#he is glad the little version is taken care of

[solargeist]

Saint Xelqua doodles this time

he can’t recall when he’s a kid, so grian usually updates him in between forms, it’s a little unsettling for him

[deeplyshalllow]

An in depth study of the Lion Cub Scene in the Wicked Movie

Elphaba and Fiyero's meeting

Dancing Through Life

Sorry it’s taken a little longer than I expected to come out with this essay, I’ve been busy general pre-Christmas stuff and then recreating the entirety of Heather the Musical with Funko pops – you know, the usual. In any case, in a way I’m glad that it’s taken slightly longer as it’s meant that the movie screenplay has come out in the meantime so I can make the odd reference to that.

[Elphaba practices her ‘toss, toss,’ Fiyero notices.]

“You’ve been Galindafied.” [smiles at her fondly,] “you don’t need to do that, you know. Come on, let’s get to class.”

This is essentially the same line as in the musical (though my best friend was quick to point out removed Fiyero imitating the ‘toss toss’ and I’m pretty sure she nearly walked out of the cinema in outrage), and I think it serves the same purpose. The idea that Galinda is indeed continuing on her mission to make Elphaba popular and Elphaba is somewhat receptive to it. Fiyero, though fondly, kind of thinks the whole thing is a little ridiculous and finds Elphaba fine the way she is.

This scene is actually the one most impacted by what was cut from the screenplay. In the screenplay version we do not have the “Let’s get to class” line as it’s actually set a considerable amount of time (potentially a few months) before the Lion Cub. I go into much more detail here but basically there is a montage between the “toss toss” scene and the Lion Cub scene that shows time passing and  Elphaba, Galinda, Fiyero, Nessa and Boq becoming friends.

Elphaba is wearing different clothes when she enters Dillamond’s classroom than in the “toss toss” scene, so I am going to take this as canon that there is still the same time jump, as it makes a lot more narrative sense (otherwise there’s very little time before Elphaba goes to the Emerald City for anyone to become friends). Therefore, by the scene in Dillamond’s classroom we are to assume a few months have passed, and Elphaba regards Fiyero as somewhat of a friend that she’s comfortable enough being around, if in a bit of a superficial “my best friend’s boyfriend” sort of way.

The scene continues mostly as it does in the musical, Doctor Dillamond tells the class he’s no longer permitted to teach, Elphaba is cross and tries to stop it, Doctor Dillamond is taken away. All this is expected and as expected of Elphaba’s character considering her previous scenes.

What is new is Fiyero’s reaction to Doctor Dillamond being taken away, he also stands up and shouts “hey!” he’s clearly not the only student distressed, but aside from Elphaba he appears the most distressed. It’s immediately clear that “Nothing matters but knowing nothing matters” is not as true as he makes it out to be. In my opinion, this is a very good change from the musical, as it sets up his actions later in the scene, he’s on Elphaba and the Animals’ side, he’s always been on their side.

Fiyero, however, does not react like Elphaba. After the initial outburst, he is silenced and sits down like the rest of the class (albeit he is one of the last to do so) and does not respond to her challenge to the class of “Are we all just going to sit here in silence?”  

Elphaba, never one for staying silent, like her musical counterpart, continues to challenge the teacher and get increasingly distressed through seeing the Cub in the cage (the premonition of seeing Dillamond in a cage here is, obviously, new to the movie and I think mostly serves to show how distressed she is – I don’t think she’s really realised what she’s seeing is the future, but it may haunt her later).

“Can you imagine a world where Animals are kept in cages and never learn to speak. This Lion Cub seems so frightened. What are we going to do?”

“I’m sorry, we?”

And here we see the dichotomy between Elphaba and Fiyero, both care, both are upset, but Fiyero is not one to spring to action in this situation without outside provocation – again, he’s sung an entire song about how he’ll get less hurt if he pretends not to care. While Elphaba wants to do something no matter what the cost, Fiyero is stuck on the practicalities of the situation: they are powerless students, they will immediately be stopped so, at least for now, he does not try.

“Well someone’s got to do something,” [Elphaba slams her hand on the desk, causing poppies to float in the air, putting everyone to sleep]

[Fiyero, stares around, not falling asleep but somewhat bewildered, Galinda falls asleep on his shoulder] “hey, hey, c’mere,” [lays Galinda’s head on the desk].

The spell going from making everyone crazy dance, to poppies putting everyone to sleep is a change for the movie, and I think a good one. I don’t think the crazy dance would have worked as well in film format, and the poppies is obviously a lovely reference to the Wizard of Oz – ultimately though, I don’t think it changes much about the narrative.

What I do find really interesting about this scene is the inclusion of Galinda and Nessa. In the musical, neither are in the class, so the casting of Elphaba’s spell seemed to imply that she didn’t magic Fiyero because he was the one person she liked. In here, the two of them are present, and are spelled too, so Fiyero being left out has got to be for a different reason – I read somewhere on Tumblr that apparently they’ve said this will be explored in part 2 and I hope so, because my reading is that it’s another sign that Fiyero alone cares as much about this as Elphaba.

“What is happening?”

“I don’t know, I got mad and...” [Elphaba notices that Fiyero has already got up and is heading towards the Lion Cub] “Fiyero, what are you doing?”

[Fiyero, having already got the Lion Cub out of the cage like the amazing, kitty saving, hero that he is]

“Well, are you coming?”

I love this. I love this so much. Script wise this is not very much of a change from the musical, in fact only one line of Fiyero’s is cut, “Alright just don't move! And don't get mad at me!” but the fact he moves the beat before, that the moment he realises there now is something they can do, which won’t get them stopped or in more trouble than the good they can do, he springs into action – does so much for his characterisation. It’s so very clear from this that he’s doing this because he cares about the Cub too, he’s doing because he wants to himself rather than to help Elphaba, I also like that the removal of this line takes away any idea of blame or frustration at Elphaba’s powers – Jonathan’s Fiyero never really judges her for being unusual.

This scene, both in show and film, is always excellent at showing why Fiyeraba suit each other. Elphaba is all passion and fire, she cares and will fight, but will also go in headfirst without thinking of the consequences. Fiyero, meanwhile, needs the spark of passion and push to act, but when he does act he is careful and tactical, he gets what he wants but in a way that smoothes the consequences of Elphaba’s rash actions and gets at least the majority of them out safely (see also: Throne Room Scene, Corn Field Scene).

There’s nothing particular to note in the bike scene, but I appreciate the cute reference to Mrs Gulch and Toto in the Wizard of Oz (that reference alone made me pleased I watched WOO a few days before I saw Wicked).

[Madame Morrible enters the classroom and sees everyone asleep] “What in the name of Oz?” [immediately writes a letter to the Wizard]

Not Fiyeraba related but I think it’s important to note what’s going on here. Madame Morrible has seen not only that Elphaba has cast a spell, but what she has cast the spell to do (to free an Animal). She’s not writing to the Wizard because she sees Elphaba is already talented enough to see the Wizard (as a first time viewer is led to believe), she’s speeding up the process so Elphaba is safely at the Wizard’s side before she can become any more pro Animal rights. It’s another great addition to canon, showing how much Morrible is in control even in act 1.

Also, Fiyero, who is also not in class, is completely overlooked, because being seen as a himbo often puts him beyond suspicion (she probably assumed he was just skiving off).

We have a few lines cut from the show here:

Elphaba: Careful! Don't shake him!

Fiyero: I'm not!

Elphaba: We can't just let him loose anywhere, you know. We have to find someplace safe...

Fiyero: Don't you think that I realize that? You must think I'm really stupid or something!

Elphaba: No, not really stupid.

These lines are in the screenplay so they’re a recent cut, but I think it’s still important to see the impacts of them being taken to. Again, we see the Fiyeraba relationship being a little less antagonistic than in the show. They still wind each other up a bit, because they defend themselves from the world in such radically different ways that they don’t quite understand the other at times (which we’ll see later in this scene), but they’re not actively sniping at each other in the movie. It’s times like this where we see their similarities, they are supporting the same cause, they have the same end goal in mind and, when they are both sure what they’re doing is right, they’re both very focused on getting it done.

It’s probably important to note that from here on out the musical and movie script is almost identical, so this becomes more of an analysis of the scene in both works, though I will point out where I think the movie particularly differs.

[Elphaba puts Lion Cub down so he can drink water] “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Why is it you’re always causing some sort of commotion?”

“I don’t cause commotions, I am one.”

“Yeah, well that’s for sure.”

Now the Lion Cub is somewhat safe, and resting Elphaba and Fiyero are finally given some time to think and interact.

These are musical lines, but again they hit differently with the meeting scene in the movie. Fiyero constantly uses derogatory humour about himself/his persona, so offhandedly that I’m not sure he even realises he’s doing it anymore. So it’s natural for him to think that Elphaba’s response is the same semi-joke at her own expense as he so frequently does to himself, so he plays into it.

“So you think I should just keep my mouth shut, is that what you’re saying?”

Elphaba, however, does not share quite the same self derogatory humour, any time she insults herself she truly means it. While Fiyero is desperate for people to see him for who he pretends to be, Elphaba wants people to like her for whom she really is. So she doesn’t see Fiyero’s reaction as him laughing at her joke, but instead as him also insulting her and, again, she goes on the defensive.

I get a feeling this also harks back to Elphaba’s relationship with her father, and the general reaction whenever she talked back or accidently did magic. Elphaba is used to being told to shut up, used to be seen as lesser and it’s just happened again with a boy she’s beginning to like and trust.

“What? No, no, I’m saying-”

And, again, Fiyero answers back, because he didn’t mean that – Elphaba puts him on the back foot once again when interacting with her – for all his smooth talking and easy charm Elphaba cuts right through it, because she simply will not let him act like that with her. If she is to trust him she needs to see his true feelings.

“Do you think I want to be this way?”

“I th-”

 “Do you think I want to care this much?”

“I mean-”

“I know that my life would be much easier if I-”

There’s so much self loathing in Elphaba’s feelings about herself, so much of an assumption that everything she does is the wrong thing, that she could be better. Fiyero has basically said nothing against her, even less than in the show. This is all her criticising herself.

But it’s interesting what she says. It’s not the usual “no your opinions on why I am green are stupid” stuff, it’s vulnerable stuff. It’s her admitting that all the things people say to her, and the way she’s treated hurt, that she would dearly like to just be normal. Without really realising it, she’s allowing Fiyero to see a lot more of herself that she usually lets on.

“Do you ever let anyone else talk?”

This is a mask slip for Fiyero. Not in a big way, but it’s him suddenly having to be direct and real with her. Elphaba makes Fiyero have to express real feelings and emotions (even if at the moment it’s mostly frustration).

“Sorry.”

Fiyero letting his mask slip breaks Elphaba out of her rant. Again, it’s the same in the musical, but I do think there’s an added part in the movie where it references Fiyero calling out her defensiveness in the first scene. It gives Elphaba a second to reassess and realise it wasn’t an attack. She apologises, she’s also out of her natural comfort zone of unrelenting defensiveness.

“I just-”

“But can I just say one more thing?”

[Fiyero motions for her to go ahead]

“You could have walked away back there”

The realisation the Fiyero isn’t attacking her has allowed Elphaba to rethink, and for it to sink in what Fiyero has actually done, that he didn’t just freak out and run away, that he cared, that he helped her. And I think this sobers her up a little, to question and to see Fiyero in a new light.

[Fiyero shrugs] “So?”

I always find this line so interesting, because Fiyero hasn’t noticed yet that his mask has slipped. He acted on instinct to help Elphaba, to save the Cub, we see here that Fiyero’s natural instinct to care about things has never been very well hidden (which is why the mask is completely off by the time we hit Act 2).

“So, no matter how shallow and self absorbed you pretend to be.”

“Um, excuse me, there is no pretence here, I happen to be genuinely self absorbed and deeply shallow.”

I love this line. Obviously I love this line. I’ve loved it for 15 years. Have you seen my username?

But anyway, now he’s been made aware of what he’s been called out for Fiyero pulls himself back, tries to put his walls up again.

It’s interesting, because this line is obviously an old one, but it fits very well with Jonathan’s movie Fiyero persona, it’s more self derogatory humour, it’s more deflection, but it’s also something so dumb that someone genuinely dumb probably wouldn’t say it. It’s not really up to his usual standards of charm, Elphaba has, once again, put Fiyero on the back foot.

“Oh please. No you’re not, otherwise you wouldn’t be so unhappy.”

[awkward silence as they stare each other down]

Elphaba is not buying Fiyero’s words. She tells him straight out that he’s more than that, completely rejecting his happy, carefree, persona. She’s seen that he wants more out of life than this.

Again, such interesting parallels to Fiyero calling out Elphaba’s defensiveness in their movie meeting.

“Fine, if you don’t want my help.”

Fiyero is scared. And for the first time we see him react in anger. His normal act of charm and stupidity has not worked at all, so he falls back to having to try and push her away without this.

“No, I do.” [Elphaba grabs Fiyero’s hand]

I mean obviously there’s supposed to be some kind of electricity here, but I think it’s more than that. I think it’s Fiyero and Elphaba having realised they’ve found a kindred spirit. That both of them have suddenly found themselves vulnerable, without masks, and really seeing each other for the first time. They have let each other into more of their feelings than they expected to and it’s both elating and terrifying.

[Back in the classroom Galinda wakes up, notices both Fiyero and Elphaba are gone]

I feel like this is supposed to be the first niggling hint Galinda gets that there are feelings between Elphaba and Fiyero, especially because the “I’m not that girl” chords in the background start here rather than in the background of Fiyero and Elphaba’s scene. Like nothing right now enough to truly alarm her, but something she’ll look back on and realise this was the start.

“What did you mean to do back there? And why was I the only one you didn’t do it to?”

[long silence]

“You’re bleeding.”

Suddenly Fiyero is the one challenging Elphaba, asking her questions she’s scared of answering. And she, like Fiyero, isn’t quite ready to face what it means, so she changes the topic.

“Mhmm” [Elphaba reaches out to touch Fiyero’s scratch, at first Fiyero flinches, but then lets her], “there. It must have scratched you.”

“Yeah, or maybe it scratched me or something.”

This change of topic does not work at all, just ends up bringing them closer. Although, I must say, I miss how much it was an almost kiss in the musical. I feel like this version had a bit less chemistry, which was a shame. Still, it is the pinnacle of the sexual tension, where something more could happen and they both know and want it.

 [Fiyero retreats] “I’d better get to safety, the Cub.”

With this line and the last we see Fiyero go back to full on saying dumb shit when Elphaba flusters him (we saw it when he first met her, and will see it again in the throne room). Fiyero is often very smooth with words so it’s always telling when she renders him unable to use this.

“Of course.”

“Get the Cub to safety.” [Fiyero grabs the Cub and runs away]

[Elphaba gets up and shouts after him] “Fiyero!”

Fiyero chickens out, scared by his feelings. Elphaba calls out after him. Both of them are changed by the day and the challenge to their personas but both end up, in their own ways, talking themselves back into them. Fiyero goes back to Galinda, who loves him for his dumb playboy persona, while Elphaba sings a song essentially saying she’s not good enough for him because of who she is and how he’ll like Galinda better. But we know for the future that it is obviously something that sticks with them and will alter their actions and perceptions of each other going forward.

Fiyero and Elphaba have always been a story of two people afraid to show the world who they really are, who dislike the other’s persona but who discover that they both love the other for the traits they hide from the world. While this scene isn’t necessarily that different from its musical counterpart (which is also excellent), I do think the softening of Fiyero and some of the antagonism from Elphaba, puts a little bit of a different spin on things. It makes it very clear that they are two people that share ideals and, while they hide from the world, both, when push comes to shove, will do anything to make it a better place. I think the movie does an excellent job to show why they suit and are attracted to each other, and also a good job of foreshadowing that neither of them will ultimately shy away from giving up everything to do what is right.

An In Depth Study of Elphaba and Fiyero in the Train Station Scene

[sinnersweets]

DogDay x Reader part 5

<----- part 4, part 6 ——->

A/N: 2k words this time! Enjoy!!

As I laid in bed, I couldn’t seem to get DogDay out of my thoughts. I knew today would be a hard day for him since Darla was leaving Playcare. To him it probably felt like his kid was being taken away from him. The longer I started to think about it the more I thought about myself in his position. Yes, I’ve only been working there for a week but already I have a close connection with Damian. As I thought of Damian, I turned on my phone to see my lock screen. I changed it to the picture I took of his drawing yesterday. I looked at the time and saw that I had extra time before my alarm went off for work. I decided to head to the store and pick out a card for DogDay. 

--------------- 

Sitting in the cable car I started writing a heartfelt message for DogDay until on the TV a cartoon started to play. Odd. Usually music would play but this time I guess they wanted to change it up. “S-M-I-L-E every day!” I watched as the intro to Smiling Critters played out. I haven’t seen any of the episodes, but Damian did tell me about the show. I smiled when DogDay appeared on screen. He looked just like his cartoon version but tall and life like.  

“DogDay says ‘When you see someone without a smile, give them one of yours!’” The screen went black as the cable car came to a stop. That was a cute cartoon. I tucked the card away and stepped out of the cable car and headed to my office. 

--------------- 

I opened my door and saw DogDay was laying down on his bed looking sad until he saw me and sat up with a smile on his face. “Angel!” I shut the door behind me and set my bag down onto my desk. “Morning DogDay. Did you sleep well?” I went over to him and gave him a hug around his neck. He rested his head on my body and sighed. “Not really Angel. Anytime a kid from my group gets adopted I always get so sad.” I moved one of my hands behind one of his ears and started to scratch him there.  

DogDays tail started to wag, and he started thumping his foot. "No need for sorrow, let joy appear, with your Angel near, all troubles disappear." I sang out to him. DogDay pulled away and looked at me with such awe. “Did my Angel just sing for me?” I laughed a little nervously. “Yes?” I was quickly brought into a hug and could see his tail wagging faster. “I can’t believe I had the pleasure of hearing my Angel sing for me! Hearing you sing has made me feel much better.” I hugged him around his neck and laughed. “I’m glad to hear that.” He brought me back down onto the ground but his face was pretty close to mine. “Could you sing for me again Angel?” “Tell you what, anytime you’re feeling down I’ll sing for you okay?” “Okay!”  

--------------- 

Me and DogDay oversaw decorating the outside of Home Sweet Home for Darla, so we started with streamers. I was on the roof while DogDay wrapped some streamers around the railing. “Be careful Angel.” I heard DogDay call out to me. “Relax, I used to climb onto roofs all the time when I was little to see the sunrise; I’m a pro.” I saw him chuckle and shake his head. We both went back to decorating. 

After a while the house was decked out with streamers and balloons. “Looks great Angel! Now come on down so we can head into the Playhouse for today.” DogDay held the ladder steady waiting for me. I started to slide down to the ladder but then heard a notification from my phone. I went to go check my phone but felt that my phone wasn’t in my pocket anymore. I looked around and saw that it was just a few feet in front of me. “Hang on I need to get my phone.” I scooted back up and reached over to my phone. I picked it up and turned it over to see the notification but instead saw a little spider on the screen. “AH!” I dropped my phone so fast and started to scoot backwards as fast as possible. In doing so I scooted all the way to the edge of the roof and slipped off. “I gotcha Angel!” DogDay pushed the ladder away barely catching me in time. The weight of my fall and him not expecting to catch me made him fall onto the ground while I landed right on top of him. 

DogDay groaned as he sat up and rested his front paws behind him. My face was buried into DogDays chest. Thankfully when he caught me his pendant moved out of the way. “Are you alright Angel? What happened?” I pushed myself off his chest but was still sitting on top of him. “I’m so sosososo sorry! There was a spider on my phone, and I hate spiders- and I freaked out but I’m so sorry! Are you alright?” “I’m fine Angel. Glad that I caught you.”  

“Woah- Am I interrupting something?” Me and DogDay both turned our heads to see KickenChicken grinning down on us. I saw how I was sitting on DogDay and blushed super hard. I quickly got off him and brushed myself off. “Nononono we were just um- putting up decorations for Darla!” DogDay got up after me and stepped in front of me a little. “KC why aren’t you with your group?” DogDay sounded cheerful but also a little annoyed that he was here. “Relax DD. I have extra time to spare and was making my way to the school until a phone out of nowhere smacks me on the head.” In his hand was my phone. “Oh gosh I’m so sorry about that KickenChicken. Thank you for picking it up.” I went to go reach for my phone, but DogDay had taken it from him. 

It was silent for a few seconds before KickenChicken spoke. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your guy’s...uh thing...Welp I’ll go ahead and take my leave.” KickenChicken started to walk away before turning his head back and saying, “See ya later, Angel.” As he walked away, I heard DogDay start to growl. I put my hand on his paw, and he stopped and looked down at me. “Hey what's wrong?” “Hearing him call you Angel...it sounded weird coming from him. I didn’t like that.” Was he jealous? I couldn’t help but smile at him. “Don’t worry, hearing him call me that doesn’t give me the same feeling as when you do it.” I immediately froze up after what just came out of my mouth. 

I saw DogDays ears perk up and he smiled at me. “What did you say Angel?” I know he heard me but I didn’t want to repeat myself. I started feeling my face grow warm. “N-nothing! Come on, let’s go!” DogDay laughed and handed me my phone back. I looked at it and thankfully there wasn’t a crack on the screen. However, when I turned on the screen, I saw that my lockscreen had changed from the drawing to KickenChicken. That motherfu- 

--------------- 

“Alright friends gather around!” DogDay called out to the kids in the Playhouse. “As you all know Darla will be leaving Playcare today and she has requested that we play her favorite game one last time.” I could tell that he was starting to get emotional, so I spoke out for him. “Darla has asked that we play ‘tug of war’ so get into your groups and get ready to play!” The kids all cheered out and went into groups of four.  

The first teams walked up to the rope and got into position. Damian was on one side while Darla was on the other. DogDay lined up the center of the rope and tied a yellow flag to it. “Ready and go!” Both teams started pulling with all their strength. “Come on Darla you got this!” DogDay yelled out. Darla nodded her head and pulled the rope even harder to her side, leading them into victory. Damians team seemed upset but not him. He gave a thumbs up to her and she returned the gesture.  

Everyone soon had a turn, and we were about to clean up until Darla spoke out saying that she wanted one last round; her and DogDay vs me and Damian. DogDay seemed to like this idea and so all four of us headed to the rope and got ourselves situated. DogDay and I were in the back with the rope wrapped around our waists while Darla and Damian were stationed in front. I already knew that me and Damian would lose because DogDay was the strongest one here, but I didn’t want to lose. “Get ready to lose Angel.” DogDay said teasingly. “Ha, like I’d let myself lose to you. Come on Damian, lets win!” 

The children all watched and cheered each of us on as the game had begun. DogDay was just standing there smiling at us. The only time he would pull the rope was when me and Damian got close to winning. The flag was about to cross onto our side when Damian yelled out “Ok now!” Both him and Darla had let go of the rope and jumped away which meant I was about to get yeeted onto DogDays side. DogDay saw this and smirked and pulled the rope hard making me come towards him. I slammed into his stomach. I heard the kids all laugh at this. I looked up at DogDay and he had the biggest grin on his face. “I win Angel.” Click! We both turned and saw that Damian had my phone and took a picture of us.  

--------------- 

I sighed and fell into my chair at my desk. The going away party for Darla had just finished and I was worn out today. I rubbed my eyes for a moment before hearing DogDay outside my door. “Can I come in Angel?” “Yes.” I said while yawning. DogDay entered and shut the door behind him before walking over to his bed and laying down. He had just seen Darla off with her family and I could tell he was sad. I grabbed the card I had gotten for him and made my way over to him. “Mind if I join you?” “Not at all Angel.” I then sat against his side and handed him the card. “Here, for you.” The card read, "To my dear DogDay; As Darla embarks on this new chapter of her life, I understand that her departure leaves a void in your heart. The bond you shared was special and filled with countless cherished moments. But as she finds a loving home and family to call her own, let us take solace in knowing that her journey is one of hope, love, and endless possibilities. While her absence may be felt keenly, remember that the love and friendship you offered her were immeasurable gifts. Your kindness and companionship made her days brighter, and your memories together will forever be etched in her heart. As Darla embraces her new beginnings, may you find comfort in knowing that you played a significant role in her life's journey. And as one door closes, may countless others open, filled with the joy of new friendships and shared adventures yet to come. With love and understanding, Angel.”  

