#he takes things very personally but he's not like.... clever enough to not be volatile i think

[prettyboykatsuki]

do we think reo is a bit.. condescending about the whole dynamic 🙂 rich boy buying his way to a girl

SDKJFHKJD I DONT THINK SO? i think if it was in a yandere or toxic context he'd still be very amiable bc he knows how important it is to be like...perceived as nice and benevolent. even at his most manipulative i think he is very sympathetic towards you.

reo is very moody in a sense so even when you're doing something he doesnt like i dont think he condscends u as much as he simply freaks out about it if u will

this is not particularly at u anon but a few times ive gotten this and im kind of surprised by fandom impression of reo but that guy is like. exceptionally nice. not only is he well off he's also very popular at school and general well liked so i do not think he is (canonly) that douchey? maybe its something about him in the anime

[starburstgalexies]

the five heizou ship dynamics

the ex-wife - sango: this was no break-up, this was an implosion. the tragedy of this pair is that these are soulmates through and through, yet the fallout was inevitable. heizou was always going to delve deeper into the system, and sango was always going to say acab (is she wrong tho). still, there is no one who understand each other's genius like one another, and even apart, they are able to track each other to meet in the middle of the road. except, at that middle, heizou will taunt sango, and sango will kick heizou's ass. they will always be in love, but the divorce will always come first.

the partner - aether: after sango, heizou was starting to lose hope that anyone could keep up with him during an investigation until he met aether. he was already intrigued to meet the traveler who pulled gods and mortals alike to his side, and he was not disappointed when he met him. aether isn't genius to the point he can make deductions at heizou's level, but he's clever and observant enough to keep up. between his flirty banter and exceptional combat skills, aether is the perfect partner. it's not just sexy and superficial, though, before he knows it, heizou realizes that he can trust aether to clue together how he actually thinks or feels. sometimes they talk, sometimes knowing they got each other's back is enough. he is the first person heizou's met that he can be around 24/7 with no mental toll. they are inventing the holmes and watson dynamic in the islands of inazuma, but in their own way.

the best friend - kazuha: there is an odd serenity heizou finds in kazuha. sure, kazuha's intricate senses are a precious tool during an investigation, but that's not enough to entice him to actually work with someone. kazuha understands the unending assault of information, but in a different way: where heizou's mind doesn't stop observing and deducing, it's kazuha's physical senses that he learned to mute, ignore, or meditate out of. somehow, the difference is refreshing, actually. it keeps him grounded, but not slowed, he never has to slow down for kazuha's sake. the fresh, semi-detached perspective kazuha can provide on anything is definitely a plus as well.

the auxiliary - itto: itto is all but heizou's sub, though he is very ignorant to the fact. itto is air-headed and excitable, and he is the biggest proof that being low on intelligence isn't always a dealbreaker for heizou. heizou knows exactly which strings to pull on itto for him to serve what he needs him to do, but itto is volatile enough to snap out of those strings and keep things interesting. regardless, itto is fun and reliable, not to mention has a good heart, and sometimes that's all it takes for a genius detective to relax and forget the complexities of life for the sake of vibing with a himbo. whether he is going to lean into itto's embrace for a nap or have him kneeling before is feet is entirely up to heizou's mood at the time.

the rival - gorou: they can't stand each other. gorou is a pain in heizou's ass any time the general catches the sight of him, suspicious and overprotective for nothing. heizou rings alarm bells in gorou's head at the mere mention, certainly he is up to something, with no regard to him or his men. besides, he is clearly insane with the way he conducts experiments on little to nothing! they can't trust each other. so they have to keep an eye on each other. very closely. pinning him down in that cave means he can't get away. no, that's not enough - how do you know he won't distract you and slip off? so you have to keep your attention on him at all times. and your hands, of course. and maybe your lips, to be safe. but this is no love! so you'll bite, literally. sure, that proves that you hate each other. absolutely.

[styxisms]

General:

Muse Name: Hlynur ThisbeAge: 16 Race: viera / garlean Class/Job: Kinda a mix of ninja and reaper (Despite being a ninja/rogue in-game… He doesn't have any skills of a ninja per se. He made a contract with a voidsent and has abilities more aligned with reapers despite fighting more like a rogue.)Faceclaim: tba

Personality:

Positive Traits: Resourceful, clever, quick-witted, resilient, motivated Negative traits: Volatile, quick to anger, unstable, pessimistic, cynical, mean, immature. Skills: killing, assassination, lockpicking, stealth. Likes: food Dislikes: his father, heat, extreme cold, Summary: Hlynur is quiet. He rarely verbalizes things. In terms of his communication skills, they are incredibly lacking. Hlynur has never had friends or allies and usually operates alone. Since the death of his mother, he has more or less been in only hostile situations. Because of this, he never fully relaxes and is always ready for things to go wrong. He is incredibly cynical and doesn't understand people. He is secretive (due to being a spy/assassin). Despite all of this, he is incredibly easy to rile up. He is immature and unstable.

History:

Relationship: Single and disinterested Family: Agnes (mother), Tullius Thisbe (father), multiple half-siblings his father has with his wife, Circe (voidsent he is in a contract with) Biography: Hlynur is a half viera / half garlean. His father, a Garlean military official, had brought his mother back to his home in the capitol. There, she eventually had him. Once she did have him, his father threw her out with the baby. Life was harsh for them from that point on. And while his mother did her best, she eventually passed away when he was still young. Despite his young age, Hlynur saw no future for himself. He knew who his father was. He hated him for abandoning them and hurting his mother.

At some point, he made contact with a voidsent that formerly had a pact with a reaper assassin. Being only a child, he did not understand the full gravity of the situation. She reached out to him. There, the two of them made a deal. Should Hlynur kill his father, she would have permission to take over his body and live how she wished on the source. If he died before that, she would devour his aether entirely as his body would be useless. In return, she would help him in his goals. They made a contract and Hlynur had access to her abilities. He and her, called Circe, acted quickly. Despite being only around 10, Hlynur employed her power and attempted to assassinate his father at his home. He failed to do so, leading to him being captured.

His father saw potential in him, however. From that point on, he kept Hlynur on a chain. He allowed him freedom so long as he did his bidding. He had Hlynur act as an assassin for him. He had the boy kill countless people for him, all in the hopes of increasing his career prospects and social status. All this time, Hlynur was not allowed close enough to truly kill his father. He only spoke through go-betweens. He truly convinced himself, however, that eventually he would earn his trust and be able to finally kill him. Even though doing so would allow his body to be given to a voidsent. His contract with Circe also pushes him forward and acts more as a chain for him. As he knows that he will probably be killed by her if he doesn't fulfill his end of the bargain.

Hlynur is sent to Eorzea following the death of Gaius. His father has ambition and wants to build up a reputation as "the one that took down the Warrior of Light", but he doesn't want Hlynur to kill them. He wants him to learn everything he can about them and gain their trust. So that way HE can find a way to capture them and present them to the Emperor himself.

That being said, Hlynur DOES have the echo. It is the ONLY reason he knew who his father was. He doesn't entirely know what it is or how it works. But he does have it. It is a very weak variant though and barely ever seems to activate. His father, however, has his suspicions after seeing his reports and hearing about what Gaius was interested in.

Verses

tba

Other fandoms he can work in: n/a.

[eldritch-spouse]

How would Breg react to another monster (likely a stranger) calling him out if they witnessed him following his obssesion around?

[Oof...]

Not well.

Here's the thing- Breg is volatile. One moment he's a soft-spoken gentle giant, the next he's already puffed up like a frightened cat. His obsession doesn't have to deal with this a lot if they're clever enough to catch onto Breg's instability early on. However, if the monster who approaches the breeder about his romantic one-sided walk in the park wishes to live, they have to tread extremely carefully.

I wholeheartedly believe that, if Breg was approached by a concerned monster who took the time to ask him about his actions and not just berate him from the get-go, the breeder would most likely get flustered, admit to the creepy nature of his acts and try to squirm out of the situation as soon as possible. The problem here is that this gentle approach won't get anything through Breg's thick egg skull, he may be too embarrassed to continue following his human around for the day, but he's guaranteed to be back on his bullshit tomorrow. If Breg ever recognizes the monster that talked to him in public, he just weasels out of the scene immediately like a coward.

Regardless, the more realistic scenario is that a very indignant, foolishly brave monster comes around and starts instantly ripping into Breg for being the gross little pervert he is. Breg is nothing if not reactive, if he's approached in a hostile manner, he will respond with tenfold that intensity. Denial comes first. Denial after denial- He's not stalking them, he's just not ready to talk to his human yet! He's not a stalker, shut up already, you don't know what you're talking about...

It takes very little for him to get seriously livid. Comments such as "they could never love a creep like you" and "you're just a no-good pervert to them" will absolutely trigger a physical response with varying degrees of severity. Breg can and will maim a person for simply implying that you dislike him, as irrational and petty as it sounds. The breeder has a lot of bottled up frustration from his past, anyone who gets him violent will have to deal with years of built-up anger.

