. Just like us, they learn and amble through their life trying to find satisfaction, friends, work, family, love and kindness, and to figure out how they fit in it all. They’re highly complex and empathetic Pokemon, often treated differently because of what they are, rather than who they are. When they find people and Pokemon who don’t treat them with hostility and unkindness, they will spend their life with them, they will give everything for them, protecting their loved ones with the ferocity other species can’t muster.

I for one think that as long as your kid knows what to expect, and is responsible and reliable in caring for a Pokemon, then perhaps it’s a good time to start looking. A ghastly is a perfectly fine starter, they have low care requirements, snacking occasionally, but feeding mostly from places of reflection or worship.

You know why ghost types always hang around graves? It’s how they feed. When people reflect, they produce a certain kind of energy, it is not something you can measure easily, or see, but a ghost Pokemon can sense it. They have learnt to live off the energy people expend reflecting, and the most common accessible place to get this for a ghost type, is graves. They also frequent places of worship, monuments beloved by locals, and buildings that once housed a lot of love. You can tell when an abandoned house had something truly terrible happen in it, not even the ghosts will feed there. The energy is bitter to them, and many don’t care for it.

To help your kid, set up a place within the house where you, your family, your other Pokemon, can go to reflect. Some people build this space around the telephone, or computer. When thinking of, or talking to distant loved ones, the same energy is produced, so at home the ghost type can snack and not run low on energy. It’s a nice modern day adaption that’s makes caring for ghost much easier thankfully. Spending 10-20 minutes every other day in the reflection zone will feed the ghost, but will not drain you or your kid. They do not eat up a lot from us, nothing we haven’t already expended.

Along with this, be aware that the ghost line can be somewhat nocturnal, so setting up a regular bedtime might be a little tricky, so that the Pokemon is accounted for, but also so the kids not out all night, that’s not safe at all. Sunset seems to be their peak active hour on average, long shadows mean they can jump around fast between dark patches, a trick ghost show off regularly.

If you are worried, try to make time to go out with your kid and their partner, to a park or maybe a more central street that’s well lit, so they can practice and be trainers in a safe environment. I can totally get not wanting them out in the dark alone, safety always comes first.

What else. She’ll probably have to start carrying an umbrella around. Ghastly aren’t too keen on suuuuper bright light, midday is not easy for them, but some do not want to sit in the pokeball while their trainer is up and awake, they want to play and be around them. An umbrella means they can get some shade no matter the time of day, and have some freedom to move about even in harsh sunlight. Too long in the sun will drain them of energy, and they’ll need to rest and sleep it off, recharge at the reflection station at home, or go spend an hour in a churchyard or something.

They eat most things and sleep anywhere, so there’s not a huge amount of specialist items to be bought for the home. Test different flavours on them, and try to find a ghastly that has a temperament that’ll get along with your whole family. You should definitely check out local adoption centres, they are in undated with ghost types this time of year. People hand them in for all sorts of reasons.

Little tip, if you bring Morty spicy baked goods, like chilli cheese bread or something, he’s more inclined to help you. He hangs out near the burnt tower a lot with his team, and takes trips to the local food festivals too, so if you notice an advert for one, see if you can catch the guy there. He’s reluctant to take on students, but if your kid turns up with a ghastly, and (from what I can assume) and overabundance of energy for Pokemon, plus a spicy treat, the guy melts a little and you can ask questions or request a little time for your kid to get some tips and tricks from a professional gym leader. I think it’d be interesting to investigate at the least, sounds like he’s the closest link between her and the Pokemon she so desperately loves. Plus how cool would that be for her? Gets to talk to her childhood hero. Kind of cool.

As a parent, I advise you get some cleanse tags too. There may be rooms you don’t want them entering, or items you don’t want them messing with (knives/power tools ect) , placing a cleanse tag on each wall, or on the items, will stop them interacting with them, so you can sit knowing things are safe for the Pokemon and your family.

In short, don’t knock the ghost types, they’re just as important, kind and loving as any other Pokemon. I’m not saying naughty troublesome ones don’t exist, but chances are you’ll find one that’s a great match for your family. Thank you for asking questions and not jumping to just get a Pokemon ASAP, you’d be surprised how few people do their homework before inviting in a new Pokemon to the home.

[thefirstknife]

Hello! I know with Osiris acting sus there's a lot to be unpacked there but I wanted to know if you had thoughts on Sus!iris giving Crow his cloak and the "one exile to another" comments. Those felt more... Organic I guess than other actions of his. Do you think maybe he's still in there, just suppressed?

I'm not entirely sure honestl, but here are some of my thoughts.

When he goes to comission the cloak, Eva notes a few strange things:

With each stitch, she recalls the strange encounter some months ago that prompted her clandestine work:

It was late that evening. She had been walking back from the Tower, nearly home, when she heard a smooth voice quietly assert, "Eva. It's been too long. You look as bright as ever." Osiris melted out of the shadows near her doorway.

"Melting out of the shadows" has been a common theme for a while now. In Play of Shadow and Light (hint hint nudge nudge):

There is an imminent, daunting pressure.

Ikora holds her breath.

She is not alone; something is wrong. She feels an intrusion and tension draws tight around her heart.

A shadow moves over her.

"Ikora."

She breathes again; familiarity anchors her.

"Osiris… would you care to join me?" She recognizes his robes, his voice, and that is all. His face sinks between dancing shadows cast by the garden's torchlight. He is smaller, worn, and devoid of the magnificence she remembered. A monument of embers, defined by what once was.

Ikora experiences some strange vibes before seeing Osiris. He is then described as a shadow moving into her field of vision. Ikora is relieved to see him, but as she notes: she recognises his basic form, but if she hadn't seen him face to face, she clearly would've been concerned (more so than she was upon seeing him in this state).

In One Exile to Another, the same is repeated again:

"I know just the place." A deep, languid voice floated out of the forest behind them.

Crow whirled, hand on his Sidearm, ready to draw. He relaxed as the grizzled Warlock, Osiris, stepped forward from the shade of the pine trees.

Not only does Osiris "step out of the shade" again, but Crow is immeditely startled and almost draws a gun at him. Additionally:

"I've seen pictures of noodles," Crow said doubtfully. "They look like worms."

Osiris smiled beneath his cowl.

Hm. All of these things being repeated in the same way are not coincidences, for sure.

Anyway, Osiris makes a good reason for giving Crow new clothes: Crow has to stay hidden and having a huge Spider symbol on his chest isn't a good look. His reasoning for comissioning the cloak from Eva also tracks: he explains he needs someone who can keep a secret while Crow is adjusting and before he's ready to be revealed to the Vanguard.

If we're going by the current theory of Osiris having been replaced by Savathun, then it's Savathun who is directing these things. She is known to have orchestrated plenty of events behind the scenes. She loves secrets, even secrets for secrets' sake. In hindsight, keeping Crow a secret seems to fit that scheme.

Moreover, in the lore for Hawkmoon, Savathun is the one observing Crow the YW celebrating. She notes:

The Crow is so carefree in his ignorance. The bonfire's glow lights up his pale features and I am drawn to the hope in his gold eyes. Where is the despairing child I anticipated?

Savathun knows Crow. Or rather, she knows Uldren, whom she is responsible for corrupting. She knows who Crow was before which is why she seems to have anticipated "a despairing child." She is also very clearly experiencing something here that's new to her. Or at least something she hasn't felt in a long time. She keeps repeating how she doesn't understand what she's feeling and how it brings back memories of her family and hope and all the good things that she forgot about.

I believe she is drawn to Crow because of this and because of her past involvement with Uldren. I also believe she may be trying to influence him again.

Of course, it could also be as you suggested: that Osiris is somehow manipulated (Taken?) and she's controlling him and some of these instances is him fighting back. Since we don't know the mechanics of what's going on and how, it's hard to say.

But Savathun definitely holds a connection to Crow in multiple ways. The way he is being treated by Osiris seems to follow that pattern.

One more thing, in regards to the name itself: One Exile to Another. We can of course draw the parallel of Osiris having been exiled and Crow who is an exile himself.

But so is Savathun. Back in Immolant Pt. 2, Osiris interfaces with the Dreadnaught to learn more about the Hive and their structure after Oryx's defeat. He discovers the following:

Osiris sneers and grasps the head. He navigates the recounting of the Hive from Oryx's death. They are fractured, broken by internal power struggles. It leads into a recounting of Savathûn: banished, branded as heretic and set to burn. Many Hive turned to her when Oryx fell. Many of those same broodlines defected as the Darkness invaded Sol, sending Savathûn into hiding. She is still hunted by the hounds of war.

Savathun, same as Osiris, has been banished from her people and branded as a heretic. So "One Exile to Another" fits with both Osiris and Crow as well as Savathun and Crow. Savathun has been shown to be... sympathetic (for the lack of the better word) towards those that are banished and exiled; she also helped Nokris in much the same way.

I hope this makes sense all put together and I hope Savathun is enjoying her imbaru!

[chaosangel767]

Pyrrhic - Angst

Fandom: Ikemen Revolution

Prompt: Pyrrhic - A victory won at to great of a cost

Tw: Major Character deaths, Angst 

Word Count:1735

The air is bitter and cold matching the mood of the group of people gathered in front of the Civic Center. A large cloth is draped over a monument and the clouds are heavy. No one in the crowd is smiling, and while there are hundreds of people in the crowd, there is no cheerful sound, just hushed whispers. Three men mount the stage next to the cloth. The two Kings of Cradle and the record keeper, all dressed in formal wear. The little noise of the crowd dies away as the Record keeper starts to speak into the crystal mic. 

“Citizens of Cradle, today marks the day one year ago that 75 people gave their lives to protect Cradle from the shadows and ended the 500 years of fighting and bloodshed.” Blanc starts to open the ceremony, his voice solemn as he begins to speak, the two Kings on either side of him had lowered heads, grief from the day one year ago still fresh in their minds. 

“Today we remember these brave souls who risked everything they had to make sure that Cradle continued on. Today we remember Zero the Ace of Hearts, Fenrir Godspeed the Ace of Spades, Seth Hyde the 10 of Spades, Loki Genetta the Cheshire Cat, Alice the second…” There isn’t another sound in all of Cradle as Blanc rattles off the names of the 75 people that died, everyone’s head is bowed, the first row of the crowd is dedicated to the officers who fought, the deaths still fresh in their minds.  

The record Keeper stood in front of Cradle with an even voice and a calm demeanor, but he can still see the bloody aftermath the central quarter was in after the fight. The tower had figured out the plan at the last moment, and ambushed the unexpecting armies, a huge explosion went off injuring many of the citizens of Cradle and destroying a lot of the Central Quarter, Cradle’s famous inventor was still recovering. Blanc looks into the crowd where Oliver Knight was sitting, his face was scarred with the aftermath of the explosion and his arm had finally been released from its cast after months of trying to heal it.

Blanc looks over to where the King of Spades is standing, glancing down at the floor of the stage, pain and grief evident on his face. The image of a second explosion in the Forbidden forest fresh in his mind, Ray watches helplessly as Alice jumps in front of the armies with her kind smile and not an ounce of fear in her face. She managed to cast enough of a barrier over most of Cradle, negating the magic explosion and casting out the innate magic users in Cradle, saving their lives. The grieving King finally looks up, his gaze landing where his best friend and partner in crime would have sat, the vacant seat tears a hole in his heart. He looks down at his clasped hands, still seeing the blood that drenched his uniform. It should have been me. He quietly thought, remembering seeing the pain his best friend was in after taking the hit for his King. “Cradle needs you boss, it's not your time” Fenrir’s choked words and faint smile seared in the back of Ray’s head, his heart heavy as he remembered the fading magenta eyes. It wasn’t your time either buddy. You should be here causing chaos, it's hard to run Cradle without you. 

Ray shifts his gaze to his right, eyeing the second King of Cradle, the King of Hearts, who is standing tall, not a hint of emotion on his face, but under the cold mask there swirled a turbulence of regret, grief and anger. He gazes steadily across the crowd, thinking how only a few officers know the full scale of the war. The civilians only know that there was a group of terrorists and criminals who launched an attack on Cradle and that both armies and the sweet, caring Alice helped fight off the criminals, no one knew that the criminals were in fact the Magic tower, that is the secret the Army must bear alone. He should have been more careful and maybe the magic tower wouldn't have found out what was going on. He remembers the cruel smirk on Amon’s face as he made Lancelot watch the explosion from the tower, the way the smoke rose from the central quarter. Lancelot looks down at his hands, burns and scars covering his hands from where he lost control of his rage and collapsed the tower, taking the mad leader and disciples with him.  

Lancelot’s eyes drift from surveying the crowd to landing on his forever injured, but Faithful Queen. Jonah sat straight and proper as ever, not letting an ounce of shame fill him. The brave Queen had managed to find Lancelot and covered him from the explosion, costing him his legs, but saving his King. Jonah still acts like his usual self, only in the darkness of night does he let down his walls and reveal how frustrated he is, it is all his fault. He needed to save his King, he should have been there earlier and the tower wouldn’t have collapsed. Jonah meets the King's eyes and the two exchange a darkened gaze. 

The Jack of Hearts has jade eyes cast down to his belt where his fallen protege’s sword now lays. He runs his fingers along the hilt, not sure how to process the memories and pain he is feeling inside. The memory of his student taking the hit for him still makes his blood run cold. Taking one of his pristine white gloves off he runs his bare fingers against Zero’s blade, the cold metal does nothing to quell the aching in his heart. The gentle demon is no longer gentle, the kind smile he once wore no matter the situation now is a grim line on his face.  I should have told you how much I cared. I should have protected you more.

Next to the Jack of Hearts is the forever drunk medic, Kyle. His topaz eyes hold more sorrow, and everyday his heart grows a little heavier. He should have tried harder, if he was better at his job so many lives wouldn’t have been lost. He looks down at his hands, they should have been clean of bloodshed, but they hold more bloodshed than anyone in Cradle. He clenches his fists, turning over his hands and hiding them in his sleeves. I wasn’t good enough to save them, I am not worthy of saving anyone anymore. His eyes unfocused, he pulls a bottle from his pocket and takes a drink, the burning taste of alcohol slides down his throat and he hangs his head, still being haunted by the lifeless eyes of his friends. 

A man sits between the two armies, pain showing in his one eye. Harr Silver, the new leader of the Magic tower. Harr has barely spoken a word outside of Tower business since the fight. He was the one who gave Alice the crystals telling her it would help enhance her power, how was he going to know she would sacrifice herself? His eyes lower to the ground as he sees her body bathed in light, he should have known, her soul pure and selfless. He should have stopped her from absorbing the explosion. He looks down to the simple crystal around his neck, the crystal he gave her, the one she could have used to save herself, but instead she chose to save Cradle. The second crystal on his necklace belonged to his young apprentice, the one whose mischievous mismatched eyes he would never see again. He runs his fingers along the crystal, should he have helped them? If he helped them with the barrier maybe one of them would still be alive. 

Sirius the gentle Queen of Spades sits next to the quiet wizard and looks down still seeing the blood from the fallen Seth on his hands. If he had only been a few minutes faster, then Dalim wouldn’t have stabbed him in the back. Sirius clenches his hands and grits his jaw against the tears at hearing Seth's final strangled words apologizing for betraying the black army running over and over through his head. Sirius clenches his hand tighter, noticing the scars on his arm and seeing the invisible scar on his stomach from the fights, he looks up to the sky. Seth, I am so sorry, I should have been faster. 

Next to Sirius sits the quiet Jack of Spades, Luka. The shy and aloof Jack was now even more shy and aloof, he runs his unit and still cooks dinner, but he no longer seems to care about much else. He doesn’t enjoy cooking as much as he did when Alice was here to taste his food, her smile lighting up the kitchen as she helped him think up new recipes to try. Every night he still trains, his time asleep even less than before, his dreams plagued by the one he never said goodbye to, the one who should have been sent home. He can hear her words the night before the battle, when they argued about whether she should fight, the determination in her eyes as she demands to help. Cradle is my home now, I couldn’t possibly leave knowing you guys could get hurt. When you care about people it hurts to see them hurt. Luka fights back the tears escaping his vision, he traces the necklace in his hands, the one he gave her. He wasn’t strong enough when he needed to be and now she was gone. His amber gold eyes find their way up to the sky as he thinks of his friend now flying high. 30 days wasn’t enough time with you, eternity wouldn’t have been. 

 The 7 officers all look to the brand new memorial, to the names of the fallen. Cradle won, Cradle was safe, but the cost of the victory was high. The lives lost that day gave Cradle the ability to move on and live. The love paid the way for us remaining to love our families, laugh with our friends and spend our days doing what we loved. The war was won, Cradle was safe, but was the cost of victory worth it?

[letterboxd]

Best of Sundance 2021.

From pandemic-era stories, via portraits of grief, to the serendipitous 1969 trilogy, the Letterboxd crew recaps our favorite films from the first major festival of the year.

Sundance heralds a new season of storytelling, with insights into what’s concerning filmmakers at present, and what artistic innovations may be on the horizon. As with every film festival, there were spooky coincidences and intersecting themes, whether it was a proliferation of pandemic-era stories, or extraordinary portraits of women working through grief (Land, Hive, The World to Come), or the incredible serendipity of the festival’s ‘1969 trilogy’, covering pivotal moments in Black American history: Summer of Soul (...Or When the Revolution Could Not Be Televised), Judas and the Black Messiah and the joyful Street Gang: How We Got to Sesame Street.

The hybrid model of this year’s Sundance meant more film lovers across the United States—a record number of you, in fact—‘attended’ the prestigious indie showcase. Our Festiville team (Gemma Gracewood, Aaron Yap, Ella Kemp, Selome Hailu, Jack Moulton and Dominic Corry) scanned your Letterboxd reviews and compared them with our notes to arrive at these seventeen feature-length documentary and narrative picks from Sundance 2021. There are plenty more we enjoyed, but these are the films we can’t stop thinking about.