DogDay didn’t say anything, but I knew he was grateful for my card. He then had tears form in the corner of his eyes. “I think I need your singing now Angel.” He said while chuckling. I got up and climbed on top of DogDay and leaned down and started to scratch his ears. DogDay sighed and closed his eyes while his tail slowly wagged. I started to sing a little song for him. After a while I could tell that DogDay had fallen asleep. I stayed on top of him and pulled out my phone. I changed my lockscreen back to Damians drawing and changed my home screen to the picture Damian took of me and DogDay after tug of war. In the picture DogDay had his arms around my waist and had a soft look on his face while smiling at me. I was also smiling back at him with a small blush. I then went to my camera roll and deleted KickenChickens picture.  

A/N: Idk why but it wouldn’t let me color KickenChickens part yellow. Anyways thank you for reading!!

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 6: I'm The Resident Leader Of The Lost And Found]

A/N: Be sure to vote in the poll pinned to the top of my blog AFTER you finish reading! It will be available for 1 week 🥰

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, RIP Jace...unless...??

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “St. Jimmy” by Green Day.

Word count: 8.2k (she's a little chonky)

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

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What happens to the people who turn? You know because you saw it back at Saratoga Springs, an EO from Oklahoma named Greg Flurry—Equipment Operator, he spent his days driving a forklift, everyone called him Snowflake—who returned from weekend liberty with a bite on his left wrist that he said was a gift from some drunk girl who attacked him outside of a 7-Eleven. You had all laughed and taken turns poking at the wound, making him wince: a ring of tiny bruises, not deep at all, the skin only punctured in a few spots, corporeal gemstones of trapped-blood amethysts and sapphires and rubies. Snowflake rubbed it down with a splash of Grey Goose vodka—the same kind your Mama always drank—and didn’t think of it again for the rest of the day.

On Tuesday, he felt fine; but the bite mark, paradoxically, was not healing. On the contrary, it was turning dark and angry, maroon trails along the paths of veins that shuttle blood back to the heart. Snowflake got a shot of antibiotics at the med clinic and was back in the driver’s seat of his forklift before lunch.

On Wednesday, he had a headache and nausea that wouldn’t go away. Snowflake attributed this to particularly questionable chicken fried steak from the chow hall. At night he tossed and turned in his bunk, and when Rio went to check on him, Snowflake was burning up with fever, sweating through his sheets, staring blankly through pupils like pinpricks. You, Rio, and Parker carried him to the med clinic.

On Thursday, in the early hours of the morning, Snowflake began to decompose. But he was still alive. His skin turned grey and sloughed off, his body purged itself: vomit from his throat, diarrhea from his intestines, blood beading out of his pores like sweat. His corneas went cloudy. His lungs flooded with decay-dark mucus. Snowflake sobbed and shrieked as you and Rio sat with him and held his disintegrating hands, as the corpsmen phoned every hospital they could to try to get him transported. All the ambulances were unavailable. All the hospitals were already overwhelmed. They gave the corpsmen peculiar guidance: Palliative care. Prepare to restrain him if he becomes a danger to others. The virus appears to be transmitted via bite wounds.

“Virus?” Rio had said, dropping Snowflake’s hand. “What the fuck kind of virus does this to someone?”

The corpsmen had shaken their heads—We don’t know—and attempted to administer narcotics intravenously. Snowflake received no relief. His blood vessels were collapsing, dissolving, turning to a noxious soup beneath what was left of his skin. Becoming a zombie is not unlike radiation sickness. It rots you from the inside out, and you can feel everything.

As the sun was rising, Snowflake died. And by then you were glad; it was the most merciful outcome. The corpsmen covered him with a sheet and called around for a morgue. They were full too. As you all stood in an exam room trying to understand what had just happened to Snowflake here, what was going on in the world outside Saratoga Springs, the fresh corpse sat up on the table. You had screamed and clutched for Rio; he shoved you behind him. The corpse, still covered with the sheet stained with black and brown and red, followed the noise of your voice and staggered towards you, snarling and groaning, arms outstretched, teeth clicking as they gnashed beneath the sheet. The corpsmen tried to grab him, then shrank away when the ghoul clawed at them, putrefied fingers peeking out from beneath the linen. The zombie lurched closer, and Rio struck out: colossal knuckles to a soft skull, the monster sent hurtling headfirst into a wall. The body plunged to the floor and, enveloped by a puddle of its own bodily fluids, died for the second time.