Any sort of threat about alerting the local authorities of his presence will be met with immediate murderous intent. Or severe incapacitation, to a point where a retelling of any witnessed harassment/stalking would be physically impossible. Being that Breg isn't fully integrated into society and thefore lacks legal documents, he could go vastly unnoticed- But there's a risk said report will reach more than just the local police forces. It might reach the facility. And in that case, both you and him would be in big trouble.

[a-n-conrad]

Pet (Karl Heisenberg x Reader)

[Summary: After being gifted to Heisenberg, you manage to survive his games. From there you start to develop an interesting relationship. And as you start to play the role of his pet, things get a bit interesting. (She/Her pronouns)

Warnings: SMUT, unhealthy relationship dynamics, Author belongs in horny jail, Reader has “female” anatomy, themes of pet play, swearing, biting (Blood), reader is losing her sanity a bit, spanking, oral (both receiving), hair pulling, unprotected penetrative (vaginal) sex

Request: Literally, not a single person asked for this. You only have me to blame.]

You felt a bit foolish, being in the situation you were in. You had been one of the people gifted to the “Lords” of the village to do with as they pleased by Mother Miranda. You had to admit, when you were frightened, even more so when you were handed over to the infamous “mad wolf-man”. He had quite the reputation. But unlike the others, you had proven yourself useful enough for him to keep you around, instead of experimenting on you or feeding you to his lycans.

You survived at first by staying out of his way. It was like a game to him. Heisenberg liked games, and you adapted to them rather quickly. At first, the game was to be the perfect assistant. You’d clean, cook, do minor repairs, and stay out of his way as needed. You were there when he needed you to do something, you’d do it perfectly, and then you’d be out of his sight. And he’d try to catch you slipping up, making you nervous with whispered promises of the punishments that awaited you if you did.

It was an odd dance, having to learn the ins and outs of Heisenberg’s moods. Learning how to tell when he was in a bad mood, and when he was in the mood to joke. And as time went on, it seemed that there were more days when he was in the mood to sit and banter with you. And you started to bond a bit, less as captor and captive, and more as something close to friends, though you wouldn’t necessarily call it friendship.

Eventually, he started to grow a bit fond of you, occasionally joking with you that he had started to see you as a pet. He’d grin a bit as he called you pet names, names that were somewhere between affectionate and demeaning. He’d pat your head, like he was praising a dog, when you did something right. He had even joked about making you a collar to show the rest of the Lords that you were his pet.

You knew you probably should’ve hated it. You should’ve gagged at the idea of a collar, and you should’ve hated his pet names. But you didn’t. You found yourself grinning when he called you a “good girl”. You leaned into his touch when he’d pat your head. You could feel yourself losing your sanity. You had to be insane to feel this way, but as you got to know Heisenberg, you found yourself feeling as though it was worth it.

Karl Heisenberg was an interesting man, and one you had to admit that you were fascinated by. He had a biting form of humor that had become much funnier as you realized you weren’t in the danger that you thought you were, and you could hear the intelligence behind it. His jokes were always at least a little clever, as long as he could keep his head. He was complex, with motivations and actions that didn’t always match. And his emotions were so complicated that you were pretty sure he hadn’t even started sorting through them, choosing to instead deny their existence.

He was a mess of a man. He got mad enough to throw metal scraps of rusted metal around the room when an experiment went wrong. He’d rant for hours about the issues he had with his “family”, having to hold himself back from breaking things when he got to Alcina. He felt as trapped as you did. He thought of letting his appearance go as an act of rebellion. Because of that, he’d go a full week without washing his clothes, letting the blood and oil stain the fabric until it might as well be dye. And he didn’t sleep for days sometimes, choosing instead to stay up all night in his workshop, only leaving when he starts to border on collapsing.

But between his anger issues and dysfunction, you saw something in him that you weren’t sure that even he saw. You saw it in the sparkle in his eyes when he figured out an issue that had been bothering him. You saw it in his sleepy groans when he woke up in the middle of the day after staying up all night before. You saw it in his smirks and smiles as he thought of something clever to say.

He was charming in his own way. Not in the way you thought of charming. He wasn’t elegant like Alcina, but he was warm. He was like a fire. Volatile. Deadly. Beautiful. And warm. And perhaps you were a bit of a pyromaniac, as you found yourself staring into a fire pit, longing to see the damage it could do if you let it free. You wanted to see what Heisenberg could do to you. You wanted to let him.

- - - - -

You were a bit suspicious that you weren’t hiding your feelings very well. Heisenberg was clever, and he was incredibly observant. He needed to be. His “family” didn’t exactly get along with him very well, and knowing what you knew about his “siblings”, they would’ve taken any opportunity possible to kill him and take his place as a favored lord. So he was constantly on his toes. And that meant that you were sure that he had noticed you were acting a bit off recently.

And you were sure that he had figured out exactly what was causing you to act that way, by the way that he teased. There was a glint in his eyes when you started to get flustered that was new to you. The way he smirked at you as he praised you, his hand resting casually on your arm for a few more seconds than before. He had even gone through with his collar joke, though he hadn’t given it to you to wear.

He’d wink at you as he held it in front of you, though. It was a silver chain that was about an inch thick, made into an easily adjusted necklace by the extra bit of chain that hung through the loop. The extra bit of chain that also worked as a built-in leash. He’d hold the collar in front of you, dangling it casually from one of his fingers when you started to get sarcastic with him, making comments about how his “pet” needed to be put in her place. And you’d try your best not to show how much you truly wanted that.

It had become another one of Heisenberg’s games. You could tell that he knew. And he knew that you knew that. So the game became how long you could go without breaking.

“So, kitten,” you jumped a bit as Heisenberg appeared behind you. You were making dinner, and had thought that Heisenberg was still working in his shop. He usually didn’t leave for dinner until you came to get him if he ate dinner with you at all, “You seem a bit spaced out. Care to tell me what you’ve got on your mind?”

You could say what you really wanted to. You could say that you wanted him to rail you until you couldn’t walk. But that would end the game. And Heisenberg only liked to end games if he could win them in a satisfying way.

“Nothing you need to worry about, sir,” You muttered, finishing the food you were cooking and pulling it off of the stove, “Just lost in thought.”

He hummed a bit, noticing how you refused to make eye contact. That wasn’t new, but you weren’t usually so awkward about it, “Come on, pet. I’d like to know if you’re planning your escape or something,” A bit of metal began to dangle in front of your face and you knew exactly what it was, “Honestly, (y/n), I really might have to put this collar on you if you’re going to be keeping secrets.”

“It sounds like you’re just looking for an excuse to put a collar on me, Karl,” You had gotten a bit bold, knowing that the line of how much you could get away with was quite a bit further back, “You can just admit that you’re into that.”

He chuckled a bit, resting the arm that he was holding the collar with on your shoulder and leaning into you just a little bit. You could feel his body heat radiating off of him. You always wondered how he was always so warm, living in this factory, surrounded by the cold metal walls, “I don’t know, pet, you haven’t been protesting quite as much. It seems like you may be coming around to the idea. Maybe you’re projecting a bit.”

He had set his chin on your shoulder by the end of his statement, his breath brushing against the shell of your ear. It had sent a shiver down your spine, and you could tell he felt it by the satisfied hum that passed his lips.

“You’re not arguing with me, kitten,” he purred as you failed to muster up a rebuttal, “Is that what you want? You want me to put the collar on you? Do I need to put my needy little pet in place?”

Fuck. You shifted a little, trying not to make the throbbing between your legs obviously. You were trying so hard to think of a comeback, but the teasing had been going on for so long that you were reaching your breaking point. You wanted him to fuck you so badly that it made you look stupid.

He grabbed your shoulder and turned you around to face him. It was so much harder to keep a poker face when you were looking into his eyes, when you could see that glint in them. The kind of glint that made you think he wanted to eat you alive. And you wanted him to.

“If you ask like a good girl, maybe I’ll give you what you want,” his voice came out so much smoother than usual. It intimidated you a bit, knowing that he was holding himself together so well. You knew that there was no way your voice was going to come out nearly as smooth.

“I’m not going to beg, Karl,” Your voice was shaking, but you tried to hold your cool. He always had fun when you talked back a little, and you were hoping that translated to this situation as well. And the wolf-like grin that grew on his face told you that you were right.

“We’ll see about that, kitten.”

- - - - -

You weren’t quite sure when the collar had appeared around your neck. Somewhere between the kitchen and Karl’s bedroom, though, it had snaked its way around your neck, even though his hands never seemed to leave your hips. You were a bit too occupied trying to keep up with his ravenous kisses.