Documentary features

Summer of Soul (...Or, When the Revolution Could Not Be Televised) Directed by Ahmir-Khalib Thompson (AKA Questlove)

One hot summer five decades ago, there was a free concert series at a park in Harlem. It was huge, and it was lovely, and then it was forgotten. The Harlem Cultural Festival of 1969 brought together some of the world’s most beloved Black artists to connect with Black audiences. The star power and the size of the crowds alone should have been enough to immortalize the event à la Woodstock—which happened the same summer, the film emphasizes. But no one cared to buy up the footage until Ahmir-Khalib Thompson, better known as Questlove, came along.

It would have been easy to oversimplify such a rich archive by stringing together the performances, seeking out some talking heads, and calling it a day. But Questlove was both careful and ebullient in his approach. “Summer of Soul is a monumental concert documentary and a fantastic piece of reclaimed archived footage. There is perhaps no one better suited to curate this essential footage than Questlove, whose expertise and passion for the music shines through,” writes Matthew on Letterboxd. The film is inventive with its use of present interviews, bringing in both artists and attendees not just to speak on their experiences, but to react to and relive the footage. The director reaches past the festival itself, providing thorough social context that takes in the moon landing, the assassinations of Black political figures, and more. By overlapping different styles of documentary filmmaking, Questlove’s directorial debut embraces the breadth and simultaneity of Black resilience and joy. A deserving winner of both the Grand Jury and Audience awards (and many of our unofficial Letterboxd awards). —SH

Flee Directed by Jonas Poher Rasmussen

Flee is the type of discovery Sundance is designed for. Danish documentarian Jonas Poher Rasmussen tells the poignant story of his close friend and former classmate (using the pseudonym ‘Amin Nawabi’) and his daring escape from persecution in 1990s Afghanistan. Rasmussen always approaches tender topics with sensitivity and takes further steps to protect his friend’s identity by illustrating the film almost entirely in immersive animation, following in the footsteps of Waltz With Bashir and Tower. It’s a film aware of its subjectivity, allowing the animated scenes to alternate between the playful joy of nostalgia and the mournful pain of an unforgettable memory. However, these are intercepted by dramatic archive footage that oppressively brings the reality home.

“Remarkably singular, yet that is what makes it so universal,” writes Paul. “So many ugly truths about the immigration experience—the impossible choices forced upon people, and the inability to really be able to explain all of it to people in your new life… You can hear the longing in his voice, the fear in his whisper. Some don’t get the easy path.” Winner of the World Cinema (Documentary) Grand Jury Prize and quickly acquired by Neon, Flee is guaranteed to be a film you’ll hear a lot about for the rest of 2021. —JM

Taming the Garden Directed by Salomé Jashi

There’s always a moment at a film festival when fatigue sets in, when the empathy machine overwhelms, and when I hit that moment in 2021, I took the advice of filmmaker and Sundance veteran Jim Cummings, who told us: “If you’re ever stressed or tired, watch a documentary to reset yourself.” Taming the Garden wasn’t initially on my hit-list, but it’s one of those moments when the ‘close your eyes and point at a random title’ trick paid off. Documentary director Salomé Jashi does the Lorax’s work, documenting the impact and grief caused by billionaire former Georgian PM Bidzina Ivanishvili’s obsession with collecting ancient trees for his private arboretum.

“A movie that is strangely both infuriating and relaxing” writes Todd, of the long, locked-off wide shots showing the intense process of removing large, old trees from their village homes. There’s no narration, instead Jashi eavesdrops on locals as they gossip about Ivanishvili, argue about whether the money is worth it, and a feisty, irritated 90-year-old warns of the impending environmental fallout. “What you get out of it is absolutely proportional to what you put into it,” writes David, who recommends this film get the IMAX treatment. It’s arboriculture as ASMR, the timeline cleanse my Sundance needed. The extraordinary images of treasured trees being barged across the sea will become iconic. —GG

The Most Beautiful Boy in the World Directed by Kristian Petri and Kristina Lindström

Where Taming the Garden succeeds through pure observation, The Most Beautiful Boy in the World relies on the complete participation of its title subject, actor Björn Andrésen, who was thrust into the spotlight as a teenager. Cast by Italian director Lucino Visconti in Death in Venice, a 1971 adaptation of Thomas Mann’s novella about obsession and fatal longing, Andrésen spent the 1970s as an object of lust, with a side-gig as a blonde pop star in Japan, inspiring many manga artists along the way.

As we know by now (Alex Winter’s Showbiz Kids is a handy companion to this film), young stardom comes at a price, one that Andrésen was not well-placed to pay even before his fateful audition for Visconti. But he’s still alive, still acting (he’s Dan in Midsommar), and ready to face the mysteries of his past. Like Benjamin Ree’s excellent The Painter and the Thief from last year, this documentary is a constantly unfolding detective story, notable for great archive footage, and a deep kindness towards its reticent yet wide-open subject. —GG

All Light, Everywhere Directed by Theo Anthony

Threading the blind spots between Étienne-Jules Marey’s 19th-century “photographic rifle”, camera-carrying war pigeons and Axon’s body-cam tech, Theo Anthony’s inquisitive, mind-expanding doc about the false promise of the all-seeing eye is absorbing, scary, urgent. It’s the greatest Minority Report origin story you didn’t know you needed.

Augmented by Dan Deacon’s electronic soundscapes and Keaver Brenai’s lullingly robotic narration, All Light, Everywhere proves to be a captivating, intricately balanced experience that Harris describes as “one part Adam Curtis-esque cine-essay”, “one part structural experiment in the vein of Koyaanisqatsi” and “one part accidental character study of two of the most familiar yet strikingly unique evil, conservative capitalists…”. Yes, there’s a tremendous amount to download, but Anthony’s expert weaving, as AC writes, “make its numerous subjects burst with clarity and profundity.” For curious cinephiles, the oldest movie on Letterboxd, Jules Jenssen’s Passage de Vénus (1874), makes a cameo. —AY

The Sparks Brothers Directed by Edgar Wright

Conceived at a Sparks gig in 2017 upon the encouragement of fellow writer-director Phil Lord, Edgar Wright broke his streak of riotous comedies with his first (of many, we hope) rockumentary. While somewhat overstuffed—this is, after all, his longest film by nearly fifteen minutes—The Sparks Brothers speaks only to Wright’s unrestrained passion for his art-pop Gods, exploring all the nooks and crannies of Sparks’ sprawling career, with unprecedented access to brothers and bandmates Ron and Russell Mael.

Nobody else can quite pin them down, so Wright dedicates his time to put every pin in them while he can, building a mythology and breaking it down, while coloring the film with irresistible dives into film history, whimsically animated anecdotes and cheeky captions. “Sparks rules. Edgar Wright rules. There’s no way this wasn’t going to rule”, proclaims Nick, “every Sparks song is its own world, with characters, rules, jokes and layers of narrative irony. What a lovely ode to a creative partnership that was founded on sticking to one’s artistic guns, no matter what may have been fashionable at the time.” —JM

Narrative features

The Pink Cloud Written and directed by Iuli Gerbase

The Pink Cloud is disorienting and full of déjà vu. Brazilian writer-director Iuli Gerbase constructs characters that are damned to have to settle when it comes to human connection. Giovana and Yago’s pleasant one-night stand lasts longer than expected when the titular pink cloud emerges from the sky, full of a mysterious and deadly gas that forces everyone to stay locked where they stand. Sound familiar? Reserve your groans—The Pink Cloud wasn’t churned out to figure out “what it all means” before the pandemic is even over. Gerbase wrote and shot the film prior to the discovery of Covid-19.

It’s “striking in its ability to prophesize a pandemic and a feeling unknown at the time of its conception. What was once science fiction hits so close now,” writes Sam. As uncanny as the quarantine narrative feels, what’s truly harrowing is how well the film predicts and understands interiorities that the pandemic later exacerbated. Above all, Giovana is a woman with unmet needs. She is a good partner, good mother and good person even when she doesn’t want to be. Even those who love her cannot see how their expectations strip her of her personhood, and the film dares to ask what escape there might be when love itself leaves you lonely. —SH

Together Together Written and directed by Nikole Beckwith

Every festival needs at least one indie relationship dramedy, and Together Together filled that role at Sundance 2021 with a healthy degree of subversion. It follows rom-com structure while ostensibly avoiding romance, instead focusing on how cultivating adult friendships can be just hard, if not harder.

Writer-director Nikole Beckwith warmly examines the limits of the platonic, and Patti Harrison and Ed Helms are brilliantly cast as the not-couple: a single soon-to-be father and the surrogate carrying his child. They poke at each other’s boundaries with a subtle desperation to know what makes a friendship appropriate or real. As Jacob writes: “It’s cute and serious, charming without being quirky. It’s a movie that deals with the struggle of being alone in this world, but offers a shimmer of hope that even if you don’t fall in fantastical, romantic, Hollywood love… there are people out there for you.” —SH

Hive Written and directed by Blerta Basholli

Hive, for some, may fall into the “nothing much happens” slice-of-life genre, but Blerta Basholli’s directorial debut holds an ocean of pain in its small tale, asking us to consider the heavy lifting that women must always do in the aftermath of war. As Liz writes, “Hive is not just a story about grief and trauma in a patriarchy-dominated culture, but of perseverance and the bonds created by the survivors who must begin to consider the future without their husbands.”

Yllka Gashi is an understated hero as Fahrjie, a mother-of-two who sets about organizing work for the women of her village, while awaiting news of her missing husband—one of thousands unaccounted for, years after the Kosovo War has ended. The townsmen have many opinions about how women should and shouldn’t mourn, work, socialize, parent, drive cars and, basically, get on with living, but Fahrjie persists, and Basholli sticks close with an unfussy, tender eye. “It felt like I was a fly on the wall, witnessing something that was actually happening,” writes Arthur. Just as in Robin Wright’s Land and Mona Fastvold’s The World to Come, Hive pays off in the rare, beaming smile of its protagonist. —GG

On the Count of Three Directed by Jerrod Carmichael, written by Ari Katcher and Ryan Welch

It starts with an image: two best friends pointing guns at each other’s heads. There’s no anger, there’s no hatred—this is an act of merciful brotherly love. How do you have a bleak, gun-totin’ buddy-comedy in 2021 and be critically embraced without contradicting your gun-control retweets or appearing as though your film is the dying embers of Tarantino-tinged student films?

Comedian Jerrod Carmichael’s acerbic directorial debut On the Count of Three achieves this by calling it out every step of the way. Guns are a tool to give insecure men the illusion of power. They are indeed a tool too terrifying to trust in the hands of untrained citizens. Carmichael also stars, alongside Christopher Abbott, who has never been more hilarious or more tragic, bringing pathos to a cathartic rendition of Papa Roach’s ‘Last Resort’. Above all, Carmichael and Abbott’s shared struggle and bond communicates the millennial malaise: how can you save others if you can’t save yourself? “Here’s what it boils down to: life is fucking hard”, Laura sums up, “and sometimes the most we can hope for is to have a best friend who loves you [and] to be a best friend who loves. It doesn’t make life any easier, but it sure helps.” Sundance 2021 is one for the books when it comes to documentaries, but On the Count of Three stands out in the fiction lineup this year. —JM

Censor Directed by Prano Bailey-Bond, written by Bailey-Bond and Anthony Fletcher

The first of several upcoming films inspired by the ��video nasty’ moral panic over gory horror in mid-’80s Britain, Prano Bailey-Bond leans heavily into both the period and the genre in telling the story of a film censor (a phenomenal Niamh Algar—vulnerable and steely at the same time) who begins to suspect a banned movie may hold the key to her sister’s childhood disappearance. Often dreamlike, occasionally phantasmagorical and repeatedly traumatic, even if the worst gore presented (as seen in the impressively authentic fictional horrors being appraised) appears via a screen, providing a welcome degree of separation.

Nevertheless, Censor is definitely not for the faint of heart, but old-school horror aficionados will squeal with delight at the aesthetic commitment. “I’m so ecstatic that horror is in the hands of immensely talented women going absolutely batshit in front of and behind the camera.” writes Erik. (Same here!) “A great ode to the video-nasty era and paying tribute to the great horror auteurs of the ’80s such as Argento, De Palma and Cronenberg while also doing something new with the genre. Loved this!” writes John, effectively encapsulating Censor’s unfettered film-nerd appeal. —DC

CODA Written and directed by Siân Heder

A film so earnest it shouldn’t work, with a heart so big it should surely not fit the size of the screen, CODA broke records (the first US dramatic film in Sundance history to win all three top prizes; the 25-million-dollar sale to Apple Studios), and won the world over like no other film. “A unique take on something we’ve seen so much,” writes Amanda, nailing the special appeal of Siân Heder’s coming-of-ager and family portrait. Emilia Jones plays Ruby, the only hearing person in her deaf family, at war between the family business and her passion for singing. While Heder is technically remaking the French film La Famille Bélier, the decision to cast brilliant deaf actors—Troy Kotsur, Marlee Matlin and Daniel Durant—makes this feel brand new.

But it’s not just about representation for the sake of it. A sense of authenticity, in humor as much as affection, shines through. With a script that’s 40 per cent ASL, so many of the jokes are visual gags, poking fun at Tinder and rap music, but a lot of the film’s most poignant moments are silent as well. And in Ruby’s own world, too, choir kids will feel seen. “I approve of this very specific alto representation and the brilliant casting of the entire choir,” Laura confirms in her review. Come for the fearless, empathetic family portrait, stay for the High School Musical vibes that actually ring true. —EK

We’re All Going to the World’s Fair Written and directed by Jane Schoenbrun

Perhaps the most singular addition to the recent flurry of Extremely Online cinema—Searching, Spree, Host, et al—Jane Schoenbrun’s feature debut ushers the viewer into a haunted, hypno-drone miasma of delirium-inducing YouTube time-suck, tenebrous creepypasta lore and painfully intimate webcam confessionals. Featuring an extraordinarily unaffected, fearless performance by newcomer Anna Cobb, the film “unpacks the mythology of adolescence in a way that’s so harrowingly familiar and also so otherworldly”, writes Kristen. Not since Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s Pulse has there been such an eerily lonely, and at times strangely beautiful, evocation of the liminal spaces between virtual and real worlds.

For members of the trans community, it’s also a work that translates that experience to screen with uncommon authenticity. “What Schoenbrun has accomplished with the form of We’re All Going to the World’s Fair is akin to catching a wisp of smoke,” writes Willow, “because the images, mood and aesthetic that they have brought to life is one that is understood completely by trans people as one of familiarity, without also plunging into the obvious melodrama, or liberal back-patting that is usually associated with ‘good’ direct representation.” One of the most original, compelling new voices to emerge from Sundance this year. —AY

Judas and the Black Messiah Directed by Shaka King, written by King, Will Berson, Kenneth Lucas and Keith Lucas

It was always going to take a visionary, uncompromising filmmaker to bring the story of Fred Hampton, the deputy chairman of the national Black Panther Party, to life. Shaka King casts Daniel Kaluuya as Hampton, and LaKeith Stanfield as William “Wild Bill” O’Neal, the FBI informant whose betrayal leads to Hampton’s assassination. Both actors have never been better, particularly Kaluuya who Fran Hoepfner calls “entrancing, magnetic, fizzling, romantic, riveting, endlessly watchable.”

Judas and the Black Messiah is an electric, involving watch: not just replaying history by following a certain biopic template. Instead, it’s a film with something to say—on power, on fear, on war and on freedom. “Shaka King’s name better reverberate through the halls of every studio after this,” writes Demi. A talent like this, capable of framing such a revolution, doesn’t come around so often. We’d better listen up. —EK

Pleasure Directed by Ninja Thyberg, written by Thyberg and Peter Modestij

A24’s first purchase of 2021. Ironically titled on multiple levels, Pleasure is a brutal film that you endure more than enjoy. But one thing you can’t do is forget it. Ninja Thyberg’s debut feature follows a young Swedish woman (Sofia Kappel) who arrives in Los Angeles with dreams of porn stardom under the name ‘Bella Cherry’. Although Bella is clear-eyed about the business she’s getting into, Thyberg doesn’t shy away from any of the awfulness she faces in order to succeed in an industry rife with exploitation and abuse. Bella does make allies, and the film isn’t suggesting that porn is only stocked with villains, but the ultimate cost is clear, even if it ends on an ever-so-slightly ambiguous note.

Touching as it does on ambition, friendship and betrayal in the sex business, Pleasure is often oddly reminiscent of Paul Verhoeven’s Showgirls. Or rather, the gritty film Showgirls was claiming to be, as opposed to the camp classic it became. There’s nothing campy here. Kappel is raw and fearless in the lead, but never lets the viewer lose touch with her humanity. Emma puts it well: “Kappel gives the hardest, most provocative and transfixing performance I’ve seen all festival.” “My whole body was physically tense during this,” writes Gillian, while Keegan perhaps speaks for most when she says “Great film, never want to see it again.” —DC

Coming Home in the Dark Directed by James Ashcroft, written by Ashcroft and Eli Kent

A family camping trip amidst some typically stunnin—and casually foreboding— New Zealand scenery is upended by a shocking rug-pull of violence that gives way to sustained terror represented by Daniel Gillies’ disturbingly calm psychopath. The set-up of this thriller initially suggests a spin on the backwoods brutality thriller, but as Coming Home in the Dark progresses and hope dissipates, the motivations reveal themselves to be much more personal in nature, and informed on a thematic level by New Zealand’s colonial crimes against its Indigenous population. It’s a stark and haunting film that remains disorientating and unpredictable throughout, repeatedly daring the viewer to anticipate what will happen next, only to casually stomp on each glimmer of a positive outcome.