And Rio had glanced down at where Snowflake had been bitten—now indecipherable on his black, gangrenous wrist that jutted out from beneath the sheet—then turned to you and said: I guess it only takes once.

~~~~~~~~~~

You doze against Aemond’s shoulder as Baela drives the Honda Odessey across Indiana, goldenrods and dogwood trees, green weeds growing tall and wild, red bloodstains on pavement. Visions of the past come to you in spider-thread thin fragments of dreams.

Building dams of sticks and pebbles in the swamp-colored creek that runs along Kentucky State Route 1087. Balancing atop rusted railroad lines that once connected coal mines like ligaments link bones, bare feet, box turtles and milk snakes, autum leaves falling into your hair. Scratching black-ink battleships into the pages of your fifty-cent Walmart notebook as teachers drone on about things that mean nothing to you, things that will not take you away from here, Shakespeare, the Krebs cycle, the Tet Offensive, Spanish words for colors and animals. Mama glancing up at you as she scrubs dishes in a sink nearly overflowing with bubbles, too nonchalant to intend to be cruel: You’re lucky you ain’t too beautiful. Do you know what happens to beautiful women? Marilyn Monroe, Jackie Kennedy, Natalie Wood, Anna Nicole Smith? Horrible, horrible things. And then they die.

Once in a while you pass a car or truck or SUV coasting east as you roll west, strangers who wave and give you nods of grim, transient greeting. Good luck. I’m sorry you’ve lost people. I hope you live. At a Speedway outside of Kokomo, Aemond, Aegon, Rio, and Luke draw Uno cards to see who will attempt to siphon gas from the three vehicles you find there with closed fuel caps. Aegon loses with a blue four. The Kia and Toyota are empty; there’s almost a full tank left in the Ford. You refuel the Honda Odessey and scrounge through the convenience store for supplies. Helaena seems to have developed a sort of fixation with pain pills, hoarding Advil and Tylenol. Aegon finds a few more packs of Marlboro Golds. He puffs on them, windows down and breeze blowing, neon green plastic sunglasses shielding his eyes, as Baela skirts around Indianapolis. Even from fifteen miles away, you can see the billowing smoke from the fires, hear the manmade thunder of explosions.

“Bet people are having a great time there,” Aegon murmurs as he takes a drag, embers glowing and blonde hair thrashing in the wind.

Baela follows the course he plotted, swinging just south of Peoria, Illinois to avoid the nuclear power plants between there and Chicago. You cross the Mississippi River and into the southern tip of Iowa over the Fort Madison Bridge, the toll booth occupied only by a carcass that buzzards are pecking apart, a zombie that someone else already put a bullet in…or perhaps the man did it to himself. Maybe he didn’t see a point in sticking around to watch the dead inherit the earth. You cannot agree. Each day you find more reasons to stay alive in this treacherous new world. It’s like when you were back in Soft Shell, Kentucky. You can’t give up, you can’t surrender. The only way out is through.

The black Honda Odessey—a good soldier, having taken you six hundred miles and into the vast flat vacancy of the Midwest—at last runs out of gas as you are approaching Bonaparte, founded in the 1830s as a lumber mill on the banks of the Des Moines River. You unload the minivan and trek into town; you will find somewhere to spend the night and then in the morning head south to Route 2, which you will follow all the way across Iowa to the Nebraska border.

The first house you try is at the edge of town, eggshell-colored vinyl siding and an empty gravel driveway. Rio tries the front door—locked—then tells everyone to back up. He kicks it once, no dice, gets ready to try again. Then the door opens. A woman with wide fearful eyes stands there with two boys cowering behind her, maybe ten and twelve.

“Please don’t break the lock,” the woman says softly. “We need it. Sometimes they try to get in.”

“Oh hey, lady, I’m sorry about that. We didn’t know anyone was home. You okay in there?”

Her voice is so quiet you can barely hear her. “Please leave us alone.”

Aemond climbs the steps of the front porch, taps Rio’s shoulder to tell him to back up, and kneels in the doorway so he isn’t so tall. He asks the woman: “Do you need supplies? Food, medicine?”

“Please leave us alone,” she says again.

“My name is Aemond, and those two are my brothers Aegon and Daeron, and that’s my sister Helaena, my cousin Luke, and then Rhaena and Baela. The big guy is Rio, and the girl over there…” He smiles as he gestures to you. “We like to call her Chips. Everyone is healthy, and everyone is here by choice. We’re going to the West Coast, Oregon and California. Do you want to come with us?”

But the woman shakes her head almost violently. “We’re safe in the house. We have to stay. My husband is a long-haul trucker, but he’s on his way back to us.”

“How do you know he’s still alive?”

“Go away. Please just go away. Before they see you.”

The woman shuts the door and you hear her throw the deadbolt. You leave like she asks you to; but not before Aemond collects an armful of supplies you can spare and places them in a pile on the porch for them to take inside once you’ve vanished.

The sun is sinking into the west as Helaena lights candles in Bonaparte Baptist Church and Rhaena shakes out dusty, mothball-smelling tablecloths to use as blankets. Luke finds gallons of grape juice and bags full of tiny flat bread wafers in the cabinets of the kitchenette, once used for sinless communions. It’s Daeron’s turn to stay awake for first watch. If Jace was still alive, it would be his too; instead, Aemond takes his place and refuses all offers of relief. You lie down on a pew with thin violet cushions and are thinking that you’ll never get comfortable enough to fall asleep when you are abruptly swallowed by omnipotent, black nothingness.

You jolt awake sometime in the middle of the night, a bad dream you don’t remember and don’t want to. Daeron is perched on the altar and using a hunting knife from the cellar back in Distant, Pennsylvania to sharpen the sticks he’s gathered into arrows. Baela is sitting with Aemond, their backs against the wall and voices hushed so as not to wake the others. Aemond is telling her that everything is going to be okay, that he’s still here, that Jace is gone but he’s not going anywhere, and candlelight is flickering across his scarred face, and he’s afraid but he doesn’t show it. He can’t. Too many people need him.

Oh, you realize; and it doesn’t feel awful at all, doomed or apocalyptic, a curse or a plague. It feels better than anything you knew existed. I might fall in love with him after all.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Aemond, take a look at this,” Luke says, offering him the binoculars. You have walked several miles on Iowa State Route 2, an asphalt atoll in an ocean of emerald green flora, buffalograss and prairie roses, ash trees growing over defunct power lines.

Aemond peers through the binoculars. It’s a small farmhouse about a quarter mile off the road, rugged and weatherworn, besieged by a flock of zombies. There is something large and rectangular flapping in the wind like a white flag of surrender. “Hm,” Aemond hums sympathetically. “It’s a shame. Poor guy.”

“What do you see?” you ask, and he gives you the binoculars. The zombies, approximately thirty of them, do not appear to have breached the interior; they shuffle through the yard and up and down the steps of the porch, smack their palms against the wood siding, leave stains of gore on the boarded-up windows. None appear to be aware of you yet. The bedsheet that hangs from the attic window has a message painted on it in something dark and viscous, perhaps motor oil:

One alive inside

I can hunt, fish, and fix things

Please help me

God bless you!!!

“We should be able to get to Cantril before dark, it’s about twelve more miles,” Aegon mutters, pondering his map. “Boner-party. Who names a town something like that?”

Aemond stares at him. “Bonaparte. Like Napoleon.”

“Who?”

You pass Rio the binoculars, then say to Aemond: “We’re going to help him, right?”

“We sure as hell aren’t,” Rio replies as he studies the farmhouse. “You want to risk our lives killing all those bastards? I don’t.”

You turn to Aemond, incredulous, but he concurs with Rio. “It’s too dangerous.”

“What’s going on?” Baela says testily from where she’s sprawled on the pavement sipping a half-full plastic gallon of bruise-colored grape juice. She’s already exhausted, but you have no way of transporting her.

Rio points across the field. “There’s a sign saying someone’s trapped inside that house. Tough fucking luck, ain’t it?”

Baela stares at the farmhouse uneasily, her brow furrowed. Rhaena fans her with a paperback copy of Catching Fire. Daeron has wandered off the road to collect more sticks to sharpen and fill his quiver; Helaena is with him picking wildflowers.

“That was us,” you tell Rio. “We were stranded on that transmission tower and we would have died if we’d been left there. But we weren’t. Someone saved us.”

“Things were different then,” Aemond says, unemotional, uncompromising. “We had the Tahoe. Now we’re on foot, and we’d have to kill each of them individually. And there’s no way to make a fast escape if something goes wrong.”

“So we’re just going to leave him?” Aegon says doubtfully, his large ocean-blue eyes flicking between you and Aemond. He stuffs his map back into his shorts pocket and scratches at the tattoo on his forearm: It’s not over ‘til you’re underground.

Rio groans. “Come on, man, we don’t even know if anyone’s still alive in there! What if he’s dead already? What if he got bit or starved to death or fell down the steps and snapped his neck or something?”

“What if he’s not a good guy?” Aemond adds.

“There’s a Trump 2024 sign in the front yard,” Luke says. He has the binoculars again. Aemond opens his hands, an I told you so sort of gesture. Luke amends: “Not that anyone deserves to get eaten alive or transformed into a walking corpse. But, you know. I figured I’d mention it.”

You are not swayed. Had you stayed in Soft Shell, Kentucky, you might have believed the same things. “People deserve to have the chance to start over.”

Aemond’s eye is on you, narrow and seeking, desperate to understand. “Why are you so fixated on this stranger?”

“He hunts, he fishes. What are we going to do when we get out into Wyoming and Nevada where towns are fifty miles apart and there’s hardly anywhere to scavenge for food? What are we going to eat when the beef jerky and Skittles run out?”

“You said everyone hunts where you’re from.”

“Not literally everyone. I don’t hunt.”

“You can shoot.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know how to track animals. And even if I killed a deer, I wouldn’t know how to dress it.”

Aegon blinks at you. “To what?”

“To remove the skin and organs and everything.”

“Oh. Okay. That makes more sense.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Aemond repeats. Rio is nodding in agreement. Baela’s lips are pressed into a thin, thoughtful, rigid line. Daeron and Helaena have returned to the road to see how the discussion unfolds.

“There are about thirty zombies out there,” you say. “I can take fifteen. I just need you guys to do the rest.”

“Everyone here is my responsibility.” Aemond is severe, but he isn’t angry.

“Then you’re responsible for their humanity as well.”

“I can’t justify risking our lives for this.”

“I’ve killed people, living people, and I didn’t like how that felt. Make no mistake, this is killing too, just by omission instead of with bullets. We’ll all have to carry that weight. The man in that farmhouse hasn’t threatened us. He’s helpless, and he’s trapped, and if we don’t save him, who else is going to do it? What if it was you in there? What if it was me?”

Aemond, frowning, contemplates the house that has become a prison. Rio looks at you, one eyebrow raised. You gaze stoically back. He sighs. “Okay, what the hell, let’s rock,” Rio says.

Baela holds up her Ruger in one hand, slips her hammer out of a belt loop of her shorts with the other. “I’m on board.”

“You shouldn’t be on anything except bedrest,” Aemond tells her.

“I can take fifteen of the zombies myself,” you say again. “I have two M9s, thirty bullets total. I won’t need more than that.”

“I can take ten,” Daeron says.

“Shut up,” Aegon replies, though his tone is gentle. “You can’t even donate blood.”

“I can take ten,” Daeron insists, clutching his compound bow. “At least ten.”

Aegon swings his golf club around. “I can take…like…probably approximately three.”

Rio grabs his face and squeezes his sunburned cheeks as Aegon giggles and slaps at him. “You won’t get the opportunity, Honey Bun. Stay in the kitchen and bake apple pies until Daddy comes home from work.”

“You really think this is the right thing to do?” Aemond asks you. It’s not a challenge, only a question. He’s at war with himself, you can tell. He’s trying very hard to treat you like someone he’s not terrified to lose.

“Yes. Absolutely.”

He pulls his Glock out of its holster. “The gunfire will attract more of them.”

“Then we’ll have to move quickly.”

Aemond turns to Baela, still wilted on the pavement. “You, Rhaena, and Helaena will follow behind us with Luke and finish off any zombies we missed.”

Baela gives him a weak, acquiescent thumbs up, breathing heavily. “Got it.”

“Helaena, you still have your Ruger, right?”

“I won’t need it,” she murmurs, wildflowers tucked into her long blonde hair, watching a ladybug skitter across her knuckles. Aemond is exasperated.

“I’ll make sure she’s okay,” Luke promises. He’s using his binoculars to scout for any threats on the horizon, additional zombies or approaching strangers. Evidently, there are none.

“The grass,” Helaena says. “It makes it hard to see the snakes. Watch your step.”

Aemond replies distractedly: “I think we have bigger worries at the moment, babe.” As Rio pumps his Remington and Luke fumbles nervously with his Marlin .22 to make sure it’s fully loaded, Aemond walks a few yards away from the others and gestures for you to follow him. Aemond’s voice is low, the blue of his eye river-clear and blade-sharp. “I want you to stay near Rio.”

You give him a small, teasing smile. “So you won’t worry about me?”

“So I’ll worry slightly less.” He brushes a piece of buffalograss from your hair, his fingers lingering there longer than they need to. “Rio’s the biggest, he’s the best fighter. And if one of those things catches you by surprise, he’ll be able to crack its skull no problem. So keep close.”

“I’ll try, but sometimes it’s more complicated than that.”

“Please work with me. I’m giving you what you want.”

To be useful, to be merciful. “Thank you, Aemond.”

“Thank me by not letting anything bite you. Not today, not ever.”

“Well, except you of course.”

He laughs, the tension in his face breaking; he skates his thumbprint over your cheek and kisses your forehead, swift like a reflex, unthinking, instinctive.

“Good to go?” Rio asks with a grin, holding his Remington with both hands.

Aegon’s golf club is resting across his shoulders, and you have a sudden vision of Jace doing the same thing with a baseball bat, a vengeful ghost peering out from beneath his curls with cunning dark eyes and a smirk. “Yeah, Chipotle, you’re leading the charge here.”

“No she’s not,” Aemond says, striding to the edge of the road. Across the field is the farmhouse, the white bedsheet S.O.S. still whipping in the wind. “I’m in front. Everyone else is behind me.”

“Oh yeah? Then who’s gonna watch your blind side, huh?” Aegon jogs over and whacks Aemond’s left shoulder with an open palm, beaming up at him. “Don’t worry. You’ll still get to be the hero. I was born talentless.”

“You have talents, Aegon,” you say. “You can sing.”

“Not relevant in a zombie-riddled apocalyptic hellscape, Cow Chip.” He and Aemond start across the field, then you and Rio, then Daeron, darting around in your peripheral vision, nocking sharpened sticks like arrows. Luke, Baela, Rhaena, and Helaena trail at a distance.

You have closed half of the gap between the road and the farmhouse—and Daeron has already felled several zombies—before the beasts begin to turn around and notice you. They do not understand danger; they only understand hunger, and they lurch towards you with teeth gnashing and claws outstretched, strips of decaying flesh hanging like sleeves from their arms. You hate the way they move, like they’re trying to imitate life, like they are receiving some sinister transmission that reverberates inside them, like they are soulless vessels to be used in the darkest ways.

You stop, plant your feet in the earth, and raise one of your Beretta M9s. Your eyes find the sights; your finger settles on the trigger. You are rusty at first: a miss, a bullet in a rotting shoulder instead of a skull. Then you click into a rhythm and the zombies drop as they stumble towards you, infected dark blood spewing, brains pouring out onto the soil. When your clip is empty, you shove the first M9 back into its holster and pull out the other.

Daeron is putting his makeshift arrows through eye sockets, Aemond is firing his Glock, Rio is erasing entire heads with the grotesque power of his Remington. Aegon is swinging his golf club around wildly. His Marlin .22 hangs from its strap across his back, but he’s hopeless with it; his aim quite literally could not be worse. You hear other gunshots too, maybe Luke. A stranger appears from the front door of the farmhouse: red flannel shirt, roomy jeans, tan work boots, long messy russet hair pulled back in a man bun, almost as big as Rio. He is carrying an axe and begins helping to cut down the remaining zombies. Rio realizes you’re no longer with him and turns around to find you.

“I’m good!” you shout, waving him forward. “Go, go!” Rio nods and takes off again towards the farmhouse, blasting his Remington 12 gauge like a cannon.

Your ankle snags on something, a gnarled root, an old piece of farm machinery. You fall hard, hitting the ground and knocking the air out of your lungs. Your M9 is flung from your grasp. You roll onto your back and sit up to see what you’re caught on. It’s the grasping hand of a zombie, an old man, long white hair and dead milky eyes, only a torso, nothing below the ribcage except a tangle of dirt-coated intestines. It is scrambling towards your legs, jaws rattling, teeth covered in the blood of the other people it has eaten.

You shriek and try to kick it away. You reach for the empty M9, rip it out of its holster, and hold it by the barrel so you can use the grip, the heaviest part of a pistol, to bash the zombie’s skull in. But you aren’t Rio; when you strike the zombie’s head, it keeps hissing and scrabbling towards your flesh that sings to it like a siren, irresistible, divine.

I can’t let it bite me, I can’t let it bite me—

There is a boom and the zombie drops face-down to the earth. You are saved; you are free. You turn to see Rhaena standing beside you, clutching her tiny Ruger in trembling hands…but her eyes are closed. Slowly, petrified, they come open, one after the other.

You gape up at her. “Did you aim?!”

Rhaena shrugs guiltily. “I don’t remember how.”

“Jesus Christ. Well thanks, I guess. Glad you missed my pelvis.”

She laughs shakily. “Yeah. Me too.” Rhaena holsters her Ruger and helps you to your feet. By now, everyone else has realized you’re in trouble and are sprinting over, including the new guy.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you say, holding up your arms and skimming your palms down your bare legs to show them you haven’t been bitten. “No need to despair. Rhaena rescued me.”

Aemond gets to you first. “Can I see?” he asks breathlessly. You give him your hands and with his fingertips, he reads you like Braille: palms, forearms, throat, jaw, gingerly turning your face away from him and then back again. He exhales, relieved. “Good job, Rhaena,” Aemond says, and she smiles. Baela uses her hammer to smash the skull of a zombie that’s still squirming. Aegon yanks a snarling toddler to its feet—Pokémon t-shirt, left leg missing, wearing one of those child leashes—and swings his golf club so hard its whole head pops off and rolls away into the buffalograss with sick wet thumps.

“I thought you couldn’t kill the kids,” you say.

Aegon spits on the corpse’s collapsed, headless body. “It’s different now. These monsters ate Jace. Fuck ‘em all.”

“I can’t thank y’all enough,” the axe-wielding stranger says. “I was sure I was going to die in there like a rat in a trap. There’s a hog farm on the property behind mine, and I think the…you know…all the meat attracts zombies. A pack of them saw me in the yard and followed me to the house, and when they’re in a group like that, they seem…well, I just couldn’t get rid of them. Alone they wander wherever, but a hoard has structure, it has a mission, and they were waiting me out. I didn’t have my guns, I didn’t have my truck…”

“What happened to them?” Rio asks.

“I got robbed, that’s what happened.”

“No!” Baela says. “Really?”

“A week ago, five men I’d never seen before broke in while I was sleeping. They must have drugged my dog, who knows with what—she slept for twenty hours, have you ever heard of something like that?—and locked me in my bedroom. By the time I kicked the door down they were gone, and so were quite a few of my earthly possessions. It was nice of them not to murder us, I guess. I have a couple boxes of ammo left, but that’s all. Mostly 9mm.”

“That’s exactly what I need,” you say.

The stranger gives you a curious, appraising glance. “I’m very glad to be able to assist you, ma’am.” Then he finally gets a good look at Aemond, who is glaring at him. “Lord almighty, what the hell happened to your face?”

“A piece of sheet metal fell on me.”

“He stitched it up himself,” Luke says. “I watched. It was wild.”

The man is impressed. “You’re a doctor?”

“No, no, no,” Aemond amends. “Just an intern.”

“He’s basically a doctor,” Baela says.

“Well, you’ll be useful to have around, I expect.” The stranger offers his hand and Aemond, somewhat unenthusiastically, shakes it. “I’m Cregan Stark.”

“Aemond Targaryen.”

“Targaryen?! That’s a heck of a name, sir.”

“It’s Greek,” Aegon says.

“Where are y’all headed? Not all the way back to Greece, I hope. That’d be a hike. And a swim too, I guess.”

Aemond smiles tightly, polite but guarded. “Not that far away. We’re on our way to the West Coast, California and Oregon.”

“And you’re on foot?! You need horses.”

“We haven’t come across any that are still alive.”

“Do you want to travel with us, Cregan?” Luke asks amiably.

“I reckon I would, for now at least. I got nowhere else to be and no one to care for.” Cregan looks to Aemond. “That alright with you, doc?”

“Sure,” Aemond replies ungenerously.

“My folks got a trailer over towards Cantril, and a truck parked out back too if nobody’s stolen it yet. We can stay the night there if you want and then drive west in the morning.”

“Cantril! That’s on our route!” Aegon exclaims, he of the map and the gel pens.

Aemond narrows his eye at Cregan, suspicious. “If your parents are so close, why aren’t you staying with them? Why didn’t they swing by to check on you and see you were in trouble here?”

“Well, ‘cause they’re dead,” Cregan says, and Aemond is abruptly remorseful. “When all this started, I went over to get them and they were out in the front yard, just bones. All the flesh was chewed right off. But I found their wedding rings in the grass, and Mama’s pearl necklace that her Grammie gave her when she got married, Mama never took it off as long as she lived. It looked like a string of rubies.”

Aemond swallows noisily. “I’m sorry.”

“Ain’t nothing I can do about it now,” Cregan says, staring out over the field and biting his lips so they don’t quiver.

“Did your parents have guns?” Rio asks hopefully.

Cregan chuckles and shakes his head. “No, that’d be swell, wouldn’t it? Daddy got all his guns taken away when I was in high school.”

“Taken away…?” Baela echoes.

“Yeah,” Cregan says casually. “After the methamphetamine conviction.” He whistles, and a dog comes loping out of the front door of the farmhouse. It’s huge and mean-looking, fur the color of ashes or smoke. It goes directly to Cregan and noses his hands; you are reminded of how Aemond searched you fearfully for injuries. “She’s half-German Shepherd, half-grey wolf. Her name’s Ice.”

“Does she bite?” Aemond asks tentatively.

“My little princess?! Hell no! I wish she did, then maybe those robbers wouldn’t have gotten what they wanted. But she knows when those things are around.”

Aegon pats her angular, steel-colored head. Ice puts back her pointy ears and closes her eyes, basking in the attention. “Hey, fuzzball. I’m going to call you Blue Raspberry Icee.”

“You can call her whatever you want to as long as she’s allowed to come with us.”

“She’s welcome if she sniffs out zombies,” Aemond says.

Baela is struck by a thought. “Cregan, what kind of truck did your parents have? I hope it’s big. We’re a lot of people.” She’s resting her hands on her belly. And we’re about to add one more.

“A Chevy Tahoe,” Cregan says. You all begin chattering excitedly, then have to explain why.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Y’all like fishing?” Cregan asks. He’s cooking dinner for everyone with his dead parents’ Coleman butane camping stove, only one burner, each course prepared individually. You are all seated around him on the living room floor, sipping cans of Coke and Sprite—what Cregan calls “pop”—and eating turkey-flavored instant stuffing that came out of a cardboard box. Now Cregan is working on Hungry Jack mashed potatoes, tiny white flakes like snow that puff up in boiling water. Rhaena is staring at the pot with horror. Baela scarfs down her stuffing like she’s been starving to death. Flashlights illuminate the room in dim ocher like a setting sun, the roof vents open to let in cool night air. The trailer smells like cigarette smoke and dust and mildew. Piled haphazardly in corners are old newspapers, mounds of unfolded clothes, empty boxes and plastic bags, VHS tapes—Star Wars, 80s rock concerts, Clint Eastwood movies—and unwashed cups.

Aemond chuckles like it’s preposterous. “No.”

“Garth Brooks?”

“No.”

“NASCAR?”

“Who watches NASCAR?!” Aegon says.

You smile. “Everyone’s got a driver where I’m from.”

Cregan, vindicated, thumps a closed fist against his chest. “I was a Jeff Gordon guy. His car reminded me of a box of Froot Loops or something.”

“My brother Denver covered the inside of the garage with Dale Earnhardt Jr. stuff. I got obsessed with Juan Pablo Montoya for a while, he was cute.”

“So you chase the dark-haired fellas,” Cregan says, grinning, still stirring the potatoes. Everyone else’s wide, perplexed gazes fly between you and Cregan as they eat their Stove Top stuffing from Styrofoam bowls.

You titter nervously. “I don’t usually chase anyone.”

Aegon notices a taxidermied largemouth bass mounted on the wall, approximately fifteen pounds. “What the fuck,” he whispers, dismayed.

“WWE?” Cregan asks you.

“Oh, Rey Mysterio, no question. He was cute too.”

Cregan snorts. “He literally never took off his mask!”

“He was cute underneath it. I could tell, I have a sense for these things.”

“I’ll let you live in delusion.”

“I thought wrestling was real back then. When he’d get beat up and covered in fake blood, I’d start crying because I figured he’d die. Who was your favorite?”

“John Cena.” Cregan waves an open hand back and forth in front of his face. “You can’t see me!” You both burst out laughing. No one else gets it.

“It’s John Cena’s signature move,” you explain.

“Hm,” Aemond says, but he’s watching you and Cregan with deep grooves in his forehead and a solemnness in his lone blue eye, tapping his chin restlessly.

“Now, we might not have any butter…” Cregan picks up one of the containers scattered around him, a plastic jug of Great Value powdered coffee creamer. “But this makes for the best potatoes on the planet.” The others watch, stunned, appalled, as he adds several heaping spoonfuls to the pot.

You smile wistfully. How is it possible to be so nostalgic for a place you once believed was killing you, wringing you dry until all your blood dripped onto the floor and you were left a husk, a ghost, a myth? “My Mama always did that. She put it in mac and cheese too.”

Cregan serves you first, taking your empty stuffing bowl and returning it nearly overflowing with Hungry Jack instant potatoes. “Here’s a taste of home.”

And he’s right; you take a bite—hot enough to burn your tongue, smooth, rich, soupy in texture—and it’s just like being five or ten or fifteen again, when this was your idea of luxury, a good day, lounging on a sagging couch torn to hell by the cats and watching The Simpsons or Malcolm In The Middle with your brothers. Cregan scoops Hungry Jack into all the bowls. Baela digs in enthusiastically. The others, following your lead, take cautious tastes, shrug, and decide it’s tolerable for one night. Cregan grabs a new pot and dumps a box of Rice-A-Roni into it, along with the packet of seasoning, a bottle of water, and a single spoonful of coffee creamer for good measure. As the rice cooks, he distributes one can of barbeque-flavored Vienna sausages to each guest. Rhaena pops hers open and immediately begins retching. Aegon feeds his to Ice.

After dinner, Cregan compiles all the extra blankets and pillows he can find, then supplements with bath towels and bedsheets from the closet in the hallway. The trailer is small, only one bedroom; you all agree Baela should get it. She will share with Rhaena and Luke, as she always does now. She doesn’t like sleeping alone. Cregan offers to take first watch, a gift in return for being rescued from a slow death by deprivation. Aemond agrees, but only because Rio—with a wink and a knowing smirk—volunteers to stay up too. Rio will keep tabs on this almost-stranger; Rio is the only one big enough to knock Cregan around if such an occasion ever arose. Aemond tells them to wake him up halfway through the night so he can take over and let them rest. You say you want to do the second watch too, and this time Aemond doesn’t argue.

Helaena gets the couch and Daeron curls up on the olive green carpet beside her, Aegon claims the tattered old recliner, you arrange your pillow and blanket—thin, scratchy, a weak blue mottled with dark stains you can’t identify—against the wall on the other side of the living room. Rio is teaching Cregan how to play Uno on the small plastic folding table by the kitchen, only spacious enough for two. Ice is stretched out beneath the table with her grey muzzle resting on her paws. At the moment, Aemond is supervising; he’s still trying to decide how much he can trust Cregan.

Aegon wanders over to you then bends down, his hands on his knees. “This place is revolting,” he whispers.

“It’s alright.”

“Where did you grow up? Alcatraz?” You laugh, and Aegon gives you his pink CD player, Ava still written across the top in rhinestones. “Just in case you need to get away for a while. It’s wasted on me. I’m going to be unconscious about two seconds after my head hits the pillow.”

“I’ll take good care of it.”

“If you see any meth lying around, you let me know. I’m always in the market for new ways to shorten my life expectancy.”

“I’ll keep any such discoveries to myself. I enjoy you too much.”

Aegon recoils, lets that sink in, then beams as he saunters back to his creaking recliner.

“Hey, Chips?” Luke says, approaching you shyly. He’s holding his Marlin .22. “I’m really sorry to bother you, but my rifle was shooting way to the left today, and I don’t think my aim’s that awful.”

“No problem.” You take it and remove the remaining bullets so there’s no chance the gun will accidentally fire, then examine the sights. “Can you get me Baela’s hammer?”

“Sure.” Luke dashes off and then returns with it moments later.

“You said it was skewed to the left?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

You take the hammer and tap the rear sight a few times. Luke watches you, fascinated, troubled. When he speaks, his voice is soft and miserable.

“I’m sorry I’m so bad at everything.”

“You know, this is the only possible scenario in which someone like you is worth less than me.” You give him an encouraging smile. “I didn’t go to a fancy school. I work with my hands.”

“But you’re smart, Chips. You could have gone to college if you wanted to.”

How would I have paid for application fees, or to take the SAT? How would I have gotten Mama to fill out the FAFSA? What school would have given me a scholarship with my mediocre grades in standard-level classes? Who would have driven me to school and helped me move in? How would I have bought books, shampoo, tampons, a laptop? Where would I have gone if I had trouble finding a job after graduation? What if the people there saw through me? What if they shrank away from the frayed threads I’m built of? There is no point in saying these things. The gulf between you is too great; it will only confuse Luke and hurt you. “I wouldn’t have known where to start.” You reload the Marlin .22 and pass both the gun and the hammer back to him. “I think it’ll work better now.”

“I bet you wish Jace was here instead of me,” Luke says, and it shocks you. “Everyone does, except maybe Rhaena.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Jace was a good fighter, and he was smart, and brave, and capable, and I’m just this…this weak scared loser who only knows how to write screenplays. And what goddamn use is that? Hollywood doesn’t even exist anymore! Scraps of Tom Cruise are probably stuck in some zombie’s teeth right now!”

“Luke, I’m glad you’re here.”

“I shouldn’t have left Jace,” he whispers, distraught. “I betrayed him. He was always protecting me and I couldn’t even save him once.”

“We did everything we could. And we all left Jace, not just you. It was me and Rio who said it first. You haven’t earned the blame.” If Jace’s ghost comes knocking, it won’t be your door he opens, Luke.

“Okay,” Luke replies softly.

“Baela is very, very grateful to still have you and Rhaena, Luke. She told me.”

Luke stares at you, doubtful, hopeful, wanting to believe. “Really?”

“I swear she did. I think you two are keeping her sane. The world, the baby, Jace…sometimes what’s most valuable to people are simple things, kindness, gentleness, compassion, support. I can kill zombies, sure, but I’ve never been good at knowing the right thing to say. You are.”

“Okay,” Luke says again, but he seems more at peace now; perhaps even the tiniest bit proud. “I guess I should go make sure Baela has everything she needs before I go to sleep.”

“That sounds like a good plan.”

Luke walks a few steps, then turns back towards you, smiling. “I think you know the right thing to say once in a while.”

“Maybe.”

“Definitely,” Luke insists, then disappears down the shadowy hallway and into the bedroom.

Aemond arrives at last with his blanket and pillow, arranges them beside yours, then joins you where you sit cross-legged on the floor. “You didn’t stay with Rio today when we rescued Cregan,” he says; not an accusation, a statement, a surrender of sorts.

“No. I didn’t.”

You must be visibly preoccupied. Aemond asks: “What are you thinking about?”

You decide to tell the truth. “How you were never supposed to meet me.”

“What do you mean?”

You point to him. “Rich boy with a beach house on a cliff.” Then you tap your own heart. “Poor girl who grew up playing with sticks and box turtles.”

“And that’s why you like Cregan so much.”

“It’s nice to have someone around who speaks the same language, sure. It’s nice to not have to explain things or think up lies so I can fit into other people’s idea of what the world is. But I don’t like Cregan more than I like you. Not even close.”

Aemond smiles, a warm glow like fire from under his scarred skin. “I’m glad I met you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Even if it wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“I’m sorry I’m not…” Someone sophisticated, seductive, experienced, bewitching. “I’m sorry I don’t already know how to do everything.”

“I don’t care. I would have liked you however you were when I found you.”

You look up at him skeptically. “Really?”

“Yes. Zero boyfriends or ten or twenty, I would want you the same way I do now.”

It hits you so suddenly you can’t stop the tremor in your voice, the shimmering tears in your eyes. “Aemond, please don’t die.”

“I’ll do my best.” He lifts the CD player from your lap and offers you an earbud. You accept it and slip it into your right ear as he puts the other into his left, then clicks the play button on Aegon’s pink Sony Walkman. What you hear are the opening ukelele plucks of Riptide, and you are spirited back to 2013: middle school, oversized hoodies and ripped jeans, hair you have no idea what to do with, the librarian letting you browse music videos on YouTube during lunch because you never cause any trouble, taking bites of your sandwich—one piece of Wonder Bread folded in half, a glob of Skippy peanut butter—and chewing slowly to make it last longer.

Aemond lies down and you rest your head on his chest as he covers you both with his blanket, circles his arms around you and pulls you in closer; and through the music you hear him mutter: “I wish this disgusting Hoarders trailer had two bedrooms.”

You laugh, burrow deeper into him, let his warmth and the drumming of his heartbeat lull you into darkness, still and serene, a place that exists beyond the world and the fear that it is ending.

When you open your eyes again, Aemond is up and speaking in hushed voices with Cregan and Rio in the kitchen, but he hasn’t tried to rouse you yet. I shouldn’t be awake, why am I awake?

Because someone is shining a flashlight directly into your face. You blink and swat at the blinding yellow-white gleam, your eyes aching, your vision hazy and distorted.

“He must check below the racks,” Helaena says. She is on her hands and knees and peering down at you like a bird of prey, like a goddess on Mount Olympus.

“What…?”

“He’s tall, so he won’t look, but that’s where it is. Below the racks. He must see it. Promise me you’ll make him see it.”

“Who’s tall…?” Aemond, Rio, Cregan?

“Promise me!” she hisses fiercely.

“Okay, Helaena! Okay. I promise.”

She crawls away without another word, climbs onto the couch, clicks off the flashlight, and tumbles back into the abyss of sleep with her back to you.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Chevy Tahoe—2001 instead of 2023, a dull rusty red instead of glossy dark blue—barrels down Route 2 past fields of soybeans ravaged by deer and rabbits, high feral weeds, tree branches entombing power lines and houses and barns, leaves freckled with cicadas and caterpillars, hay bales and archaic churches, life in shades of peridot and malachite and bloodstone and jade. Baela is driving, Ice has her big shaggy head hanging out of an open window, Cregan is examining Aegon’s map…and meanwhile, Aegon and Rio are singing along to the Enrique Iglesias song blasting through the speakers as one of the mixtapes spins in the Tahoe’s CD player, pretending to serenade and propose marriage to each other.

“Bailamos, let the rhythm take you over, bailamos

Te quiero amor mío, bailamos

Gonna live this night forever, bailamos

Te quiero amor mío, te quiero!”

Up ahead there is something in the middle of the road. No, not something; someone, parked across the double yellow lines on a small black motorcycle. As you approach, this person—made blurry by the distance—removes their helmet and seems to wait for you.

“What’s up with that?” Baela asks apprehensively, slowing down from her previously brisk eighty miles per hour.