His lips were latched onto your neck as he pushed you through the door to his room. You landed on his bed soon after with a slight bounce. You had been in his room before to clean, but the context was different now. The actual room itself was entirely irrelevant, as Karl climbed on top of you, throwing his hat and glasses to the side, not caring where they landed. All you could look at were his eyes, glowing bright yellow as he looked down at you.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten how much of a fucking brat you’re being,” he growled, looking down at you, “You’ve earned yourself quite the punishment.”

He sunk his teeth into your shoulder, biting just below the hickey that was already forming on your neck. He growled a bit as you squeaked in surprise, biting down a bit harder. You both felt when he broke the skin, and something told you that the mark he was leaving was entirely on purpose. He didn’t want anyone to doubt who you belonged to. His fingers dug into your skin, one hand holding your wrist above your head and the other digging into your side just above your hip. You had a feeling you would be covered in marks and bruises in the morning, and you were alright with that.

He pulled your clothes off quickly, throwing them to the side of the room. He wasn’t wasting any time, so you were pretty sure he had ripped through a seam or two on your dress. And he didn’t hesitate to rip your underwear completely in half.

He threw you around so much easier than you had expected. You knew that he was strong, you had just expected it to take at least a little bit of effort. You supposed that you shouldn’t have underestimated his inhuman strength, because in seconds he had flipped you, moving you so that you were on your hands and knees in front of him. You were entirely vulnerable in front of him, entirely bare as he remained fully clothed behind you.

It was weirdly hot, being at his mercy. He wasn’t a good person, and you knew that. In fact, there was still a feeling in your chest reminding you that he could kill you whenever he wanted. But that didn’t matter at that moment. The fear just made it better in some sick way. You knew you were insane, you had to be, but if insanity felt this good, you were going to accept it.

“Now, kitten, be good and stay quiet through your punishment, and maybe you’ll get a reward,” he stated, sliding his hands from the place they were resting on your waist to rest on your ass instead, “Do I make myself clear?”

You nodded in response, not trusting your voice as his hands slid further down, reaching the back of your thighs, one of his thumbs dangerously close to your pussy. His hands were callused, so as they slid across your skin, it created an interesting sensation. Your eyes almost rolled back into your head as his thumb brushed lightly against your clit, and you heard him chuckle a bit at your reaction. However, before you could enjoy yourself too much, he pulled his thumb away, sliding his hands back up to your ass.

There was a pause for a few moments, and you felt his eyes scanning your body. They always seemed to feel so much more intense than anyone else’s gaze ever could. Before you could get self-conscious, though, one of his hands raised from its place, only to come back down hard. The smacking sound echoed through the entire room, and you couldn’t hold back your yelp.

“Now, now, pet, I thought I said to keep quiet. I’ll let this slide once because you’re cute, but any more, and I’ll have to add some more punishment,” he cooed, grabbing the leash of the collar around your neck and pulling it towards him. He leaned forward until he could actually look at your face, seeing the tears prick at the corners of your eyes already, “I’d hate to break my toy right away, so try to behave.”

He didn’t give you a chance to respond before shoving your head down into the bed and resuming your punishment. You bit your lip, trying your best not to actually break the skin, as you did your best to stay quiet. You were a bit surprised by how much you enjoyed it. After the first few, the pain started to melt away, hidden behind a numb tingling that sent electricity shooting through your whole body. And it was pretty obvious to Heisenberg as well, when slick started to drip down the inside of your thighs.

You lost count before he stopped, but it couldn’t have been more than fifteen. He let out a satisfied hum as he looked at the handprints that were already starting to form, rubbing his hands gently over the forming bruises. You almost started purring as his hands continued to slide across your body.

“You’ve been such a good girl, kitten,” he praises as he moves your body, eventually making you stand in front of him as he sat on the edge of the bed, “Do you want your reward now?”

You nod, far too gone to even try to not look like a desperate fool. He looked proud of himself, seeing you so needy and bare in front of him. It was like a work of art. You had never seen so much admiration and need in his eyes. It wasn’t love. But it was need, and want, and possession.

“Ask nicely.”

You were too desperate to argue. You needed him more than you could remember needing anything, “Please, sir.”

You swore you saw the bulge in his pants twitch at the word “sir” and the glint in his eyes confirmed your suspicions. The grin he gave you showed his teeth, highlighting his fangs like a predatory animal about to lunge.

“Good girl,” He drew it out, shifting his body so that his legs were spread as far as they could be comfortably, before commanding, “Kneel.”

You do as you’re told almost by instinct. It was almost as though your body moved without your brain giving it permission. You had been entirely possessed by your lust. And it only got worse as his hands moved to unzip his pants, only removing enough of his clothing to free his cock.

“You want this, don’t you?” He looked almost amused as your eyes locked onto his cock. You were practically drooling over it. He almost laughed as you nodded, “Enjoy your treat, pet.”

He leaned back a bit, his weight being put on one of his hands, positioned a bit behind him on the bed. He looked so casual as you moved your hands to timidly take the place of his own, which had previously been holding his cock in place. He had to admit you looked adorable, needy and desperate as you kneeled between his legs. You were practically drooling for him.

You started out a bit slow, which surprised him a little. The little kitten licks and kisses felt good enough for him to close his eyes to savor it. However, from the smirk that had formed on your face by the time that he opened his eyes, he realized that you were planning on teasing. He wasn’t about to let that slide.

The hand that he had rested on the top of your head tightened its grip on your hair. “Watch it, kitten. Don’t be a tease,” He growled, pushing your head down a bit until about half of his cock was in your mouth.

With that, your willpower to hold back faded, and you took the rest of him into your mouth. The tip hit the back of your throat just a bit, making you hold back a gag. And as you looked up at him through your lashes and found him smirking down at you, you could tell that he saw it. You reveled in the soft groans that slipped past his lips when you finally got to work, swirling your tongue around as you bobbed your head. You moaned as he pulled your hair, the vibrations causing him to curse and pull your hair even more, “Fuck, kitten, you’re pretty good at that.”

You continued like that for a few more minutes, his grip on your hair getting tighter and tighter. The salty, bitter taste of precum started to hit the back of your throat, making it a bit harder not to gag. But the sounds that slipped from his mouth fueled you even more. You felt proud, hearing how much he was enjoying himself. You almost felt a bit disappointed as he pulled you off of him by your hair, causing you to whine loudly.

“Aw, don’t worry, kitten,” He says, patting your head, “We aren’t done yet. Why don’t you lay down and let me take care of you? You’ve been such a good girl.”

You do as you're told, without saying anything. As you had gotten into the mode you were in, playing the role of Heisenberg’s pet, talking seemed unnatural. It felt right to listen to his commands, obeying him like a dog. So you laid on your back, spread out and completely bare. And you couldn’t hold back the yelp as he grabbed your hips and yanked you roughly to the edge of the bed, so that as he kneeled in front of you, his face was entirely level with your pussy.

You saw that glint in his eyes again as his warm breath hit your already dripping core. You were getting reckless, trying to inch your way closer to speed up the process, only for his grip to tighten on your waist, holding you in place. He had an iron grip on you, and you were thankful for that as he licked a broad stripe up across your pussy before diving in, focusing almost all of his attention on your clit.

You were practically screaming his name as swirled his tongue around your clit with dexterity you didn’t think was even possible to possess. His hands were definitely leaving fingerprint-shaped bruises on your hips, but at least they were holding you in place as you involuntarily started to buck your hips and arch your back. You could feel the knot tightening in your abdomen, your hands ripping the sheets so hard you were a bit worried that you were going to tear them. He slid a finger into you, hitting at just the right angle to make you squeal. You honestly couldn’t think of a time that someone had made you come undone quite so fast, but you certainly weren’t complaining as the tangled nerves in the pit of your stomach finally seemed to snap.

Karl had to admire you as you came, your head thrown back and your legs shaking. Your skin was practically glimmering from the thin layer of sweat that was already clinging to it. He couldn’t help the pride that flooded into his chest as you started to come down from your high looking absolutely destroyed. He wasn’t done yet, but he was glad to see he had it in him to affect you this much.

He slowly stepped back, his eyes never leaving you as you laid on the bed, trying to catch your breath. He made sure to lock eyes with you as he slowly stripped the rest of his clothes off, layer by layer. By the time you recovered, he was finally taking off his necklaces, dropping them onto the pile he had made with the rest of his clothing. Despite his strength, he wasn’t exactly ripped. His arms were fairly muscular and defined, but he had a bit of squish around his stomach. His body was coated in a layer of body hair, the bits of silver shining in the dim light of the room you were in.

He was attractive in the rugged way that made it make sense that he smelled like metal and cigar smoke as he crawled on top of you, keeping pace as you inch yourself further up the bed. It was only once you had settled into place that he leaned down, kissing you feverishly. It escalated with every second, the hand that he wasn’t using to support his body weight roamed your body. It wasn’t long until his hand was moving your legs, angling your hips to make it easier for him to line himself up with your entrance.