It’s so captivatingly bleak that a viewing of it, as Collins Ezeanyim’s eloquent reaction points out, does not lend itself to completing domestic tasks. The film marks an auspicious debut for director and co-writer James Ashcroft. Jacob writes that he “will probably follow James Ashcroft’s career to the gates of Hell after this one”. Justin hits the nail on the head with his description: “Lean and exceptionally brutal road/revenge film … that trades in genre tropes, especially those of Ozploitation and ’70s Italian exploitation, but contextualizes them in the dark history of its country of origin.” —DC

The World to Come Directed by Mona Fastvold, written by Ron Hansen and Jim Shepard

Mona Fastvold has not made the first, nor probably the last, period romance about forbidden lesbian love. But The World to Come focuses on a specific pocket in time, a world contained in Jim Shepard’s short story ‘Love & Hydrogen’ from within the collection giving the film its name. Katherine Waterston and Vanessa Kirby are Abigail and Tallie, farming neighbors, stifled by their husbands, who find brief moments of solace, of astonishment and joy, together. What shines here is the script, a verbose, delicate narration that emanates beauty more than pretence. “So beautifully restrained and yet I felt everything,” Iana writes.

And you can feel the fluidity and elegance in the way the film sounds, too: composer Daniel Blumberg’s clarinet theme converses with the dialogue and tells you when your heart can break, when you must pause, when the end is near. “So much heartache. So much hunger. So much longing. Waves of love and grief and love and grief,” writes Claira, capturing the ebb and flow of emotion that keeps The World to Come in your mind long after the screen has gone silent. —EK

Related content

The 2021 Sundance Film Festival lineup by Letterboxd rating

Letterboxd’s ‘Official’ Top 50 of 2021

Awards Season 2020-2021: our awards-tracker list

Letterboxd’s Festiville HQ: our home for up-to-the-minute festival coverage

[stellalux-universe]

I rarely post personal feelings or thoughts on this blog. For me, I come here to enjoy myself, to escape whatever stress is going on in life and have fun in the classic rock fandom. But I have to vent, so I hope that you’ll forgive me for redirected my focus for this post.

This morning, I, like all of my fellow Americans and indeed my fellow citizens of the world, woke up to the news that Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg had passed away Friday night in her home. This fact alone was tragic, Ginsburg was a towering woman in her fight for justice and morality and an icon in the fight for women’s equality, a woman who, even as she was no doubt suffering severe pain in the later years of her life, continued to work tirelessly for those who need to protection the most. But the second article that I saw, reading that only hours after her death, Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell stated that he would seek to confirm any nominee that Donald Trump put forward, sent me spiraling into a pit of despair. 

As a woman, I despaired. As a partner in an interracial marriage to an Asian immigrant, I despaired. As the best friend and chosen family to a Dreamer who is finally pregnant after spending over $15000 for in vitro fertilization, I despaired. As the best friend and chosen family of an African American gay man, I despaired. As a citizen of California, where everyday right now if I leave my apartment I am choked with the smoking evidence of climate change, I despaired. And as an American, I despaired. 

I struggled all morning and into the early afternoon and still struggle now, oscillating between depression and anger and hopelessness. This year has felt like one hammering blow after another and it’s easy to see how people can become numb, frozen, losing their faith in any hope that things might get better. 

But then I realized, no forward social progress has ever happened smoothly or easily or without moments of extreme despair. The challenges that face us are monumental. Racial inequality, economic inequality, voter suppression, a pandemic, climate change induced natural disasters, a rotten justice system, mass incarceration, extreme political polarization, just to name a few. The mountain of problems is huge, the shadow it casts is terrifying.

BUT WE CAN NOT GIVE UP.

As a millenial, political cynicism is well known to me. Like me, I’m sure that many of you on here feel like your vote does not make a difference. THAT’S WHAT THEY WANT YOU TO CONTINUE TO BELIEVE. The people who are in power at this very moment, the people who continue to deny science and research that has cost and continues to cost so many lives, the people who are exhibiting such a profound lack of principle and morality as they flip the rule of law whenever it suits them, the people who refuse to come to an a agreement or compromise to put forth a desperately needed stimulus bill to help millions of people struggling every day because of this pandemic, THEY ARE COUNTING ON OUR DESPAIR TO KEEP US AT HOME. 

If we stay home, if we do nothing, things will get worse. Political inactivity is not a luxury that we have anymore. If you are eligible to vote, make sure you are registered. If you are registered, make sure your information is correct. Even if both of these things are taken care of, make sure you know all of your voting rights. If you are a disenfranchised voter, if you’ve been purged from polls because you haven’t voted in years, if your district requires voter ID that you do not have access to, if your voting precinct is too far away and you do not have the means to travel in order to vote, if your vote is being suppressed, reach out to your news stations, to journalists, to your local government’s offices and tell your story, make sure people know what is going on. DO NOT LET THEM IGNORE YOU BECAUSE IT IS YOUR RIGHT AND YOU MATTER. 

To those of us who have the time and the means, volunteer to help register people to vote, look into what you can do to make it easier for people to vote, to fight for people who are being denied their basic right as an American citizen. Fill out your census form. Reach out to your friends and family and make sure they know their rights too. To those of you who are not American, reach out to your American friends and encourage them to research their rights as well.

I’m not holding out the hope that we may win, but I sure as hell fucking know that regardless, we need to FIGHT.

[jadekitty777]

The Miraculous Tales of Luckybug and Qrow Noir

Anyone ready for an onslaught of fics from me for the next week? Because that’s what’s happening my friends.

(I apologize that my blog will also be running on super speed for the next week as I reblog stuff. I also apologize in advance that I won’t have time to read many, if any, fics. My own still need to be edited and finalized. Aaah lil’ stressed honestly).

Day 1: Flirting

Rating: K+

Pairing: Qrow/Clover

Word Count: 5600

Ao3 Link: The Miraculous Tales of Luckybug and Qrow Noir

Summary:  In the daytime, he was Clover Ebi. Just a normal college student, with a normal life. But there's something about him no one knows yet. Because he has a secret. A miraculous secret.

(AKA: The Miraculous Ladybug AU no one asked for)

~

“Voici, À Bientôt!”

“Merci beaucoup. Bonne journée!” Clover replied, taking the box from the smiling cashier.

As he stepped out of the bakery into the busy streets of Paris, he gave a sigh of relief. Though he’d been living in France for the past two months now for his Spring Abroad program, he couldn’t help but feel a little anxious every time he had to converse with the locale. His accent wasn’t the best and some words he just couldn’t remember the right inflection for.

Then again, as he got to Green Belt Park and took a seat on one of the empty benches, leaning back to enjoy the stunning view of the Eiffel Tower in the distance, he figured being in such a beautiful city was a good excuse to remain speechless.

He set his bookbag down beside him, opening the flap, and then the top of the box, revealing two small slices of cake. “Okay Ruby, you can come out. It’s safe.”

In a flash quicker than lightning, a red streak zipped from his bag and into the box. A moment later, the kwami looked up at him with starry silver eyes and asked, “You got me two?”

He tapped her on the head, right between her antennae. “The strawberry is for you. The other is…”

“For Qrow, right?” As she looked up at him, he decided that the paragon of heroism should not have such a shit-eating grin.

“It’s not-!” He knew his face was getting hot. “We have to work on the sociology project this evening so I thought he’d appreciate it.”

Not fooled for a second, Ruby said between bites of cake, “You should just tell him.”

“I don’t think I should be taking love advice from an immortal being that transcends time.” He craned his head back, watching the thin clouds above drift along the sky. “Besides, it’s not that easy. Qrow is, he’s just so-” He pictured the other man, all dark hair, captivating red eyes, and shy, personal smiles wrapped around a gruff voice that belayed layers of emotion. Clover sighed longingly, “Wonderful.”

Even without eyebrows, Ruby rose one. “Ah-huh. I can see how you’re having trouble.”

He cracked up. It was nice to have her sensible perspective around. He had to wonder how different his life would have been if he never picked up that little black box with the note ‘You’ve been chosen’ left underneath it.

Having come into his life around the same time Qrow had, she’d been privy to a behind-the-scenes look to how his relationship with the other man shifted from strangers to close friends. She was the only one who heard his secret thoughts as that bond grew into intense feelings.

“I really mean it though. It’s always best to be honest with your heart.” The kwami told him.

“I know you’re right. But is it what’s right for Qrow?” At her head tilt, he explained, “He’s got a crush of his own, remember? The one he’s so vague about?”

“Maybe he’s so vague because it’s you?”

He snorted. “Only if he knows I’m Luckybug. He’s got blue eyes, remember?” That was one of the only things he’d been able to pull out of him, besides the gender. Which, after a simple process of elimination, meant it was either Qrow’s best friend Taiyang or James, the leading RA in their dorms back home. Well, or rich and prissy Jacques, but he knew Qrow had better standards than that.

“He could be colorblind to green?” Ruby offered hopefully.

He gave her another pat on the head. “I don’t think it works that way, but thanks for trying to make me feel better.”

She made a soft noise, before floating up from her bed of crumbs to sit on his shoulder instead. “He hasn’t mentioned this person the entire trip though, right?”

Clover started in surprise. She was right, he hadn’t – which was a huge change from the near weekly aside he’d give about whatever his ‘prince charming’ was up to. “You think it’s fading away?”

“I’m not sure.” She said, looking towards the city’s prized monument. “But I think it might mean this trip could be an opportunity to tell him how you feel. What better place to do that then the city of love?”

He mulled that over. When he found out his university offered abroad studies during junior year, he had been so excited. He’d always wanted to travel, but the prospect of going alone was also nerve-wracking. Qrow, facing much the same enthusiasm and inhibitions, had struck a deal that they would go together. That also meant they had been spending an exorbitant amount of time together, living together in the shared home with a few other students. Shared a room, even.

How many nights had they spent together, just talking about nothing and everything? Mapping out plans over train and bus schedules to fit in as many big sights as they could on their free weekends of tourism? Walked along the Seine at night, the city lights reflecting off the water, where Clover would inadvertently get lost staring at how gorgeous Qrow looked in the casting glow?

Maybe… he could…

“Clover, the sky!”

The sudden alarm in Ruby’s voice had his head jerking upwards. To his horror, the space above the tower was turning black with red lightning streaking across. The telltale sign of Omen at work. But she couldn’t be here!

But sure enough, from the depths of the portal, a large, winged Grimm appeared. It looked like a giant raven, with terribly sharp claws and razor-tipped feathers.

His kwami looked to him, determined. “We need to transform.”

He nodded and grabbed his phone, sending a quick message to Qrow, before stuffing it and the bakery box in his bag. After a cursory glance around, he ducked into the shadow of a tree trunk. “Alright Ruby, charm on!”

The clover-shaped brooch on his chest glowed and Ruby collided with it, and in an instant, he felt his civilian clothes disappear, replaced by a skin-tight, red and polka-dot suit and a mask that covered his eyes. His hair lengthened, his normal, spiked quiff falling into a messier comb over, some of the bangs tickling against his forehead. As the magic of the transition faded, he plucked the yo-yo off his belt and went racing across the park, throwing it at a rooftop, feeling the end latch onto a chimney. With a pull, it retracted and he went flying through the air, landing at the top in one smooth motion. He paused only long enough to leave his bag behind before he went racing along the rooftops towards the emergency.

“I don’t understand. How is Omen here?” Clover asked to no one, feeling panic begin to rise. Did something happen to the team back home? The thought made him sick.

Maria had been very strict about how many miraculous he could put on the field in his absence, not wanting to have another fall into the wrong hands like the Pegasus miraculous had. So, he – or more specifically Luckybug – left Yang the Dragon with Tai and Sun the Monkey with Elm, giving both specific instructions to protect San Francisco in his absence. He’d only called for their assistance a few times before when things got really hectic, so he was hoping Noir would be able to balance the less experienced miraculous users out.

But to think Omen may have defeated all three? That was too awful to imagine.

He looked up at where the bird was circling the tower, dread settling into a hard knot in his gut.

How was he going to do this alone?

~

“Your stinky fish, madame.” Qrow presented the sardines with a flourish.

Blake lit up immediately, diving for the can and fishing one out for herself.

He left the rest of the can on the desk in easy reaching distance, before setting back into his chair where a very blank word document was staring back at him. He gave an agitated huff. He’d been hoping to at least come up with a few research topics for their paper before Clover got back from his lecture in International Affairs. Which was, Qrow mentally reminded with a fond eyeroll, not a required course for the program they were a part of. But Clover just couldn’t help himself, saying it might come in handy for his GPA score as he signed himself up for the class.

Tch, overachiever.

The distinct feeling of being watched sent a shudder down his spine, and he gave the spirit beside him a look.

The cat kwami stared back, unblinking.

“Blake you’re freaking me out again.”

Her ears twitched and she went to fetch another sardine. “I was just waiting for you to get that dreamy look on your face again.”

He flushed. “D-Dreamy?”

“Mmhmm. It kind of looks like,” She gave an exaggerated sigh, placing a paw against her cheek and fluttering her non-existent lashes.

“I never look like that.” He deadpanned.

“Whatever you say.”

“I don’t! And, anyways, what’s it to you?”

She didn’t reply, taking the time to munch into her fish instead.

He sighed, focusing back on his laptop, switching over to the internet to check on the feed from back home. No new reports of any attacks on any of the news blogs. It was like their enemy had decided to take a vacation at the same time he had.

When Qrow had first became Noir, Maria had told him to be very careful with what information he gave, even to other miraculous holders. He intended to vaguely tell Luckybug he would be out. So, it had really been a stroke of luck when Luckybug announced first on their last mission together that a family emergency was going to keep him out of commission for a while – but that he’d left Tatsu and Timber in the wings in case he needed help. So, he never shared his own intentions. Instead, he placed Kali in charge of Weiss the Bee until he returned, knowing that the power team Lucky had left behind would need a more versatile and calculating fighter in their midst.  

(The role he normally filled, he thought with a sense of pride).

He’d been checking on things back at the home front regularly, knowing it only took minutes before social media was trending any new crisis, but it had been unusually quiet. He was sure Lucky was doing the same, wherever he was.

His heart clenched up, thinking about him. They’d been fighting the good fight together for over a year now, and it hadn’t taken much for Qrow to become smitten with the mysterious, masked hero. He’d thought he was everything he ever wanted; strong, daring, ambitious, with a dazzling smile and a baritone voice that was to die for. He was certain their time apart would be torturous.

Yet, it hadn’t been.

They said distance made the heart grow fonder, but it was more like his heart had forgotten. He couldn’t pinpoint when it was exactly that he’d become so preoccupied by Clover. How he’d grown to appreciate his gentle gestures and thoughtful words, his hearty chuckles and sincere expressions. It was as if stepping out of the war woke him from a stupor and gave him a chance to see things he’d missed, even when they were right in front of him.

Qrow sighed, placing his chin in his hand.

“This is my favorite part.”

“Huh?” He looked down at Blake, recognizing that mischievous gleam in her yellow eyes.

“The best story I get to witness is when one of my hosts falls in love.”

“I-I’m not falling in love!” He said immediately. “I have a crush.”

“Really.” It was her turn to deadpan.

He shoved himself away from his desk, offense all over his tone as he echoed, “Yes, really. You know how I feel about Lucky.”

He paced the length of the room, coming to stand by the window, staring down at the busy streets below. A moment later, he felt her weight on his shoulder, almost nonexistent, but there.

Her whisker tickled his neck as she turned her head towards him. “What do you know about Luckybug, really?”

Qrow leaned his arm along the glass, meeting his own reflection’s eyes. “I know he’s smart and funny and he’s always willing to put everything on the line to do what’s right.”

“But what do you know of him specifically? What’s his favorite color? What’s his family like? Does he like anchovies on his pizza?”

He snorted at the last one. “He’s my romantic interest, not yours.” His smile slipped away. “I know what you’re getting at. Unless we reveal who we are to each other, this can’t go any further.” He sighed, shoulders slumping. “I know that. But it still feels wrong, somehow. Are… my feelings that fickle?”

“Not fickle.” She levitated, hovering by his face. “They just had no room to grow. These things have to be nurtured, but if there’s nothing there to care for it, they’re only bound to wither away.”

That had been way too scripted. He gave a laugh. “That’s it, I’m not downloading anymore trashy romance novels on my phone for you to read.”

Her ears flattened. “If you make me sit through your boring lectures, I’ll break the sprinkler above your head.”

“Alright, I fold.” He held up his hands in surrender. Though he was almost positive it was an empty threat, he didn’t want to tempt fate with the kwami of destruction.

She softened. “Anyways, I think with-” She abruptly cut herself off, suddenly darting against the window. “What’s that?!”

He jerked around, spotting where the sky was darkening on the horizon, turning a deep, inky black. He’d seen it so many times before, the magic was unmistakable.

“You don’t think…” Blake trailed off.

“Omen.” Qrow finished, features smoothing into one of rigid resolve. He turned to the kwami, her expression matching his own.

He lifted his hand, the jeweled ring glinting back at her. “Blake, luck off.”

~

Clover landed in the courtyard, shouting as he ran. “Everyone, clear out!” He desperately tried to remember whatever French he could. “Fuir! S’il vous plaît!”

“Chanceux!” One of the locals cried, desperately trying to find their phone.

“Non, fuir!” He repeated.

A screech from above made him cover his ears, looking up to see the giant bird climbing down the Eiffel Tower, the vertical walk down unnerving somehow. He backed up as the bird landed on concrete, its impressive height daunting him. His fingers clenched around his weapon, backing up as the bird lowered its head. Its beak was big enough to swallow him whole if it wanted.

It seemed that, at least, was enough to make the people around him finally start to flee.

“Well, well, well. What have we here?”

The voice had him looking higher, spotting the speaker mounted on the beast’s back like a queen in her bed of feathers. Omen walked forward until she stood on the bird’s crown, lowering her sunglasses just enough to reveal crimson red eyes as she stared over the tops of the rims at him.

“What are you doing here?” Clover asked, pulling the yo-yo’s line out as a warning.

She only smiled patronizingly, as if he were no more a threat than a child. “That’s none of your concern.” She pushed her glasses back up, flipping her raven-haired braid over her shoulder. It fell like a horse’s tail along her back, between the wings the Pegasus miraculous granted her.

He felt bad for the imprisoned kwami being forced to do her bidding.