Aemond frowns at the figure and then scans the fields on either side of the road. “I don’t know. Luke?”

Luke stands up through the sunroof to get a better look with his binoculars. “Oh my God, it’s…it’s…”

“Jace!” Baela screams, and slams on the brakes. She bolts out of the Tahoe before remembering to put it in park; the SUV rolls along sluggishly until Rhaena yanks the gear lever into the proper position. Now everyone is pouring out of the doors and rushing to him. Jace is laughing; he embraces Baela as she crashes into him and sobs into the curve of his neck. Jace is wearing jeans and a leather jacket despite the heat, safety precautions for the motorcycle. If he were to fall off, he’d keep most of his skin.

“I was hoping I’d run into you guys. I didn’t know if I was too far ahead or falling behind.”

Aegon gawks at him, sputtering. “How did…? How are you…?”

“You showed me your map, idiot,” Jace says; but he sounds relieved. “Route 2 all the way across Iowa, that part was pretty easy to remember. I figured if I could get here, I might be able to find you. If not, I’d just surprise you in California.” He grins, huge and teasing, ecstatic tears glittering in his eyes.

“The river,” Luke says, thunderstruck. “We thought you were dead…we left you…Jace, I’m…I’m so sorry we left you…”

“Hey, I get it. The bridge situation was fucked, there was no way you guys could fish me out. The river washed me miles downstream, way too fast for the zombies to keep up. I eventually got dumped on the shore near where some people had set up camp for the night. They were living out of a school bus, about fifteen of them. They heard me coughing and moaning, hunted me down, and dragged me back to the bus. Super nice, right? I told them about the zombies, and we relocated in a hurry. They were headed for a town up near Chicago, Rockville or something, so they took me with them and then one guy gave me his bike and taught me to ride it so I could go west. It’s a Honda Rebel 300. It can get 70 miles to the gallon. I’ve barely had to siphon any gas! And the siphoning hose my new friends gave me is the kind with a pump. No more Uno roulette, bitches!”

“I can’t believe you’re okay,” Baela whispers, tears flooding down her face.

“Don’t cry, I’m here, I’m back, everything’s the way it should be again. Now how’s my baby doing…?”

You, Aemond, and Rio exchange astonished glances. Luke snaps out of his shock and runs to hug Jace and Baela, and Rhaena follows him. Daeron searches the horizon for movement, for danger. Helaena rips the pristine white petals off a bloodroot blossom one by one.

For the first time, Jace notices Cregan. Ice stands beside the flannel-wearing Iowan on the pavement, wagging her long grey tail. She barks at Jace uncertainly. “Who the fuck is that?”

“Oh yeah, that’s Cregan Man Bun Stark,” Aegon says. “And his anti-zombie wolf Blue Raspberry Icee.”

[meanbossart]

Now I’m thinking about Astarion sitting on Bhaalist DU Drow’s chest and having to pause before and after every cut because there’s a bit of him that fucking hates what his life has become he’s not free, not really, he’s in a gilded cage with a jewel encrusted collar and it’s all the luxury he’s ever dreamed of but it’s not what he wanted

But also… this is the best he’s going to get, isn’t it? He can just sit back and look pretty, and that’s what he did before but at least with Bhaalist Drow he doesn’t have to worry about saying something wrong and being flayed and fed rotten rats.

Would Bhaalist Drow see it? Would he care? That fractional moment of indecision as Astarion thinks a bit too long and a bit too hard about how to handle the blade. That cut that ends/begins right at the corner of his eye, the same eye that held the tadpole that brought them together in the first place.

A subtle twitch of muscle as Astarion imagines for a moment the blade slipping to the wrong side of the socket…

(This got a bit away from me I think)

Hey glad you're having fun with the concept 👹

DU Drow would definitely see it, and he would definitely care, but ever since his pre-tadpole days he's had a supernatural skill for self-inflicted delusion and justification like none other. Once he makes his mind up about someone, it takes truly drastic measures to make him reevaluate his assumptions - this is especially true about romantic interests. Orin was just stubborn, but she would never dream of hurting him and will come around one day to accept his affections. Astarion isn't always satisfied with the limitations imposed upon him, but that's because he's ornery, and a little spoiled, of course he knows deep inside that this is for his own good, that they're soulmates.

All iterations of DU Drow believe in "tough love" and the idea that sometimes, you must do things that hurt your lover for their ultimate benefit. Campaign/post-tadpole DU Drow practices this a lot more reasonably, but as a Bhaalist and the all powerful slayer of the world the concept would be taken to it's worse extreme. Of course Astarion is often unhappy; that's because he doesn't understand the sacrifices that he must make for them, but he will eventually and then he will fall into place.

What he definitely wouldn't do is betray him in any way, just sulk and whine - anything beyond that is a complete impossibility in Du Drow's mind (and that goes for all versions of him, really).

[rainydaydreamsideblog]

(The Maze Runner) You Get A Minor Injury

What Thomas, Newt, Minho, and Gally are like when reader gets a minor injury, pre-relationship and also during.

Warnings: Injuries, mentions of blood, scratches, scrapes, fluff.

Author’s Note:  In my fics/imagines/headcanons, Gladers are aged up, and also movie version.

Thomas:

"Ouch!"

Thomas immediately looks up from his task at the sound of your pained wince. The two of you had spent the afternoon clearing a section to make way for a new garden. In the final stretch of the project, the garden tool in your hand slipped and scraped your other arm.

You lift your arm to check out the damage, and Thomas is making his way over toward you before you could insist it was nothing. He isn't in a panic, but the concern's evident in his expression as he crouches down beside you, carefully taking your arm in his hands to inspect it. He concludes that it's nothing serious, and his gaze travels back up to meet yours, suggesting that you pay the medjacks a visit. He lets it go if you insist you're alright and don't need to get checked out. He keeps an eye on you, though, to make sure it doesn't get worse.

If you're in an established relationship, Thomas feels free to be a bit more open about his concern. If you didn't wish to stop work and go to the medjack hut with him, then at the very least, he's getting the supplies and bandaging you up himself. He'll pull you into a hug when it's taken care of, letting you know he just wants you to be alright even when it comes to the little things.

Newt:

You're standing a little ways away from your crew, taking a break from your hard work after a spectacular fall, when Newt approaches you.

He must have been making his rounds as second-in-command, checking the progress of each group of Gladers.

Newt seems puzzled at first as to why you've paused your work- Not suspicious, as he knows you do your part. When he notices the tiny red scrape on your chin, his curiosity turns to concern as he leans in to get a closer look. You glance down sheepishly at your palms, both a tad scraped up as well.

"You just missed it," you laugh it off, though internally you're extremely glad he did indeed miss it. One misstep had all but wrecked you, and the last thing you'd want was this handsome Glader in particular to witness it.

"Are you alright?" He lifts a hand to gently tilt your chin up to inspect the wound. He definitely pulls you away from the job to escort you to the medjack hut and won't hear any "but"s or protests of any kind on your part.

In a relationship, Newt feels more inclined to take the task of tending to your injury himself. He'd rather be the one to enter your space, dab at the little scrape on your chin with a clean cloth, and bandage your hands. You can expect a tender kiss on your forehead when he's all done.

Minho:

You wince, kneeling down to take a look at the wound. You can hear Minho's steps slow to a stop ahead of you before he swings back around to see what was the matter.

An unfortunate misstep during your routine run through the maze left you with a scratch on your knee. It's red, and there is just a bit of blood beading in certain spots where the scratch went a little deeper.

"Oh shuck," he murmurs, crouching. "You okay?"

"Yeah, it was my own fault," you replied.

"You're getting that checked out when we get back." It wasn't a question.

And you do. He's glancing over his shoulder at you the whole way back, and then he walks you to the medjack hut to ask for Clint or Jeff.

In the context of a relationship, Minho is more transparent with his concern. He's a bit more in your space, in a gentle way, inspecting the injury more closely and asking you more than once if you're alright. He's good at remaining calm. He's just focused on getting you the care you need. You can expect him to be a bit fussy after you're all bandaged up, insisting you take a break from running for a while.

Gally:

You had a slip-up with one of your tools, and you're trying to hide the evidence. You were not in the mood to draw the attention of the Keeper of the Builders with a minor mistake that you thought might make you look silly to him.

To your embarrassment, he happens to be walking by when you wince, shaking your hand to fan the slice on your finger. He stops immediately and approaches, and you quickly protest that it's nothing.

"Let me see."

You sigh and hold out your hand, gauging his reaction as he leans forward to take a look.

His lips pressed firmly together, brows furrowed in concern.

"Take five, Greenie," he tells you, nodding in the direction of the medjack hut. "Get yourself bandaged up."

If you do voice any other protests, the raise of his brow tell you they're futile.

In a relationship, Gally is less reserved about his worry. He knows things happen on the job. He can't exactly blame you. Sure, he'll scold any one of his guys if they were being a shank and got hurt doing something obviously dangerous, but for the average cut and scrape, he is actually pretty understanding. He'll still tell you to be careful while he inspects the injury more closely, but it's not from a place of frustration at you. It's his protective nature, and he just wishes he could protect you from even the little things.

[the-oblivious-writer]

Let the Light in |One-shot [1]|

Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader | Dewey Riley and Fem!Reader

One-shot: A Classic Whodunit

Summary: Moving to Woodsborro was certainly not your willing decision. Change has always been hard for you, so what better way to cope than to make everyone else's life almost as miserable as yours?

Warning(s): Swearing, & mentioned family issues (?)

Notes: Finally got around to re-writing this and I definitely prefer this version. There's more Tara x Reader stuff and a little more details regarding R's past. Still based off this scene from Gilmore Girls and takes place when R just moved to town. This'll still be the last thing I'm able to post for one my stories for a bit, but I'm glad it's still something

Masterlist

The fall breeze hits you as you walk out of the school building. You continued reading from your book as you walked with your head hung low paying no mind to your surroundings, too engrossed with the words you read. That was until you caught a glimpse of a familiar figure in the corner of your eye, your brief suspicions immediately being confirmed when the person spoke. 

Dewey—who was previously leaning against a pillar with his arms crossed—began to follow you, uncrossing his arms. “Hey,” he nodded at you and you didn’t reciprocate, only turning your head to look at him briefly before turning your attention ahead of you while putting your book in your back pocket. “How was school?” Dewey immediately followed with. 

“Great,” you couldn’t help the blatant disinterest in your tone. 

“Learn anything good?” You could already tell he was amping up to something. There was a certain eagerness in his voice. An eagerness to segway into what he truly wanted to talk about. 

“Oh yeah, tons of things. I got gold stars plastered all of my forehead,” you remarked with as much sarcasm you could muster at the moment. 

“I got an interesting call today. Wanna know who it was from?” He asked and you couldn’t care less. 

“Not really,” you answered honestly, your tone still showing anything but amusement.

“So Mr. Collier—you know he owns the local market?”

“If you say so.” 

“Said you came in today.”

“He did?” You rhetorically asked; you looked both ways before you and Dewey now walked alongside a road. 

“And he said you took some money out of a little donation cup to help repair the roads. I told him he was crazy, you wouldn’t do that, you weren’t a thief, that he was just trying to start trouble and then I hung up on him.” Most of what Dewey was saying was going in one ear and out the other. You’ve grown good at tuning people out, intentional or not. Still Dewey continued. “Now don’t get me wrong, I enjoy hanging up on Mr. Collier. The guy’s nothing but a jerk—and he is crazy. But I was just wondering, if maybe, any of the other things were true.”

“What do you think?” You questioned with annoyance at the edge of your voice. You were starting to grow more and more impatient as he continued to yammer on. 

“I think if you tell me that what he’s saying is not true then I’m going to believe it’s not true,” he elaborated.

“Okay. It’s not true.” 

“That doesn’t sound very convincing—”

The two of you were now on a dirt path as you stopped in your tracks and finally turned to face Dewey. While one hand moved as you spoke, the other one was clenched into a fist to your side. “—Look, what exactly do you want from me? First I get forced to move here, now I’m stuck with you most of the time. I’m put in this place—now in a school that has us doing the pledge of allegiance in six-different-languages! I’m supposed to be this happy-go-lucky person after being taken away from my home, my friends—and now you want what from me?!” 

You didn’t need this. You were fine living in a crappy apartment. You were fine knowing the city you lived in like the back of your hand. You were fine having your best friend within walking distance. 

It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. Your father had no right to ship you off just because he couldn’t take his precious image being ruined. He was on the verge of sending you to military school before your mom stepped in. Their marriage had been falling apart for some time but this was definitely the nail in the coffin. 

“I’m just trying to help you,” Dewey sighed as his own patience was beginning to grow thin. Dewey knew about your complicated relationship with your father. He knew what led to you ending up in Woodsborro. He knew things about you before you even knew them. He just wanted to protect you, shield you from harm. Even if he knows where that has gotten him in the past.

“Well stop trying. Stop talking to me, stop following me, and stop asking me questions! Just stop!” You waved your hands in aggravation as you spoke, your temper and annoyance taking over you with each second. You were pissed and upset with every aspect of your life. Unfortunately, Dewey found himself being on the receiving end of your frustration. 

“That’s what you want?”

“Yes!”

“That’s what you really want?” He wasn’t yelling but his voice grew louder with his second question to match your own tone.

“Yes,” you spoke with more conviction. 

“Fine. You got it, kid!” Dewey said as he threw his hands up.

“Thank you!”

“You’re welcome!”

You both continued walking, both of you walking tensely as you stepped onto the bridge that went over the lake that was not far from where you two were previously standing. You each refused to look at the other as you walked along the bridge. When you were halfway on the bridge, you suddenly felt yourself being shoved. In a blink of an eye, you go from standing on the bridge to standing in the lake soaking wet. You pushed your hair back to look at Dewey who was still walking with his back facing you. He didn’t pay the person he just shoved into a lake any mind. 

Great.

By the time you successfully lifted yourself up and got back on to the bridge, Dewey was gone. Nobody liked soggy socks but maybe you deserved it. Maybe. Even if you were far too stubborn to admit it. 

—

The next day people were crowded around Mr. Collier’s store. He was ranting about something with his hands going up and down as he spoke angrily. When Tara walked closer she finally saw what all the ruckus was about. 

Apparently someone had drawn the outline of a body right outside of his store and put up caution tape. It was obviously just a prank.  If there was actually a murder, the police wouldn’t let it hit daylight. Let alone bring attention to it by drawing an outline of the body with white chalk. They weren’t living in the interwar period. But Mr. Collier refused to see this as he argued with Sheriff Hicks, eyes flickering back and forth from the sheriff and the outline as he yelled. 

“What am I supposed to do?! I have a dead body right in front of my store!” 

“No. You have a chalk outline of a dead body in front of your store,” she said as a matter of fact. “One of my guys is doing a headcount to see if anyone is missing. Until then just sit tight? This is probably just some prank done by one of the highschoolers.” She sighed before walking away from the dramatic man. 

Tara couldn’t help but laugh as she looked over at the outline again. Nothing good ever happened in Woodsborro. Other than the fact that a few murders from the 90’s are practically a part of their school curricula, it was a boring ass town. So one should never take entertainment like this for granted. 

Sheriff Hicks came back just a few minutes later and informed everyone—mainly Mr. Collier—that everyone had been accounted for and it really was just a prank. 

“But it looks so real! Where’d they get the police tape?” The man was still in disbelief if his tone was anything to go by.

“Kids have their ways,” Hicks shrugged, resting a hand on her hips. She had gone through ghostface before and even her ptsd wasn't flaring up from what was in front of her. The man needed to relax.

“Who would be depraved enough to pull a stupid prank like this?!” 

As if on cue, Tara’s eyes found you leaning against a light pole across the street as you wore a devilish smirk. It shifted into a small smile when you met her eyes. You looked away for a moment then back at her before you walked away. 

Of course it was you. This had your name plastered all over it. You might as well have been posing at the scene of the crime. She should have known better. You have been wreaking havoc from the moment you stepped into town. Nothing good ever came from that stupid smirk she’s become all too familiar with. Everything about you annoyed her to no end. There was just something she couldn't put her finger on. It was driving her insane. You were going to drive her insane. 

—

The next day, Tara returned to the market so she could fulfill her duties as the snacks retriever for tonight’s movie marathon with the others. After seeing that everything—your mess—was cleaned up and Mr. Collier was less frantic, she made her way inside the market. While inside, she bumped into Wes. They talked for a few minutes as she continued shopping. Wes was nice, but romance wise? Tara didn’t know how to feel. Wes is kind, good looking, a gentleman—what was stopping Tara from going out with him?

“I’m going to ring these up but I’ll meet you outside?” Tara said to Wes and he nodded with a smile. Tara returned it before checking out the things she bought and waited outside the store for Wes with her plastic bags full of snacks in hand. She suddenly felt a light tap on back before she turned around and saw you.

“Should you be standing around here all alone? I heard this is a pretty dangerous corner,” you teased while emphasizing the word ‘pretty’ by motioning with your hands. Tara looked at you then immediately looked away as she crossed her arms.

“I’m fine,” she said—trying in a nonchalant tone.

“Feeling succinct today?” You looked her up and down, noticing her tense demeanor.

“Pretty much.” She refused to give you anymore than that. She was not going to buckle. She was not going to fall for your witty remarks or snide comments.

“Hm,” you said while lightly nodding. “Did I do something to offend you?”

“Me? No.” Now she was finally looking at you, meeting your eyes.

“Good.” 

“You might wanna ask that same question to Dewey though.”

“Meaning?” You raised your eyebrows as if you didn’t have a single clue.

From your facial expressions to your tone—how were you so unbothered? How could you be so clueless? So dense? Fuck it. Maybe she was going to buckle and fall but you were just too irritating to resist the temptation. “You’ve got this whole town coming down on him,” Tara’s voice became more defensive.

“Reeeally? How’d I do that?” You feigned a look of surprise and concern, matching your conceited tone

She was going to punch you.

“You know how you did that,” she replied because you couldn’t be that dull. You just couldn’t. 

“I’m quite familiar with the bluebook laws in this town so you’re talking about a lot of things. Dropping a gum wrapper, strolling arm and arm with a member of the opposite sex on a Sunday,” you satirized with that vexing voice of yours.

Maybe you were that dull. Tara pointed down with both her arms at the chalk you both stood on. They were able to clean up the police tape no problem, but the chalk was going to take more elbow grease. 

You looked to where she was pointing before saying, “Ah.” You moved your feet off of the outline before continuing, “What about it?”

“You did it,” Tara said. “Everyone knows you did it. They had a meeting about it.”

“You actually go to those bizzaro town meetings?” You couldn’t help but laugh at the thought. You shook your head, “God those things are so To Kill A Mockingbird.” 

“My friend’s mom is a sheriff, so she’s the one who went. And Dewey went. When he got there everyone ganged up on him. They all want you gone,” Tara told you with no remorse.

“Wow. Bummer.”

“And he’s standing there, yelling at everyone, and defending you—now he’s a pariah for the shit you’ve caused in just a month of being here.” You looked down to the side, processing what you were just told. You wore a look Tara wasn’t able to read. “Of course you don’t care about any of this,” she rolled eyes.

“I didn’t say that,” you said. 

“Go away. I don’t want to talk to you anymore,” she waved you away with her hands, shooing you, before looking away.

“Fine…” You started to walk away but Tara’s frustration got the best of her and you stopped and turned back around when you heard her speak again. 

“You’re an asshole!” 

“Got a second wind, huh?” You tried to hide the displeasure you suddenly felt.

“You’re making his life hard. And for what? For your own amusement? You’re sadistic.” You could tell she had been holding that in. You also wouldn’t comment on how you found the pout she was wearing a little cute. “Second wind over.”

“I didn’t realize they were coming down so hard on him…”

“Funny, I never pegged you as clueless,” Tara remarked, annoyance still evident in her voice.

“I get it…” She gave you a look. “No no no, I do, I get it,” you lightly nodded at her. Contrary to your previous tone, your voice now held interest and understanding—and so did the look you gave her. Your eyes flickered between her and the chalk outline before asking the question that’s been in the back of your mind, “Did you at least think it was funny?”

Tara tried to fight the smile on her face as she rolled her eyes, but this time rolling them in a more playful manner. “That is so not the point!” She hoped you didn’t hear the laugh that threatened to come out. 

“Yeah… you thought it was funny,” you said proudly. 

“Shut up.” She could no longer meet your eyes, now looking back at the ground.

Before either of you could say anything else, the door to the market opened and Wes walked out with a few bags of his own. “I got the—oh hey,” Wes cut himself off to greet you.

He didn’t know you personally, just that you already had a few run-ins with his mom in just a month of being here. Did that make him weary of you? Sure. But you weren’t the first kid at his school to have run-ins with his mom. Your reasons were just more… creative. 

“This is Wes,” Tara introduced the two of you. Looking between you both as you two made eye contact.

“Boyfriend?” You asked without looking away from Wes.

“No! I mean,” she cleared her throat. “No. Not boyfriend. We’re just friends.”

“Right,” was all you said as a reply while you continued to stare him down. “How you doin’?” 

“Good. Yeah I’m good,” Wes responded with a tightlipped smile. 

“Okay see you around,” Tara quickly cut in before this awkward interaction could go any further. 

You finally turned your attention back on Tara, looking at her. “Seems to turn out that way. Doesn’t it?” Your tone was underlined with something Tara couldn’t place. Before she could respond, you turned around and walked away to who knows where.

You were truly something. 

—

You let Tara’s words sink in as you made a detour to Dewey’s trailer. Deep down you knew Dewey didn’t deserve the way you were coming down on him. Especially when you could probably say he’s done more shit for you than your father has. 

Moving to Woodsborro was definitely not at all ideal. You hated change and everything that came with it. All it did was bring more anxiety into your life. So when your mother informed you you would be leaving Brooklyn to move to some town in California, you didn’t handle the news well. You still weren’t handling it well. There were a few reasons as to why you moved, your father being the root of each one. But although you understood part of it, what you didn’t understand is why you had to move so far away. Maybe that’s part of why you’re so hard on Dewey. If your mom was moving and starting fresh, it makes sense she would want to start it surrounded by close friends. But did she have to pick one that lived so far away?

You didn’t know a bunch about her dynamic with Dewey other than the fact that they met in 1998 during the ghostface attacks. They eventually got close and became friends. They must have been great friends considering she made him your Godfather. 

You also knew Dewey was a former Sheriff. A former Sheriff that’s aware of your trip of a track record. He always made sure to keep an eye on you and it was extremely annoying. A nunsense really. It’s like you couldn’t breathe for five seconds without him hovering over you.

Your mom was a nurse, you didn’t get to see much of her. She always took as many shifts as she could, more shifts meant more money. More money is definitely something your family could use. Since your mom was always working, you often found yourself stuck with Dewey. You quickly grew sick and tired of him. But now here you were, making your way to Dewey’s trailer as you went over everything in your head. You knew you were the asshole in all this. Dewey was just trying to help you. He didn’t need you making it harder for him than it already was.

You knew what you had to do, even if it meant forcing out the words. Apologizing was not one of your specialties. You went over the exact words you wanted to say, sighing, before knocking on the door to Dewey’s trailer. 

Dewey answered the door, already knowing who it was. “Hey, kid,” he greeted just a second after he opened the door for you.

“Hey. Mind if I…?” You pointed to the inside of his trailer with raised eyebrows and he nodded before letting you inside. “So uh…” You shoved your hands in your pockets as you looked around as if you have never been in his trailer before. As if you hadn’t already spent most of your nights sleeping on the beat up mattress that was now leaned up against the wall. Dewey looked at you with his arms crossed and expression warm. You felt like he always wore a warm expression no matter what. “Hey,” you finally said once you realized you lost your train of thought.

He chuckled a bit before saying, “You already said that.”

“Right, well I wanted to…. Apologize,” you said while looking at the ground, playing with the fabric of your pockets.

“Okay. I’m listening,” Dewey replied as he took a seat on his futon.

“Oh, that was actually the apology.”

He hummed before inquiring, “For…?” You didn’t need to look at him to know he was enjoying this. 

You exhale, tilting your head back as you look at the ceiling. You finally looked back at him before saying, “I’m sorry for making things harder than it needs to be.”

“Thank you, Y/N. I appreciate that,” he looked at you with a soft expression. You didn’t get a lot of those.

“No problem,” you give a brief smile before you begin to turn around. But before you’re able to leave Dewey’s trailer, you hear his voice again. 

“Why don’t you stay for dinner? I know your mom’s working tonight and Stephen’s off at a friend’s house. What do you say?” His offer caught you off guard. You certainly weren’t expecting that after all that you’ve put him through. But you also didn’t feel prone to declining it like you usually would be. 

“Uh, yeah. That sounds nice, actually,” there was still a bit of reluctance in your voice but it still held honesty. You were feeling something indescribable. You don't think you have ever felt it before, or maybe you just never felt it often. Dewey cared about you. He wanted to be there for you. It was a strange feeling, but not a dreadful one. 

You spent the remainder of your night in Dewey’s trailer; you talked and joked with one another as you ate leftover pizza with the television playing in the background. You always ate dinner alone. No one was ever around to eat with you and it didn’t take long for you to get used to it. It was different eating dinner with Dewey. To have someone to share a meal with. It was just a matter of whether it was a good or bad difference. 

Maybe for once you shouldn’t dread on your spiraling thoughts and enjoy the moment.

The next morning, you woke up to Dewey cursing at his toaster. You lazily pushed yourself up by your elbows, leaning forward and rubbing your eyes with one of your hands. “Damn toaster!” You heard Dewey curse before you heard something clattering. You pushed your blanket off of you before rolling off of the mattress and onto the floor then got up to see what was going on. 

“Sorry, did I wake you?” He asked once he saw you before continuing to whack his toaster. 

“No. You’re good,” you yawned. “But—uh, why are you assaulting your toaster?” You looked between him and the toaster with raised eyebrows.

“I’ve had this hunk of junk for ten years and suddenly it just stops working,” he answered with a huff as he continued to hit the toaster's side. 

“I don’t know if ten years is suddenly.”

He waved his hands up in the air, purposely dropping the screwdriver he had on to the counter in the process. He let out a defeated sigh as he said, “Forget it,” pushing the toaster away from him. “I have to grab a few things. Are you going to be fine here or do you want me to drop you off?” 

You looked at the toaster as you thought to yourself. “I”ll be fine,” you said and he patted your shoulder as he made his way towards his keys. 

“Breakfast is on the table—I shouldn’t be out long!” He called out before leaving through the trailer door.  As soon as he left, you went for his tool box. You remembered seeing it the first time you came over. After grabbing the tool box, you grabbed the toaster and got to work. It actually wasn’t that bad. There was just some tightening and cleaning that had to be done. By the time you finished, you had a little over ten minutes to spare before Dewey was home. It wasn’t until later that night he noticed something was different about his toaster.

“My toaster works,” he said with shock. This toaster was complete garbage just a few hours ago. What happened? He looked over to see you with your nose in your book, not paying him any mind. Then it dawned on him and he couldn't help the smile that grazed his face as he looked at you. “Thanks, kid.” 

“Didn’t do anything,” you simply replied before getting up from your mattress and grabbing your light jacket. “I’m going for a walk,” you reached for the handle before pausing. “I'll be back in a few,” you then added before leaving.

Dewey was still admiring his toaster when you returned.

-----------

A/N: tara and r are both sarcastic little shits in different fonts

Taglist: @t-wylia @lesbianpepsi @jennasfav @alyciaddict @justafoolinlove @steffido1993 @niqmandu @severelyuniquereview @darklron @ravenousinferno @smut-religiously777 @beautifulmongerbanditsalad @vanatalye @alexkolax@andsoigotabutterfly @ajortga @rroyale-109 @alliecavell

[subbmissivesuccubus]

Kinktober Day 5 - Dottore X Reader - Humiliation

 Day 5 – Dottore X Fem Reader – Humiliation

Disclaimer: Very intense humiliation and free use themes. No sex or penetration in this one, just plain humiliation. Thought I’d spice these up once in awhile <3

It was a cold night out as you followed Dottore to a local tavern. The Doctor had a pep in his step, this particular version of him whisking you away from your chores to act as his aid. Whatever that means. “Keep up.” He said, looking back at you and giving a particularly harsh tug to your leash, making you choke and almost trip while walking. “Y-Yes Sir.” You responded meekly, the metal of your collar digging into your skin. With a smirk, the man continued onwards and you made sure to match with his pace so you were right behind him.

When Dottore offered to cure your illness and only asked that you work as his assistant, you couldn’t believe your ears. The offer was too good to be true and you were worried there was a catch but the man kept his word and helped you, making you the healthiest you’ve ever been. No more sleepless nights in pain, no more constant headaches, no more fevers every other day- you could finally live your life.

And of course, you had to keep your end of the bargain as well. Most of your duties involved checking up on his clones and seeing what they’ve been upto, making sure his subjects were well fed and taken care of, recording down notes of his recent experiments, keeping his pen full of ink and replacing his notebooks when needed-

Letting him bend you over the table and fuck his stress out, offering your body to his many clones to have their way with, put a collar on you and drag you along everywhere like a dog and not caring about people staring-

You know. The usual assistant stuff.

Tonight, Dottore (the original one? Atleast, he was the one who first gave you the offer) had a meeting with the owner of the tavern. An exchange of goods of sorts. The tavern head was experimenting with his wine and agreed to help Dottore in spiking it with some kind of potion, Dottore planning to use the drunkards of the bar as his unwilling experimental group.

He opened the door, the bell of top jingling to signal that they had entered. The man behind the bar greeted them, instantly recognising Dottore and his eyebrows shot up when he saw you trail behind him, leash and all. “Welcome, Doctor.” The man said, “Glad you could make it.”

“How could I not?” Dottore asked, sitting on the chair opposite the counter. He hadn’t ordered you to sit, so you continued to stand behind him. “I’ll have a bottle of your finest red wine, my good man.”

“Coming right up.” The bartender said, “And for the Missus?”

Dottore looked at you, his eyes hidden behind his mask but you were confident they were twinkling in mischief, “Can you put some milk in a dog bowl?”

Blood instantly rushed to your face, Dottore’s comments catching the attention of the many regulars in the bar, all of them immediately looking at you. The bartender barked out a laugh, “Lucky for you, I just bought a new dog bowl. A glass of wine and milk, coming up.”

“On your knees.” Dottore ordered, tugging tightly at your leash. You quickly obeyed, kneeling down next to the man and sitting on your heels. More murmurs echoed through the bar as people’s attention was all of you. You in your cute white shirt, turquoise corset and adorable blue booty shorts with knee high boots. It was quite revealing but Dottore liked it on you and so, you wore it.

“Cute little girl you got there.” The bartender said, placing a glass of beautiful red wine on the table in front of the Doctor and a dog bowl filled with milk next to it, “What do you think about lending her to me for a while?”

“Oh, are we talking business already?” Dottore asks, grabbing the bowl before carefully placing it on the floor in front of you, not needing to command you. You should know what to do. With a gulp, body trembling as you tried your best to ignore all the people staring at you, you placed your hands on either side of the bowl before bending down and drinking the milk. You heard Dottore laugh along with the gasps of the people around you, almost choking on your milk as you felt the familiar sensation of a heel pressing gently onto your head. Dottore’s heeled boot was on you, the man stepping on your head as he made sure to keep you bent over.

“If that’s what you want to start with.” The bartender responded, “Not the first time I’ve made dealings with the Fatui. As long as the deal is fair, I’ll do anythin’ ya want.”

“That’s good to hear.” Dottore said as he picked up his glass, taking a sip of the drink before continuing, in a softer tone so the onlookers couldn’t hear him, “But you know exactly what I want from you.”

“That I do.” The man responded, “But it won’t be cheap.”

“I didn’t expect it to be.”

“So, spiking my bottles for a whole month will cost you twenty million mora.” The man said, leaning against the counter so only Dottore could hear him, “and it will cost ya extra if you want me to make that purple powder myself.”

Dottore chucked, “I’ll be proving you with the powder and I’ll pay you ten million.”

“Nah. Twenty million.”

“Ten million and I’ll throw in a few Fatui to act as your bodyguards.” Dottore negotiated, “Doing this will put a target on your back, you know.”

The bartender paused, gnawing at his lower lip before saying: “Ten million, bodyguards and…I get to fuck this pretty puppy of yours.”

You jumped as he said that, close enough to hear their conversations. The milk was empty and you were just waiting for Dottore to get his boot off of your head, but he just pressed it down harder.

“No one fucks her but me.” Dottore said, his tone indicating his annoyance even if the mask covered his eyes.

“Damn, well, then I guess we’re back to square-“

“Eleven Million, bodyguards and I’ll let you watch while I fuck her.”

You shivered, a rush of heat and shame washing through you. “Now why would I just wanna watch?” the bartender said, looking at Dottore like he was foolish.

“Not just you. Everyone in the bar.” The Doctor responded, “They’re already interested in her- why not make a profit? Only those who buy drinks can stay behind and watch. What do you say?”

Your body shivered some more and you could feel your pussy clench underneath your shorts, the action no doubt visible to some of the patrons who grinned widely at the scene. The man behind the bar took a second before a smile formed on his face, a twinkle in his eye as he brought his hand out for Dottore to take, both of them shaking on it.

“It’s a pleasure doing business with ya!”

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine~”