He pulled away from the kiss just long enough to slowly push himself into you, watching your reaction as you slowly adjusted to his width and length. It didn’t take you long to adjust, though, and he could tell when you did. He started off slow. It surprised you how gentle he was being, but you didn’t mind at first. Before long, though, you were craving more. You wanted him to use your body.

“Please,” You whined, “Harder.”

He grinned a bit at your begging, recalling your declaration that you wouldn’t beg. He honestly couldn’t tell what part he enjoyed more, the win he had earned or seeing you beneath him, begging for him. Either way, he wasn’t going to deny you what you wanted.

So he leaned back, shifting his weight to his knees so that he could grab your ankles. He pinned your legs to your chest. As he slammed into you, much harder than before, you could tell just how much the angle had changed. Your eyes nearly rolled back into your head as he continued to thrust into you. Your moans got louder, and he started to groan a bit too, cursing under his breath as his thrusts got a bit uneven.

“Fuck, kitten,” he breathed into your ear as he leaned down, your legs on his shoulders. You could feel him twitching inside of you, getting close to his own ending, “You’re such a good girl.”

You couldn’t help yourself as your hands moved to scratch down his back, digging your nails in as deeply as you could. He responded by biting into the same place he had earlier, a bit of blood from before sticking to the corners of his mouth. With a few more rough thrusts, his teeth sinking a little bit deeper into your shoulder, he finished. And the two of you both started to relax.

After a few seconds of you both catching your breath, he pulled away, rolling to the side so that he could comfortably lay on his back next to you. It was an awkward few moments, both of you laying there in near silence, only for him to break it with, “We should probably get that bite cleaned up, huh? My bad, pet. I forget how fragile you are sometimes.”

And with that he got up, moving to gently take care of you. He cleaned up your bite mark, and helped you clean between your shaky legs with a damp washcloth. It was a whole new side of him as he helped clean you off, making sure that he hadn’t been hurt too badly. And after a few minutes, when you had been cleaned enough that you weren’t actively uncomfortable, he climbed back into bed and wordlessly pulled you into his chest.

(A/N: So... um. I'm sorry for this. This is my second smut ever and I needed to get a bit... self-indulgent so my brain would stfu.)

[whump-a-la-mode]

Rat Race | WhumpNano Part 10

Last time’s vote turned out for the positive (for Dr. Roberts, at least!) She’s getting some comfort, at long last, and some blankets, which she desperately needs.

There’s another, slightly less meta Choose Your Own Whump this time around! I hope you all enjoy! This is part 10-- That means we’re a third of the way through. I can hardly believe it.

Taglist:

@tinyplan3ts

CW//Medical setting, IVs, paranoia

    “What are we going to do with her?”

    The question caught Firecrest rather off guard. She had been expecting something important, of course. After all, she had just been dragged out of the building’s emergency room by Duple, who was so very insistent as to grab her by the coat and practically tug her away. 

    There was a certain urgency to his voice that was equally hard to ignore and hard to understand.

    “What do you mean, do with her?” The person in question was rather obvious, of course. The same Dr. Roberts who had just woken up in a hospital bed, so disoriented as to still be spitting nonsense syllables. “She’s barely just survived severe hypothermia.”

    “Exactly. She survived it. But Dr. Roberts’ isn’t going to be all cute and sleepy for long. She’ll recover soon enough, and then we need to decide what to do with her. 

    Did you really get so caught up in the chase that you never thought about what you’d do after the capture? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Firecrest, but there is now a dangerous, volatile, and incredibly clever villain in the very heart of our headquarters. So, yes. We need to find out what we’re going to do with her.”

    Firecrest was rather caught off guard by the sudden intensity in Duple’s tone. He had been somewhat sparse the last few days, but she had been far, far too busy to worry about something trivial like that. Had he really been so concerned about this?

    “We’re heroes. That means having morals.” She couldn’t keep the tiniest bit of malice from slipping into her own voice, something she blamed on fatigue. “I intend on having Allele take care of her until she is well enough to leave the medical wing.”

    “And then what? If you haven’t noticed, we have a single prison cell in this whole damn place, and it’s been so long since we used the thing, I’m pretty sure it’s now home to a family of possums. We are in no way, shape, or form equipped to take on a prisoner. Besides…”

    “Besides what?”

    “How much do we really know about her? Her name, and the fact that she presumably has a doctorate in something or other. That’s about it. Does she have powers?”

    “I’m- I’m not sure.”

    “Was she equals with Noirceur, or just her henchman?”

    “I don’t know that either.”

    “Exactly! For all we know, Noirceur could have been the henchman, and we’ve only just now captured the real mastermind. Yet, you’ve got her laying in a hospital bed, pretty much completely unguarded.”

    Duple sighed heavily.

    “Imperius is gone, Firecrest. Someone has to take the lead, sooner or later. Allele is a genius who couldn’t have a conversation to save her life, Argon spends half of their waking hours working on the underbelly of a car, and I’ve seen Aloe cry more than once after stepping on an ant. None of them are fit to lead. That’s why they haven’t brought the topic up-- they know they aren’t even candidates.

    That leaves us. I don’t want to fight you over leadership, but I do believe it is a decision we need to make carefully. Right now, though, we don’t have time for that. We can choose later. For now, this is something we need to decide on together.

    I ask again, what are we going to do with her?”

    Firecrest stood up just a little straighter. Leader. She could hardly conceive of herself taking on that role. After all, she had only ever had one role in The Lodge: Sidekick. Still, Duple was right. If not one of the two of them, who would take on that responsibility?

    “Well.” She sighed. “What are our options?”

    Duple gave a knowing nod as he once more opened his mouth to speak. However, his words never made it out. The conversation was interrupted by the door to the room, slamming open. A nurse pushed their way through.

    “Um, Firecrest?” Their tone was utterly panicked. “I think Allele could use your help.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━  

    Together, Dr. Roberts’ pounding heartbeat and chattering teeth made for a rather awful symphony.

    At the moment, she looked far more animal than human, at least in her posture. Using the meager strength she could muster, given her state, she had managed to get to all fours on the hospital bed. Backing up as far against the wall as she could get, she had begun to growl, terrified eyes darting around the white-tiled room.

    In her mind, she looked rather threatening. However, anyone looking upon her would not see a threat. Rather, they would only see a terrified, stick-thin woman, dressed loosely in a hospital gown with a hole cut in it. Said hole had once served as the access point for the tube in her chest, but she had torn that out the very instant she had realized that it was there.

    When she had awoken, the room had been empty aside from a single woman. She was familiar, maybe, but Dr. Roberts’ mind was far too cloudy to remember names or faces at the moment. As soon as the strange woman had seen her posture, however, she had called out for aid.

    Now, the room was absolutely flooded. Three people in white coats, the strange woman along with two new faces, as well as two other people. Other figures poked their heads in through the doorway, as though watching a show go down.

    If anyone got too close to Dr. Roberts, she would show them a show. A real bloody one!

    The more people that came, however, the more her will quivered beneath the weight of her fear. One white coat was one thing, but now there were more than enough people to easily hold her down, to do anything to her.

    That was why she had to growl, and bare her teeth, and do anything that made her look even the slightest bit more threatening. 

    This was enemy territory. They had already hurt her-- they had placed a tube in her chest. And that was while she was unconscious! Who knew what horrible things that had planned for her, now that she would be able to feel them? The longer she thought about it, the more her limbs quivered.

    Two more strangers rushed into the room. A fourth lab coat, and- The woman with the lab coat looked terribly familiar. Dr. Roberts tried to remember who she was, but she had had enough trouble trying to remember her own name when she’d woken up.

    For a split second, the world around her tilted, like butter sliding off a dish. When she shook her head, it had cleared, but the edges of her vision now appeared ever so slightly blurry.

    “Everyone out!” This new woman shouted. She must have had some kind of authority, even telling just by her voice alone. “You’re gonna give her a heart attack!”

    Was that what they were planning? To stop her heart from beating? Surely they were going to do that eventually, but she hadn’t expected them to be so direct about it. Then again, heart attacks were meant to be agonizing…

    There were a few moments of stunned silence from the crowd, before murmurs of agreement sifted through them. Every so slowly, they backed away, never taking their eyes off of the growling doctor as they exited the room. 

    When the migration was finished, there were only three people in the room: Dr. Roberts herself, the strange, yet familiar woman, and the lab coat that had been there when she’d originally woken up. 

    Dr. Roberts let out a vicious snarl.

    The strange woman looked to the lab coat, gesturing with her head towards the door. The lab coat’s eyes widened, but, cautiously, she too exited.

    Now, she was alone with the stranger. The stranger who seemed to have power over the rest of these people. Their leader, certainly.

    Would the leader of The Lodge have time to concern themself with the torture of a single prisoner? Surely not. But, perhaps, she simply needed to let off some steam.