“Tell me, where’s your cohort?” Omen asked, giving a cursory glance around as if Noir would just pop into existence.

“I think I’m more than enough for you.” He instantly realized that had been the wrong thing to say as she laughed.

“You’re alone.” Fuck. “Well, that makes this even easier.” She gestured to the bird she stood on. “But as I’m a fair opponent, I’ll give you a choice. You can hand over your miraculous now, or you can resist and my little Nevermore can have a bit of fun first before I take it.”

As answer, he only started to rotate the yo-yo at his side, the device whooshing audibly as it swung in fast, heavy arcs.

Omen’s dark wings stretched open. “The fun way it is.”

She shot up into the air – but he didn’t have time to worry about her as the Nevermore immediately struck forward, beak opening to snap him in half. He jumped backwards, throwing his weapon out with a yell. It nailed the bird right in its head, the creature giving a sharp cry before it shook it off and straightened up. It opened its wings, the span of them covering a third of the courtyard, and gave a few hard flaps.

It was like being blasted by hurricane winds. Clover yelped as he was thrown off his feet and went tumbling across the concrete. The Nevermore, able to make up the distance in one bound, was on him in an instant. The wind whooshed right out of his lungs as a taloned foot came down on top of him, pinning him to the ground. He grunted, bracing his right arm between him and the appendage trying to crush him while sticking his left arm between its toes.

The bird jerked its head down for another strike, the razor-pointed beak filling his vision like a guillotine.

He swung his left hand upward, the yo-yo flying high and it was by pure luck he got it right in the eye.

The Nevermore gave a pained cry, hopping back. Suddenly, Clover could breathe properly again. He jumped to his feet, slightly lightheaded, throwing his line out again in hopes of tying the creature up and bringing it down.

Instead, with exact precision, the bird caught the end of the yo-yo in its beak, pulling it taut, and then threw its body around, bringing what was on the end of the line with it. Before Clover could process it, his body was yanked forward and he went flying through the air. Everything around him blurred into a mesh of greens, blues, browns and whites, blending together into a sickening cacophony.

He braced himself for the impact.

It was softer, and warmer, then he expected.

“Not having a great day are you, lucky charm?”

He gathered his bearings, realizing who had caught him and jerked his head up in surprise. “Noir?!”

Noir grinned back roguishly, winking one green eye at him. “You know, if you wanted to fall into my arms, you just had to ask.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Clover pushed a hand against his face, rolling out of his grasp to stand on his own. He retracted his yo-yo and studied his surroundings, taking note that he’d been tossed so far, they were underneath the Eiffel Tower. “What are you doing here?”

His teammate didn’t get a chance to answer, the bird giving another of those deafening screeches as it tried to shove itself between the legs of the tower. They both jerked away, before twisting around and running the other way.

“Could ask you the same thing!” Noir shouted over the noise. “Where’s Omen?”

“Lost track of her.” Which meant she was playing her normal A-game: Exhaust them by making them fight her pet so that it would be child’s play to steal their miraculous. Their goal was to defeat it – because if he could purify the contaminated feather within the creature, it would act like a direct attack against Omen, usually enough to weaken her into fleeing.

“Alright let’s – Watch it!”

Both of them jumped back when the corvid was suddenly in the path of their escape route, its gigantic foot missing them by inches when it was thrust under the tower, claws raking over the ground.

That was no good. Clover looked around, before pointing towards the ceiling of beams above them. “Up.”

Noir gave a nod, reaching out to grasp him around his waist and taking out his quarterstaff. He tapped it to the ground, and within seconds it shot them upwards as it extended. When it was high enough, they leapt onto the first section of metalwork, protected in the shell of crisscrossing steel. Noir compacted the weapon back into baton length, turning to him, “Alright, now what?”

“Now we just-” He started to say, raising his yo-yo, when the whole tower rattled as the Nevermore clamped onto the side they were hiding in. It gave a few wild cries, slamming its beak between the spaces as it tried to get to them.

Noir watched it warily before he called, “We’re safe for now, do it!”

Not wasting a moment, Clover threw his weapon up in the air with a cry, “Lucky charm!” The end of the yo-yo began to glow with the magic of creation, until it held the brilliance of a star. Then, with a pop, an item materialized, falling back down into his waiting hands.

It was a fishing rod.

Noir gave it, and then him, a dull look.

Clover was grinning. “Well, looks like-”

“Don’t-!”

“I’m giving fly fishing a whole new meaning.”

His partner groaned audibly. “You are worse than Tatsu.”

“No one is worse than Tatsu.” He joked. Tai’s never-ending set of puns really did fit the bill for cartoon-y superhero though.

Another slam from their enemy had dirt raining down on them from above.

Getting serious again, Clover rose both the rod and the yo-yo, saying, “You knock it off, I tie it up, and we end this.”

“Got it.” Noir nodded, pointing his staff towards the bird. “On your signal.”

He threw both lines upwards, yanking himself to a higher vantage point, running along the metalwork. They were so high up, it was like he was running towards the sky. Just as he got to the end, he yelled, “Now!”

At the same moment he jumped, the pole extended, slamming into the Nevermore’s chest. It was thrown off with a cry and both of them flew parallel to one another. He wound both weapons back then swung forward, the hook of the fishing rod and the ball of the yo-yo twisting around either wing of the bird. Flightless, it plummeted with another screech to the concrete, slamming down hard enough to shake the earth.

Clover’s landing was much softer, falling onto its chest and using the momentum to leap off of it like a trampoline, landing again several meters past its head. He held both the lines fast, ensuring it couldn’t get free.

“Cataclysm!” Noir came soaring out of the tower next, the power of his own destructive magic having taken shape at the end of his baton, glimmering black like an obsidian gem and curved like a scythe. As he came down, he swung it around, impaling the sharp end in the center of the monster bird’s chest.

It gave one last croaking cry, the ends of its wings curling up before falling flat as its body turned to dust, leaving nothing behind but a single, black feather. Clover threw out his yo-yo for it, the ball end splitting open like the shell of a ladybug’s wings, before snapping it up. He pulled it back in, hand open to catch it.

An arrow struck the end, knocking it off course.

In quick succession, another two arrows were shot off as Omen bared down for them, swooping in like a Nevermore herself. Clover swung the fishing rod, deflecting the one coming his way. Noir did the same for the one aimed at him with a quick spin of his staff, before using one end of it to vault himself upwards and meet their enemy half way.

As they grappled in the air, Clover took the chance to yank on his weapon in. With a flit of his fingers along the yo-yo’s surface, it glowed white, purifying the feather.

Omen gave a pained cry, before slamming the limb of her bow against Noir’s head. Clover’s chest tightened in panic, rushing forward as his partner fell like a stone from the sky. He just barely made up the distance in time to catch him in his arms, relieved to find him still conscious. They both looked up as they heard a scoff.

“Tch. Eventually your luck is going to run out. Nothing will stop me from creating a new world.” Omen sneered. “Until next time, boys.”

She shot an arrow above her, another red and black portal opening up. With a flap of her wings, she flew into it, gone as quickly as she had come.

Clover sighed, looking down at his partner. “You alright?”

“Ugh, gonna be feeling that one tomorrow.” Noir grunted, pressing a hand to his head, one of his leather cat ears being pushed down. His injury didn’t seem to hinder his ability to realize their position, because that telltale smirk overtook his face. “Though, guess I’m the one falling for you now.”

“I’m not above dropping you.”

“Are you always this mean to invalids?”

He loosened his hold just a smidge.

Noir clung to him. “Okay, message received.”

Clover set him on his feet, seeing the people starting to trickle back in to investigate the scene.

Time to go.

~

Once they were safely hidden on the rooftops, hidden in the shadows of a chimney, Luckybug turned to him with that million-watt smile. “Thanks for the assist. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Qrow lent back against the brick. As he spoke, his normally rough voice came out even rougher around the edges; the way it always did when he was Noir. “I’m sure you woulda figured it out lucky charm.”

“I’m glad I didn’t have to.” He replied, averting his gaze down. He spun the white feather between his fingers, frowning in consternation. “I still don’t understand how she got here though. Her portals shouldn’t be able to reach this far.”

Any other time, he would have been eager to ponder over the details of this latest attack with him, but he knew his time was running short and something more important was on his mind. “Could say the same about you. You got family out here?”

The frown became more defined. “Noir, you know I can’t-”

“Tell me, I know.” He waved off the excuse. “But that could change, if you told me who you really are.”

Lucky sighed, placing a hand on his hip. “Okay, what brought this all on again?”

Qrow met that blue-eyed gaze he’d once fallen in love with, feeling like everything between them was as thin as the wire of the other’s yo-yo. Uncertain and easy to break. If he wanted to make it stronger, he needed something more.

Now or never.

“Look, all that flirting I do? It’s not for show.” He pushed off the wall, clearing the few steps of distance between them. His heart raced in his ears. “I like you. A lot. I want to get to know you, the real you. But, I need to know if I even got a shot.”

“Noir…” He knew the answer before the other even spoke. It was all over his face, etched in his sad smile and downturned brows. “I’m sorry, but my heart’s already with someone else.”

“Oh.” He turned away.

Funny, he thought it’d hurt more.

A tentative hand rested on his shoulder. “You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.” Qrow replied, surprised that he meant it.

Before more could be said, both their miraculous started to beep in warning.

The hand slipped away. “Guess time’s up. I’ll… see you around?”

Qrow nodded, hearing Lucky retreat along the roof. Before he could leap away, he called, “Hey, that person of yours. Do they know?”

“I, uh.” Gravel crunched underfoot as his teammate shifted his weight anxiously. “Not yet.”

“You should tell ‘em.” He looked over his shoulder, giving him a reassuring smile. “Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

Lucky’s eyes widened, and then he was smiling back. “Thanks. Someone’s going to be really lucky to have you too, one day.”

Qrow reached for his staff, heading his own way. “Well, duh. I’m incredible.”

The other cast his line, flying away with a laugh. Qrow watched him go, before dropping down into the alleyway. He ducked down behind some boxes just in time, the leather bodysuit falling back into his normal wear.

Blake collapsed into his hair with a sigh. “I’m going to need about fifteen more sardines.”

“Glutton.” He got to his feet, knowing his nest of black hair would hide her just fine as he headed for the sidewalk.

“Qrow? Are you okay?”

Answering it the second time around wasn’t any harder then the first. “Yeah. I just needed to know for sure. Now I know it’s okay to let him go.”

She didn’t respond verbally, but he felt the way she nuzzled his head, though whether it was meant to be for comfort or encouragement was hard to say. Maybe both.

It took about fifteen minutes to get back to the share house he and a half-dozen other students were living in for the duration of the program. When he stepped inside, he found it oddly quiet, the only noise a slight shuffling in the kitchen. A glance revealed his twin sister was there, hunched over the counter, nursing a cup of tea in one hand as she pressed her forehead into the other.

Heh, maybe she felt him get clonked in the head earlier. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” She mumbled. “Just a migraine.”

He lowered his voice, “You the only one here?”

Not up for talking more, Raven merely nodded.

Strange, Clover should have been back by now. “Okay, I’ll make sure to tell everyone to be quiet when they get in. Feel better, sis.”

She offered him a weak smile. He ducked out of the kitchen, heading back for his room. As Blake floated down to her still open can of tiny fish for a much-needed recharge, Qrow snatched up his phone to send out the group message, only to find two missed messages from Clover.

The first one was from nearly an hour ago. Sorry, running late!

On my way now. You won’t believe what happened at the Eiffel Tower. That one was from just a few minutes ago.

Qrow quirked a smile. If Clover only knew…

He tapped back a reply. I know. I went out to try and get a view of it. Forgot my phone.

He could see the other was replying, but he switched to the group text in the meantime, sending out a warning to be quiet for his twin. He’d just hit send, when another string of texts came through, one right after the other:

How do you forget your phone? You’re supposed to get photographic evidence!

Anyways I’ll be there in a few.

Also, noted.

Qrow headed for his bed, flopping across the sheets with a groan. The aches of the day were starting to set in, and he felt ready for a shower and a nap. He buried his pounding head into his pillow, shutting his eyes.

He didn’t open them again until he heard the bedroom door click shut. He rose up on his elbows, scanning the room quickly. The sardine can was gone, as was Blake.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” Clover asked as he crossed the room, dropping his bag on his bed.

“Wasn’t asleep.” He ran a hand over his face, adding, “Much as I wanted to be.”

“You doing alright? You look pretty beat.”

Beat up was more like it.

“Been a long day.” He offered as explanation. It did little to wipe the concern from the other’s face. “I’m fine Cloves. We got that paper to work on.”

Clover ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Sure we do but we can take it easy for tonight. Can’t say I wouldn’t mind to turn in early myself.”

“You? Mr. Extra Credit?”

“Haha, very funny. I mean it. I have this terrible crick in my neck. Oh!” He dropped his hand so he could go digging into his bag. “But hey, I did bring you something that just might cheer you up.”

That got Qrow to finally sit up, trying not to seem too eager as the other procured a small, white box and held it out towards him. He reached across the space between their beds to take the gift. Once it was safely on his side, he pulled open the top.

“It probably got a little smooshed, but it’ll taste the same.” Clover was right about that – the cake had fallen on its side, and smears of icing clung to the top and sides of the box.

Qrow swiped a finger across one of them, gathering just enough to take a taste, and his eyes lit up. “Double German chocolate? You’re too good to me.”

“Nah, I can be better. Because I have… a fork!” Clover waved the plastic utensil around, winking his way. “What would you do without me?”

“Probably have less dorky interactions to deal with.” He replied, reaching out again.

Instead of grabbing the tines, he curled his fingers over where the other’s held onto the handle.

Qrow deliberately met his gaze, smiling as suavely as he could. “Thank you, Clover.”

Though his cheeks turned a little pink, Clover met him match for match with his own charming smile. “Anytime.”

As they both pulled back, they couldn’t help but think this was the start of something good.

Underneath their beds, unbeknownst to them both, Ruby and Blake shared knowing smiles.

[bludhavencapital]

The Story of

MERGO

There’s Something Wrong with that Guardian

Mergo

Summary

Mergo, a Brilliant Hunter, born near the end of The Golden Age, who was the first to create the Golden Gun Skill called Brightest Star Gaze, suffered with severe mental problems, and became a dangerous threat to fellow risen. Despite her suffering with schizophrenia, her skills were prodigious and unmatched to any hunter ever existed and was well respected for it.

At one point in time, before the Great Ahamkara Hunt, Mergo was abducted and raped by Volmâr’s Hive Knights on her strange departure to the Moon. Mergo traveled to Venus to bargain with the Ahamkara in helping her get rid of these hellish voices and memories of her being raped, but it only worsened her schizophrenia. Mergo murdered her own fire-team members, attempted to kill two warlocks, and Ikora Ray before her raid mission, almost killed herself in the dreadnaught, severely injured Andal Brask, and plotted to assassinate the vanguard. She believes Volmâr is working with the vanguard, and using their disciples to execute her for “illegally refusing to breed worms.”

Eris enchanted her Touch of Malice with a speciality bedded to retain her sanity, by keeping the voices contained in the weapon itself.

Mergo still remains in the tower, but locked beneath the vanguard office in a holding cell. As she’s too dangerous to be around other guardians. Even though Mergo’s lost her sanity, she still keeps her skill, nimbleness, and raw talent.

Unless her madness throws her off balance, she’s the sharpest, most precise lethal Golden Gun hunter to ever exist.

The First Curse, A

Perfect Shot

Mergo’s most finest weaponry was The First Curse, to whom the ‘Brightest Star Gaze’ title belonged to. Although many guardians disliked the gun, Mergo loved the Gun for the power it can unleash. Many Hunters preferred other weapons, for The First Curse felt underwhelming to use even with its most powerful perk. The requirements were difficult, and the Gun itself was unfathomable to understand how to use it correctly/precisely. For Mergo, a naturally gifted marksman, the quest came easy to her and managed to finish the quest the quickest. Relieved by the sight of the white&chrome lining of the palette, 6-inch barrel, and most importantly, the weight, her desperate hours of holding the Impercation felt like an accomplished chore. Despite her bare witnessing the guns beauty and majesty, she did not see this weapon as beautiful. To her, The First Curse was misunderstood, and only needed guidance in becoming a perfect form of itself. It’s shot is precise and sharp, but with every little push of the trigger requires a faultless point.

“The gun can speak endlessly, when given the moment.” — Mergo.

Mergo then chose The First Curse as her own golden gun. Within time, and intense amounts of training, Mergo showed sheer perfection with The First Curse so much, that her golden gun amplified a Blueish Sharp Flame Streak, instead of its regular orange flame streak. The flames on her Golden Gun burnt blue flames and so did her abilities. A much stronger/hotter version to original Golden Gun, it can pierce right through monumental objects and barricades, such as a Titan, Hydra or Hive Knight’s Barrier. The bullet traveling speed is that of the speed of lightning, it can even devastate enemies standing a few feet towards the bullet trail, making her skill all the more rewarding. Mergo has excelled in her mastery in precision, and became the greatest lethal golden gun hunter to ever exist

Deepest Darkest Secret

Prior to the Taken King, Mergo always showed defects in her psychology. Mergo believed her nightmares were beholding amongst reality. Moments before her departure to the Dreadnaught, her warlock acquaintance, Raelag found her in an oscillate state, mummering about “Babies…” and “Concubines”…found speechless, he went to Ikora Ray about a concern with his fireteam member, having fits and rocking beside a corner in her apartment. Ikora Ray took Mergo into her private headquarters to the retrieve information personally. Mergo wouldn’t stop calling Ikora “Volmâr”, Ikora even needed to render her unconscious Mergo in order to make matters less chaotic. Upon awaking, Ikora asked again what Mergo was talking about. Finally, Mergo spoke, but in short, she was too afraid to explain in detail of Hive kidnapping her and temporarily slaving her as a worm donor. “Worm Donor?” Ikora question with confusion. “Apart of me was taken, and kept galaxies away…my light, my innocence. And they could be using it for destruction.”