~~~

You shivered and mewled at the lewd stared directed your way, some of the patrons already hard in their pants and nothing had really happened yet. Sure, the Doctor had stripped you of your corset and was groping at your tits, your mounds shifting in his touch, but that was all he had done. Sitting in the middle of the bar, perched on top of Dottore’s lap with your legs spread wide open, you tried your best to ignore the large group of men that were now surrounding the two of you in a circle, beyond excited to see what was going to happen.

They got filled in on the situation and a few people left, mostly women and men who were taken but majority of the men stayed behind, refusing to miss this chance. They sat comfortably around you, eyes wide, taking in every second. The door of the tavern was locked and the bartender was pocketing money, his business booming tonight.

“Look at how hungrily they’re looking at you, pet~” Dottore cooed in your ear as he found your nipples under the shirt, his long fingers starting to run circles over them, “You’re making them so horny~”

You didn’t respond, letting out a yelp as the Fatui pinched your buds, squeezing them tightly between thumb and forefinger before pulling them harshly. The men cheered at your sweet cries, their voices louder at the way your breasts bounced back once Dottore let go. He cupped your tits from below and started to jiggle them, the fat of your tits bouncing for everyone’s viewing pleasure. It was so humiliating- so shameless- so hot.

“Unbutton your shirt.” The man ordered as he continued to jiggle your tits, “flash all of these old perverts.”

Knowing better than to argue, you started doing just that. Eyes around you widened and cocks swelled in pants as you revealed your naked chest, not wearing a bra underneath. With a gulp, you shrugged the shirt off of your shoulders, exposing your breasts to the greedy crowd.

“Oh fuck.”

“Holy shit.”

“Such good fucking tits!”

You mewled at the lewd words thrown your way, your pussy drenching your panties as you shamelessly bared your naked tits to the group of strangers. There were more than ten men leering at you, perhaps close to twenty, all of whom were staring at you with nothing but lust in their eyes. You were briefly distracted as Dottore once again cupped your breasts before jumping them up and down again, this time, the ripple of your flesh all the more delicious. You noticed that a few men were starting to palm themselves over their pants, eyes watering from how they weren’t blinking.

“Your nipples are hard~” The Doctor said, licking at your earlobe before his fingers flicked your sensitive buds, “Are you enjoying this?”

“S’ cold…” you said as an excuse, whining as his gloved hands started to twirl your nipples in circles. Your breasts were so sensitive to his touch- even the lightest of sensations make you feel like your body is burning up. “Oh yeah?” Dottore asked, clearly not convinced as his palms grabbed your breasts, palming them lewdly, “So your pussy won’t be dripping for me?”

“N-No-“

“Hmmm, should we check then? What do you think boys?” Dottore asked, addressing the crowd, “Should I take off these shorts and check if her cunny is drenched?”

A loud cheer echoed through the room, all of the men shouting a deafening yes making your ears turn red. You felt so vulnerable- so bare- so humiliated as everyone celebrated getting to see your pussy. This wasn’t the first time Dottore has showed you off to others, being fucked in front of the Fatui warriors a fairly common occurrence, but this was different. These were random strangers who had nothing to do with the organisation and were just here in the right place at the right time.

“You heard them.” The Doctor said, nuzzling at your neck before giving it a kiss, his hands letting go of your breasts to instead slide down the curve of your hips and towards the hem of your shorts, “Let’s get you naked, pretty puppy~”

“Pussy! Show us that pussy!”

“Tear those slutty shorts off!”

“Spread those legs wide! I wanna see that asshole!”

You gasped as the dirty words thrown your way, lifting your hips up so your master could slide your shorts down. Everyone hooted as your bare legs got revealed, your black thong doing very little to hide your pussy. One of the men grabbed at your discarded shorts and held it up, hooting like he just won a prize.  Deciding to leave your boots on, Dottore grabbed you by the back of your knees before pulling up, making you yelp as your position got slightly changed. You couldn’t help but slap your hands over your eyes as you saw the men move closer to you, some of them so close that you could feel their breath on your cunt. With your body slightly lower and your knees almost pressing your shoulders, Dottore held you wide open for everyone to ogle at. Your thong was wedged between your pussy lips, your puffy cunt practically swallowing the thin fabric and your asshole almost completely visible.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” the Doctor asked, his voice like honey as he took in the scene. It was truly a power trip to watch all these men be so obviously horny for his darling but they couldn’t touch you- couldn’t taste you- couldn’t fuck you. “Take pictures, Gentlemen. It will last longer.”

“Wait- Seriously?”

“Holy fuck! Where’s my Kamera?!”

“Jerk off material for life!”

“Ah-ah! Only if you refill your drinks!”

You looked up at Dottore from your position, peeking between your fingers as the commotion around you increased, everyone buying drinks and scrambling to get their Kamera’s. “I should use you more often.” Dottore said as he looked down at you, “I can convince a lot of perverts to do a lot of bad things just so they can have a taste of your pussy- why didn’t I think of that before?”

He clicked his tongue, annoyed with himself, his mask starting to reflect the flashes of the Kamera’s. Your body twitched every time the shutter went off, the slick from your pussy glistening in the light, something the audience took note of. They moved in closer, their Kamera’s taking countless pictures of you- of your tits, your pussy and your ass. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what they would do with said pictures but knowing Dottore, if they ever got circulated, he’d find a way to monetise it for himself.

“Come on, pet.” He said, his hand sliding between your legs and giving your pussy a few pats, the impact wet and filthy, “Do you want them to see more?”

“Wh-huh?”

“Beg for it.” He explained, “Say: ‘Everyone, please take a good long look at my wet, nasty cunny~’”

“B-But-“ you sputtered, blood rushing to your face so fast it made you feel dizzy, “That’s so- I-“

Dottore raised his hand and gave your pussy a sharp slap, making you yelp out in pain. “Did you say something?” he asked, daring you to protest.

“E-Everyone!” You said, tears in your eyes from the pain and from the humiliation, your ears ringing and your heart hammering so loudly in your chest, you wondered if they could hear it, “P-Please take a g-good long look at m-my w-w-wet, nasty c-cunny!”

“Fuck yeah!!” The crowd cheered, some of them getting your words on video. You were so focused on Dottore and his touch that you failed to notice just how riled up the audience was. Most of them had their cocks out and more than half of them were jerking off, their pleasure filled expressions hidden behind their Kamera’s. You gulped down the saliva in your mouth, your body having been trained well enough that you’d drool when there were hard dicks around- cocks that were eager to fuck you. The slick sound of the strangers sliding their hand up and down their members echoed through the air, their dirty panting somehow turning you on more than their dirty words.

“Let’s show them this pussy, hmm? This pussy that belongs to me~” Dottore growled before his fingers clutched at the hem of your thong and pulled so harshly, he ripped the thin fabric to shreds. Drinks were poured and cheers erupted as the blue haired man tossed aside the remains of your underwear, leaving you truly and completely naked. You gasped, tossing your head back against him as the flashes and clicks of the Kamera increased, your brain getting overstimulated. You felt Dottore’s fingers on your cunt, his gloved hand going up and down your pussy lips, collecting the slick before giving it a nice pat pat pat. The sticky sound of your cunt was barely audible over everything else, especially of the men who started to jerk off with more vigour.

“Take a good look, Gentlemen.” Dottore said, his fingers suddenly spreading your pussy lips apart, showing off every nook and cranny of your cunt, ignoring your cry, “the most perfect pussy in the World~”

[babyjakes]

baby barnes | 1. homecoming.

〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉

summary | upon returning from a small solo mission, natasha has something to give to steve.

characters | steve rogers, natasha romanoff, bucky barnes, other assorted avengers, 'baby barnes' (original character)

warnings | all warnings from the original headcanon probably apply (slightly above canon level violence, child abuse, major character death.) very angsty, steve cries a lot.

word count | 1,440

an | based on my baby barnes headcanon, with some slight changes to the universe and storyline. in this version of events, after bucky is killed, nat goes on a solo rage mission to kill everyone at the hydra facility and bring baby barnes home to steve 🩷

"Sorry. This place is a mess."

As hard as he tried, Steve just couldn't pick his gaze up off of the floor as Natasha stood there in the doorway to his living quarters. "It's okay. Things have been hard, I know." The redhead's voice seemed as though it was trying to float through a thick screen of smoke, or maybe Steve was just underwater. Maybe he had been drowning for weeks.

It was quiet as the woman entered, slipping her shoes off on the mat near the door. Steve could feel her careful eyes taking him in, assessing the damage. Every word he pulled from his throat felt like a fishing line digging right back into his burning flesh as he questioned quietly, "Would you like some tea?"

He didn't have to lift his gaze to tell that she had shaken her head. The pair moved further into the room in silent tandem, Steve leading the way over to the long beige couch. The blonde's focus was fleeting as his eyes fell on his friend's lap, before shifting over to the old photo albums on the coffee table, then to the front door, then back to his own folded hands. Natasha cleared her throat, and Steve almost found it amusing, the way she was preparing to speak like she could possibly find anything to say in that moment that would somehow make things better.

"The mission was successful," was what she finally stated, the underwhelming words drawing a knowing look onto the supersoldier's face.

He nodded, doing his best to keep things polite. It wasn't Natasha's fault that he had fallen so out of love with the world; he knew that. "I'm glad," Steve hummed, thinking back to the telephone brief he had received about the agent's assignment before it had been launched. "She's just going in to clear out a suspected outpost. Nothing major," Stark had told him. The captain didn't like sending anyone off on solo missions, but he wasn't in any state to tag along, and thankfully it didn't seem like he was needed.

Through the heavy air, Natasha took another breath before finally speaking again. "I have something to show you." Her hand slipped quietly into her pocket before appearing again, holding a small photograph by its corner. When she handed it to Steve, the man couldn't help but begin to weep.

For a moment, all he could see was the girl's tender face. The face that had haunted his dreams for the past several months, ever since that first 'baby barnes' tape had arrived in the mail. In the photo, which he held tight with both of his shaking hands, the infant's big brown eyes were looking up at something. Her cheeks were round and soft, rosy as ever. Steve couldn't help but wonder when the picture had been taken, how close it was to capturing the baby's last moments on earth before she was put to rest like her father.

Finally shifting his attention away from her angelic face, the blonde trembled as he started scanning the rest of the photo for any clues. Brow furrowing in confusion, he was immediately puzzled by the plush blanket that sat in a messy pile surrounding the baby's little bottom and legs. "What's this?" he paused quietly as he thought back through all the tapes that were permanently engraved in his memory, like an endless reel of vivid film looping across the walls of his troubled mind. Not a single one had shown the infant with any sort of blanket or covering; that would go directly against the purpose of the project. She was deprived of any warmth, human or inanimate, as a simple yet effective form of torture. The blanket in the photo simply didn't belong. Steve was absolutely sure of it.

The next indicator that something was off was the state of the baby herself. She was unusually clean, her ivory skin appearing fresh and well-kept. Her medium brown whisps of hair laid neatly over her small head, lacking the usual knots and mats that he had grown used to seeing. Swallowing hard, Steve was struggling to understand why she looked so different, almost as if someone had been caring for her for the first time in her short life.

Desperate for any sort of explanation, the captain kept studying the photo, trying to make sense of each little detail he could make out. The background itself was insignificant, just a simple wall of dark metal paneling that didn't give any insight as to where or when the picture was taken. But then, in the very corner of the photo, Steve was finally given his answer. The edge of a jacket sleeve was just barely visible against the floor, the navy fabric recognizable to him anywhere; it was Nat's, an old garment from the team's days with SHIELD. The man's breath hitched in his throat as he began to stammer.

"N-Natasha," his voice wavered. "Nat. Where... how... wh-when was this-?" Steve continued staring at the small photo, more tears building in his eyes as he choked back something between a whimper and a sob. "Wh-when did you... w-was this, were you-?"

"This morning," the agent told the supersoldier softly, reaching out to place a steadied hand over one of his shaking ones. "Bruce and I got her all cleaned up and sorted out in the med bay. She wasn't a big fan of the bath, but we got a little smile out of her when we blew bubbles with the soap." Natasha's gaze was tentative, not knowing how Steve would take the news. But as she sat there, watching the revelations sink in for her friend, she couldn't help but let slip what she had been wanting to tell him since the moment she laid eyes on the infant while breaching the lonely Siberian outpost. "After what they did to Bucky, I knew what I had to do," she said quietly. "I had to save her for you, Steve. You would've done the same for me."

All at once, Steve could feel nearly a month of tension and agony lifting from his bones as he took what seemed like his first breath since witnessing Bucky's last through a screen. If he hadn't been seated, he would've fallen to his knees right there, maybe before God or maybe before his dear friend, the one who he now understood had brought the baby back safely after an undoubtedly perilous mission. The baby, the baby, the baby... that was all the captain's mind could hold onto as he sat there, clutching her photo as if both of their lives depended on it. She was alive, she was safe. And she had been brought home to him.

"Natasha," Steve choked out the young woman's name through tears, his voice like warm hands cradling their years of partner and friendship. There was something so unspeakably profound about the endless ways they were willing to live and die for each other; neither of the two could put it into words, but the feeling was certainly present all around as they sat there in the man's small living room, holding onto each other in a moment of shared silence. The gravity of Nat's actions was quick to settle in, and the significance of what she had done- all on her own, without being asked- was nearly unbearable to Steve. "Y-you went... all on your own? You could've-"

"I had to, Steve," Nat cut him off gently, her certainty on the matter unmistakable as it flashed across her face. "You were in no condition to fight, and the others would've only been in the way." As much as he didn't like what he was being told, Steve knew it was the truth. Things had gotten bad for Nat after Bucky's final tape; her decline was much more subtle than that of the captive's best friend, though he was still quick to notice it. It was only his nature. Now Steve understood that when she went dark like that, little could come between the agent and what she set out to do. As much as it worried him sick, that worry couldn't quite outdo the larger sense of relief that was flowing through him like water.

Steve's gaze drifted back to the tiny girl sat posing in the photo, another wave of grief washing over him as he saw a shadow of his late friend gazing back at him through those familiar brown eyes. Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, Natasha finally made the proposition, "Whenever you're ready, I'll take you to see her."

[alsofrozenjokes]

obligatory wing preening fic

Grian was molting.

He had been for the past week, and in that time Scar had hardly seen him at all. Not that he was too disappointed, really, Cub had said that Grian got moody during molts, and given that ‘moody’ seemed to be a default for Grian, Scar was in no hurry to see that.

Though, maybe that was unfair. Grian had a reason to be upset after he’d told Scar he was going to do better, Scar’s fault, one hundred percent, he knew that, though.. Well, he wasn’t exactly sure when he could have spilt that big of a secret, especially when Grian was.. interested.. in his alter ego, but regardless, he had a reason to be upset! Scar understood! But lately Grian had been nice. He’d been lovely, really. Scar just loved being HotGuy with CuteGuy, even in a time where he was struggling to love any version of himself at all, where he resented every alter ego that stopped him from being Scar, that kept him from knowing who ‘Scar’ was. He still didn’t know, truthfully. He had very little idea, but he felt like he might be getting closer when he was with Cub in his apartment, hanging out, laughing, laying on each other..

But Grian had been nice. Scar didn’t go very much out of his way to see him outside of work, but he didn’t necessarily feel the need. Grian didn’t go much of anywhere, so he was always around when Scar was with Cub, teasing, chatting with Cub about chores, pretending that whatever he and Scar had wasn’t extremely strained and awkward. Though, in a way, pretending made it more real, and when they were superheroes, they were hardly pretending at all anymore, fighting crime and being awesome and loved by all.

Apparently though, Grian had somewhat irregular molts, and this made him moody and itchy and generally antisocial according to Cub. And respectfully, if that information was coming from Cub, Scar wanted absolutely nothing to do with it. Though, the sentiment did live equally with Scar’s sympathy. Apparently Grian shed most of his feathers all at once, leaving sections of bald spots and itching as the pins grew in. He had a history of plucking as well, a desperate attempt to speed up the process according to Cub, but that really made things worse, and Grian had to wear covers to help curb the temptation, even when he was home. Apparently they had all sorts of wing sweaters, which Scar thought was adorable, a suspicion that was confirmed when Cub sent him a picture.

Grian did not look happy in the picture. He also didn’t look like he knew it was being taken. Scar wouldn’t be snitching, that was for sure. Anyway, all of this was the reason that Scar was petrified at a text from Cub in a groupchat with Grian.

‘Do you want to come over?’ Scar said yes before the second text came through.

‘This is the height of Grian’s molt, and it’s about now I help get rid of the keratin sheaths.’

‘My favorite time of the year :)’

Grian butted in immediately, ‘Glad someone’s having a good time.’

‘I am.’ Cub didn’t miss a beat. Scar put his phone down before either of them could say anything more. Was this- was Cub inviting him over to preen Grian’s wings? Well, maybe they were both inviting him, Grian was on the groupchat, and he didn’t say anything.. Maybe molting was different from preening? Though the way Cub said it, it certainly sounded like he planned on touching them. Touching Grian’s wings, oh god, yeah, Scar was not doing that, he’d been hit in the face enough times to know how this would go down.

But he said he’d go. Cub was expecting him and Grian- well, Grian probably didn’t care much either way, but Cub was expecting him! He had to go!

But what to do for an avian that was molting.. Scar didn’t know many avians. He didn’t know much about the species at all. They had wings. He knew that. And lots of sharp bits. Lots of sharp bits. Eugh. Maybe he should bring a peace offering? Flowers? People liked flowers. Avians were people. Birds probably also liked flowers. Maybe if Scar brought a bouquet of flowers and stood quietly in the corner of the room there would be minimal violence. Peace offering. Oh! And waffles! Frozen waffles, Grian liked those! Yes, perfect, this would be perfect.

Scar didn’t see Cub’s face when he opened the door behind the massive bouquet of flowers and waffles he was holding, but he could imagine it wasn’t anything less than positively thrilled! Despite his impaired vision, he knew the apartment well enough by now to navigate to the coffee table by the couch, however that didn’t stop Cub from fretting over him, pulling him in the right direction and generally being adorable.

“Scar- this really wasn’t necessary-“ Cub tried, but Scar waved him off in a grand gesture.

“It was no problem at all! Everyone needs a little pick me up, especially when they’re feeling under the weather.”

“He’s not sick, Scar.”

“He might not be, but you’re injured!” Scar turned on Cub, only half teasing, “Look at you in that mysterious cast with that mysterious broken arm, you might never recover!” Scar set the flowers down, humming as he passed off the plastic bags of frozen waffles to Cub.

“Doctor said I’ll be fine in two more weeks. The healing is faster with..” Cub trailed off, looking into one of the bags, “These aren’t going to fit in our freezer.”

“It won’t heal if you’re cursed! And you very well might be cursed! I wouldn’t know! You won’t tell anyone how it happened!” Scar stopped when Grian snorted a soft chuckle, noticing him for the first time.

“I’m not dying, Scar. Ya goof.” Grian hunched himself up on his arms from his place on the floor where he’d presumably been laying face down on a pillow and blanket. He was shirtless, wings splayed out behind him- wings- oh god he looked terrible! “What’s in the bags?”

“Grian! You look like a porcupine! What happened? Your- Where-“

Cub groaned while Grian laughed, letting his head drop back on his pillow. Scar was startled when Cub yanked his arm, “Scar, I told you he’s molting. Don’t be a dick.”

“I- I didn’t-“

“It’s fine, Cub,” Grian huffed a laugh, shaking his head, “I know I look like a half-plucked chicken. Or a porcupine, whatever. Most avians don’t shed so many feathers at once, Scar, but molts are never pretty.”

“You look, fine, Grian,” Cub insisted, but Grian wasn’t having it,

“I’ve lost so many feathers that I can’t even fly. I look diseased. I know it and you know it and Scar knows it. Right, Scar?”

Scar startled, caught stuttering between a wolf and a bear, both of whom were staring at him intently, “He- just a little. Maybe a little sickly, a little-“ he stopped when Cub patted his shoulder, rolling his eyes. Still, Scar bit his lip, glancing back and finding his escape, “I’ll put these away! If they don’t all fit I’ll just keep the rest at my house,” he said quickly, snatching the bags of frozen waffles back from Cub and retreating over the couch to the small kitchen.

“Wait, what’s in the bag-? You have a house!? Where’s your house? What’s your address? Why haven’t we been invited to your house, you’re at ours all the time!” Scar ducked away, embarrassed, but Cub seemed to have his back, answering the first question to a resounding oOooOoooOoo from Grian. Score.

Cub sat down next to Grian on the blanket and the two of them began to talk about something or another, though Scar was a little preoccupied with the freezer which.. was admittedly quite a bit smaller than he remembered. The damn thing was a pain to open as well, always getting stuck on who knows what. Yeah, he.. he was going to have to bring a couple of these boxes home. Most of them, probably. Hm. Did he have room in his freezer for this many waffles? Oh dear.

When Scar tuned back into the conversation behind him, he was pretty sure Cub and Grian were speculating about his house and all the rich people stuff he had in it, which, quite honestly, was not a topic of conversation Scar wanted to indulge in, so instead he stood stiff in the kitchen, vainly hoping he’d be forgotten about and Cub would finish preening Grian’s wings and everything would be fine.

“Hey, Scar? Whatcha doing?” Darn. Busted. Cub looked up from where he was sitting at Grian’s side, wing in lap.

“Oh! I was just watching.”

“Watching? From all the way over there?” Cub sounded amused, clearly unaware of the great danger here. Grian was laying face down, saying nothing at all.

“Yeah! Moral support and all that.” Scar gave his patented double thumbs up, though it didn’t seem to have any effect on Cub.

“I could do with some actual support. You don’t want to come see?”

“No thanks.”

Grian snorted while Cub scoffed, a sound that pierced the veil of Scar’s bleeding heart. “He doesn’t bite.”

“I do,” Grian lifted his head to say it and Cub pushed it right back down into the pillow.

“He doesn’t. He’s just itchy. You’ll make his day with a little scratching in the right place, he just melts into the floor. Just wait until we get him in the shower with the jets.” Cub tried a smile, but must have realized just how apprehensive Scar was when he didn’t budge, only shifting his weight from his place in the kitchen. The silence lingered long enough that Grian lifted his head, confused, but he let it drop again when Cub continued to work his hands through his feathers. “Let me show you how, at least. It’s cool, I promise.”

The urging, bordering on desperation, was what made Scar finally crumble. Cub wanted this, clearly he wanted this, wanted Scar to be part of it, and Scar would have trouble denying anyone in that aching state. Truly, Scar didn't know why this was so important, but the least he could do for now was to sit on the arm of the couch, cautious to keep some distance, but close enough to watch. Cub’s soft relief, radiant on his face, eased some of Scar’s anxiety.

From his perch Scar watched as Cub brought his fingers back to Grian’s wings, meticulous as he felt around the spiny little feathers. Grian relaxed under his touch, both of them quiet as Cub squeezed the spines, pulling the white bits away and revealing a brand new feather.

“These are pin feathers,” Cub said, like he knew Scar needed the reminder, “They grow in under this keratin bit, and when they’re ready it kinda crumbles off, leaving a new feather. Avians can do most of this by themselves, but molting is a bit more intense of a process when you lose so many of your feathers at once, and the parts where the wing connects with their back is a lot harder to reach. It’s nice to have a friend in all cases.”

Cub continued on, not looking at Scar as he worked. He was so gentle, touches light and calculated, never lingering. Even when he was brushing away the little white shards, he hardly touched the feathers, treating them as if each one might break with too much force. Scar was so enraptured with Cub’s hands, he hardly reacted when the other spoke again, fingers grazing a stubborn looking pin feather.