    Dr. Roberts growled furiously once more. This time, for extra emphasis, she snapped her teeth at empty air. If they wouldn’t listen to her words, maybe they would listen to this?

    “Hey.”

    The woman’s voice was… Calm? What kind of manipulation tactic was this? She stayed several feet away from the bed where her prisoner crouched, leaving a comfortable distance between the two. She even held her hands up, palms out, showing that she had no weapons.

    “My name is Firecrest. I don’t think we’ve properly met.”

    Dr. Roberts let out another snarl.

    “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk. I know you’re scared. You’re Doctor Roberts, right?”

    She answered only with narrowed eyes.

    “I’ll take that as a yes. I know we haven’t gotten off to the best start together, not by far. We have a lot to talk about. For now, though, I’m going to need you to calm down. 

    No one here is going to hurt you.”

    That got a reaction out of the doctor. A tiny snicker. But no more than that.

    “I mean it. No one will hurt you. For now, though, you’re trying to hurt us. More than that, you’re hurting yourself. You’re very sick, right now, and you need to let our doctor have a look at you. 

    You’re okay. No one is going to hurt you. No one at all. So for right now, we’re going to focus on calming down, alright?”

    Calming down. What was this woman-- Firecrest, she had said her name was-- what was Firecrest’s obsession with ensuring that she was calm? Was she easier to transport that way?

    “We’re both going to start by breathing slowly, okay? You’re hyperventilating right now. With me, alright?”

    Firecrest began to demonstrate. In, out. In, out. Dr. Roberts hadn’t meant to follow along, but, in her hazy state, following the demonstrated breathing pattern was almost automatic. In, out. In, out.

    That fuzziness at the edges of her vision began to clear.

    “Good.” Firecrest paused her steady breathing to speak. “Now, you’re cold. So I’m going to get you a blanket, okay? This blanket.”

    She procured an off-white, fleece blanket from a counter.

    “Just keep breathing slow like that for me.” In, out. In, out.

    Step by miniscule step, Firecrest began to approach. The last few steps, however, were taken at almost a running pace. The blanket was wrapped around Dr. Roberts’ body and held there by a tight bear hug from the hero. The doctor attempted to squirm, thrashing against the hold, but found it useless.

    Yet, it was oddly comforting. Oddly… pleasant?

    “See? You’re okay. Everything is going to be just fine.

    I won’t let anyone hurt you, Dr. Roberts. I promise. Now, will you calm down and talk to me?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━   

Where should the story go next? It’s up to you to decide!

The next part of Rat Race will describe whether Dr. Roberts will trust Firecrest or not.

There   are two options, each one leading to a separate story branch. To   vote, feel free to use any means you would like to contact me. Replying   or reblogging this post works just fine, as does PMing me directly or sending me an ask. I am unsure when I will be writing the next part, so   as long as the next part hasn’t been posted yet, voting is still open!

I will choose the story path based on which option has more votes. The winning option will be announced tomorrow, in the next update!

A) You need to trust someone, right? Calm down and cooperate

B) Cooperate with your torturer? You’re out of your mind! Fight back even harder!

If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to contact me. You aren’t limited to just picking an option either! Do you have suggestions? Throw them right my way!

[linkspooky]

What do you think about utahime’s role in the series and what her development is going to be?

Iori is a character set up to do things as soon as the next few chapters probably, considering that the most recent chapter has brought her into play again in the Shibuya arc as well as the rest of the Kyoto Students. An analysis of her character and ideas for potential development underneath the cut. 

1. No, I Don’t Respect Satoru Gojo

If there was any character I would compare Utahime to right away my mind jumps to Nanami. Someone whose strength is that they are caring and attentive, especially with the children under their responsibility, but they don’t necessarily challenge authority. They follow the rules because they don’t have the strength to just blatantly laugh in the face of them like Gojo. 

Gojo works outside of the system. Everybody needs him, and because of that he doesn’t really have to play much politics or cooperate with somebody. Gojo never in any situation has to bow his head down, be quiet, or respectful. 

This is both a strength and a weakness. It’s a strength because Gojo sees what’s wrong with the world, and is actively taking steps to challenge it. However, because Gojo absolutely refuses to play politics with others it means that people can often pull strings behind his back and get away with it. Gojo is the strongest, but he lacks the authority of the higher ups, or even the finesse to try to subvert them. Yuji’s first death in the series was also Gojo losing a political move, because a lot of higher ups in the upper crust of the Jujutsu World that Gojo usually refuses to play games with, went behind his back while he was on a mission.

Gojo is many things but he lacks sublety. To put it in another way, Gojo tries to solve everything with strength, because he doesn’t know what it means to be weak. The first thing we’re introduced to about Utahime is that she’s Gojo’s literal opposite. 

Gojo assesses her as a weak person, the kind that he usually likes to look down upon. He teases her the same way he does Ijichi (probably just because he can, he’s a brat like that) however one difference is Utahime always snaps back at him when he tries something with her. 

He also asks something of her, to investigate the Kyoto School. This is Gojo whose tendency is to do everything by himself. 

I think the point of this comparison is Utahime is strong in exactly the areas that Gojo is weak. Utahime can keep her head down, play politics, and investigate others in a way that Gojo can’t because he’s just too loud and unsubtle about things. He prefers the direct approach with everything and to use strength to win. 

Gojo and Utahime occupy the same position in the Jujutsu High, she’s the head teacher for the Kyoto class, and Gojo is the head for the Tokyo class. However, how they run their classes is entirely different. Gojo wants strong comrades in arms who will eventually be able to fight for him, and surpass him. 

The Kyoto school is notably weaker, but also tends to act together as a unit more (with the exception of Todo). Even in the Kyoto vs Tokyo fight, the Tokyo kids all broke up and fought individually for the most part, while the Kyoto Kids planned on fighting together. They all ambushed Yuji together. Momo showed up to try to make Nobara understand Mai. Mai showed up to save Momo when she was about to lose. Miwa was cooperating to take Maki off of Mai’s trail before she lost her sword. 

The Tokyo school seems to be a group of highly strong individuals, who sometimes have difficulty fighting together. The Kyoto school kids are all weak individuals, who are stronger together as a unit. It’s even said last year that Tokyo won by having Yuta overwhelm and defeat everybody by himself because he was just so strong as an individual. 

In the event it looks as if the principal plotted behind Utahime’s back to take out Yuji. So either, she’s unaware of the corruption of her own principal unlike Gojo who is directly confronting it, or she like Nanami is keeping her head down. However, Utahime is one of the few adult sorcerers just like Nanami shown to be immediately concerned about the welfare of the children she’s taking care of. 

We’re kept in the dark about a lot with Utahime. We don’t even know what her Jujutsu technique is, and we even saw the old man’s. However, it seems that her first priority is always the children. 

Utahime is more or less the caretaker of a very, very troubled group of teenagers, as the Kyoto kids tend to be emotionally unwell and take it out on others. Utahime is very caring, but it seems there are a couple of times shady things happen underneath her notice because she’s not individually strong enough to stop them. She couldn’t prevent the principal from going above her, and telling all the kids to gang up on and kill Yuji. She could not prevent Mechamaru from going behind her back, and spying on both Jujutsu High and the other side in order to attempt to take everything on himself.

In a world where strength is everything, Utahime doesn’t seem to be traditionally strong. Gojo is probably right about whatever Jujutsu technique she has considering what the six eyes allows him to see. However, she subverts two classical attitudes of Jujutsu Society, she’s a caring person who likes to get close to others and she also tends to rely more on strategy and figuring her way out of situations rather than powering through them. Utahime tries to solve the puzzle of the room she’s trapped in in the Hidden Inventory flash back, Gojo just breaks it. 

Utahime is clever and subtle enough to have figured out the mole almost immediately. She’s good enough at getting close to others, and being open about her feelings that her and Shoko are still good friends many years after Geto and Gojo have broken apart, and the students she teaches all work together as a group of friends despite having highly volatile individuals (Momo, Mai, etc probably wouldn’t usually get along with a girl like Miwa). 

There are strengths to her ability to keep her head down, but probably at the same time just like with Nanami there are times where her weakness slaps her in the face. There are things she might have been able to prevent by challenging things head on more in the style of Gojo, instead of either trying to think her way around it, or be working within the system. She wasn’t able to stop her kids from targeting Yuji which would have gotten a child killed, and she couldn’t stop Mechamaru in time.

Now the biggest disaster in Jujutsu History is happening, and Utahime got sent away the day of, because Mechamaru thought she was too weak to survive with the rest of the kids. 

If Utahime doesn’t assert herself and challenge things, she’ll be left with the regret of not being able to do anything when the time comes. People like Mei Mei who are less caring but individually stronger end up mattering more because they assert themselves. Utahime is actually pretty strong willed, she basically never bows to Gojo’s teasing, but she is in situations like these passive.