“You need to be honest with me Mergo, are guardians being used as worm donors, and were you a victim? How exactly did they, “do” this to you?”

“……I knew you were one of them Ikora,”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You look just like her, you must be a clone, I can see her! Volmâr! She’s just......fidgeting and twitching, .....GET THIS DISGUSTING CREATURE OUT OF MY SIGHT!”

Ikora can’t comprehend what’s happening, but Mergo attacks her out of blind rage. Mergo was sent into an isolation chamber in a well put straight jacket, sealed with a soros brand monument, where she will calm down before her departure. Ikora has kept the information of Gaurdians, even male guardians being used as worm donors to the Hive. She believes Hive are raping guardians into impregnation. These feats were practice for as long as guardians fought against them. Of course it’s too explicit to nationally syndicate, so it was only kept privately in the vanguard. Ikora, and the vanguard believed Oryx is the root of the problem. Stopping him could reduce trafficking amongst the guardians and hive in this solar system. She took note that hive are possibly taking our light through insemination, by birthing Light Worms, and Mergo was possibly not the first victim. A possible new darkness to awaken in the light.

“Why would she hide something like this? Has this been kept in her mind ever since she sought victory over Crota’s End?” Ikora Ray.

“That could explain why she’s so damn good with her golden gun. I mean…… It burns blue. She must’ve been using this secret to express it in her skills. She may have grown numb to it quickly, and encouraged herself to be this.. cold and calculating monster in the field. I mean her talents are insane!” Cayde-6

“....We’ll have the fireteam aboard the ship, you and Aeros can aid them during their adventure.”

“Are you sure we should let her go...? Isn’t she a little....”

“....”

“C’mon ....do I have to say it?”

*rolls eyes* “but it’s only because I believe it could help replenish her. She’s a strong asset, gifted, talented guardian..”

“...and beautiful, very gorgeous.”

Living Nightmare, The Pitfall

Midnight before the raid

There could be strange whispers coming from Mergo’s Chamber, calling out and chanting vibrantly as the lights flickered throughout the darkened corridor. Mergo is seen mummering again about worm impregnation. Her eyes looked exhausted, and darkened from sleep deprivation. She’s mentally defeated and in need of redemption.

Today is the day she prepares her departure to the dreadnaught in defeating Oryx. An hour into the dawn, Mergo finally gains composure of reality again. Impatiently, she breaks free from the jacket herself, and actually departures to the dreadnaught alone without her fireteam unplanned. Unnervingly, something is summoning Mergo to the dreadnaught subconsciously. As she flows through the Milky Way, The Hellishlike whispers begin to lurk back into her presence, and continue to haunt her as she’s headed beyond Saturns rings. In contrast to everyone else who went through the dreadnaught in the Court of Oryx, Mergo was actually brought in deserted room behind Golgoroth, with a three gorgeous looking chests coded in Hive Language. They appeared to be the same language used in Volmâr’s chamber. Hit with sudden dejavu, she desperately proceeds to place them the way she remembered how they were in order.

“Birth” “Reinvigoration” “Malice”.

Mergo only managed to open one of them ( Reinvigoration ) that actually contained a fragment of Touch of Malice. The other chest ( Malice ) begins to crack itself open, “here lies a clandestine rendezvous, an invitation to the throne room, where the daughters of Oryx reside.” Upon meeting the doors from the maze, Mergo sees a disturbing image; herself as a hive worm with hive puss fuming from its pores, squealing like a newborn creature. Mergo was frozen with shock. Without blinking, she killed it, with no hesitation. However, upon killing it, her bullet seemed to have hit a warlock, not a hybrid worm. It was Raelag, whom was required by Ikora to find her. Mergo breaks down in tears upon what she’s done, kicking her legs frantically, shooting her gun on the ground, having a full blown break down.

“I’m a monster, they’ve just been trying to tell me... I deserved to be raped, I deserved to be labeled a birthed of evil! Angel! Angel…don’t revive me... please.”

Her ghost’s name is Angel. He tries mending the situation, helping her keep her mind under control, but it only coupled to more tears. Mergo then attempts suicide with her first curse, only for the TOM Fragment to sing and churn with green energy. It was excited to hear a guardian suffer so abruptly. As Mergo looked up from the ground, she heard trembling beneath her. Raelag’s body was fidgeting on his stomach. She then flipped him over only to reveal that his helmet was gone, but his entire face was also gone. She screeched so loudly it echoed a huge shockwave in the dark chamber, then started beating Raelag frantically for him to stop seizing. As her Anxiety increased, Mergo panicked even more, then scurried quickly from the body, following a dark telepathic light that appeared before her.

Climatically, upon reaching the end of the darkness, she finally approaches the daughters floating symmetrically on both sides of the throne room, praying to their gods or god Oryx. Without the help of her fireteam, Mergo nearly died in the sequence just before the sister teleports her back into the throne room, where she almost died in the process of carrying the orb to completion. But successfully, she sufficed the battle and destroyed the last sister with her Blue Golden Gun, snuffing anything left of her.

The final battle with Oryx wasn’t like the origin raid, but Oryx actually impersonating Mergo as a doppelgänger, by using his Taken powers to forge a body of hers. Disturbingly, he manifested the Volmâr Hive Knights that raped her in the Hellmouth, and had her fight an armory of them while he regenerated his power. Mirrored by the same load out, it was unfeeling if Oryx mirrored the same skills as Mergo’s, since his was Taken Formed. Mergo fought with bloody fury, and strangled herself (Oryx) until he disintegrated.

Unfortunately, Mergo has actually won the battle, but what makes it bittersweet is, she now has to live the rest of her life with crippling mental issues. Eris is working to try and reanimate the Touch of Malice in specialty for Mergo’s on going nightmares. She will forge an artifact that glows a midnight-tinge color in the green crater surrounded by rotating rings. Eris believes this will be a specialty bedded for her Schizophrenia and PTSD, in keeping them only “alive” beyond the TOM. Oryx has received the last laugh on Mergo’s end, and Mergo is stained by the hives destructed nature alike Dredgon and Eris. Her dignity and perfection are now unbalanced, however, Ikora hopes the TOM will at least help keep her mind stable.

[reviee]

three prologue | 1 | 2 |

summary: Post-war. Canon-divergent. In which Team 7 governs Konoha, much to Sakura’s dismay. —SasuSaku

note: third installment of my multichap fic (im surprised, too) and finally my extremely long headcanon of how sasuke tells sakura about the massacre exists. also, read on ffn for easier viewing, linked in the title.

Sakura finds Sasuke’s chakra signature on the south side of the village before she arrives. She is soothed by the feeling, in contrast to the early days of his desertion, when she felt anxiety at every turn.

“Sasuke-kun,” she calls to him and he turns around, looking so painfully familiar to her, as if they were going to meet Team 7, in the way that they did when they were twelve.

They walk together silently, stopping at an empty plot of land. She recognizes it as the old Uchiha district, emptied after the destruction Pein had wreaked on Konoha. Sasuke quickly forms hand seals, and a stone appears, a sharingan carved into its center.

“I’ve been here before,” Sakura says to him softly, looking around. She pauses, wondering if she should divulge the reasons that she had been here. It doesn’t matter anymore, she thinks, if they are to go forward.

She can feel Sasuke’s eyes on her, but they are not accusatory, only curious.

“After you left, I did some studying, on you, Itachi, the Uchiha clan…” to find you, is what she leaves unsaid.

She looks around the field, remembering the old and abandoned buildings that had been here before.

“Most things about the clan were classified, of course, but sometimes I helped Tsunade-sama after hours at the Hokage Tower. Under the properties owned by the Uchiha clan, this was one of them.”

Sakura remembers, as a thirteen-year-old girl, running around frantically attempting to find information on one missing teammate, while her other teammate had also left her behind. For two and a half years she was alone, spending the majority of her time with Tsunade, and only rarely seeing Kakashi.

Kakashi had been embarrassed, she knows now, because he had been naive in his reassurance that everything would be alright. Still, she thinks, she would have liked it if he had at least practiced taijutsu with her. He was, after all, still her mentor.

But, she supposes, she had been Kakashi’s student only insofar as he was Team 7’s leader. To him, Sasuke was his pupil, the one he had passed raikiri down to, and that student had now been using it on his friends.

“There was nothing here, except empty houses,” she looks at the sharingan on the ground, illuminated by dim moonlight, “nothing I could see, anyway.”

“It’s a special seal,” he tells her, “for sharingan users. This is the nakano shrine, where the Uchiha clan held their meetings.”

She nods and they walk descend into the structure. She spots at the far end of the room they enter, a pedestal with a blank stone tablet on it.

“What is it?”

“It is the monument that contains all of the clan’s secrets,” Sasuke replies, “You need the sharingan to read it, and some parts can only be read by those with the mangekyo.”

She nods, unsurprised by the clan’s level of secrecy. Growing up, the disappearance of the Uchiha clan should have been a huge scandal, but she had only heard whispers of a deserter and the word massacre. She knows now that the Hokage must have covered it up and looking at the scrolls had only confirmed that there had been little information disseminated about it.

Even now, she thinks, looking at Sasuke, nobody in the village knew much about the whole clan that had disappeared.

She wonders if it is alright for her to know about this.

“So,” he breaks the silence once again, “you read the scroll I left you.”

She nods. She had a suspicion that it was Sasuke who had left the scroll for her last night, unsealed, but it is good that he is confirming it. She had wondered if this was going to be an open secret between them, or if perhaps he had a point in doing so.

He had known about the truth behind the massacre, she realizes, and Naruto must have, too. Why didn’t anyone tell me, she wants to know, but remembers being left behind, and tells herself she should have expected it.

But, still, she thinks about Sasuke telling her, in his own way, and wonders why.

“I did,” she confirms, “I had no idea.”

He is silent for a moment. “Me neither,” he tells her honestly, “Itachi shouldered the burden all by himself,” he pauses, looking at her.

“That’s what being on the Konoha Council means to me.”

Sakura understands. Last night, she had thought, so this is the truth that Sasuke-kun lives with. She realizes that divulging this information might have been only a part of their roles as council members, but she nevertheless feels connected to him in a way that she hadn’t before.

“Then,” she walks up to the pedestal, standing next to Sasuke, “we should honour his memory.”

“Aa,” he agrees, and picks up the tablet, “I want to fill this with information about my mangekyo, and possibly the rinnegan, as well. There’s only been very few who have awakened the former, and only me who has the latter. For the sake of the clan, I think it’d be prudent to.

“Will you help me, Sakura?”

“Of course, Sasuke-kun,” she replies without hesitation, and he nods.

It is rare for Sasuke to ask her, of all people, for help. He is often reluctant to accept her efforts, even for the smallest injuries, and she understands that sometimes it is because he does not want to trouble her. Don’t bother, he’ll say, as if to tell her, don’t bother with me. But she had never been good at leaving him alone.

“Let’s go, then,” he puts the tablet back down on the pedestal and blows out the torch. “Didn’t you say you were going to cook dinner?”

She grins, thinking about the fresh tomatoes that she had bought that morning, and follows him out.

.

 .

 They eat dinner in silence, but she does not mind because he looks satisfied. She wonders how long it has been since someone has cooked for him and feels happy to be able to do so.

He washes the dishes without being asked to and she dries them. They are synchronized, in a way that Sakura hasn’t felt since their genin days, and she is lulled into a sense that this could be their future.

Sasuke sits on the floor of her living room, his legs crossed primly and his back straight. She kneels in front of him, and watches as he closes his eyes, before she sucks in a breath and places her hands on his face.

“I’m in your care,” he murmurs, and her heart flutters.

Sakura is astonished at the complexity of Sasuke’s sharingan. She had, before the war, briefly examined Kakashi’s eye, which was wholly imbued with what she knew now as Obito’s presence in addition to his own, as two chakras working together. The way it had been implanted had also been rudimentary, but effective, confirmed by the decade of rigorous use Kakashi had gotten out of it. She had been amazed by Rin Nohara’s ability to so rapidly unravel the way that the eye worked, and hopes that she can do the same, for Sasuke’s sake.

She had also seen firsthand how much chakra the sharingan depleted—Kakashi’s inability to deactivate it slowly and continuously burned chakra, even when it had been covered by the headband.

Unlike Kakashi’s eye, Sasuke’s eye is imbued with many chakras: she feels the foreign presence of the chakra that fuels the rinnegan, and the dominance and tightly controlled presence of Sasuke’s own chakra, but most of all, she feels the languid presence of Itachi’s chakra, peaceful and yet overpowering.

She feels the immensity of Sasuke’s sharingan, especially in conjunction with the rinnegan, and understands better how strong he is. It frightens her a little.

They sit like this for a better part of two hours, taking only short breaks so that she could write notes. Sasuke does not say a word, but she is reassured by the sounds of his even breathing. Sometimes she indulges in the sight of the soft lines of his lips, slightly parted, and wonders what it would be like to kiss him. Somehow, despite everything, she feels twelve again.

“Sakura,” he says, catching her wrist in his hand, “let’s stop for tonight. You’re getting tired.”

She blinks and realizes that she has used an immense amount of chakra by intricately tracing his pathways. She lets her arms fall to her lap. Sasuke’s hand lingers for a moment, before he returns it to his side.

She sighs and sits next to him, her back leaning against the couch. She glances at him, blushes, and decides to lean her head against his shoulder. It’s the least he could do, she decides, although she feels slightly apprehensive.

“There’s something else I want to show you,” he tells her quietly, apparently fine with this act of intimacy, and adds, “if you’re not too tired.”

Without lifting her head, she replies, “I’m fine.”

He is silent, and then she feels his fingers on her forehead, just as she had felt them on the day he left for his journey. She remembers the warmth from then, and feels it even stronger now, and realizes that he is transferring chakra to her.

“Sasuke-ku—”

“Just wait,” he tells her, keeping his fingers on her forehead. She closes her eyes.

Suddenly her mind is filled with images—they are hazy, as if she was in a dream, and she realizes it is the Konoha from more than a decade ago. This is the sharingan’s genjutsu, she thinks, and it is so real that she feels the heat of the sun on her cheeks.

She sees a young Sasuke, at four years old, sitting next to Itachi. No, she thinks, these are Sasuke-kun’s memories, and watches as the young Itachi pulls his brother over his lap.

“Big brother will always protect you, Sasuke,” she hears him say, and tries not to cry when she sees the unabashed admiration in the little Sasuke’s face and the tragedy that awaits him.

The scene switches, and she sees a slightly older Sasuke running towards Itachi, who is dressed in full ANBU attire. There is another Uchiha member with disheveled hair leaning against the residence’s front door, presumably waiting for Itachi, and smiling at Sasuke.

This is what his family was like, she muses, before he had lost everything.

“Maybe next time, Sasuke,” she recognizes the words coming out of Itachi’s mouth, before the young Sasuke is tapped on the forehead in the same way she had been.

Her heart clenches.

“Sorry, Sasuke,” the other Uchiha says, “let me borrow your brother for a bit.”

Sakura is filled with a carefree feeling when she sees the young Sasuke’s expression, pouting like the child that he had been. Even Sasuke-kun can make faces like these, she thinks, and briefly remembers similar expressions he had made in their genin days.

He spares her the images of the massacre, she realizes, because they are suddenly on top of a building, surrounded by a vast forest, and she can see Sasuke, around the age he was three years ago, in a black attire. She sees Itachi, bloody, stalking towards him.

“Sorry, Sasuke,” she hears him say with his last breath, “but there won’t be a next time.”

She feels the sensation of Itachi’s fingers on her forehead, the force of the knowledge that he had left with Sasuke swirling in her head.

The scene switches again, and they are now in a cave, and Sasuke is dressed in the same attire he had been wearing during the war. There is a bright light coming from across the room, and she is surprised to see that it is Itachi, with edo tensei eyes.

He is dissipating, she notes, and her mood plummets, now overshadowed by a deep sadness that she has never felt until now.

“…you don’t ever have to forgive me. And no matter what you do from here on out, know this… I will love you always.”

She can feel the weight of Itachi’s forehead against hers, and the complete helplessness that is coursing through Sasuke. She feels as if she cannot breathe, the pain in her chest wound so tightly that she gasps achingly. She realizes that she is suffering for real, that this pain mirrors the one that Sasuke had felt even more profoundly, and that there are hot tears rolling down her face.

Sasuke quickly releases her from the genjutsu. She lets out a small cry as he wraps a strong arm around her shoulders.

He is silent as she cries, his fingers gripping her shoulder reassuringly. Her mind is blank, she cannot even begin to comprehend what has just happened, but she knows that she has never felt anything like it.

Sasuke had shared his memories and feelings of his brother with her, in a way that only members of the Uchiha clan could.

“The Uchiha clan valued love and friendship above all else,” Sasuke tells her, his voice steady and calm, “and feels everything too deeply. When that feeling consumes them, the sharingan awakens. That is the Uchiha clan’s curse of hatred.”

Sakura has nothing to say. The words echo in her head, and she cannot stop trembling. She leans into Sasuke in an attempt to calm herself, and feels him tighten his arm around her, the warmth of his breath on the top of her head.

She falls asleep in his embrace.