“This one’s not ready. If the shell doesn’t budge, don’t mess with it. Grian could use the reminder as well. He isn’t very patient, even when it hurts, so that’s just another reason why I’m here instead of him.”

Grian made some sort of grunt in protest, but stopped when Cub began to scratch an area of tightly clumped pin feathers, groaning into his pillow instead. The clear relief of the action pulled on Scar’s heart, Cub’s small smile doing him in completely. A mix of curiosity and longing pulled Scar from the couch, sitting with some apprehension at the tip of Grian’s other wing, though his hesitation melted at a soft, gentle glance from Grian, smile just visible from beneath the pillow.

“Won’t be able to reach me like that, Scar.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

Grian snorted, rolling his eyes before turning back to being face down, wing on Scar’s side lifting just slightly before flopping back down.

“Well, if you do eventually feel like helping, you should keep a few things in mind,” Cub hummed, casual, but there was a weight there that caught Scar’s attention. “Avians have backs and shoulders that are a lot more sensitive than ours. Don’t pet. It’s akin to the sensation you might have if I ran my hand right down the middle of your back, but more intense. More.. loaded, I guess. Like if I was running a hand down your thigh, y’know?”

“I- Oh-“

“Save it for the bedroom,” Grian mumbled, continuing on to say something entirely unintelligible before piping up, “or I’ll report you to HR.”

“I’m not going to touch you!” Scar squeaked with a small jump, maybe a little too defensively, because Grian looked up, confusion, or maybe concern etching itself across his features.

“I.. I know. I mean, you can, it’s not.. This isn’t the same thing. It’s like getting poked, or having a bug brushed off your back, or- I don’t know, humans don’t necessarily have an equivalent grooming activity-“

“Brushing hair.” Cub cut in, grabbing Scar’s attention back from sparks of fear, “It’s like brushing hair. Working out the knots, parting it correctly, having it cut or dyed or blow dried or braided. It’s like hair. Like family.” Scar blinked, shoulders slackening before he nodded, tension easing.

“Yes,” Grian sighed, relaxing again, “It’s like hair.” He paused, not taking his eyes off Scar even as Cub continued working on the right wing, which looked almost finished at this point. “Have you ever grown your hair out, Scar?”

“Uh, no. I haven’t,” Scar said, feeling awkward as he ran a hand through his own hair, thin and messy as it had always been, after the accident at least. (Easier to refer to a terrorist attack as an accident, better not to think of it at all.) He never liked his hair very much. Always hard to control, hard to hide. Stressful more than anything. He couldn’t imagine it long. “It’s always been short.”

“Mine too! Honestly, it’s unruly enough as it is, and flying would be a complete nightmare with it long and everywhere.”

“You could just tie it up,” Cub suggested, “Most do, don’t they?”

“Guess so. It’s a lot of hassle though.”

Cub snorted, shaking his head, “Every part of your daily routine is more hassle than I could manage in a lifetime. I can barely find the motivation to brush my teeth most mornings, yet you’re in the bathroom for hours.”

“Cub used to have long hair,” Grian flashed Scar a grin as he changed the subject, snickering when Cub groaned. “It was fantastic. You peaked in college.”

“It was not. I was experiencing free will for the first time away from home, and I made many mistakes.”

“Do you have pictures?” Scar perked up, Grian saying yes at the same time that Cub said no. Grian sat up to grab his phone, wings raising in turn with his excitement and hitting Cub in the face while feathers brushed past Scar’s nose.

“Oops,” Grian pulled his wings back in, though he didn’t sound very sorry at all, “Let’s see here..” he started scrolling, Scar peeking over his shoulder while Cub got to his feet, moving to sit instead by Scar’s side. Cub scowled as Grian let out a squeak of delight, practically shoving a picture of the two of them together in Scar’s face. It struck Scar how young they looked, even though physically Grian didn’t look very different at all- it was a change on another level, experience, new life lived, challenges overcome. Oh! And Cub had long hair!

“Look at you and your little bun! Oh, that’s so cute!”

“It’s not.”

“It’s adorable,” Grian sang, sighing as he flipped through other pictures, “It was hot that day, we were mini golfing in the summer, but I bet I have pictures with it down as well. Went just past his shoulders, it was great. Cub has great hair, it’s thick and it was so soft when he used to take such good care of it.”

“We have different memories.”

“Ah! Look! He let me braid it this one time-“ Grian proudly presented to Scar a picture with Cub in pigtails, looking just as unhappy as the present Cub was now.

“Cute!”

“Delete that.”

“Oh! Here it is long! We were bowling, us and Mumbo- Cub was the only one who could throw the ball straight. I told him Mumbo and I needed the bumpers, but he didn’t believe me. No men have ever done it worse than us, Scar, it was just gutter after gutter. We didn't even have half the points Cub did combined.”

“I don’t think I’ve been bowling,” Scar mused to no one in particular, but shrank in on himself when Grian jumped up.

“Seriously?”

“I- no-“ Scar shrugged to deflect the high energy, a little more uncomfortable when Grian’s demeanor changed from shock to.. Scar wasn’t really sure, though he looked uncertain, glancing away with wings tucked back, “I mean, I don’t think I’ve been mini golfing either, definitely not since- I mean, I guess I probably have a few times before college, but I don’t really count it.”

“You don’t count the first eighteen years of your life?” Grian snorted, failing to notice as Scar faltered and Cub tensed, “Not sure you know what ‘Never Having Done Something Before’ means, bud.”

“I.. Yeah,” Scar mumbled, Grian blinking as he noticed for the first time something was off, “Sorry.. ‘s just different.”

Gears turned in the few seconds of silence, Grian bringing a hand (clawed, sharp) to his mouth when he finally seemed to realize. “No- It’s fine, my bad. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay.” The silence was heavy. Then, out of nowhere, Scar felt like he was suffocating, sudden, like a train had crashed off the tracks and barreled into him head on. “I- ‘xcuse me for a minute. Just need some air.”

Scar never felt clumsier as he hurried to the front door, thrusting himself out of it while firmly keeping his eyes on the ground. Stairs had never been so uneven, but he wasn’t sure he could stand to take the elevator, to stay still for even a moment, to face anyone that tried to catch up with him.

Outside air was a blessing, the breeze a gift from the highest heavens, but still, Scar had little oxygen to breathe, little coordination of which to move, but there were no benches, so instead he stumbled his way to the rundown parking lot across the street, sitting on a curb stop at the head of one of the many empty spaces. Why was this happening? Why now? Why did everything have to be so hard so much of the time? Why couldn’t he just be normal?

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before the shadow of someone sharp fell across the tar lot, long, imposing, snaking its way forward. Sharp feathers, talons, teeth, words that bit and snared and dark eyes like slits, wholly unpredictable and utterly terrifying on a good day, or maybe this was just a bad day and Scar’s world was too warped to differentiate. Either way, it was awful it was Grian. Where was Cub? Why did anyone need to come down at all, but out of all people, why Grian?

“Hey,” there were no hard edges when Grian spoke, sitting on the curb stop across from him at least eight feet away. If Scar could stand to make himself look up, he might see how Grian’s posture was low, how his wings were tucked tightly at his back.

“Hi,” was all Scar managed. Grian shifted his weight.

“Is something.. not good? Between us?” Grian paused as if expecting an answer, but Scar didn’t know what to give him. “I mean..” Grian continued in the lack of response, “It’s always been rocky. I know that. I know most of that is my fault. And I think- that isn’t to say- we’ve both had our moments, I think. I really- I think it’s safe to say we’ve both been hurt. And I know I’m a lot of the problem a lot of the time. I know it. And I’m sorry for it, I really am, I don’t think you deserved half of the shit I put you through, you really aren’t any of the things I thought of you- well, there’s more, at least. There’s a lot I didn’t know. I assumed poorly of you for a lot of the wrong reasons. I know it, I just..”

Grian paused for a long moment, longer than what was remotely comfortable, but Scar felt a little too numb to care or speak.

“I thought we were doing okay.”

Grian waited. Scar did not answer.

“Are.. are we not? Doing okay? I know I haven’t seen you in a week or so, but at work- HotGuy and CuteGuy I mean. It’s been great. I’ve been having so much fun, and you look like you’re having fun too. Is- is the teasing too much? I can dial it back, I just thought we were getting along, having fun with it. Are you not having fun?” There was a strain there, the kind that hurt a little too deep to ignore. “Scar, I need you to tell me if you’re not having fun. Please.”

“I’m- HotGuy- It’s fun. Work is.. it’s better than it’s been in years. Maybe it’s better than it ever was in the first place. There’s nothing wrong with CuteGuy.”

“But I- I am CuteGuy, Scar. I don’t understand. Is something wrong with me?” Scar did not answer, he didn’t know how, but the sudden intensity of Grian’s distress nearly folded his lungs over, “What’s wrong with me?”

“I don’t know,” the words fell from his mouth like a whisper, “I don’t know. I’m scared. I’m just scared.”

“How do I fix it. Please. Tell me how to fix it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.”

“I am. I think I lied to you. I think I said all these things about making this work, about making us work, and I want it, I want so badly to make it work, but everything about you is so sharp, and I can’t stop being afraid when you see me. HotGuy doesn’t care. HotGuy isn’t worried about any of it, but maybe that’s because it’s CuteGuy. I can’t stop being- I can’t stop splitting people up. I can’t just be one. I wish I didn’t care. I don’t want to care. I want this to work so badly-“

“Scar-“

“I don’t want to hurt you, Grian. I know I’ve gone and inserted myself and all my dumb problems into your life but I really- I never meant to intrude on you- I never wanted to hurt you! I just can’t stop lying-“

“Scar, you’ve made my life better!” Grian nearly shouted to be heard, to cut Scar off, to make himself be known. Quieter, he continued, “You’ve- you’ve made me better. You’ve challenged me, you’ve forced me to confront all sorts of nasty shit within myself, and you’ve made me better. And I-“ Grian stopped for a second, biting his lip hard as he glanced from his feet to the ground and back again, looking just about as lost and frightened as Scar felt.

“You’ve made me better, and along the way I think you paid the price for it. I think- I was so- I’m not a very good person, Scar, and you saw every nasty, ugly instinct I have in my arsenal, you’ve seen all of me, and you’ve- Micah- hurt me, but even then, you never wanted to. I don’t think you ever wanted to. You might’ve saved my life, then. Micah, you, whoever. Who knows where I would’ve ended up. But everything I’ve done, I only ever wanted to hurt you. Keep you away from me, from Cub. So I.. it’s okay. It’s okay, if you don’t like me. If you don’t want to like me, don’t want to hang out with me or touch my wings or whatever. It’s okay.”

Once again Grian waited for Scar to say something, and once again he couldn’t bring himself to. He couldn’t even find the words. In his absence, Grian continued.

“I know you know that Cub and I.. You can’t have him without me around. That’s not going to change, and I don’t think you could even dream of trying to change it either, you’re a good guy, I know it, but I.. For what it’s worth, Scar, I can try to stay out of your way. If you’re comfortable with CuteGuy but less so with Grian, then- I can try. It’s the least I can do. I think you’re good. You’re good, you’ve helped me become someone who’s a little more worth something than he was before, and I think in a way, you help Cub too. I bet a lot of people you meet are better because of you. And I- I really respect you.”

The silence was long. Grian might’ve been crying, but Scar couldn’t quite tell, he couldn’t tear his gaze from the cement. His mind felt like a whirlpool, and he was drowning in the middle of it. But he didn’t want that. He didn’t want Grian to dip out of his life forever. He just didn’t want to be afraid, but he didn’t know how, but maybe- maybe it was okay. Grian wasn’t angry that Scar had lied, or at least that Scar couldn’t will his body and mind to love him like he so desperately wanted. It was okay. It was okay.

“Grian?”

“Yeah, Scar.”

“Can we still be friends?”

“I’d really like that.”

[heartofbusan]

https://www.tumblr.com/heartofbusan/773653321046278144/reflecting-on-ays-i-think-what-hon3ymo0n-touches?source=share

If I was the producer of editor of the show, I would have intrigued it better. Hear me out. Just the way it’s edited is all over the place.

Normally as in Bon Voyage season, we get to see the pre planning, what the trip is, where they are going, the journey etc.

AYS stars like bam, here is Jimin in a hotel room having just got up, and then straight to the meal the night before. Now the meal is interesting given we’ve got two versions of it now. In the show it has an overlaid dialogue with Jimin saying he hasn’t seen JK in a while (their measure of time being screwed because to me a few weeks is not a while) In JKs documentary, we have him sat down, Jimin walking in, and just sitting down too, saying it took him ages to get there. So if we are truly to take them at their words, do we think that Jimin would walk in, having not seen JK in a while and not hug him, or actually greet him? Like any normal person would? It’s an odd choice.

I know they didn’t have a name for the show, or only a potential idea of what it was going to be, but if I was the producer, instead of the ‘car talk’ which can be taken a million different ways. I would have had them follow on from Jimins initial start of the conversation (though edited in such a way in the show itself, it’s why it gets misconstrued). So talk about why they are doing this, like ‘so it’s been a while since we went on a trip. Last time….so we decided to film this show when we both had time. See what adventures we get up to, eat some good food and then some, hang out, get drinks, blah blah.’

Frame it how it’s meant to be, two bros hanging out on a mini weekend trip in upstate NY, a totally normal place for two bros to go on a trip…that cabin not at all a romantic getaway. Look away people!

But yeah, they’re on screen and off screen personas you spoke about. They absolutely tailored their conversations and held back. We actually barely got anything the whole trips, even when Tae was with them. A lot of the BV trips are like this, but when the 7 are together and there is utter chaos, the constant talking over one another, the activities and games they do, you barely notice it. It’s basically little substance. We got to see nothing of the deep conversations they have about music according to Jimin. We got a tiny bit about their approach to writing vs received songs (which solos use as war fare) and that’s it.

What we did kind of get is their domesticated selves slipping through. That slips in because they can’t help it at times. The bickering in the car, the way they are grocery shopping. The way Jimin only had to rub his tummy with a pout on his beautiful face to get JK to understand he was hungry. The cooking meals which is so natural and caring. The way JK takes the heavy bags because he knows Jimin has neck and back pain. The random domesticity in the way JK is spanking Jimins ass, cuddled in bed, and remembers they have to buy a dish sponge. Who hasn’t done that with a partner?

All this to say I personally think they were brave to do this, to put their bond out their in such a big and bold way, to the scrutiny and gaze of all of us and the world. They knew in theory what they were doing in planning it, but I do think the gravity of it probably only hit them when they got in the car and saw the cameras type moment, Jimins face here says it all.

They are good sports I think, they pull it off, they seem comfortable by the next morning, all unease of the cameras forgotten when JK is switching them on and off. The mishap of Jimin being unwell handled incredibly I think. That’s what happens sometimes on trips. It’s life. I’m glad they kept it in. The inertia of them watching that in the last episode is cute! Them laughing at themselves and getting to see what the show had become hopefully put them at ease. They also have the safety net of so many people being ignorant to them (as horrible as hate often is).

We who see them got a glimpse into a part of their bond, their ease with each other, and they knowing of each other, don’t they say to be loved is to be know. And no, knowing those details of each other, of knowing what the other is thinking without speaking, of knowing how to compromise with ease, of knowing the same memes etc, does not come from being distant, quite the opposite. 😉

Ah, anon, how lovely and so well said.

It kind of blows ones mind, doesn't it? People can claim to love either of them but then fail to acknowledge the incredible privilege it is to see someone you love be in love. It reeks of delusional selfishness. And I'm not here for that. I love to see these two men be happy. And to see the special kind of bond they have together. Such a privilege. Such vicarious joy.

Distance makes the heart grow fonder, and the sweet melody of their joined laughter and their sparkling eyes are the result.

Thank you for writing meeee!

[oonajaeadira]

For the Love of Fic Joel Miller

It's been a time in my world. Busyness and writer's block has been troubling. I think a lot of it stems from just feeling behind in general, so I thought I might launch into a catch-up campaign for myself ... in reading fic.

And I had a lot of this fella to catch up on.

So hold onto your butts, my friends, because herein lies the fics I loved in my several weeks of just. reading. Joel. <3

Spinner by @insomniamamma Joel has such a caretaker streak in him that being observant and taking to a neuro-divergent reader rings so true. I love a huddling-for-warmth tale--I do so enjoy a good cuddle with a gruff broad man.

The Reason for the Season by @prolix-yuy Now here's a fun idiots-to-lovers take where one of the yearners is our Joel. When Ellie has questions about old traditions, he takes her to the other idiot--a school teacher with a warm smile and some yearns of her own. Aka you. I very much enjoyed this tale of finding the many varied and true meanings for the Holiday in all its forms.

Please Mister Please by @grogusmum Hazel imagines Joel as a kindred lovely soul, one that has a song of his own that brings sorrow, just like yours does you. But is seems he has a better song in mind....

Carpe Diem by @boliv-jenta I love that fic writers want nothing ore in the world than to tell Joel he's going to get taken care of and doesn't have a choice in the matter. I'm so glad this one afforded him the chance to actually speak and grab the moment...even with a little help from a friendly weed...

Year of Small Joys: A Quiet Night In by @keldabe-kriff I'm in love with this little slice of post-apocalypse life. It gives me hope that even if the world falls apart, there will still be the chance to find the quiet somewhere, and with someone...

Simple Pleasures by @julesonrecord Listen. i don't care if the info trail goes cold or not. If it means getting off with Joel--even this cranky, somber version of him--I already consider my self lucky.

Able by @ladamedusoif I have no doubt that a cane would come in handy during an apocalypse, and for many reasons. It's fun to watch Joel realize it too, and to walk the reader through one of the things he knows--a full-blown panic attack. Disabled reader represent!

Snooze by @tightjeansjavi Short. Sweet. Quiet. A soft drabble of everything I want--now that Joel is safe and sinking into a domestic life, he loves him some naps. And with naps comes warmth and lazy days, and a big ol' bear of a man to cuddle with.

Mine by @secretelephanttattoo I really really love this beautifully written meditation on Joel and Tess' relationship; how they share intimacy and how they won't. It's heartbreaking and beautiful and so very real.

When His Eyes Open by @undercoverpena A beautiful train of thought from Joel as he opens his eyes to find you awake next to him, thankful for what you represent in his life. It's so soft and wonderful. It's a drabble, but I could read a whole multi-chapter fic of this.

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BY @something-tofightfor

Birthday Kiss #7: Joel Miller If I was stuck at the end of the world, I'd be thankful to have a Joel Miller to find me in the early hours, knowing exactly where I'd be and exactly what day it was, just to sing me a Happy Birthday.

Smutsgiving Feast 2023: Turkey - Joel Miller It's Thanksgiving in Jackson and Joel's been helping you get settled in after a traumatic past. Everything you need is here--family, an invitation, Joel carving a perfect turkey with his sleeves all rolled up...and perhaps there's more going on upstairs later....

Snow and Mistletoe (series) Rachael loves Christmas and I always look forward to her holiday fics since the coziness always comes through so strong in them. This series is no exception by far. A no-outbreak fic where you own a music store and Ellie's your niece and Sarah's her best friend and the two girls pull a parent trap on you and Joel in the very best way. It all unfolds against a backdrop of different holiday gatherings--social, work, family--and all of them sweet and beautiful and enticing in their own way. The season may be over, but this zinged me back in time a couple of months and I'm not mad about it. In fact, I'm thankful for it.

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BY @missredherring

Wrong Until You Make it Right A yearning Joel is always good in my book, but the earnest way he years after his plus-sized coworker here is so very juicy and sweet. I love to see him watch a lady do what she does best.

J.M. + "Tell me what you like" I think if I was stuck at the end of the world and asked Joel Miller to read to me because I had no glasses and he said yes, I might die of happiness on the spot.

Warming Up Joel deserves a good teasing, which is a little of what he gets for sleeping in while you go outside to shovel and then return to his furry, heated body to warm up. and, of course, maybe get a little recreational. After all, nothing warms up cold hands like all the bits and pieces of a Joel Miller.

A Flower in February I really love this story. Rachel does a good job of placing you firmly in the QZ with all of its bleakness, giving you one spot of color--a crocus in the snow. After a spot of bad luck with some bad people, Joel's there to set things right--well, as right as it can be. And I'll take it, because in the world of TLOU, it's everything.

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BY @ezrasbirdie

Observations This is so so sweet. Neuro-D reader is so observant about not being accepted or invited to be part of groups, it breaks my heart. But Joel sees her. Worries about her. Likes her. And he's getting better at pasta.

Sticky This one left me a mess. Maybe not as messy as the toy reader gives him to play with while she's gone or while she's on the phone, but I may have had to wipe the drool off my chin...

Crystal Now this one was made for me. Here we have a witchy reader and Joel has a lot of thoughts about her. Surprise though, because none of them are negative. They're curious and wondrous and endearing. He's bewildered by the hanging herbs and the rocks and oils, but they make her happy and that's all he asks. Sweet man.

Sparks Fly Two words: eating ass. That's what falls out of reader's mouth under the influence and perhaps that's a good slip because there's gonna be plenty going in her mouth--and Joel's--later on. And it's gonna be hot like fire.

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BY @blueeyesatnight

There's a Word for It As Blue says in her notes, this is where she lives. As in, it's what she does best. This here is a no nonsense meditation on Joel and Tess and how they met and how they functioned. There may or may not have been a word for what they had...it was many words. And they're all here in order, comprising this fic.

Trimmed This fic hit something deep in me, the way it uses memory is really lovely and really feels steeped in canon. The little things we share with someone, not worth mentioning to anyone else, hard to put into words how meaningful it is to you personally or maybe you don't know until they're gone...or until a familiarity with someone else triggers it...

Trouble This is a masterclass in examining Ellie and Joel after they return to Jackson. It weaves in and out of their shared POVs, examining their feelings about who they've become, how they justify Joel's actions and words, who they are to each other, how far they can trust one another, and maybe how tainted that love is. But it's still love all the same. It's amazing and packs a really good punch.

Honest Mistake A short and sweet trope reversal where Joel makes an honest mistake and instead of retrieving Tommy from a situation, kidnaps a boss instead. I love the way the brothers' relationship comes out in the dialogue.

Trying This fic broke my heart a couple of times. Blue imagines the Joel of beforetimes and then bridges the gap to Tess. The man just keeps at it, over and over....because its' what he knows. It makes his arrangement with Tess and actual heaven and I thank her for it.

I Like My Girls A Little Bit Older - (Over the Hill pair) And I like that Joel likes it. He certainly has a type and the reader in this fic has a real sassy, no-nonsense attitude that can meet Joel's in a pretty good dance. And that last sentence may be a spoiler for this story...maybe...

I Know Just What You're Saying - (Over the Hill pair) I love that when Joel is having trouble understanding a teenage girl, he has the foresight to go talk to someone what WAS one once. And that he cares enough to ask for the biiggest favor...and that the reader has no choice but to give it to him.

I Thought I Could Be Someone - (Over the Hill pair) There are so many forms of grief and some of them come out of nowhere from sources you never even knew. Blue does beautiful job in finding that moment here, all wrapped up in an unexpected softness from Joel. This is my favorite of the series yet.

Just Like Heaven - (Over the Hill pair) This brought me back to being a teenager, that "does he like me or want to keep me at arm's length" feeling, that "should I kiss him or is he gonna kiss me" feeling. Of course I get the ending I'm hoping for though! Blue is not gonna leave us hanging when it comes to Joel Miller.

That Summer Seemed to Last Forever - (Over the Hill pair) I still don't forgive Blue for this one. How dare she make me love so bittersweet? That's not to say it isn't beautiful and artfully done. Grab yer hankies, all.

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BY @morallyinept

O' Christmas Tree by @morallyinept This is a precious, delicate story, one in which Joel loves so deeply and hurts so much that the thought of losing you--a real possibility since you've been very ill. But he'd do pretty much anything to see you smile, even if it means facing down a day int he cold to bringyou something to warm your heart.

Northern Lights Imagine camping with Joel. Sharing a sleeping bag. Under the aurora. Hand stuff in the wild has never been so sweet and hot.

Saviour Harsh and heartbreaking and real, this Joel is almost beyond help and I love the way Jett so beautifully details the many little deaths of a survivor. Angst to spare here, but true to character all the way.