If the Kyoto kids do charge to Shibuya in order to help the situation out, Utahime will most likely be the one leading them and that might be her character development. If they were all together they might fight together.

If Mei Mei doesn’t get to Gojo. Then basically every single other 1st grade or higher sorcerer is out of commission. Naobito got flamed by Jogo. Nanami was finished by Mahito. Kusakabe isn’t going to go into the subway tunnels because he’s too much of a coward. Shoko is kept out of the fight because she’s too valuable an asset to lose. Nobara, and Megumi are knocked out. If it’s not Yuji or Todo who gets there. Then the only adult left to do something is Utahime. 

This theory is a bit of a longshot, but considering how Utahime is framed as the  opposite of Gojo, and the way hidden inventory started... with Utahime being trapped in a curse and Gojo letting her out by smashing it. This time it could be Utahime letting Gojo out of the box, if she somehow gets there in time before the seal is finished and steps up to the occasion. That’s my current theory on what Utahime might do next. Also, my own personal pet theory is that we might see more of her in the next arc when everyone is dealing with the political fallout of so many deaths of important people in the Shibuya Incident Arc, because Utahime is the one who handles political matters and digs into the politics of the Jujutsu World not Gojo. 

[hopesfm]

✱   ╱   charlie   hunnam   +   cis   male   +   he   /   him   ━   if   you   happen   to   find   yourself   stuck   in   tartarus,   make   sure   you   don’t   run   into   DONNY   TITAN   there.   the   FORTY   -   SIX   year   old   has   made   quite   the   reputation   for   themselves   under   their   alias   as   POSEIDON,   a   BOSS   for   THE   STALLIONS.   while   their   enemies   often   describe   them   as   tempestuous   &   brutal,   their   syndicate   would   say   that   they’re   jovial   &   clever.   they   DO   think   that   zane   was   murdered,   but   they’ll   be   keeping   that   to   themselves   for   now.   (   laughter   lines   with   bright   eyes,   the   smell   of   a   storm   on   the   water,   bones   breaking   with   one   blow,   bloody   knuckles   &   a   gentle   touch,   a   surprising   secret   cleverness   )   elodie   +   24   +   she   /   they   +   est.

STATISTICS   .

full   name   donovan   antony   titan

nickname   donny,   don,   poseidon,   tony   (   his   brothers   only   )

sexuality   bisexual

birthplace   tartarus,   california

date   of   birth   april   9,   1975

zodiac   aries

PERSONALITY   .

donny   has   always   been   known   as   a   brutal   man.   he   carries   himself   like   a   fighter,   &   he   is   one   ---   far   more   likely   to   swing   a   punch   himself   than   to   let   someone   else   do   it   for   him.   you   take   an   eye   from   him,   he’ll   take   two   from   you.   you   take   an   eye   from   his   family,   he’ll   take   your   head.   it   surprises   some   to   see   how   much   he   loves   his   family,   the   fierceness   &   the   gentleness   he   can   muster   for   them.   he’s   loyal   &   protective,   even   has   some   quiet   care   left   for   any   souls   or   titans   that   have   claim   to   the   family   name,   though   that’s   not   an   invitation   to   cross   him.   his   children   are   undeniably   his   world.

he   has   a   sense   of   humor,   loves   a   good   laugh,   &   can   be   surprisingly   friendly   &   warm,   often   considered   easy   to   talk   to.   he   can   be   the   life   of   the   party,   but   rarely   in   excess,   &   his   boisterous   spirit   &   fast   friendship   charm   many.   some   days   he   can   be   easygoing,   calm   cheer   unflappable.   but   his   temper   is   the   stuff   of   legend,   bright   features   hiding   a   mercurial,   sometimes   volatile   attitude,   largely   unpredictable.   he   can   be   reasonable   one   moment   &   vicious   the   next.   he   doesn’t   forgive   easily,   holds   a   grudge,   &   one   misstep   could   undo   years   of   trust   if   you   say   the   wrong   thing   at   the   wrong   time.

his   perceived   lack   of   subtlety,   his   pride,   his   preference   for   a   good   old   fashioned   fistfight   rather   than   passive   aggressive   jabs,   make   many   see   him   as   more   of   a   blunt   weapon,   dangerously   strong   &   ruthless   but   not   too   smart,   easy   to   trick.   they   are   wrong.   carefully   hidden   behind   his   whirlwind   of   a   persona   is   a   keen,   considering   mind.   he’s   a   fast   learner   &   very   observant,   picking   up   on   the   little   pieces   he   isn’t   expected   to   notice,   finding   the   one   thread   that   can   pull   someone   apart.   he   values   information,   the   details   that   make   people   tick.  

he   feels   most   himself,   most   at   peace,   alone   on   his   boat,   surrounded   by   deep   blue   water.

HISTORY   .

tw   :   abuse,   murder

tartarus   is   the   only   home   that   donny   has   ever   known.   the   second   of   kronos’   sons,   he   was   raised   in   a   life   of   blood   stained   luxury.   no   amount   of   money,   no   amount   of   their   mother’s   love,   would   have   been   enough   to   save   the   boys   from   their   father.   the   abuse   kronos   put   him   through   shaped   poseidon   into   the   man   he   is   today,   he   thinks,   &   that   isn’t   complimentary.   when   he   was   sixteen,   donny   had   the   bright   idea   of   hitting   back.   the   beatdown   he   received   in   return   taught   him   the   importance   of   maintaining   strength   &   the   value   of   a   killing   blow,   one   strike   &   done,   no   time   for   payback.  

kronos   recognized   his   fighting   spirit   &   made   him   his   interrogator,   his   executioner,   his   attack   dog.   donny   didn’t   go   to   college,   learned   all   that   he   needed   to   hands   on,   developed   his   own   language   of   violence.   he   found   brief   solace   in   restoring   an   old   boat,   in   the   work   that   left   his   hands   aching,   in   the   silence   out   among   the   waves.   when   he   was   made   the   underboss   after   his   father’s   retirement,   he   began   to   take   a   special   interest   in   the   docks.

whispers   that   his   father   wanted   to   retake   his   power,   overthrow   his   sons,   didn’t   sit   well   with   him.   he   was   all   too   eager   to   work   with   his   brothers   to   kill   their   old   man,   to   ensure   that   they   got   away   with   it.   consolidation   of   power   &   a   little   revenge   at   the   same   time,   it   couldn’t   be   sweeter.   he   thought   it   couldn’t   be   sweeter.   afterwards,   safely   at   home   in   his   apartment,   he   was   sick   for   the   first   &   last   time   after   a   job.   he   let   the   memory   of   his   old   man   turn   his   spine   to   steel,   &   years   later,   when   he   &   hades   tore   away   from   the   titans   in   glorious   fashion,   it   was   what   kept   him   from   looking   back.  

he’s   long   understood   crime.   marriage,   fatherhood,   divorce   ---   those   were   all   new   to   him.   he   had   no   good   example   to   follow,   but   he   certainly   had   a   bad   one   to   study.   throughout   it   all,   every   twist   &   turn   with   his   family,   donny   has   been   careful,   cautious   beyond   belief   of   any   warning   sign   that   he’s   becoming   his   father.   he   rarely   raises   his   voice   with   them,   nevermind   even   thinking   of   raising   a   hand.   he   will   not   explain   this   fear   to   anyone,   has   never   put   it   into   words,   but   his   success   so   far   means   the   world   to   him.   he   trusts   in   his   family.   he   loves   them.  

zane’s   death   ---   zane’s   murder,   he’s   convinced   ---   has   been   like   dropping   a   lit   match   in   dry   forest.   donny   is   furious,   barely   restrained,   takes   any   accusation   of   guilt   as   a   personal   insult.   he   &   zane   rarely   agreed,   tumultuous   relationship   turning   into   a   battleground   after   he   left,   but   that   was   still   his   brother.   even   when   he   hated   him,   he   loved   him.   strategically,   donny   recognizes   the   importance   of   this   moment,   the   destabilization   of   the   titans,   the   opportunity   to   strike.   he’ll   play   the   part   in   public,   vie   for   power   &   kill   or   con   anyone   in   too   his   way.   privately,   his   chief   concern   is   finding   the   killer   &   putting   their   head   on   a   pike.   maybe   he’ll   send   a   thank   you   note   to   their   widow   after,   but   right   now   ?   he   wants   blood.

[beneathstarryskies]

quiet moments (Obi Wan Kenobi x Reader)

Summary: Three times Obi Wan almost says I love you, and the one time he finally does. 

Word Count: 2,558

Warnings: Mostly just fluffiness and a tinge of angst.

A/N: I hope this makes up for my complete lack of writing lately. On the plus side, I’m out of work so I have a lot of time to write now. So send those requests! 