[misslisterkeepsajournal]

1828 Saturday 17 May

8 1/2 10 1/2

Breakfast about 9 1/2 or rather later - sat talking a little to Mrs. D- [Dalton] their butcher's bills have been £300 a year and £200 a year - vary very much - 11 servants, 8 women and 3 men - 1 hour or 1 1/2 hour packing - at breakfast Marianne and her nonsense calling me nanny she asked how I liked I said the name was certainly quite new to me and surprised but I was otherwise indifferent about it what a goose she is and I now rather dislike her - she told me yesterday she only painted to please her father her own happiness was to lie in bed reading a good novel - Sat a few minutes with Mr. D- [Dalton] in his study - a momentary take leave of Marianne and all the rest of the girls in her painting room - then sat with Mrs. D- [Dalton] she summed up what I said, they said in Paris I ought to buy for visiting next winter to £118 which she said would dress her for 2 years -

Left the party at 1 55/60 - IN- [Isabella Norcliffe] would see me off - we walked about - went into the church yard - off at 2 10/60 in the Telegraph (4 inside coach) for Durham - only one man inside besides myself, and he left us at Darlington, and I was alone the rest of the way - the footman took my liggage [sic] and the butler went to open me the coach door for which each got half a crown I have no intention returning to my friends at Croft or meeting them in July at Hartlepool as they wish me to do for a few days or as long as I can Marianne would teaze and not one of the rest would repay me - incurred a cross just after leaving Rushyford thinking of Pi [Mariana] -

Got to Darlington (and change horses) in 35 minutes, a nice town - neatly kept handsome looking church - a greek cross ∴ looking all of a heap - at the far end of the town, left, the 'Eldon main, Fire coal 7/6 a ton - line coal 6/8 a ton' - change horses at Rushyford, a singley-standing neat-looking splashed Inn 1/2 way between Darlington and Durham - here the road turns off westward to Bp. [Bishop] auckland which being about 10 miles from Durham may probably be about a mile from here? - flat, uninteresting drive from Croft to Rushyford, beyond this the range of limestone hill (right) begins to near a little, the country is more undulating - a little hill or 2 in the road, and patches of wood are to be seen, and the situation of Durham upon the Wear is picturesque - no sight of the city till within about a mile, descend the hill - the cathedral finely placed on a hill, and the city creeping down along its declivity at the foot of which runs the wear with a good bridge over it -

At 5 1/4 alighted at the 1/2 moon, an ale-house nearly opposite the Waterloo Inn or hotel which, the King's or Queen's head (I forget which) are called the best Inns in Durham - the former not good-enough-looking to strike me, or catch my attention in any way - sent off my luggage to another alehouse the hat and feather, close to the marketplace, and ordered my place to be taken for Sunderland (on purpose to see the bridge) at 6 -

Took a prettyish young woman with me from the Inn as guide to the cathedral - close by, the bp's [bishop's] palace built out of, and called the castle, the old tower (square with bevelled corners?) standing close to it, in the garden on grounds on a mound like Clifford's Tower, York - entrance to the palace a castle court by an old castle-gateway - fine-looking cathedral - plain exterior - 2 lowish-looking west towers and latern tower high above its neighbours - the present cathedral, said the woman who shewed it, built about 900 years ago - the 2 doors under the 2 west towers instead of opening outward, open into what is called St. Mary's Chapel, said to be part of the old, original church - a very fine specimen of 3 aisles of circular arches all the groinings of which finished in dog-tooth - here stands a large table tomb, the stone quite plain, said to be the tomb of 'St. Bede - this chapel is just fitted up with reading desk etc. for evening lectures - the deal of the benches, etc., not yet painted - only just done - last week - circular arches along the nave, chancel, and transepts - the most striking thing, all the pairs of columns dissimilar - 1 pair fluted straight - 2 or 3 pairs fluted in different patterns - spirally, and chequered - very odd effect - never saw anything like it before -

Very odd columns in the Durham Cathedral (Image Source) 

Pavement of the nave not good - north door into the nave very bad - cloisters perfect - in - very good repair - behind the altar is the shrine of St. Cuthbert and behind this what they call the nine altars, a spacious chapel which, with its large middle window and 2 side windows finished outside in 3 gables? with 2 turret somehow at each outside gable, forms a singular sort of looking attachment to the main building as one looks at from without - the large stone covering St. Cuthbert's bones just behind the altar was removed the other day - the bones taken up, put into a common deal coffin, and reinterred in the same place as before - no fine monuments - 2 or 3 old ones of the lords Neville, killed in battle against the Scots - the woman said the singing was excellent and the organ one of the finest in England, much finer than that in York -

Dr. Prossers a good looking gothic house - the other building round the close (my guide called it the college) making no great appearance - the close like a long quadrangular court, too confined - the city (brick built) all up hill and down - saw not one good street - small poorish market place (market day) the most striking object in it, the pump, the well being covered over with a little massy round-topped building surmounted by a huge figure of Neptune with his trident-

At 6 5/60 took my seat by the old coachman (tho' I had my place inside) and left the inside to the market people such a coach, such tackling, and 4 such horses I never before saw in England - I wondered how and when we should get to Sunderland - said the coachman 'all where we are going is underminded' - strong symptoms of a coal country - rail-ways raised on the black shale, and here and there the smoke of an engine to be descried - Houghton-le-spring 1/2 way between Durham and Sunderland - a niceish good village - no 'squire - only the rector who has a low but handsome 2 storied gothic house approached by a handsome castle-like gateway - very good-looking church - the people talked of Houghton bank - It was by this, rising steeply from the village, that we crossed the great ridge of lime hill - about 2 years since they cut thro' the hill (3 or 4 hundred yards in length) the present road which is in the deepest part, they say, 15 yards deep - almost all was done by blasting - the sides perpendicular - no complaint of its being filled up with snow last winter - does not look more than 7 yards wide if so much - only just room for 2 carriages to pass comfortably - singular looking cleft as one saw it in the distance on approaching Houghton - no view of the sea till within 2 or 3 miles of Sunderland, tho' perhaps one ought to see it from the top of Houghton bank - brick or limestone buildings all the way - villages pretty good - the coachman pointed out where Wearmouth ended and Sunderland began - fine, broad, handsome long street - nothing like it in Durham -

Alighted at the George Inn at 7 10/60 - hearing that a coach would leave the Golden Lion at 8 1/2 in the morning for N.C. [Newcastle], went and took up my quarters there for the night - best Inn in Sunderland - no great appearance outside, but apparently plenty of room - got into a little sitting room by the door, with a roaring fire in it, hot as flames - tho' a little starved on entering, soon obliged to open the window - had tea immediately - not a muffin nor tea cake in the house, but not having eaten since breakfast at 9 1/2 made a hearty meal on dry toast and butter - market day, too, at Sunderland - the market held in the street, but the butchers stalls, all looked neat and well - went to my room at 9 1/2 - the chambermaid shewed me into a much smaller room than I had seen on entering said it was the undermaid the other was engaged I remonstrated said I was annoyed sent for the mistress she was out when would she up in the morning not till eleven sat up late made the woman change me into the next room which was however the same or no better than the other found the people took me for a nobody and I suspected on seeing the waiter last night and quietly resolved to make the best of it determining to save my money - Do not believe the bed was damp, but slept on my plaid and in my drawers and greatcoat - everything very clean - very fine day -  

Letter this morning (about noon) from Mrs. Duffin, York, to say her nephew Matthew was elected to to Christ Church Oxford - all her father wished - read aloud to Mr. D- [Dalton] the kind messages to him and Mrs. D- [Dalton] to go to the Duffins when they want a bed in York etc. etc. 

Croft to Darlington . 4 D- [Darlington] to Durham . 18 D- [Durham] to Sunderland . 13

Reference: SH:7/ML/E/10/0160 - SH:7/ML/E/10/0161

[avengerscompound]

That Kid You Knew - Chapter 5

That Kid You Knew: An Iron Man Fanfic

Masterlist Previous //

Buy me a ☕ Square:  @iron-man-bingo Friends to Lovers

Warning:  Smut (M|F vaginal fingering)

Word Count:  2673

Pairing:  Tony Stark x F!Reader

Summary:  You had grown up knowing Tony Stark but as you’d gotten older you’d lost track of him.  When you see him at a party you have a drug-fueled one-night-stand with him.

10 years later he finds you again and has to come to terms with the fact he’s been a father all the time.

Chapter 5

“So, did you have a good birthday, kid?”

The sound of Tony’s voice traveled down the hall as he spoke with Owen.  The party had gone a little later than expected and had been followed by dinner out with the Avengers and that landed right in the middle of the two Harry Potter and the Cursed Child show’s he’d gotten tickets too.

You’d come back to your apartment that was stacked high with moving boxes and were now trying to find space in them for the myriad of new gifts Owen had received.  The removalists were coming to take everything tomorrow morning, so you wanted to make sure it was ready to go.

“It was awesome!  I never did that many things before.  I thought we were done and then there was another thing.”  Owen replied, the excitement clear in his voice.  He continued talking but the words aren’t clear enough to hear what he is saying.

“Of course.  Owen.  I’m never going to miss another birthday.  I have to make up for all those ones I missed.  When you turn 50 I’ll be there.”  Tony said.

“Wouldn’t you be dead by then?”  Owen giggled.

“I’m never going to die.”  Tony joked.

There was a sudden fit of loud laughter from the room and you moved into the kitchen to unpack the dishwasher.

“I wish we weren’t moving.  I liked being close to you.”  Owen said.

“Yeah.  You’ll have a yard though.  Maybe you can talk to your mom about getting a dog.”  Tony said.

You chuckled and rolled your eyes as resigned yourself to having to go to a shelter with Owen.

“Will you come and visit a lot?”  Owen asked.

“As much as I can.  And you can come to stay here with me.”  Tony answered.  “It’s pretty late now though.  I think you had better sleep.”

“I’m all worked up though,”  Owen complained.

You laughed a little and headed into your bedroom to take a shower.  You spend a while just standing under the showerhead, enjoying that perfect pressure and temperature that you’d only ever achieved while living in the Avengers Tower.  When you got out, Tony was sitting on the end of your bed.  You startled and held your towel closed at your chest.

“Do you want to have that talk?”  He asked.

“Can I get dressed first?” You asked.

“Yeah, sure.”  He laughed and stepped into the hall.  You changed quickly into your pajamas and went and got him.

He closed the door behind him and approached you, running his fingers down your arm.   “Did you get a little bit jealous?”

You nodded, feeling a little bit ashamed.  “I don’t want you to date anyone else.”  You said quietly.

Tony smiled.  “That’s okay.  I only want to date you anyway.”

You sighed and shook your head.  “Last time… when we kissed.  You made it seem like you only wanted me because I was Owen’s mom.”

Tony led you to your bed and you sit down side-by-side.  “I was an idiot. But we do have a history of being idiots when we’re around each other don’t we?”

“I guess so.”  You chuckled softly.

Tony took your hands in his and ran a calloused thumb over your palm.  “I got caught up in the moment.”  He shook his head like he was trying to clear it.  “Fuck.  I gotta come clean here.  I am not good with all this feelings stuff.”

You laughed a little and he lifted your hand to his face and kissed it. “Alright. So… I definitely … had feelings for you.  But I was just… this mess of shit.  I was angry at you.  So fucking angry.  I could see why you did it, but fuck… I couldn’t believe anyone would keep my kid from me like that.  But then… you were being so good about it.  Letting me see him when I wanted and just trying to make it so this went smoothly.  Plus… I really like hanging around with you.  I like seeing you with him being a mom.  And even though you kept him from me, you also gave him to me.  So when he called me dad that first time, I was just this massive ball of mixed emotions.  And as you can see…”  He gestured to himself.  “I am shit at that.  And I thought ‘Oh god, I’m his dad.  And you’re his mom.  And I like you.  We should be a family.’  It was maybe not the smartest thing I’ve done.  But to be fair, not the dumbest thing I’ve ever done either.”

You lay back on the bed and sighed.  Tony lay down beside you and the two of you rolled onto your sides and faced each other.  It was a close and intimate position to be in as you stared directly into the warm brown of his eyes.  “What changed then?”

“Well, like I said… I do like you.  I might… love… you.  But you didn’t hear that from me.”  He smirked and you snickered at his joke.  It made you feel both light and warm and a tight constricting pressure in your chest.  “Owen told me that if I thought I liked you, I shouldn’t ignore it.  That even if we did break up he’d still be my son.  That helped.  It made me decide that I needed to get my shit together.  I can’t be this emotionally broken asshole who just pushes people away.  I can’t be who my dad was.  So I’ve been sorting through how I feel.  I thought about whether I’d want you if there was no Owen.  And I would.  There’s a reason why we fucked.  And yes, drugs were a huge reason.   But I’m attracted to you.  I like being around you.  I think you’re amazing.  So, I’d like to try this.”

You reached over and ran your finger down his cheek and along the line of his jaw.  “You’re not afraid of something going wrong?”

He smiled and his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Of course I am.  I am terrible at this stuff.  But I’ve done the calculations.  It’s worth the risk.”

You leaned in and kissed him.  It lingered but you didn’t part your lips. It was just a soft warm press of your lips against his before pulling back.

He ran his hand down your arm.  “So, what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking you should get more comfortable because you might be here for a long time.”

He tilted his head and scrunched his brow.  “That could be taken three ways.  Either you’re about to talk forever, you just asked to bang, or you just asked me to marry you.”

You laughed and gave him a shove.  “The first one.”

He got up and took his shoes and jacket off.  You climbed under the covers and when he saw you, he took off his pants too, before climbing into bed with you in just his boxers and t-shirt.  You resumed your positions, lying side-by-side and facing each other.  “I really like you too, Tony. I just… I don’t know how to be in a relationship at all.  Let alone one with a celebrity.  Let alone that person being a celebrity because they’re a genius, billionaire, Avenger, that happens to also be the father of my kid.”

Tony sighed.  “It’ll be tough.  I’m not going to lie.  But that’s already the case, isn’t it?”

You nodded.  His fans had not gone easy on you.  While they all adored seeing Tony with Owen (something that freaked you out, if you were being honest with yourself), you were getting so much shit slung in your direction.  You were the dumb, nasty, gold-digging, slut, who tricked Tony Stark and now just wanted him for his money and fame.  “It’s weird… I don’t worry about you.  I know you.  It’s me I don’t trust.  I don’t trust that I’m strong enough to be who you need me to be.”

Tony laughed and pressed his lips to your forehead. “I need you to be you.”  He said.  “Besides, what are you talking about not strong enough?  You raised a son alone.  Never once letting anyone know who his dad was.  You could have just used me for the money, you know?  You are the strongest most together person I’ve ever met.”

You both edged a little closer together and Tony placed his hand on your hip.  “I just… how do you be a girlfriend?”  You asked.

“You seriously didn’t date at all since we hooked up?”

You shook your head.  “No.  I just…”  You sighed.  “Getting pregnant to you the way I did was such a monumentally stupid thing I could ever dream of doing.  Like even if I hadn’t gotten pregnant.  Who doesn’t use a condom when they fuck someone they barely know and have no idea what their sexual history is like?  Or actually, worse, I did know.  And it wasn’t good, Tony.  What if I caught something? Of all the negative outcomes; unplanned pregnancy was one of the best ones.”  You shook your head again like you were trying to clear it. “So, I didn’t trust myself after that.  I didn’t trust that any judgment I made about another man would be a good one.  What if that guy gives me chlamydia?  What if that guy cheats on me?  What if that one hits me?  What if he’s a pedophile just using me to get to Owen?  I just decided, for Owen’s sake more than anything, that it was best if I just didn’t.”

“But you trust me?”  Tony asked.

You nodded.  “I had to let you in.  For Owen’s sake.  And you’ve proven that you’re trustworthy.  Also, I didn’t get chlamydia from you that time, so that’s a bonus.”

Tony burst out laughing and rolled onto his back grabbing his chest.  When he finally calmed down he rolled to face you again and wiped his eyes.  “That is a bonus.” He said and started laughing again.

When he finally stopped, you quirked your eyebrow at him.  “You done?”

“I think so.”  He said, giggling.  “So, you haven’t had an orgasm since me?”

This time you burst out laughing.  “Oh my god, Tony!”  You wheezed, shoving him.  You clutched at his t-shirt in hysterics.  “Okay… okay…”  You panted.  “A.  How presumptuous are you to assume you even gave me an orgasm?”

You rolled out of bed and padded over to your wardrobe.  “Oh, I gave you one,”  Tony smirked.

“B,”  You continued, pulling a cardboard box down from the cupboard, that was the size of a large shoebox.  “Even if I couldn’t get myself off using my own hand - which I can - they make these things to help you in that department.”  You dumped your collection of sex toys out on the bed.  There’s a pink silicone rabbit.  A small blue silicone g-spot vibrator with a curved shape.  A steel bullet. And a nobbly, rainbow-colored, Pyrex dildo.

Tony looked up at you and raised an eyebrow.  He picked up the rabbit and turned it over.  “I think this means we’re married now. Got a kid.  Haven’t had sex in over ten years.  Seen your entire collection of sex toys.  That’s being married right?”

“I hope the sex part isn’t true.  Fuck.  Given how long it’s been for me, I’d be fucking you every chance I got.”  You said.  You packed the toys away and put the box back where it came from.  Before you got back into bed you switched off the light.

This time you lay with your head in the crook of his arm and he wrapped his arms around you. “So then…”  He said.

“I think so.  I’m so scared.  But being scared isn’t enough to not try this.  And if I have to watch you date someone else, it’ll kill me.”  You admitted.  “But I want to do it properly.  No skipping ahead because we want to be family.  We date.  If that works, we move in.  Then… I don’t know… Maybe getting married.  Maybe just moving in.  But those things before the more kids bit.  Not just suddenly living together and making more babies.”

“Smart,”  Tony said.

You both just lay like that for a while.  You draped yourself over Tony and nuzzled at his neck.  “You should go. We should talk to Owen first. I don’t want him to just find us in bed together.”

Tony whined.  “Really?  You’re gonna make me go up to my penthouse?”

“I know, living in a penthouse sounds terrible.  Your bed looks so uncomfortable.”  You deadpanned.

Tony chuckled.  “How about… and just hear me out here… instead… we just make out for a little while?”

You laughed softly and ran your hand over Tony’s cheek.  “Yeah, okay.”

You both adjusted so you were lying face to face again.  You rest your head on his bicep and start to kiss.  Slowly at first.  Your lips caressing his.  You nipped at his bottom lip and his tongue pushed into your mouth.  He still tasted like sugar, frosting, and Scotch and it mixed with the minty toothpaste taste in your mouth.

As you kissed your hands wandered.  You slid them up under his t-shirt and ran your fingertips over his abs.  They gently rise and fall over his muscles, which ripple under your touch.