Adoration Imagine you are married to no-outbreak, breast-man Joel. Happy. Loved. With a lump. I'm so awed by this fic, that Jett takes a very common nightmare and examines it, never sugar-coating, never denying the difficulties. It's a hard process and maybe I cried. But then there's Joel and his beautiful, steady consistency. I've never been more in love.

Home I can't imagine the love of my life just disappearing one day...but Jett can. Don't worry though, there's a happy ending waiting for you.

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BY @maggiemayhemnj

Happy Tuesday There's no need for Valentine's Day if there's a Happy Tuesday. I love this take on a couple who know how sappy they are for each other but make a joke of subverting the sap. A no-outbreak Joel who's still 20 years on, 20 years in love, and 20 years loving it. Which is exactly how long I'll be loving these two.

A mini Happy Tuesday interlude (Spring prompt: Bees) - (Happy Tuesday pair) Maggie's damn good with a drabble, but even better with a good ending line. I smile every time.

He Sees You - (Happy Tuesday pair) If this is what goes through Joel's head as he watches you assess yourself in the mirror, then that man is in L O V E love.

Breakfast Is Served - (Happy Tuesday pair) I would do anything to be able to cook well, if only to be able to make biscuits for Joel Miller so we can sit at the table with messy bed head and use breakfast as Sunday foreplay.

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[rhysdarbinizedarby]

How ‘Our Flag Means Death’ Became the Funniest Show on TV

Creator and showrunner David Jenkins breaks down the new season of TV’s most adorable star-crossed pirates.

Our Flag Means Death debuted in March 2022 to respectable viewership numbers that grew. And grew. And grew some more. With each week of its 10-episode run, viewership increased, eventually tripling its original audience. The little gay pirate workplace and romantic comedy-cum-historical fantasy that could is back for a second season on Max, and fans will be glad to know that piracy power couple Stede Bonnet (Rhys Darby) and Ed Teach, aka Blackbeard (Academy Award winner Taika Waititi) won’t be parted for long.

The first season of Our Flag Means Death introduced viewers to fictional versions of the real historical figures Stede Bonnet (aka The Gentleman Pirate) and Blackbeard, as well as their respective crews. The two captains instantly forged an unlikely connection. Stede, who decided to exorcize his midlife crisis by abandoning his family and taking to the seas, despite being at best a piracy novice, hero-worships Blackbeard and is thrilled to make his acquaintance. The fearsome Blackbeard, who among friends goes by his real first name, Ed, is taken with Stede’s commitment to enjoying the finer and frillier things in life, marveling at his new friend’s on-ship library and massive, beautiful wardrobe.

While the two captains are an odd couple, each of their crews regards the other as an entirely different species. Aboard the Revenge, Stede reads bedtime stories to his crew and encourages them to use their words when conflicts emerge, while on Blackbeard’s ship, Ed’s first mate Izzy Hands (a deliciously scowling, jealous Con O’Neill) rants that his captain is now a shell of the terrifying legend he used to be. Over time, Blackbeard’s crew begin to appreciate the healthier work-life culture on the Revenge, where there’s room for romantic and collegial dyads to form and pair off.

Of course, the path of true love never runs smooth even for a couple as invested in each other as Stede and Ed. At the end of the first season, the crews are split between ships and land, and Ed believes Stede has permanently abandoned their relationship for his original family, causing a heartbroken Ed to revert to his fearsome Kraken persona. As the second season opens, Stede is frantically trying to get back to Ed and explain that he’s all in on their relationship. Ed’s behavior has been swinging erratically from depressed to murderous, even toward Izzy, and when the two captains and crews meet again, there’s an extra twist: Stede and company have been co-opted by the far more capable and successful Chinese Pirate Queen, Zheng Yi Sao (Ruibo Qian).

On the eve of the second season’s three-episode premiere, creator and showrunner David Jenkins reflected on the series’ approach to workplace dynamics, male friendships and romance, and the character arcs he’s most excited for fans to see.

The first three episodes of the season premiere feature a bunch of breakups and reshuffling of romantic and work relationships—not just Stede and Ed. Were you chasing anything in particular, narratively, by splitting up so many dyads?

Definitely. To watch the effects of Stede and Blackbeard’s relationship reverberate through everybody's lives is so interesting. Their separation doesn’t just happen to the two of them, it’s happening to all of them, because they’re a family. Just as the breakup reverberated throughout both crews, getting back together is going to do the same thing.

That makes sense.

The goal was just being true to the character beats and finding ways to make them ring true. Oluwande (Samson Kayo) and Jim (Vico Ortiz, they/them) are friends who got romantic. It rang true to me that they’d watch each others’ lives move forward, and then come back together to find that they still care about each other, and each of them is also happy for the other person. I've seen that happen in real life a bunch of times, but I don't see that dramatized a lot. I think there should be a lot of different flavors of relationships in this show. And there's so many different pairings that you get a lot of chances to be like, “Oh, how are these two different from Stede and Ed?”

How does that relate to your interest in exploring tenderness and vulnerability in male characters? In previous interviews, you’ve referred to Our Flag Means Death as examining the burlesque of masculinity. What does it bring to your work to be exploring it over the course of many hours of storytelling?

That’s an area where Taika’s and my interests overlap a lot. There’s something so understated about his sensibility—I think some of it derives from his New Zealand accent, actually—that suits asking questions about masculinity. And it's fun to look at pirate stories, to play against that genre’s whitewashed, heteronormative conventions. Growing up as a guy, you get a lot of pressure to be just one type of a guy, the guy who refuses to feel things. Men are in terrible trouble in that way. We’re getting better about talking about feelings, but there’s so much more to cover—body dysmorphia, vulnerability, not just talking about feelings, but understanding them and having this whole range of emotions—those are always the things I want to watch.

Do you have favorites among on-screen stories that make room for a broader emotional palette?

Heat and Midnight Run are two really lovely Robert De Niro movies where characters have these very big emotional lives. It’s a similar thing with Robert Redford and Paul Newman in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. I like extending that. We can push it further, because there's so many different ways to be a man! Not everything has to be a shoot ’em up action thing where people don’t have feelings. A lot of men feel like they need permission to just be their weird selves, to be funny, to dress differently. Try some different things! Maybe wear a color! Put some product in your hair! Don't worry about it, it's gonna be fine. You're gonna be fine.

Our Flag Means Death is not a casual show. It’s very funny and playful! But there is not one single frame of the show that plays it cool. As an artist, what’s the significance of qualities like sincerity and earnestness?

I hate coolness, it’s so ungenerous. And I like that you said that it’s not casual. I’m not a casual guy. This is a deeply uncool show. There’s something so special about seeing comedic actors like Rhys or Taika, who are so used to coming into a scene, being incredibly funny and destroying, and then leaving, having to use their earnestness, and not using their weapon of immediately diffusing it by going for a laugh. When I see that, it makes my heart leap. There’s something particularly special about seeing a comedic actor do it.

It’s really fun to watch comedic actors dispel the notion that dramatic acting is 180 degrees away from comedic acting.

Characters that call for that type of performance are a lot of what I love about Robert Altman, Christopher Guest, and Harold Ashby movies. They’re comedies, but those characters really grow and they experience pain, and the pain they feel is real. And then the funny shit that they do is even funnier because of it. Those are the things that bring me the most joy.

Tell me about Zheng Yi Sao, the Pirate Queen. She’s such a good foil for Ed and Stede—her ambition, competence, and leadership style are all so distinct from theirs.

Zheng Yi Sao is the most competent pirate captain on our show, and was the most successful pirate captain in history. She lived about 100 years apart from these fellas, and she was so successful that China had to cut her in and do a treaty with her so she would move on to some other field. She wound up making another fortune in gambling!

One thing that jumped out at me in these first three episodes of the season is how much therapy-literate dialogue is used—where did that come from?

I just think it's funny. The thing about a workplace is that they all see everything that’s going on with others, because they're all on top of each other all the time. I don't want to go l too far with it, but it’s fun that some of these characters can see that one of their friends is in a weird relationship with his boss, and then say “hey, you might want to look at that.”

Where do you think that comes from for the characters themselves?

There’s a level of care on that ship that Stede almost infected them with in the first season, and now those ideas are more alive because of how Stede built the Revenge’s culture. You can see that that spirit is still kind of alive when Jim tells the story of the wooden boy to Bang to calm him down. That’s a little bit of Stede’s kindness being alive in the world still, and of Jim needing and being able to call on it now that everything’s so dark. For them to go from an “every person for themselves” ethos to thinking “there was a time when life meant something on this ship, it doesn’t have to be this way” is interesting growth for the character, and is true to Vico as a person. There's a real kindness to how they carry themselves—they’re one of those people that just makes everybody feel safe. It’s nice to see some of those character traits bleed through to Jim.

Without getting too spoilery, what’s coming up over the rest of this season that you can’t wait for viewers to see?

I’m really excited for Izzy’s journey. Con O’Neill did such beautiful work, and getting to see where that character goes and how he grows, I think is one of the most exciting things of the season. To see where Ed and Stede’s relationship goes is gratifying—to see how they navigate each other and find, hopefully, a more mature way of being together.

Jim's relationships with Archie (Madeleine Sami) and Olu develop, too, and more broadly, the crew coming together as a new kind of family, now that Mom and Dad are getting back together. I also like that Lucius (Nathan Foad) is back, and has an angry young man thing going on that he has to process. For Lucius to go through something really harrowing and have to grow up with it is so interesting, because he had all the answers in the first season.

We can’t not talk about the mermaid sequence at the end of the second episode. How did that come about?

We really have to pick our shots on the show, so that was very storyboarded out. I knew I wanted Kate Bush’s “This Woman’s Work” for the scene, so that was incorporated in it. Unfortunately, Rhys had had a really bad near-drowning experience shooting in a tank before, but I didn’t know that until we were working on the stunts! But when Rhys saw the gorgeous tail, and it looked so cool and beautiful, he decided to go for it. He knew the scene was going to look awesome. So he navigated that costume, which is basically a big flipper that he needed to move his entire core to make it work, and Taika’s there with all this glue to keep his wig on underwater all day. When it’s humming and all the departments are working, everyone feels safe. It gives everyone a feeling of “let’s do it—let’s jump in!”

Speaking of jumping in, what degree of pressure did you all feel coming into the second season, knowing how high the expectations were from the show’s incredibly passionate fan base?

I don’t feel pressure from the fans, I just feel unconditional love and acceptance, and I think that the writers room feels that too. We all want it to be good, and we want the storylines to be cool. But it’s less pressure, and more just the level of freedom that it gave us, knowing somebody’s watching. It makes doing all the hard work a joy, because you know it’s going to be appreciated. Some people will have critiques, and that’s fine.

I just know that this—the fan reaction to this show—will be the honor of my career. The fan community is so kind and nice and talented—it's just a good vibe, and it’s been safe and affirming for everyone.

We’re all basking in the glow of the adoration of the show from our fanbase. It’s infectious—when we all get together, it saturates every element of the show, and it's a very special thing for all of us.

Source: The Daily Beast

[distant-velleity]

Dancing, dresses, dashing princes—this ball sure has everything, doesn’t it?

a card i drew up for @starry-night-rose's Glimmering Soirée ^^;; voicelines, concept art, and trivia under the cut!

~

After Summon: Big, fancy events aren’t really my thing… I’d rather just blend in most of the time. But—I guess it’s fine if it’s only for one night.

Groovification: Careful—we wouldn’t want anything going wrong on the night of the ball.

Set to Home Screen: Let’s not get into any trouble, alright?

Home Transition 1: I considered wearing a dress at first, but when I thought about it… It’s too much of a hassle. That, and I’m no princess—if I stand out, it’ll be for all the wrong reasons.

Home Transition 2: Royal Sword Academy and Night Raven College students gathered in one venue… I’d better be ready for a fight to break out.

Home Transition 3: You know, I was thinking—next year it’ll be Royal Sword Academy’s turn to host, right? If I’m still around by then, I want to see how they do.

Home, after login: Oh, don’t mind me… I was just practicing my dancing. I’m not one of the Princes, but—hey, why are you looking at me like that? Can’t a guy not want to humiliate himself in the ballroom? 

Home Transition (Groovification): Don’t laugh, but… I-I think I might have lost one of the shoes that came with this outfit. Shoot, Vil and Crewel are gonna kill me… 

Tap Home 1: The other Princes seem fine, but Deuce? I’ve been a little worried that the expectations of the role will be hard on him… Well, hey. I guess it takes a lot of pressure to create a diamond.

Tap Home 2: Azul’s taken to this whole hosting thing like he was made for it, basically. Like it's another business opportunity. Only… his dancing needs some work, I think.  

Tap Home 3: When you think of brilliant balls and Prince Charmings, you don’t immediately think of Yue’er—I mean, Malleus… Well, I guess he is his own version of “tall, dark, and handsome.” 

Tap Home 4: So stuffy… I’m glad I got Crewel to cast some temperature-regulating magic on his coat. How is anyone supposed to enjoy themselves while sweating buckets?

Tap Home 5: …H-Hey, watch it! This outfit’s way fancier than what I normally wear, you know… I don’t want to ruin it.

Tap Home (Groovification): If you want to mingle and have fun, go on ahead without me. I don’t mind too much—I’m not a… y’know, people person.

~

here are the sketches that i made while brainstorming (yes, i was going to put yu in a dress--he would have rocked it imo but i found these really cool suits and changed my mind)

and my references that i got from pinterest :>

in regards to yu having a mostly-black outfit, i... was going to make it mostly white (since his suitor suit is the same light blue as cinderella and i didn't want to get repetitive) but no matter what i did he ended up looking too much like an RSA student 😭 and i wasn't gonna let that happen so here we are. i think the black and gold is a nice contrast regardless... especially for someone who i rarely draw in dark colors

~

last but not least-- guys i remembered my taglist :,): @thehollowwriter @theleechyskrunkly @elenauaurs @nahelenia @casp1an-sea

@boopshoops @skriblee-ksk

[im-a-wonderling]

Rescue Me, Part 6 ~ Obi-Wan Kenobi

I have to thank @hmuwithemfeeeels, @writing-on-the-wahl, and @sassysaxxy profusely. All three of them read through every version of this part (of which there were many), sometimes multiple times. They all helped me on the path of making this part what it needed to be. I wish I could be more eloquent, but honestly, I'm just so glad that this part is finally finished, I've been working on this for months.

Summary: Y/N painfully works through her recovery while Obi-Wan is nowhere to be found.

Warnings: healthy weight gain

Word count: 5.6k

Rescue Me masterlist | Main masterlist

Vokara Che wasn’t a healer of ringing endorsements, but her grudging smile made me liable to burst with pride. “You’re making progress,” she said, laying her data pad beside me. 

I beamed at her, matching the sunshine on the walls of the Jedi temple infirmary. The itch to get moving—to return to my old self—was insatiable. I missed the faith that my legs could hold me while my hands held my lightsaber and the knowledge that my body could sustain the defense of my ideals. “When can I start training?” 

The Twi’lek healer pursed her lips. “I’m still concerned about your lungs.”

My smile and pride faded. That sounded like she wasn’t going to clear me, and that was…unacceptable. “My lung function will improve–”

Vokara Che crossed her arms, showing her famous stubbornness and making me more nervous. “You know that rushed healing makes botched healing.”

“It’s been almost a week, how is that rushing?” I argued.

But neither volume nor impatience could sway the unmovable rock that was Vokara Che. “Tell me how many days you were gone. Say the number.”

I looked into Vokara Che’s unyielding face, trying to ignore the jump of fear in my chest. “Vokara–”

She held up her hand. “Eleven days. Very little water, very little food.” My stomach turned as she spoke, as if it, alongside my brain, held onto the memories of that dark, Force-forsaken dungeon. “Your chains prevented you from moving your arms, leading to the breakdown of your muscles.” My shoulders ached, like she was awakening the wounds with her words. “Your mind was fractured–”

“My mind is fine,” I snapped. “I am a healer, same as you, and if I–”

“And all of that happened,” Vokara Che raised her voice, “before you suffered hypothermia and almost died!”

“Well, I didn’t die!”

Vokara Che’s nostrils flared, striking fear into my heart at whatever painful reminder she was about to impart. “Six days ago, Kenobi carried you into this infirmary twice because you were too weak to stand! Have you forgotten that?”

I lowered my gaze to the floor. 

I hadn’t forgotten. I didn’t think I’d forget anything about the last three weeks as long as I lived, not with the consequences that had come. 

The consequences of being taken: extreme muscle atrophy and malnutrition. Whenever I was upright, my shoulders ached, and I’d taken to wrapping my weak wrists for support, hoping it would be enough to allow me to wield my lightsaber again. Vokara Che’s careful nutrition regimen had won back a few pounds, but I was still operating from a weight deficit, not to mention my decreased organ function. 

The consequences of being rescued: hypothermia and the removal of Obi-Wan’s title of Master and position on the council. Obi-Wan had done well in warming me up; the risks of hypothermia once I’d reached the Temple were minimal. But the aftershocks of Obi-Wan’s removal from the council still rang through the Temple, and I was most especially vulnerable. 

It just didn’t make sense. The council decided not to send anyone after me. Obi-Wan was part of the council, he was part of the decision they made. Even if he personally wanted me to be rescued, personal desires were nothing compared to what had been decided by the complete council.

Being injured should’ve provided the perfect condition to deepen my connection with—and trust in—the Force, but every time I closed my eyes to meditate, in the darkness behind my eyelids, I could’ve sworn I heard scraping sounds once again. 

“Ghon will be back any day now,” I argued. It may have been a losing battle, but it hurt less than the losing battle in my mind. “I could be sent out on a mission soon, and I can’t afford–”

“Peace.” Vokara Che picked up her data pad again and started walking over to the next occupied bed. “The council won’t send you to any front while you’re still suffering the effects of so much protein catabolism.”

‘Doubt’ and ‘council’ were two words I’d been avoiding using in the same sentence. I stood from my bed, following her. “Please,” I begged. 

Vokara Che didn’t look away from the Jedi whose pulse she was checking. “The day you can jog two laps around the marble gardens without stopping is the day you can start training.”

I lifted my chin, determined. “Then I’ll be back in ten minutes.” 

-

Out of the eight separate gardens in the Temple, the marble gardens were the most sterile, and as such, the only one with a path. Truthfully, it resembled a courtyard or an outdoor ballroom more than it resembled a garden, since the only plants were tiny sprouts in large clay pots. Even the path wasn’t concrete or dirt cutting through grass, but a red onyx marble cutting through cream marble. The faint, swirling patterns within the cream made a good environment for peaceful meditation. 

But for all the contemplative beauty, I did miss the trees and plants in the other, wilder gardens, though they were nothing compared to the jungles of Felucia. Strangely, when I was on Felucia, I missed the climate of Coruscant. Now, here on Coruscant, I missed the person I was on Felucia. 

And the Jedi I’d been with on Felucia. 

I hadn’t laid eyes on Obi-Wan since the council meeting. How could he be busier than ever before after being demoted to Knight and removed from the council? Anytime I tried to follow the faint light of his Force signature, the Force led me out of the temple where my worn-out body kept me from going any significant distance.

Reaching the bottom of the marble steps onto the path, I traced the circular path with my eyes. Two laps around the gardens was almost an insult. On our mission to Kessel, Obi-Wan and I were riding a transporter in order to save a member of the ruling class from a Separatist assassination attempt. The transporter broke down, and we had to run four miles in less than twenty-five minutes in order to save the target. 

Two laps was nothing.

Despite my confidence, I wasn’t even halfway through the first lap when sweat started beading on my forehead. My lungs burned with every expansion, the twin organs struggling to keep up with the strain. I slowed my pace, reminding myself to keep going. Pushing through this pain was nothing compared to what I needed to be capable of in a few days and even less compared to what I’d already faced. 

Thirty feet shy of the first lap, I had to stop, leaning against one of the large potted plants for support. The coarse rattle accompanying every inhale made me wince. If I had a patient making that sound, I’d tell them to rest, even sedate them if I needed to. Why then did I so badly want to keep pushing? Frustrated, I knocked my fist against the rim of the pot. “Blast!”

The Force brushed gently across my forehead, lulling me into closing my eyes. I panted, leaning my whole body against the pot and allowing the Force to blanket my skin. 

In the distance, Obi-Wan’s light shone like a guiding, blinding star. And in the other direction, much farther away, loomed the threat of Dooku’s darkness. I took comfort in the separation and in knowing that when I opened my eyes, Dooku wouldn’t be there. Even if the fear of the darkness still festered within me, my body was no longer trapped there. 

“I’m safe here,” I whispered, for the words didn’t work if I only said them in my mind. “I’m home.” 

With my eyes closed, the brilliant light of the sun filled my vision with a hearty red. And in the hearty red of my vision appeared a face I knew well. 

A piece of Obi-Wan’s hair stuck to his sweaty forehead partially smudged with dust. His eyes were wide as his mouth slowly formed an inaudible shout, a vein bulging in his forehead. Then, he lifted his chin to look up, just as a large piece of rubble came hurtling down towards him.

“No!” I burst out. 

My eyes flew open, and I stared at the plants by my feet, my heart contracting painfully. The image was gone as soon as it’d come, but the fear in his expression settled heavily in my gut. Was it a buried memory resurfacing? I wanted to believe it was, but in the image, Obi-Wan’s hair was short and his beard was full. Only my recent memories featured him that way. And if it were that recent a memory, I would’ve known immediately. 

“Typically,” said a voice which immediately made me straighten, “the ‘no’ comes after I’ve made a suggestion, not before.”

I looked up into the face of Anakin Skywalker. “General Skywalker!” I said, perhaps overly brightly in my attempt to move past the image. I straightened and then immediately leaned against the pot again as my head spun, from exertion or surprise, I wasn’t sure. I grinned to cover for the lack of my bodily autonomy. “The great General Skywalker, returned to Coruscant once again.” Then I noticed the sling around his human arm, instinctively reaching out with the Force to assess the injury. His bones felt intact, but his shoulder ligaments were strained, as though they’d been displaced and then returned. Painful, but not permanent. “What was it this time?”

He adjusted the arm slightly. “Bounty hunters. Gunray still hasn’t given up his vendetta against Senator Amidala.”

Of course. His Jedi reflexes allowed him to easily escape danger, but he might’ve ignored his Force-given instincts if he were defending someone else. 

I raised an eyebrow. “I hope Vokara Che gave you something for the pain when she relocated that.”

“You know she never uses medication on me. Something about needing to learn my lesson.” General Skywalker shifted the arm a bit, as if he could still feel the pain he must’ve felt when Vokara Che put the arm back in the right position. “I was actually hoping to see you for treatment, but…” he trailed off.

I smiled again, hoping desperately that Vokara Che hadn’t told him that I wasn't cleared. “I’m…not treating people yet.”

“Are you training?”

“Trying to.” I wiped a trickle of sweat off my forehead. “Turns out, my body is still…”

“Recovering,” General Skywalker finished, a kinder word than what I was going to say. “May I join you?” 

“Of course.” I pushed off the pot, equally grateful and surprised when my body didn’t sway. 

Once on a mission to Falleen, I saw two children together. Their mothers were sisters, but the children didn’t know each other well. Both being ten years old, they’d been sent to do a chore together. They shared so much history, yet treated each other with a strange politeness. Since the skin of a Falleen changed color to reflect their emotions, the pleasant yellow hue of their skin betrayed the awkwardness of their exchange. 

General Skywalker and I’s relationship was similar. Having shared a master, our histories were entwined but our presents rarely met and only did in the Temple, specifically in the infirmary where I patched him up. Mostly our conversations centered around Obi-Wan, since General Skywalker saw him more often than I did. A fact that I’d privately wrestled with, worrying that if I were a Falleen, my skin would turn green.

Banishing those green thoughts, I focused on keeping up with the general’s pace, which was nothing short of relaxed, but even walking loosely sent the occasional painful spasm through my chest. 

General Skywalker slowed his pace to that of a baby Derbit, but the look on his face was much darker than anything a Derbit could summon. “Dooku really did a number on you, didn’t he?”

His name in the air sucked the air out of my tired lungs and dragged me right back to the dungeon, pain racing through my body. Not wanting to appear weak in front of the general, I forced in a breath as casually as I could, waiting for the images to pass. 

But General Skywalker spoke before I was ready to. “I’m glad you’re okay.” He lightly touched the top of my shoulder, looking up and down my body. General Skywalker did not have the gaze of a healer, but I knew his connection with the Force was unrivaled. There was no way of knowing what kind of information he could receive from just a look. “You are okay?” he asked. 