The first time he almost tells you he loves you is right after the death of his master, Qui-Gon. The loss left a festering wound on his heart. Although Master Yoda advised him to rejoice for his master was now one with the force, he still struggled with his feelings as all humans (Jedi or not) do. No amount of training would ever help him to understand the complexity of grief or the load of extra emotions it often carries with it. When he closes his eyes, the moment of his master’s death replays behind his eyelids and he longs for peace. The longing for peace always seems to  make his mind wander to you. 

After getting Anakin settled for the night (and promising to come back to check on him later) he finds himself walking to your quarters. He’s not surprised when you open the door before he even knocks. It’s silent as he crosses the room to the window. 

It’s difficult for you to see Obi Wan like this. The pain of the last few days covers his features like a black veil, and you know he would hate it if you mentioned how apparent his feelings are. He’s always stayed so guarded, but the events of the last few days have left him feeling raw. He feels like a lost little boy: small, vulnerable, and lost. He was exhausted from putting on a strong facade for the council, and especially for Anakin. You were the only person he would allow to see him like this, and he needed to feel safe for a moment. 

“I heard they made Anakin your padawan,” your voice is soft as you carefully approach the subject. You knew he came here to talk about it, but even in times like this Obi Wan’s pride requires him to be guided towards revealing his thoughts. 

“I promised Qui-Gon I would train the boy,” he crosses his arms over his chest. You can see his face change momentarily, an attempt to harden his face to hide his feelings.

You nudge him slightly, “Don’t hide from me, Obi Wan.” 

He lets out a sigh, hating to be called out but unable to deny it. 

“I’m worried I’m not ready,” he admits. 

 “Of course you’re ready and he’s lucky to have you. You’ve always been the most clever and skilled of all the padawans our age.” 

Now it’s your turn to hide, as your admiration for him begins to spill.  He simply lets out a small, slightly sarcastic chuckle. You fall into silence, watching the rain drops slide down the window. If there ever was a way for you to steal some of his pain away, to help him bear the burden of loss, you happily would do so. You assume being his friend is enough for now. 

“I know how much Qui-Gon meant to you,” you whisper. 

“I’m afraid he didn’t,” Obi Wan confesses. 

For the first time since his master’s death he allows himself to cry. You pull him into a tight embrace, and he’s convinced he might have fallen to pieces if you hadn’t. He is surprised to find himself gripping your waist to pull you closer. His face is buried in your soft hair, letting your warmth wash over him. He breathes you in, unable to pinpoint why it is he can’t seem to get close enough. He lifts his head from your shoulder, and cups your cheeks. His calloused thumb soothes across your cheek to wipe away a stray tear. Your eyes are filled with wonder at the sudden intimacy he’s showing you. He stares longingly at your parted lips, trying not to imagine the comfort he would get from tasting them. The words dance at the tip of his tongue. An ache he’s spent so long pushing away settles in the pit of his stomach. 

You reach up to touch his chest, “Obi Wan, what is it? You can talk to me.” 

His mind is a flurry of fears and wishes and fantasy. He knows if Qui-Gon were still alive, he would’ve been encouraged to explore his feelings. However, now he is under the scrutiny of the Jedi Council. One moment of weakness could cost him everything he worked for. He drops his hands to his side, and looked down at the small space between the two of you knowing he should broaden it. Instead he drops his hands to his sides. 

“Obi Wan, please. You can tell-” 

“I should go back to check on Anakin, it’s his first night here.” 

Your heart drops as he moves past you towards the door. 

“You know,” you begin causing him to pause in front of the door. “I was always a little envious that you got Qui-Gon as a master.” 

He tilts his head slightly in your direction, “Why is that?” 

“He never would expect you to hide your feelings.” 

“Thank you for seeing me,” he whispers before leaving you alone. 

-

The second time he almost confesses his love for you is the first time you successfully knocked him down during a sparring session. The two of you were constantly sparring when you were padawans, but you never were able to best him. Now you’re both Jedi Knights, and your skills are almost on par with one another. 

This time, you’d finally done it. Granted you fell with him when he reached to grab your arm, which wasn’t actually part of the plan. The two of you land on the rough sparring mat in a tangle of limbs and grunts. The neat braid you had your hair tied in brushes against Obi Wan’s face as the two of you wrestle until you’ve managed to pin him down. You hover above him, a devious smile playing on your lips as Obi Wan seems to give up. 

The way your fingers grip his robes and your eyes scan his face reawakens a desperate need he was once sure had been put to rest. In your moment of naivety, you blame his blushing on the embarrassment of being bested. 

“I win,” you declare. 

Obi Wan was suddenly aware of how warm you felt pressed against him. His hands rest on your calves, he toys with the idea of letting his hands make their way to your thighs just to see how you would react. 

“Yes, one time out of one hundred,” he teases you while trying to avoid looking at the plump curve of your lips.

“Don’t be a sore loser,” you tease him. 

“Let’s go again, and I’ll be easy on you this time,” you suggest with a smirk. 

“Ah, you’re unearned confidence is precious,” he teases. 

“You’re so smug,” you growl.  

You notice his green eyes filled with something you’d never seen in them before. You lean in, and decide to test the waters. You place a soft kiss on his cheek. His chest tightens as he waits in anticipation for your next move. Another kiss lands on the corner of his lips, his beard tickling your face. His hands move to grip your waist, subtly urging you not to stop. You plant a single soft kiss on his lips. He cups the back of your head, deepening the kiss. You only pull away to take a deep breath. Your lips are swollen from his kiss and a tinge of pink colors your cheeks. For the second time in his life, three little words threaten to slip from his lips. As he stares in awe at you, guilt seeps into your chest. You stand up abruptly, shaking your head. 

“I’m sorry, this shouldn’t have happened.” 

Without giving him a chance to say anything else, you leave him sitting on the floor of the training dojo. 

Anakin finally arrives with a getaway ship. It takes all of your strength  and no small amount of force manipulation to pull Obi Wan through the door without either of you getting hit by blaster fire.  You press the button to pull the door shut, and then yell at Anakin to fly away from the battle raging below.

-

 It was Anakin’s idea to go on an impromptu rescue mission when Obi Wan was taken by General Grievous. Three days of torture proved useless as Obi Wan still refused to give up any information. Anakin couldn’t stand the constant transmissions of Obi Wan being tortured any longer, and the two of you went against the council despite knowing Obi Wan wouldn’t want that. 

You learned through an informant that Obi Wan was injected with some type of truth serum right before you slipped in to save him. Grievous had taunted Obi Wan with the fact that the serum had been formulated with the help of Count Dooku, and therefore was sure to work on even the strongest of Jedi. You knew deep down it was only a taunt, yet upon seeing you Obi Wan seemed very...open. 

It takes a great deal of effort and no small amount of force manipulation to get Obi Wan onto the ship with the drones shooting at you. 

“Will Master Obi Wan be alright?” Anakin asks from the cockpit of the ship as you help Obi Wan lie down on the only bunk in the ship. 

“He’ll be fine, Ani,” you answer despite the nervousness building in your own chest. The last thing Anakin needed to hear was anything upsetting. You liked the apprentice well enough, but his volatile nature made you nervous, especially in times of distress. 

“Th-thank you,” Obi Wan stutters. “I would have died without you.” 

“Surely you would’ve found a way to escape.” 

He watches you with admiration filling those beautiful eyes of his. There was something oddly intimate about the whole situation. Anakin was busy flying the ship, so lost in his unnecessary panic he might as well have been in a different world from you and Obi Wan. Obi Wan laid his hand on your knee. He was weak and almost delirious from whatever Grievous pumped him full of. Yet his face changed when you brushed a strand of auburn hair out of his face. There was a sweetness in him you weren’t used to seeing. 

“You’re magnificent,” he whispers, “So-so beautiful.” 

“You’re delirious” you tease him. 

“You’re still beautiful,” he reaches over to touch your cheek softly. 

“Shut up, Obi Wan,” you take his hand away from your face.

“I’ve wanted to tell you for as long as I’ve known you, and now you silence me,” he says with a smirk. 

  “Perhaps when you’re less delirious we can talk about it. In the meantime get some rest.”

 “You really are magnificent,” he tells you again. 

You stand up, and nudge him to lie down completely. Whispering absently about him needing to rest in order to avoid the praise he was so determined to bestow. His green eyes stayed glued to your face, not missing a single thing. He sees how your eyes can’t help but take him in, and how your face softens when he brushes his hand against yours. You reach out to cover him up with a blanket. You touch his cheek and he leans into your touch. You wonder if he will later come to regret his current lack of judgement. Your fingertips trace their way down the side of his face, moving to caress his beard. Then Anakin announces a destination and you’re pulled into reality. You fold your hands in your lap. He misses your touch as soon as it recedes

“Being a hostage makes you affectionate” you tease him. 

“I’ve always felt affection towards you. This just makes me less inclined to hide it.” He lets out a heavy sigh. “I have to tell you…”

Only you placing a soft finger over his lips stops him from saying those sweet words he wanted to say. 