One of his hands cupped your breast.  He gently ran his thumb over your nipple and it hardened under his attention.  He pinched it and you gasped and rolled your hips against him.

Your lips barely parted for more than enough time it took to take a breath.  His beard tickled your nose and made your lips tingle.  You were starting to feel slightly light-headed when Tony’s hand slipped into your pajama pants.

“Tony,”  You gasped.  “We aren’t having sex.”

“I know.  I know.”  He whispered, his hand pressing against your thigh.  “I just want to get you off.  Can I?”

You nodded and his mouth was on yours again.  His fingers slipped between your folds.  You squirmed against him as he stroked up and down your labia in broad strokes.

Tony mored his mouth to your ear.  “Shh… just relax.”  He whispered and softly kissed under your ear at your pulse point.

You willed yourself to relax.  You rolled onto your back and spread your legs for him and took deep, steadying breaths.  He kissed down your neck and along your jaw.  As you started to relax, his fingers began to focus on your clit.

You moaned loudly and your body clenched up.  Tony’s lips pressed against yours, smothering the sound.  He pinched and rolled his fingers over your clit and you didn’t know if it’s just that he was particularly good at it, or if it was just that it had been so long since someone else had touched you like this, but you began to completely come apart.

You writhed under him, arching off the mattress.  Sweat beaded on your body and it felt like your blood had been replaced with magma.  It pumped through your veins and pooled in your abdomen.  Tony pushed two fingers inside of you and it was like he pushed on a trigger, opening a gate inside of you.  You came hard, crying out against his lips.

He slowly stroked you through your orgasm,  and when you finally relaxed, your breath slowly came back under control, he took his hand away and grinned at you.  “You’re loud.”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious,”  You said and leaned up and pecked his lips.

“Okay, I guess I better go.” He said and peppered your face and neck with little kisses.  “I’m a little excited.  Are you excited?”

You looked up at him and cupped his jaw. “I am.”

“We’ll tell Owen in the morning?”  He asked.

“Sounds like a plan.”  You said and kissed him softly.  “Night, Tones.”

“Night, honey.” 

It was like he almost skipped out of the room.  You snuggled down into you bed feeling really hopeful about the future for the first time in a long time.

// NEXT

[realityhelixcreates]

Beta, Theta, and Me- Chapter 5: Sleep in Your Own Bed

Chapters: 5/?

 Fandom: Thor (Movies), Avengers (Movies) Marvel Cinematic Universe 

Rating: PG 

Warnings: Relationships: Loki x Reader (But not right now), choking 

Characters: Loki(Marvel) Additional Tags:  A/B/O, Sorta, More Of An Exploration Of Life And Self Expression Within An A/B/O Framework, Loki Does What He Wants, But Loki Does Not Actually Do What He Wants, Antagonistic Bosses, Loki Has A Throne Now, But It’s Not What He Wanted

Summary:  You gather your things, and then you make a little mistake.

You rode the elevator down by yourself, going over your retrieval route in your head. You had enough money for three stops, but that was it, until tomorrow. You could probably wait, but you didn't really want to. You wanted to get at least one of your sleeping bags, so you didn't have to spend the night on a bare floor. It wasn't like you'd never had to do that before, but right now, you didn't need to.

For once, you didn't get any suspicious glares on the subway, with your washed hair, and your clean Starktech uniform. Amazing how people were so much more willing to accept your presence, when they didn't think you were a burden on society.

It took you a good few hours to round up your best caches. A few had disappeared, and some had been ruined in one way or another. You managed to salvage some of your best stuff, including two of your sleeping bags. Wresting it all onto the subway and all the way back to the tower was a challenge, and it did get you some stares, but nobody questioned a Starktech uniform.

Which might come back to bite Tony sometime.

But for tonight, it was just you taking advantage of the name to get safe passage while you hauled your stuff into the tower. You didn't even need keys or security clearance; Tony's ingenious artificial intelligence systems recognized who was supposed to be there and who was not.

When you finally reached your floor, all the lights were out, as you expected. Even the huge wall of windows had been blacked out. Loki must really like it dark-he'd blocked out all outside light, even in the rooms he wasn't currently in! Even the ambient back-up lights that were all over the tower had been darkened here.

That made it somewhat difficult to find your apartment door. You stumbled around in the darkness, searching for some part of the wall that wasn't wall. It was hard to hold on to all of your stuff, but you felt like you would lose it in the dark, if you were to put it down. If Loki could see you right now, you could just imagine him rolling his eyes, and muttering some kind of insult. Even if this was all his fault.

It was probably just one more way he could get on Stark's nerves: making it so that surveillance was useless. Even if it was just when Loki was asleep, no doubt whatever Avengers were left would want to keep a close eye on him. And no doubt Loki would do whatever he was able to mess with them.

Loki, God of Inconveniences.

Now that was something to think about. Gods were apparently real. Or were they? Certainly, Loki had seemed godlike, flying out of the sky with his alien plague, his outlandish clothing, his grand speeches. Smiting and laying waste to the wicked city with his great and powerful magics. Clashing with another god in a monumental battle to determine the fate of the world. Yes, that was the stuff myths were made of.

Your parents hadn't believed in God. Not in anything spiritual, in fact, and they had died before the discovery of extraterrestrial life. They had never known this horror. The enormous realization that gods existed, and the equally huge realization that even they could die.

Or at least be brought low. That the cruel and capricious Loki, who's face had dominated all forms of media for over a year, could be so badly injured that he could do nearly nothing for himself. What a terrible thing to know.

What had happened to him? What had brought all of Asgard here, to lowly Earth? Why had Loki even come along? Why wasn't he evil anymore? Or was he, and you were just going to have to deal with it?

No, surely not. Not completely evil, at least. Iron Man would have never allowed it, if he was completely evil. Thor wouldn't have let him out of his sight if he was completely evil.

He might still be a little evil though. As a treat.

But he'd shared his food with you when he guessed you hadn't had anything to eat. And even though he had teased you a lot today, he hadn't been vicious. But that did not mean there was no evil there. You were perfectly aware that evil could be sophisticated and handsome, or harmless in appearance, or even boring and mundane. You had faced mundane evils almost every day for the past year. Hostile architecture, being barred from entering certain places, unwarranted hatred, violence, and exploitation.

Some of your caches of supplies had been deliberately destroyed. Not thrown away, not even stolen to be used by someone else. Someone had found them, made them unusable, and then left them for you to find, on purpose. That was the kind of simple, everyday evil you faced.

But maybe not anymore? Or at least, not for a while. Loki was convalescing, but not dead. He would eventually go somewhere else. To jail, or back to Asgard, or somewhere else. Somewhere you couldn't go. And then you'd be out a job. But still, you would have a good resume, and good recommendations, so it didn't really matter if this was temporary.

You heard a small sound, and went very still. In this complete darkness, you couldn't be sure you were alone. It was silly, because there was no way for anyone other than you, Loki, and other cleared personnel to even get here. It wasn't like there was like a thief lurking in the dark, but the lessons of the past year were still with you.

You finally found the door to your apartment, got it open, and dropped your stuff on the floor just inside. Finally. You could relax.

You heard sound once more, like a snippet of conversation. You recognized it as Loki's voice. He was awake? At this hour? Well, so were you, though you probably shouldn't be. You would feel it in the morning.

He was probably just on the phone with his brother or something. You could hear him talking, but couldn't make out any of the words. It wasn't any of you business what he was saying, but for some reason, the cadence of his voice put you on edge.

You were just about to shut the door behind you when his muffled voice shot up in pitch very suddenly, raising hairs on your neck. That was it! Stark didn't skimp on materials for his buildings; everything was state-of-the-art. This floor was practically soundproofed. Loki wasn't talking; he was screaming.

You rushed, stumbling down the hall, stubbing your toe on a display case, in search of his door. His yelling grew louder as you got closer, fumbled with the doorknob, and burst into his bedroom. Even though you turned on the lights, he didn't wake, just wriggled in the heavy blankets, shouting at the top of his lungs, words you couldn't even understand.

“Loki!” You cried. “Loki, wake up! It's just a dream! Wake up!”

He didn't seem to hear you over his own voice. You reached out and shook his shoulder insistently.

You immediately regretted it.

Loki's long fingers closed around your throat, cutting off blood and air. His eyes flew open, teeth bared in an animal expression, and he stared at you without a shred of recognition. His hair fell wild around his face, growling as you pried at his hand. You knew Thor could bench a truck; the strength of the Asgardians was legendary. But Loki was one of them, and as his grip tightened, you knew you had no more than moments left.

“M-master...” You choked out. Colored spots danced in your tear-stung vision.

Ferocity gradually bled from his face, intelligence and self returning to his eyes. He released you and fell back onto the bed, groaning in pain.

“Foolish creature.” He moaned weakly. His arms wound around you, slowly but inexorably drawing you down into his embrace. “Idiot. Brainless. Are you hurt?”

“I don't think so.” You murmured. “Are you?”

He made a noncommittal noise. But you'd heard the pain in his grunt when he fell back. Whatever was wrong with his neck couldn't have been helped by this.

You lay sprawled over his chest, Loki petting your hair. It was as awkward as it could get, but a little comforting. It slowed your heart rate, at least.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You asked, though you weren't sure you wanted to know what kinds of things haunted a gods nightmares.

“What do you think?”

“Uh...no?”

“Not entirely brainless it seems.”

You fell silent together, Loki stroking your hair, slowly relaxing. You got caught up in the rise and fall of his chest, starting to drift off. You felt him sigh in contentment, then, just as suddenly, he was shoving you off the bed.

“Out. Out now. Off to your own rooms.” He ordered. “We're done here.”

Confused and tired, you scuttled back into the dark hallway and back to your apartment. Your sleeping bags stank of mildew in sharp contrast to the layered scents in Loki's room. You'd have to clean them tomorrow. You wondered if Loki would allow you to use his washing machine until you could get your own. He would have to, wouldn't he? To keep your work uniform clean?

Sleep came easily for once. The silence of being indoors and hundreds of feet above the streets, the implied safety that both of those things brought, and the faded adrenaline of the evening combined with the late hour to create a potent cocktail of irresistible drowsiness. So you didn't resist, and just let it claim you.

                                                                            *****

You woke up to a sore neck and Loki's insistent voice in your ear. Dragging yourself groggily out of bed, you found a new Asgardian uniform neatly folded on the floor just inside your door.

Oh, you didn't like that at all. This was your space now; he wasn't allowed in without permission! How did he even get in here?

Unhappily awake now, you snatched the uniform up and headed to the shower. Your only towel smelled as badly of mildew as the sleeping bags you'd spent all night in, but just let Loki say something about it. It would just be more reason to throw at him for using his washer, or getting time off to head to a laundromat.

A glance in the mirror showed what a mess you still were. Your hairbrush was old and worn, missing several of its bristles, but it still did its job well enough. It was just that your hair was all split ends and brittle, broken strands. Your skin-especially your face-was breaking out in reaction to being actually washed several days in a row. Your gums bled from your toothbrush. But you knew all this would pass.

Even the series of ugly bruises that ringed your throat would eventually fade. Though, for now...

You rummaged about in your salvaged things and found a pair of scissors, and an old flannel shirt that was falling apart. You snipped a sleeve off, and wrapped it around your bruised neck like a scarf. You'd be able to visit a thrift store and get yourself a 'new' one soon. Today was payday.

Loki had not yet left his bedroom, instead demanding your help in walking towards the master bathroom, which you had not known about yesterday. The prospect of going in there filled you with dread, but Loki merely bid you wait outside the door. Much to your relief, he didn't seem to need your help in there.

Although how he was managing on his own when he could barely walk was a mystery. How had he managed before you came? How long had he been here?

When he opened the door again, his hair was damp, and his clothing different, and he directed you to lead him to his chair.

“How did you get all that taken care of?” You asked as you wheeled him out into the semi-circular living space.

“I used magic, nosy thing.” He said. “Naturally.”

“Oh yes, naturally, of course, why didn't I think of that?”

“Because you're not very bright?” He ventured.

“Because we don't have magic here!” You shot back, and he chuckled. “Well, why do you need me then? Why not just use magic to cook and clean?”

“Hrm. Well...Technically I'm not supposed to be using magic at all while I'm convalescing. It slows the healing process.”

“Then why-”

“Do you really want to be the one to wipe my royal ass? No? Then I sacrifice in order to save us both some dignity. Now go make us breakfast.”

[svft2jae]

‘icy secret‘;

➵ genre: fluffy fluff, i guess-

➵ pairing: ice prince! jaemin x knight! reader.

➵ warnings: none, just probably a bad writing sorryhbfvbgj

summary: “wherein y/n still struggles on denying the heart inside to burn through the breastplate.”

➵ songs rec.: ice queen - baekhyun ; moonlight - wavycake feat. navy, nathania.

[5:19 PM]

tiny snowflakes touch the fresh ground through your walk besides captain of guard! jeno with the more you get closer to the castle, both of you coming back together exhausted from your daily training, in the time he so called as "when afternoon waves goodbye".  you kept your footsteps by his side steadily marching, just as you tried your best all the time to pay attention to what he was saying, about things that made him glad in today's exercises and fight simulations with the knights, but it was barely impossible for you to control your mind which kept on flying away, filled with thoughts of the prince — about yesterday when he sneaked in all disguised through your window at the dorms, for the fourth time this month, with his big white cloak full of gold details and his breathtaking, dazzling smile. you remember about his eyes just like the luck of hot chocolate and hazelnut in the winter, in contrast to his long, icy lashes hitting the snowy white skin, as inviting as his husky but soft like vanilla petals voice, calling you to go out with him on another adventure to the other side of the river which bordered the castle area. this time on the pretext of wanting to see the newly arrived auroras with what he claimed to be a "truly competent" one to protect him.

— at first you refused, saying that even if you were there to accompany him whenever he wanted, you were afraid of it ending up like the last time when you two almost got caught. but it didn't take long for him to convince you with his sweet requests and large hands covered by gloves holding yours, nervousness mingling with sweat between your fingers by the way he squeezed them all the time unwillingly to let go. soon you were already running outside tripping a little as he guided you extremely excited on the secret path you two always went for and just before you think both of you were already under the auroras, surrounded by the beauty of them. "how... beautiful." you let out, looking around completely amused, trying to even touch some of the dancing lights passing by, but stopped embarrassed as soon as you realize the prince's wide pearly smile, who somehow was trying to capture the colored rays in a glass but had stopped to watch you, his extremely fluffy white-blond hair just like sunbeams hovering over his forehead, innumerous fanciful ideas coming to meet him under it. “did you know you can get on a higher beauty level than theirs? i bet they must be jealous now.” he whispered playfully, cold air coming out from his rosy lips, chuckling while only a stutter sound came out of you in response, heat all up your cheeks at once. "i want to show you something. come with me.” you followed him, wondering why he went behind a rock where there was nothing but some pieces of grass with flowers and another part of the river, even more so when he just stood still and began to take off his gloves, asking you to hold the crystalline pot with auroras. “this is my secret, which will as well be ours, ok? everyone in the castle already knows but, i want you to keep it for me too.” you nodded vehemently although not having any clue of what it could be, promising loyalty to the overflowing gaze deep into yours. suddenly you saw the prince's hands get both filled with brilliant designs going up to his nails as soon as they got exposed, his skin had turned translucent as ice and snow smoke came out of it, all while your jaw simply was left dropped with the sight, eyes widened in pure wonder as you watched him shocked. the prince then made a cold breeze which took the pot from your hands and blew your hair lightly, as if stroking it and slowly smiled a little awkwardly when he noticed your stunned, practically speechless expression at what you saw, and without delaying asked what you thought of it, a small hint of fear in his tone for some possible rejection. "it's, it's... simply wonderful... just like fairytale- how, how do you-??" you stuttered, earning another soft giggle from the prince who got to feel relieved seeing the way you wanted to touch his hands, curious. “i don't know, i guess i was just born like this. but yeah i also think it's nice, like a super power. do you wanna see what it can do?” he said excitedly, a certain mischief taking over his tone, what immediately made you want to decline the offer, but as curiosity consumed your heart you accepted smiling. then just before you knew it you two already had two huge flake-decorated ice forts, snow angels on the floor, sculptures and handmade giant slides, both of you laughing loudly running after each other with countless snowballs, him of course with his own. so far you can't forget how much fun you had that afternoon, less even it’d be like that, one more time next to the prince — just while he was showing you some things he could do with his special ability, such as when he froze temporarily a part of the river to teach you how to skate, when he made ice arrows for target shooting or the high ladder across the oak to see more of the pink-tinted horizon, you also played, jumped, ran a lot, and even fell like two children in their blooming childhood, without caring a single bit about the world around. yet you also couldn't forget the way he looked at you that kept on making your heart flutter so much, the downy touch of his cold fingers when he complied your request to draw some flakes on your face, or especially when you were both already tired and he called you to sit beside one of the forts, saying he wanted to show you one more thing. “can you give me your hand?” he asked extending his own, holding your hand by its back when you gave it. you watched him carefully as he began to draw lines on your palm with his thumbs, making a small snowflake in the shape of what looked like a heart. your eyes kept watching every move of his until you couldn't help but get them widened to see him out of sudden take the small form by your hand and kiss it, but before you said anything you noticed it made the little thing shine and levitate over your palm, just like a star. “woah- i, i can't believe you can do that too!” you exclaimed with a giant smile taking over your lips, the prince as well grinning all happy as he saw you trying to play with his creation. "of course! where do you think all the decoration in the palace comes from, hm?” he smiled playfully again, you immediately looking at him surprised at what he had just said — so this is was how the castle always kept covered with really thin snow and absolutely stunning, delicate details and iced arts, monuments, chandeliers, flowers, and designs you always admired and thought they looked more like actually made by some millennial fairies than built by human hands, just like it was also why jeno sometimes complained about how his best friend from the royal court spent so many mornings on one of the castle's rooftops for no reason or explanation. again you looked at him speechless, disconcerted by how incredible he was, as if it wasn't already enough to be so brave, righteous, kind, exceptional in practically every combat and sword fight, a strong and exemplary prince and leader, also owner of a fantastic ability, besides being able to make your heart run countless marathons in the simplest actions, just as in that moment. “it's for you. i hope you’ll like it, and you’ll remember me every time you look at it. just as i do remember you every day.” he let out in such soothing words like an embrace. just in time you turned your gaze back to him, again not believing what you had just heard, but before anything you’d do in response he sighed lightly and leaned in to you, touching his velvety lips on your cheek in a kiss which lingered a little until he pulled away, sighing again as soon as your eyes met, asteroids and comets crashing into the vast skies that were his pupils. —