I wanted to shrug off his hand, but I knew sometimes the most combative patients were the ones who needed the most help, so I remained where I was. “Yes. I’ve gained back five pounds, and I’m finally able to walk by myself.” My eyes darted over to Master Stass Allie meditating in the center of the gardens. “I’m finally eating solid food too, although not very much of it yet.”

General Skywalker smiled sincerely. “I’m very glad of that. I know I’d be missing food too.”

“But not rations.”

“Never rations.” He shuddered in a manner that mirrored Obi-Wan. How odd it felt to see my old master’s mannerisms in the legendary general. What must the Jedi Order have thought when the Jedi to train the Chosen One then chose to train the padawan of Pong Krell? I could feel their horror deep in my gut, and my arms reflexively clasped behind my back. 

But since he was also Obi-Wan’s padawan, General Skywalker understood him as well as or perhaps better than I. “General Skywalker, may I ask you a question?” 

“Always,” the general said easily. 

“If…if Ahsoka was taken from you, i-if she were taken by bad people…what would you do?”

He lifted a knowing eyebrow. “This is about Obi-Wan, isn’t it?”

I looked away as the mysterious, panicked face of Obi-Wan flashed unbidden in my vision again. “Yes, it’s about him.” 

“Let me ask you this: if Ghon were taken from you by bad people, what would you do?”

My chest tightened at the mention of my padawan, who still hadn’t returned from Ryloth. The idea of him in that dark cell, chained to the ceiling, cut off from light and people as he wasted away…it made me feel sick. “Ghon is still a padawan,” I protested, weighed down by the unspeakable urge to explain myself. “He’s only eleven, he doesn’t have all the skills to withstand the dark side as we do.”

The only reply was the lift of the general’s eyebrows. 

It was sacrilege to discuss this here, in the very heart of the Jedi Order, out in the open, with Master Stass Allie meditating only just out of earshot. 

But sacrilege or not, it was the truth. 

But the truth is wrong, I argued with myself. I wasn’t supposed to choose defiance. General Skywalker and Obi-Wan could choose defiance; they were irreplaceable. I was supposed to prioritize peace over my emotions, and it was my emotions swirling in my gut, urging me to go save Ghon from a situation that wasn’t even real.

The knowing look on General Skywalker’s face made my own flush. “You’d go too. Even if the council told you not to.”

“The council was the one who charged me with the responsibility of teaching and caring for Ghon,” I protested.

“Even if the council said no?” he pressed.

I knew what my answer was, but I couldn’t speak it, could barely even think it. 

“I can feel your wrestling.” The general tilted his head. “It feels almost exactly the same as how Obi-Wan felt when he asked me to help him save you.”

A million questions sprung to my mind, but I remained silent, fighting my surprise and hating that General Skywalker could likely feel it. 

The general continued walking with such casual airs, we might’ve been discussing Coruscant’s weather, which, thanks to weather control, was the exact same every day. “We interrogated everyone in the club, but when no one could tell us anything helpful, Obi-Wan begged the council to send us to go save you anyways. He was certain he could find you.”

“And the council wasn’t,” I finished. I couldn’t fault them for it. The galaxy was massive. It didn’t matter how experienced and capable Obi-Wan was, the odds of him somehow being able to find me were infinitesimally small. 

“And that’s when Obi-Wan asked me how to steal a ship.”

I gaped at the general, unable to reconcile the image of Obi-Wan breaking the rules so thoroughly. If the council hadn’t sent Obi-Wan, of course there wasn’t any authorization for a ship. But stealing one? In a wild moment, I wondered if the general was showing his infamous sense of humor, but his grave expression settled that theory. 

By the void. No wonder the council had stripped him of his status. 

The two of us walked past Master Allie, both of us remaining silent in some unspoken agreement. General Skywalker thoughtfully wrapped his robotic hand around one strap of his sling as we walked, looking much more carefree than I felt. Then again, Obi-Wan hadn’t gotten himself demoted because of General Skywalker. 

“I wanted to go with him,” the general said once we’d passed Master Allie and could safely talk, “but someone had to create a diversion.”

Even if I knew what to say, the lump forming in my throat made it impossible to speak. I knew General Skywalker broke the rules regularly and that he broke them this time for Obi-Wan, but I was still overwhelmed with gratitude. 

“When I asked Obi-Wan where he was going to look for you first, do you know what he said?” I shook my head, not sure I wanted to know. “He said the Force would take him to the right dungeon.” 

My feet froze. Dungeon? Was that…just a throwaway phrase…or did Obi-Wan know about the dungeon before he came to rescue me? It was far more realistic to believe that his word choice was coincidence...except for the fact that Obi-Wan had indeed found me in a dungeon. “How could Obi-Wan possibly have known that?” 

General Skywalker glanced at Master Allie and then put his back to her, lowering his voice. “He saw you.”

“What are you talking about?” I said hoarsely, hardly able to speak around the frantic beats of my heart that seemed to extend through my whole being.

“When you’d been taken off the planet to Chobb knew where, he saw visions of you.”

Visions?

Of me?

“Visions that disturbed him so much, he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t train.” General Skywalker swallowed. “It was like watching him lose his mind.”

I could relate to the feeling, but now was not the time. “What happened in these visions? What exactly did Obi-Wan see?”

“You, hanging from the ceiling in a dark cave. And himself, using his lightsaber to cut through your chains.”

I gaped at him. “Obi-Wan…he saw the future? His future? Our future?”

General Skywalker nodded. “He didn’t know what Dooku was doing to you, but he could feel your pain, and he knew that it was up to him to rescue you.”

Stars, if Obi-Wan felt me, if he felt my pain, my terror, and my despair…if I’d known that he could feel me, I would’ve…

Shielded earlier.

To spare him. And protect him. 

Shame roiled through me like the Boiling Sea on Drall. I would’ve engaged in a sith technique, simply to spare Obi-Wan discomfort? Would shielding myself even have worked? These strange visions Obi-Wan reportedly had…did they stem directly from the Force or somehow through the Force from me? Would the Force have sent Obi-Wan to me? Or had I unconsciously reached out for him?

General Skywalker was watching my expression closely, and I could feel his attention through the Force as well. “Hasn’t Obi-Wan told you any of this?”

“He’s avoiding me,” I grumbled, with a bit more malice than what was necessary. 

The general rolled his eyes. “He’s off-planet, Y/L/N.”

Off-planet? Was that why the Force kept leading me out of the Temple when I tried to find him? Had the council sent him away to keep us apart? Or to punish him?

Hang on, if Obi-Wan had been able to sense me across the galaxy and following the light led me out of the Temple…did that mean I’d be able to find Obi-Wan too? If I were to get on a ship right now and blindly fly towards the light, would I end up wherever Obi-Wan was?

The light, as if reacting to my thoughts, grew larger above me. I glanced up at the ships passing above our heads, staring up into the sky beyond which lay Obi-Wan. “How is any of this happening?” I muttered as the light continued flaring. 

“You’re still confused.” General Skywalker sounded sympathetic. 

“Yes,” I admitted. “I understand a little more, but…I…I just…” My words failed, unable to contain the scope of what was happening inside of me. 

General Skywalker rolled his shoulders and glanced around us again, clearly preparing to exit the conversation. “Look, Obi-Wan always taught me to follow the Force. I think he taught you the same.” He paused, waiting for my response or trying to find his next words, I didn’t know. “He followed the Force right to you. Say what you will about right or wrong, but…that counts for something.” 

I digested that before nodding once in acknowledgement. 

The general’s comm beeped, and he sent me an apologetic look. “I have to go. Stay on the mend, yeah?” He strode for the garden entrance. 

“General?” I said. 

General Skywalker turned around. 

“It’s because I was his padawan, right?” I said, desperation making my lips looser. “That he can feel me?” 

And that I could feel him? 

A rogue smirk found its way onto the general’s mouth with such ease, I knew it wasn’t an uncommon expression for him. “If Obi-Wan can feel me in that way, he’s never directly crossed the council to come rescue me.” A rush of guilt coursed through me, and General Skywalker was shaking his head almost instantly. “Defying the council isn’t something new, Y/L/N. If anything, Obi-Wan made Master Qui-Gon proud.” And with a wink I wasn’t sure how to interpret, General Skywalker swaggered out of the gardens. 

I watched him go, my fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of my tunic. The general gave me more information, but it felt as if the facts floated above me out of arm's reach, making it impossible for me to pull them down and put them together in a way that made sense. 

Shaking my head, I started running, but only made it seven steps before reaching out for the nearest pot again. 

I wasn’t going to get two laps in today, with or without stopping. 

A wipe of my forehead showed the perspiration from the attempt, and I fumbled my way out of the gardens, ready to bathe away the embarrassing evidence of my failure. 

-

The Temple baths were empty while I bathed, but after, the corridors teemed with Jedi, all healthy enough to bustle about their business and curious enough to stare at me. I could feel their attention like a pin jabbing me in the arm. I’d felt scrutiny this intense when I walked here after Master Krell had been killed. 

Back then, I was the tainted padawan, the one no one could fully trust. I wasn’t quite sure what they thought they saw now. 

Perhaps Vokara Che expected me to return to the infirmary, but spending my days on a bed as a patient in the very infirmary where I’d once been a healer? It was mortifying. Vokara Che had allowed me to leave the infirmary to attempt my laps, so I was going back to my room to recover in private. 

“Knight Y/L/N?” 

I turned to face the youngling I’d just passed while trying to ignore his open stare. “Yes?”

“Master Yoda wants to see you.”

My heartrate kicked up. “Did he say for what purpose?”

The youngling shook his head. “Only that he’s waiting for you in his quarters.” Message delivered, the youngling bowed and scampered off, but not without a last glance over his shoulder. 

“Force help me,” I muttered, laying a hand over my heart, trying to use pressure to calm myself as I walked to Master Yoda’s quarters. It was only the exhaustion of my body that made my feet drag, I tried to tell myself. Master Yoda asking to speak to me wasn’t concerning; he was an involved Grand Master. He spoke to many Jedi every day. There was nothing special about him asking to see me now. 

Unless there was something special, and it was my turn to receive consequences. 

I gulped as I reached the door, flexing my fingers in an effort to keep them from shaking. Knock, I instructed myself. It would be a quick check-in, nothing more. Nothing unusual, nothing ominous. 

“Enter!” said Master Yoda, in his gruff, froggy, sage-like voice. 

I jumped slightly. Of course Master Yoda could sense me. It was foolish of me to be surprised. 

Forging ahead, I stepped close enough for the sliding door to open.

Master Yoda stood in between the two cushioned, circular chairs, both of his hands resting atop his gimer stick. The slats of his windows were open enough to let lines of Coruscant’s sunlight through, shining patterns onto the floor. 

I only proceeded far enough to allow the door to slide close behind me with a quiet whoosh. I bowed. “You wanted to see me, Master?”

“Yes.” Master Yoda hobbled over to one of the chairs, seating himself with what looked like great difficulty. “Join me.”

My heart lifted a bit. Would Master Yoda really want me seated if he intended to punish me? I sat, my body straining with the effort to keep good posture. 

“Great pain I sense in you. Fear.” Master Yoda’s hands rested on his knees, palm up. “Uncertainty.”

I nodded slowly, certainly uncertain about where he was going with the conversation. “Yes.”

“Suffered much, you did.”

My face burned. “Master, I–”

“Know not do I how Kenobi found you.” Master Yoda tilted his head.  “Glad I am that he did, especially before it was too late.”

Too late. 

My thoughts clashed within my mind. Did he mean before death? Or before I inevitably gave in? 

“It was too late,” I murmured.

“Hmmm?” 

I couldn’t look up from my lap. Was there much point in my broken body being rescued if my mind was still steeped in the darkness of that dungeon? “I failed, Master. I withdrew from the Force. He was right all along about me.”

Master Yoda’s voice, instead of growing louder in a reprimand, grew softer with compassion. “Right about very little is Dooku.”

“I did exactly what he wanted.” I clenched my hands in my lap, watching my fingers whiten. “I gave into the darkness.”

Master Yoda’s chuckles reverberated through the space, causing me to look up in surprise. “If true that was, not here would you be. Cowardly is Dooku. Cares not does he about light or dark, but about power and victory. Gave him neither, did you.” 

I thought back to the last moment I saw Dooku, right after he felt me shielding from the Force. He’d said something about getting me food…because I submitted. “I only submitted so that we could escape,” I murmured. 

Master Yoda nodded. “Made it eleven days, you did. Submission?” He laughed again, and the sound made me feel strangely lighter. “Weak your body may have been. But strong your spirit was.”

He’s saying I’m a survivor, I realized. 

“Maybe I was strong in that dungeon,” I croaked. “But since then…Master, I’m so afraid.”

Master Yoda nodded soberly. “I can feel your fear. Scared of the shadows, you are. Hold something you haven’t faced, they don’t.” 

“But if Dooku ever takes me again–”

“Then shown, have you, that the dark side has no hold on you. Shown, have you, that you are a warrior whose strength lies with the Force.” A smile spread across Master Yoda’s face. “Saved you, the Force did, from those who wield it for their own ends. Welcome you, it would, but more it still has for you to do.”

He was right. The Force was with me through the pain of that dungeon. It brought Obi-Wan to me to save me. Even when I’d been alone and freezing to death on that deathtrap of a planet, even when I’d passed through the veil and felt nothing, the Force held me. And if Obi-Wan’s actions were so shameful, why would the Force have led him straight to me?

I took a deep breath and let it out. Perhaps I imagined it, but it seemed like my lungs weren’t quite so resistant. 

“Failed?” Master Yoda got up from his chair, leaning heavily on his gimer stick to walk close enough to rest his three-fingered hand on my knee. “Given you an unbreakable spirit, the Force has. Tried and failed to break it, Krell did. Break it, Dooku cannot.” 

Spirit. 

An uncertain smile grew on my own face. 

My body hadn’t yet recovered. It might never fully recover. But spirit? Well, the wise Master Yoda knew much more about spirit than I.

It was with much gratitude that I stood to bow. “Thank you, Master Yoda.”

Both of Master Yoda’s hands came to rest on his gimer stick as he smiled at me. “Rest. Sleep. Meditate. Time to heal, you have.”

As I left the Grand Master’s chambers, I deeply felt just how much time I truly had. A whole life yet ahead of me, thanks to the Force.

And thanks to Obi-Wan Kenobi.

-

The next day, I ran a full lap around the marble gardens without stopping. 

Feeling full of light, I descended the steps to the baths. I was about to turn around the corner of a corridor when I paused, suddenly filled with the conviction that I was walking in the wrong direction. 

“Y/N!”

I turned around just in time to get tackled so enthusiastically, I nearly fell over. I should’ve panicked, especially because I couldn’t move my arms in this sudden embrace, but I couldn’t feel anything but simultaneous shock and relief as my padawan held me fiercely.

“Ghon,” I whispered, freeing my arms enough to hug him back. 

“You’re alright!” Hearing those words in my padawan’s sweet voice somehow made the sentiment more believable. 

“I’m alright,” I repeated, pressing my cheek to the top of his head. “I’m alright.” My vision blurred because standing in the fiercest hug I’d ever received, my gratitude overwhelmed me. I stood in the Jedi Temple, reunited with my padawan. Both of us were safe. How much did two laps around the garden truly matter?

I lifted my eyes to the ceiling, blinking away the tears before they could fall on Ghon’s head. Deep within me swirled feelings of joy, warmth and light. 

Light. 

My head jerked over to see Obi-Wan at the end of the hallway, watching. 

A strange thrill rocked through my stomach at the sight of him. He looked far more composed than he had after the Jedi council meeting, almost…regal. 

…had I been so full of my own light that I hadn’t sensed his coming nearer? 

Then I remembered the padawan clinging to me and how that might be perceived in this building. For a moment, I panicked, ready to pull away from Ghon, but then I stopped. Ghon was just a boy. A child. He deserved to have someone hug him. 

And, oh, how desperately I wanted to be that someone. 

That was when I noticed the luster of Obi-Wan’s light through the Force. Standing all the way at the end of the hall, he radiated more gratification than Ghon did. 

Ghon pulled out of the embrace, looking back at Obi-Wan. “You were right! She’s okay!” He turned back to me, talking excitedly. “Master Windu said that you wouldn’t be coming back, and Master Ima-Gun Di said that he was going to be my new master, but then Master Kenobi came to get me, and he said that you were back!”

What?

I looked at Obi-Wan. He went to retrieve Ghon? That’s where he’d been this whole time? Had he told Ghon that he was the one who rescued me? Clearly he hadn’t told Ghon that he wasn’t a master anymore, if Ghon was still using the title. Had the council sent Obi-Wan to Ryloth or had he gone of his own volition again? 

“He told me to trust the Force,” Ghon was saying, “right before you left, remember? He said ‘trust the Force’ and you would be okay. Well, I did, and you are!” Ghon flung his arms around me again, and I caught him, holding him just as tightly. But I couldn’t tear my eyes from Obi-Wan, who still stood too far away for me to speak to him. A public corridor in the middle of the Temple was perhaps the worst place for us to talk anyways, even if hardly anyone was around. 

But still, the words bubbled up from deep within me, full of meaning and unsquashable.

Thank you.

And to my shock, a reply came immediately, accompanied by an unmistakable warm glow. 

You’re welcome.

Obi-Wan recoiled at the same time as I did, staring at me with the same wide eyes I knew I regarded him with. 

What…just…happened?

Obi-Wan gave me a quick nod and walked away in a suspiciously quick fashion that could almost be categorized as a scurry. And if I hadn’t had an eleven-year-old boy clinging to me with all his might, I would’ve run after him.

-

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@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

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[samgirl98]

Forgotten Demon Twin 5/?

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“Are you going to tell mom and dad?” Danny asked, effectively killing the silence in the car.

“I should,” Jazz said while tightening her hold on the steering wheel. She sighed, “but I’m not.”

Some of the tension melted from Danny’s body.

“You are going to tell me everything, though, right? Or at least the cliff notes version? Just so I can have some peace of mind.”

“Smooth, Jazz.”

“I’m serious, Danny. You told these people your secret identity. Before telling mom and dad!”

“I didn’t mean to! Skulker attacked, and I had to have access to my full powers to protect them!”

“You were reckless. Why didn’t you wake me up before leaving the house?”

Jazz’s voice was starting to rise higher.

“You could’ve been kidnapped!”

Danny snorted.

“I’m serious, Danny.”

“I’m fine, Jazz. I can take care of myself.”

Silence reigned in the car again. They made it back to Fenton’s Work, but neither sibling made any moves to get out.

“What I’m about to tell you can kill you, Jazz, so this is your only chance to back down.”

Jazz said nothing and folded her hands over her lap. Danny sighed.

“I was born high in the Himalayan Mountains in a hidden city called Nanda Parbat. I wasn’t born normally. I was made in an artificial womb; I wasn’t supposed to exist. My mother is the daughter of the leader of a cult called the League of Assassins.”

Jazz took an audible deep breath but kept quiet.

“My brother was supposed to be the only one born. The perfect heir to the Demon’s Head, Ibn Al Xu’ffasch. The Son of the Bat. I was named the Spare,” Danny said bitterly, “I could never measure up to my perfect older brother. I cried after I killed. I wasn’t good at fighting; I was too soft, too weak.”

“Damian was perfect. Why would they need the runt of the litter? I was exiled at seven. My grandfather is, was over 500 years old. We think. He lost track of his actual age. He used something called the Lazarus Pits; now I know it is ectoplasm. He bathed in them to keep himself alive.

“You’re using the past tense.”

Danny nodded, “Damian told me he’s dead.”

Danny took a deep breath and continued.

“Since I was a waste of space, he sent me away to see how scientists interact with the Lazarus Waters outside the League. He ordered me to kill the first three people I ended up with. I don’t know why he didn’t with you guys, but I’m glad.”

“You, mom, dad, are the only true family I’ve ever known. I sent ‘reports’ that were the most basic of basic. They can be found online. Eventually, after being here for three years, they stopped writing back. I was so relieved that they seemed to have forgotten me. I understand if you think I’m a monster. I’m a killer, Jazz.”

Jazz hugged Danny.

“You’re not a monster, Danny, and you’re not a waste of space. You’re my baby brother, and I would kill for you,” she declared, meaning it.

She noticed how Danny talked about himself compared to Damian. He believed himself lesser. She didn’t believe it. Her little brother had taken up the mantle of protector of Amity and had become the Ghost King after protecting their small city from the threat of Pariah Dark. He was a hero; he deserved to be treated as such.

“Thanks, Jazz,” he hugged his sister back, enjoying the warmth.

He let go after a while.

“There’s more. There’s a reason Damian is known as the Son of the Bat. His, our birth father, Bruce Wayne, is Batman.”

____

Damian didn’t sleep that night. He wanted it to be morning as quickly as possible so his father would call the Fentons.

How did he go from forgetting his brother to being impatient to see him? It didn’t help that he felt…something when he saw how easily Danyal followed Jasmine.

(How would it have been if he had been close to his brother? Would Danyal have looked at Damian the same way he looked at Jasmine?)

He wasn’t jealous. He wasn’t!

Damian walked into the sitting room. Father was already there, drinking a cup of coffee. He sat before his father and started chewing on some fruit.

They had gotten rooms in a themed hotel. Three guesses as to what the theme was. The whole damned city seemed obsessed with ghosts.

There was a picture of Phantom smiling into the camera.

Damian had done some research instead of sleeping. Apparently, Phantom was the main hero of Amity, though there was another heroine called the Red Huntress. There were mixed reviews of his brother. The younger generation viewed him as a hero (as they should.), while the older generation saw him as a menace.

There had been an article when Phantom had done a string of burglaries. Because of his red eyes, Damian had concluded his brother had most likely been mind-controlled. It happened. Even Superman has been mind-controlled.

“So, father, when will we be calling the Fentons.”

His father sighed and put down his coffee.

“Soon, Damian, but we must consider how we will approach this. Danny has already expressed his wishes. He doesn’t want to come with us.”

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I’ve read into the Fentons; they’re menaces. The father has news segments for when he’s on the road! The mother has gone on record stating that all ghosts should be studied and are evil. Their papers are heavily prejudiced, with no scientific evidence to back it up. It’s clear Danyal is in danger here.”

“Damian, he’s happy here. He has people who love him.”

Damian crossed his arms, “He’s being a hero without any adult backup. He’s here alone facing Justice League-level threats.”

Bruce sighed. Damian brought up good points, but Bruce knew his son wasn’t thinking about Danny. He was thinking about assuaging his guilt. A part of Bruce wanted to do the same thing.

He could take care of Danny; he had the money. He had years of experience in the vigilante/hero business and could get other heroes to mentor his youngest son (God, another son he had failed.), but he had to consider Danny’s needs.

Bruce took a deep breath, “I’ll get your siblings. It’s time to call the Fenton.”

____

Danny woke up with a twisted stomach. It was so bad he couldn’t even eat his cereal. But he couldn’t leave either. He wanted to be there when Bruce called. Jazz sat in front of him and gave him weak smiles. Her bags were almost as bad as Danny’s.

Both Fenton siblings jumped when the phone rang.

Neither elder Fenton noticed their children’s mood.

“Fenton household,” Maddie answered.

“Hello,” Bruce’s smooth voice came through the phone. Danny thanked his advanced hearing, “May I speak to either Madeline or Jack Fenton, please?”

“Maddie Fenton speaking,” his mom said, “to whom am I speaking?”

“My name is Bruce Wayne,” his mom cut Bruce off.

“Bruce Wayne, as in Wayne from Wayne Enterprises,” his mother asked excitedly. Jack Fenton got up and put his ear close to the phone. Danny’s stomach got heavier.

“Did you finally take a look at our inventions and want to have a meeting to sponsor us?”

Considering Danny had destroyed any message his parents had sent to Wayne Enterprises for the express purpose they would never meet, the answer was no.

“No,” Bruce said, “Well, it’s hard for me to say, but I recently learned from my youngest that he has a twin. I have another son.”

Maddie and Jack looked at each other, confused.

“Yes, what does that have to do with us?”

“I have reason to believe that Daniel Fenton is my biological son, and I wish to take a DNA test.”

Next up, the Fentons officially meet Bruce and Damian Wayne