almost immediately as you bring your fingers to the spot on your cheek he touched you feel it flush, your pulse barely to explode just by thinking of the simple but tender contact. quietly you let out a deep breath while you put your hand in the pocket of your red tunic underneath the breastplate to remove the glowing heart-shaped gift, your thumb a little shaky holding the object that didn't get out of your hands through the entire sleepless night before yesterday, passed with just the image of the graceful boy in your mind. “y/n? planet earth calling y/n?” you hear jeno's voice abruptly bring you back to reality, worry in his expression until you shove the small form back to your pocket and turn your face to him, eyes wide as you get startled, making him let out a sigh of relief. “you know, i think you should stop reading about astronomy for a while y/n, it's already the millionth time this month you go out of orbit.” he laughs amusedly, showing up his so characteristic, gorgeous eyesmile. you look at your best friend still bewildered, but soon smile at his silly joke, reaching your hand out to ruffle his golden hair based with an undercut. “you little goofy- and you now turned into my control tower to bring me back all the time." both of you laughed at the same time, jeno even more when you started tickling him, running to the side to try to get away from you. "but yeah i'm sorry, i really didn't pay much attention... my head has been indeed full lately." “it's fine, i was just blabbering. i just wanted to understand what goes on in your head, seriously. you even look like jaemin staring at nothing and giggling alone." jeno laughs again, shaking his head in disbelief, not realizing you froze beside him when he mentions the prince's name, a wave of thoughts hitting you again and nervousness coming all up. "don't worry, it's nothing... i-it's just the training stuff, of this tough knight routine..." you try to build an answer, shaky words coming out. "i know, i know i understand you perfectly. and you know you can count on me whenever you want, that i'm always here with you, right? afterwards that's what friends are for." he said, a warm smile now taking over his face along to his hand going to rub your back, making you relax and smile back, comfort filling your chest. "thank you jeno. im always here for you too." you pat him on the back, adjusting his sword which was falling a little. "tomorrow on the way back home i'll buy you that fried fish stick you like so mu-“ "and as i once said and repeat y/n my buddy you're such a wonderful being, just tell me if ever there's someone bothering you and i‘ll come quickly to throw one right, one left, ha!" he exclaimed cheerfully, simulating a fight with his silver sword giving kicks and punchs in the air at an invisible enemy as you laugh nonstop watching him, jeno doing just so. “y/n! jeno! thank god i found you two! i, i need help! arf..." right in the time you and jeno get interrupted hearing someone call out loud, almost breathless. soon you see royal advisor! renjun coming close as if he had just run a marathon, so both of you immediately go to hold him by his hands so he wouldn't get dizzy, worried about what could be happening. “what happened, renjun?! are you ok? where‘s the prince? wait, take a deep breath-" “i, i'm ok, it's all fine, it‘s just that, just... aH no, no nothing's fine! he ran away! he ran away again! just because the lord was going to bring the new clothing for tomorrow's ceremony, aHh but when i catch him-" you try to calm renjun down while he fists and simulates punches, jeno already going back to laugh nonstop just by imagining the kind of situation familiar enough going on, having in mind some of the prince's typical tricks. “no need to explain anything anymore, i already got it- ahh jaemin i swear to god-" “but, but what‘s going on?? i can't understand anything." you ask. “don‘t worry y/n it's nothing, just another episode of the prince giving daily headache to his royal adviser.” jeno tries to contain his laughter, hugging renjun by the side who was now much calmer yet still a little upset. “it‘s just that, he always does this, y/n- he always runs away when it‘s time to choose the linen and colored pieces for any upcoming special occasions, he says he doesn't like them because they're just ridiculous and that he doesn't need them, that he feels so much better in his usual weekly clothes he‘s always wearing to do practically everything and that always comes up with some smears of whatever possible on it, and simply goes like this every time right in front of the ancients council! then there always lasts for me the noble women's commentaries, about me not teaching him things right so this is why he does what he wants- aHh but this time i can‘t admit it! that's why i was looking for you two everywhere so i'd ask you to help me find him and bring him back." renjun explained sounding kinda sulky, jeno going forward to squeeze his cheek lightly and you smile nodding with your head to sign to him you did understand everything, not even much surprised since it all just fits the prince so much. “alright then, let‘s look in separate parts. y/n goes to the gardens at the west, renjun goes to the surroundings of the castle and to the adjoining areas at the east, and i go to the chambers, galleries, throne centre and all of the rooms where he usually goes. if we don't find him after all we shall go to the city entrance and meet there to enter together, ok? let's go, before our injunnie start malfunctioning." jeno explained his plan, all of you saluting like a real team as he went for renjun's neck and ruffled his hair, the shorter brown haired boy complaining in his own adorable way while you giggle to yourself watching them walk to the opposite direction, a high blow of confidence raising up your chest. you adjust your belt and tighten your knee pads, then getting ready to stick a step forward filled with attitude when suddenly two gloved hands cover your eyes, causing your shoulders to fall along to all your courage and nervousness take over. "but who-" "guess who it is." you feel your heart begin to pound crazily again at the sound of that voice, air hitching in your throat feeling how close it was to your ears. "p-prince?" almost at the same time he sighs a little and gently removes his hands from your eyes, going in front to look at you, his long, flavescent cloak moving in the process. "hey... i remember i've said you don't have to call me like that. i just want you to call me by jaemin." he did a light frown and pouted cutely as he played with your hands, what makes your stomach flutter immediately. "a-ah yes... pardon me your highne- i mean, j-jaemin" you stutter, seeing his face soon lighting up again, his charming smile shows almost like a cupid's arrow ready to hit. "you know, if you want you can also call me by jae, or nana. it'd make me really happy too- oh and please come with me, there's something i really wanna show you." he said, pulling you by your hands again, just as excited as in that day. "what- wait!" you try to process his words but as always before you could ever do anything you were already running beside him, letting the prince once more guide you, now on a new route apparently to the outer staircases of the palace. "renjun, jeno and i were looking for you! you shouldn't have run away, what are you going to say to him now? you, you have a ceremony tomorrow and he's afraid thinking of how you're going to look there." you said apprehensively, hearing him chuckle like a carefree young boy in response, giving your hand a little squeeze as you continued to go through the stairs steps. "don't worry about that it's all ok, i'm fine the way i do everything, renjun just worries too much but im sure he'll understand it soon. i've told him several times how important it is to not to pay attention to people's comments all the time and just be yourself. he knows if it weren't for that he'd probably still have his biological restoration ability inactive till now." he talked through both of your paces slowed down by the weariness of the stairs, your own mouth now agape at what he had just told. “renjun can… heal?!” you let out, jaemin nodding with another smile, melted with the innocent way you asked. "yes. actually it was because of him my lungs didn't end up literally frozen once in my childhood... we owe each other's lives in fact, so that's why for our friendship too, i can never leave his side. just like i can’t from yours..." you feel comfort in your chest again as you listen to him until the material inside it stops for a second when you realize his last sentence, and you could swear you've clearly seen reddish hues blooming in the prince's so niveous face when he looked away at the same time he said it. later on he hastened his pace a little to where the stairway led, then out of stopped, saying you were already in the exact place, which was nothing more than the inaccessible rooftop at one of the farthest points of the castle, as in the moment you set your foot there you couldn't help but feel just the same way of when you came close to the auroras at that day, completely enchanted. “oh my… god.” you exclaimed, grinning widely as your eyes light up with fascination seeing each of the beautiful works around you — paintings, small sculptures, handcrafts, various forms, many colored by auroras and several other shining ones like the one he gave you, everything made of snow and ice, organized like real stars in a sky studio. "remember when i said that thing, about the palace's decoration? i was thinking and, wanted you to know the place where i do what i like the most on earth, since you showed me the knights' training camp before..." he said hiding his hands in his pocket, you watching and trying to touch the pieces one by one, the prince's frosted lashes yet only focused on your reactions he cherished so much. "i think i'm in heaven." you take one of the little forms in the shape of a levitating cotton cloud in your hand and look at him smiling joyfully, his eyes sparkling perhaps as much as yours when he looks at you like you were so precious as a rare gem, what made you blush violently in the second you noticed it. he then smiles disconcertingly at you, some snowflakes coming out of his mouth while he coughs a little and covers it with his hand trying to hide his already reddened face again, looking to the side at something that caught his attention. "there's one more thing- you need to see." he exclaimed quickly, pulling you with him to another part ahead where you came across a wide view of the whole kingdom covered by the warm shades of the sunset magically coloring the horizon, snow falling like invisible crystals over the forests and around the city. a calm wind stirs your hair when one more sigh escapes you, the prince slowly going to sit on an iced marble support and guiding you to take place right by his side, all while you couldn't take your eyes off the scene before your eyes. "it's amazing, isn't it... i've been trying to reproduce some of these colors since i‘ve found this place." his voice echoes softly, for a minute you look at him and notice what appeared to be a hanging painting beside him with lots of orange and pinkish sketches, every one of them too delicate and well made. "but tell me, how do you feel now? i, hope you're not upset because i brought you here, instead of letting you do your job... anytime you want we can go back and meet jeno and renjun." you watch him kick his feet against the marble and lower his head a few times, as if he was somehow ashamed. "no i, i'm happy. all of this is just so incredible, like a dream. now i understand why you spend so much time here... oh and the boys- they won't mind too much, let‘s just not stay too long and go soon." you giggled jokingly making him smile too, the prince's expression filling up with joy again. "if you're happy then i am too..." suddenly he approached you making your heart pound to almost jump out of your mouth and rested his chin comfortably on your shoulder, doing what seemed like nuzzling into it as his arms come to wrap around you gently as if asking for permission. you felt the extremely soft, cold skin of his cheek brush agaisnt your warm one at the crook of your neck, silky blond strands also caress your face and the prince takes a deep breath, his hug tightening slightly. "thank you for trusting me, for always being with me. you don't know how much it means..." he says almost like a hesitant whisper and for some reason you can hear a bit of his loud heartbeats, your stomach fluttering at the same time jaemin pulled away to look at you, just as loving as you swore you never saw anything in your life. “you deserve everything, y/n…” your chest burns with the prince's cozy and so sincere words as well as his deep eyes and the touch of his cold fingers on your hot face once more but simultaneously to your flourishing feelings a hint of desperation runs through your head, causing you to no longer watch your own words. “b-but, majesty… i don't—” you go away a little but stop when you realize what you just called him, seeing his brows frowning and him sighing deeply with what he heard, looking a little disappointed. some few seconds of silence take over until you decide to say something, but jaemin breaks it up first, turning his face back to you already with a small smile at the corners of his lips. "you know what? from now on every time you call me like that i'll kiss you. sure now you'll stop.” the prince still tries to contain his smile but fails right after seeing your wide eyes and cheeks just like he thought of as two of the elegant roses from the royal garden and the rare, hard to get red auroras. “you look so cute when you blush… it's unbelievable.” jaemin just lets himself smile, captivating and gracious like a mirage, reminding you of when he first jumped into your window taking off the hood of his cloak from his forehead to let you see who he was — right in time you quickly put the back of your hand in front of your face, but a boost of courage rises to the flush coloring your ears and you remove it, resting it on your knee. “and you're just so beautiful… outside and inside… everything about you, everything you do or create is. you're just, loving… and although we're so different, my heart always feels so warm when i'm with you.” silence settles in for a while as you let out the last word, lowering your head for a moment before you look at him again. now sweat forms through your palms when you notice the prince's smile fading, replaced instead with his lips getting slightly parted and his chocolatey irises as bright as they never were locked in only you, untold feelings screaming in his chest every second thoughts of you and your words filled his head more and more. "that was, so sweet i could kiss you right now..." he says almost like a whisper, breath fastening little by little just like yours right when you heard him. “p-prince-” you let out again without noticing, your nervousness speaking louder again as your eyes widen in disbelief at what you have just done, but jaemin only smiles tenderly when he realizes your mistake, internally grateful to his soul for it. but before you could do anything, once more, the prince had already approached enough so his puffy yet gelid nose could touch yours, his large gloved hand comes to hold yours and your heart seems to burn away feeling how close he was, however you can't help but come up with any reaction except to just lower all your guards to the one that since the start has been filling your dreams. “i warned you… now suffer the consequences.” you heard him say out like in a playful tone for a moment, his other hand going to tickle the red fabric part under your breastplate, causing you to instantly laugh out of control along to him, both having fun at the same time you try to stop him, until all out of sudden he meets your foreheads and with his right hand touches your face as if caressing it, another beat skipped out of you when your eyes meet up again. “i'm in love with you y/n. since when i first met you… i don't know how to be without you anymore.” he confesses softly, catching every nerve in your body by surprise like time just seemed to stop with the sound of his husky voice and his small confession in your ears. but almost in the blink of an eye the prince leaned in and closed the space between you two, his delicate rosy lips, how you've always seen them, now pressed gently on yours, sealed in a kiss so sweet, and so genuine like your true yet hidden feelings for each other. and albeit your nervousness always came for the fact that yes, you two were indeed like fire and ice — you've been always afraid of the distance he had from you high like a castle, and the danger of what could happen if you two got too close — now you could do nothing but cast your burning heart in place, with him.

then as your eyes shut tightly and your sweating, shaking hand goes to cup jaemin's cheek, without you noticing the spot warms up with your touch and it turns red, making the prince feel like losing his breath for a second and open his lips a bit more to deepen the kiss, nibbling softly into your own — after all through it had never been iced, his heart was always there melting, and getting tinted by you, each by each day he got to jump your dorm's window.

[lhs3020b]

Feros - architecture and air pressure

Is Feros the prothean homeworld? I don't think so. Here's why.

Feros is a bit of an oddity. Consider. The surface air pressure is listed as 5.44 Earth atmospheres. This isn't going to squash you - your body is mostly liquid, and liquids are virtually-incompressible. (It's one of the defining characteristics of that state of matter.) However, it is high enough to give you the bends. Living on Feros's surface wouldn't be good for you.

This, presumably, is why the little human colony is all the way up one of those giant towers. Air pressure falls off with altitude; while it will probably still be higher than Earth's, the pressure wherever they are is presumably a lot healthier.

But here we have another puzzle. Whoever built the towers must be tolerant to high pressure - in which case, why build the giant towers? We know they lived on the ground - the game states that "two thirds" of Feros's landmass was urban at one point. The planet was apparently close to being an ecumenopolis. For typical Earth-city population densities, this would imply a population in the hundreds of billions, and potentially even the trillions. Perhaps they were building upwards, after running out of usable land?

Living-space might be one aspect to the towers, certainly. But I think there could be another aspect to it.

Consider Javik. In Mass Effect 3, he needs no special measures to live comfortably-enough on the Normandy. Apparently his respiratory system functions fine in 1 Earth atmosphere. This is less than one fifth that at the surface of Feros. By contrast, even the summit of Mount Everest still has a pressure of 0.33 atmospheres - and for us, that is low enough that it will kill you. (Not instantly; people have summited without supplementary oxygen, but the >7000 metres region isn't called the "death zone" for nothing.)

If Feros was the prothean homeworld, then you would expect that Javik would find conditions on the Normandy rather challenging. As far as I know, he never asks for any specific environmental alterations. (He doesn't even seem to have any difficulties with the local food.)

But there's something else. Javik's appearance is vaguely reptilian. Feros, we're told, may have been a colder world than it is today. Even now, it's not that warm - its average temperature is 10 degrees Celsius, versus 14 C for the Earth. It's roughly equivalent to Earth during an Ice Age, and that's Feros in its unnaturally-warm state! We don't know just how much colder it was in the past. Presumably the average temperature must still have been above 0 degrees C, but even then, this doesn't sound like somewhere that would be a happy place for reptiles.

Nope, Javik isn't from Feros.

So what's going on? A prothean planet with no protheans?

Well, actually, I think we can derive a partial answer. We know from ME3 that the protheans were imperialistic, and they're implied to have forcefully-absorbed several other species into their empire. Feros must have been one of these. Given the environmental constraints, I suspect a prothean ground-invasion may have been unlikely - but perhaps the planet's city-covered nature made it vulnerable to a naval blockade? Anyway, regardless of how they conquered it, it's clear that they did.

And that's where the towers come in.

The towers, I suggest, were built for the convenience of the new prothean ruling elite. That's why they're so high - a mixture of both imperial monument and also to reach up into the lower-pressure layers of the atmosphere.

And - just possibly - this explains why the towers apparently survived the Reaper invasion. We know that they sometimes work by co-opting local elites with indoctrination. They pulled that particular dick move on at least one planet in the Batarian Hegemony. If the towers on Feros were occupied by brain-squicked protheans, doing the Reapers' bidding, then it made sense for them to leave the towers alone. No real point demolishing them or bombing them when they were useful, right? Grim as it is, the scenario does sort of hang together.

The one thing I'm left wondering about is the underlying question of why exactly Feros has such a high air pressure. I'd wondered if perhaps the planet had a very high escape velocity, so perhaps it had been able to trap a denser atmosphere. It turns out Feros's escape velocity is higher than Earth's - 13.4 km/s versus 11.2 km/s - but not by a really-huge amount. Perhaps the colder atmosphere might have been a factor? A lower average particle speed allows the planet's gravity well to trap more gas? Anyway it's not really clear, and escape velocity can't be the only factor. (Venus has a lower escape velocity than the Earth, and is famously-hotter, but also has a surface air pressure around 90 times that of the Earth.)

Food for thought, if maybe not easy answers...