“Get some rest.” 

***

You took his breath away. The soft, blue gown you wore made your eyes stand out. The way your hair was pulled up showed off your shoulders and the delicate curve of your neck. The setting Naboo sun seems to highlight your cheekbones, and your bare shoulders. Obi Wan’s heart pounds as you walk towards him. When you said you were going undercover to help protect Padme, he never would have imagined you looking so ethereal doing it. 

“I feel like I’m naked,” you whisper as soon as he’s in earshot. He laughs. 

“You look...different.” 

“Padme thought I should blend in if I was to protect her.” 

“I wouldn’t call this blending in,” he comments. His fingers absently reach out for the soft chiffon fabric. 

“If it helps me stay close enough to thwart assasination attempts I’d wear this dress forever.”

“You sound like Anakin,” Obi Wan shakes his head. “He’s fighting a bout of jealousy because you’re here with her instead of him.” 

“She’s a good person, hence why someone wants her dead.” 

“She’s a politician.” 

“And you’re a Jedi, we all have our labels. They don’t define us.” 

He lets out a sigh. More and more he finds it harder to keep a grip on the reality of the situation. When the two of you speak like this, he can’t decide if he adores you or if you’re a risk to be around. Perhaps both somehow intertwined. The very things he adores about you are the same things that keep you from being part of the council. He can feel you’re frustrated with him, and he wonders if it should stay this way. 

“Why are you here, Obi Wan?” you ask him finally. 

He’s quiet for a long time. It wouldn’t be hard to confess now with seeing you this way and being on this lush beautiful planet together. Nobody would hear except you, and if all else fails he could simply leave if you don’t feel the same way. 

“I just wanted to check on you,” he lies. “I wanted to make sure you’re faring well here.” 

“I’m doing fine.” You look down at the ground, “I do miss you though.” 

His breath catches, and then he swallows softly. 

“Ani too!” you add to try to ease the awkwardness created by your confession. 

“Of course,” he sighs. 

You step closer to him, so close he can smell the sweet perfume you were wearing. He breathes in deeply. 

“But mostly you,” you whisper. 

He closes the remaining gap between the two of you, taking your mouth with his. Everything he struggled to put into words is slowly revealed in his kiss and his touch. He wraps his arms around you, and allows his fingertips to trace against your bare back. You sigh against his lips, and send his brain into a spiral of intrusively sinful thoughts. You pull away, and both of you giggle. 

“The council definitely wouldn’t approve,” you tease him.

“They don’t have to know,” he says. “Just like they don’t need to know that I love you.” 

“You love me?” 

He smiles, “I always have.” 

“I love you too,” you whisper. 

He pulls you back into a tight embrace, and peppers kisses along your cheeks. The two of you stay tangled as though trying to makeup for all the lost time. He may not know what will happen once he leaves Naboo, but he knows he wants to spend every second until then with you. 

[that-one-girl-behind-you]

Illicio 15/?

Part 14

I suppose it was clever of you, to send this one specifically. I have never been too fond of his kind. Too... volatile, if you'll excuse the little joke.

But I'll move on. I'm a grown woman, and I know perfectly well when I've lost a battle. It isn't even that big of a tangle in the grand scheme of things, now that I think about it.

And see, that's exactly what I wanted to talk about, Jon. How would you say it?

Statement of Anabelle Cane, regarding inevitability.

XV

"So... where did you find her?" Tim asks, as he walks around a corner. It opens to a long corridor, with tasteful hardwood floors and sensible faded ochre walls. There's a little table by the wall anywhere between five and a hundred steps in, right below a mirror that's usually round, but sometimes is triangular or square. Right now it's eight-sided, and Tim looks into it to fix his hair- and his face. The latter melts a little if he's not paying attention, but is easy enough to mold back into shape.

"Roaming the tunnels. She was a bit lost. Everyone is, down there." Helen's voice echoes all around him, and his headache gets the slightest bit worse. There's no telling how long he's been here for, but at least in her corridors he can pretend the confusion is only a side effect of Helen around him.

"So you thought it would be a good idea to make her into dinner." There's a single cobweb stretched between the little table's legs, and Tim presses a finger to it like he's done to the others, watching it curl and shrivel as it chars to nothing. "Or were you actually trying to get her out and throw her at us?"

"Burn a couple more of those, and I might be able to tell you." Helen's voice is clearer now. Bitter. Tim nods grimly.

"I'm going to need you to let me out somewhere else."

"Better if you don't say the name, I think." Helen sighs. "Keep walking."

So Tim does. There's still plenty to be confused about. The Desolation rages inside him, feeding from the raw loss burning a hole through his chest

Sasha's dead.

No, he corrects himself. She's been dead for a while now, years. The thing Jon killed was just that; a monster, no matter how many times Tim called it Sasha's name. No matter how many times Tim found himself loving it.

The fire at his core burns a bit hotter.

He keeps trying to tell himself he was loving the memory of Sasha and not the beast, but is there really any memory left of her? Logically speaking -ugh, he sounds like Jon-, he knows there have to be. He knew Sasha -loved Sasha- long before the table came, but when he tries to conjure them, all he sees is the long-limbed thing, the ghost of its touch on Tim's skin sending shocks of nausea through his stomach.

"If you're going to puke, please wait until I let you out."

"Feeling vindictive, aren't we?" Tim composes a smirk even as he takes a deep breath to fend the nausea off, leaning heavily against the little table. His reflection on the half moon-shaped mirror looks decrepit with exhaustion.

"Aren't you?" Helen asks, and Tim's knuckles whiten around the table's edges.

There was a spiderweb on that table, and there's another on Jon's lighter.

"You have no idea."

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

Calling the fog is easier now.

Tim hasn't been home in a while, and Gerry hasn't sought him out either after he lashed out at him. Which is... what he wanted, he supposes.

It's much better to work like this, now that even Peter has opted for leaving him alone. Without interruptions, without the uncomfortable feeling of being watched. Lately, he has started to suspect even the Eye's gaze slips off of him at times.

It makes him wonder if Jon can still See him. If he even tries anymore.

There's probably no answer to that question that could make him feel... something, not anymore. Martin shakes his head, hoping to dislodge the thought and go back to his work. There's things to do, including a new statement to record that Peter must've slipped in before he arrived. He's getting close to being done with this, at least.

Will there be anything left of him once he doesn't need to be lonely?

Will there be anyone left who cares?

All he can see when he tries to look into his future is the comforting, cool embrace of the fog. It's not a surprise, not really. Fear has ever been a constant in Martin's life.

A tape recorder clicks to life by his elbow, and Martin sighs. "Yes, alright. I'll just... Martin Blackwood, assistant to Peter Lukas, Head of the Magnus Institute. Recording statement... what is it? 0131305..."

The feeling is... odd, he decides after he goes through Judith O'Neill's statement barely giving the words a thought, as fast as he can without mangling it, because the sound of his own voice is grating to his ears.

"It's... I know I should feel guilty, you know?" he asks the tape recorder, resting his chin on his hand. "I mean, this is this person's worst moment, that she trusted us with, to preserve and protect. And- and I'm just trying to get it over with."

Click. Martin feels his lips curl into a small smile. Who knew he could still do that?

"Yes, I guess so. But it still doesn't feel like I'm doing enough. Not that it ever has, but still..." He sighs.

It doesn't really matter, does it? All Jon and Gerry need is the information, not his thoughts on it, not his- just the facts. That's what they want, and- and since he finished this quickly enough, he should be able to sneak down into the Archives and drop the tape at his old desk before Gerry can try to come get it.

He doesn't have to see the hurt on his face when he sends him away again.

The door to the office closes silently behind him as he steps into the corridor to start the way down to the Archives, and he's immediately assaulted with the pressing sensation of other people's existence. Martin doesn't quite Know about every person in the Institute, but he can feel their presence like one would feel the heat from standing too close to a fire; a warning to get away, before you end up burned. Luckily for everyone, life in the Institute seems to be contained at the upper levels, the building completely silent once he reaches the bottom floor.

The old break room calls to him like a siren at sea, but Martin ignores it. There's nothing for him there anymore, other than a brightly painted mug pushed to the back of the cupboard to be forgotten, like the painful memory of the times when there were no fears of monsters, and the biggest worry in Martin's mind was a fake resume.

This is why he hates coming down here, he thinks with a sigh. It's just... logically, he knows they were never going to stay that way, planning birthday parties and getting to know each other, the little Archive team. He knows they were doomed the moment they signed their transfer to their new department. But still... Better times, less complicated, and- there's a woman there.

More importantly, a woman he doesn't recognize. She's tall and dark skinned, with tightly curled hair pulled into a bun at the top of her head, her sharp, deep brown eyes examining what Martin recognizes with a muted sense of alarm as a scorch mark shaped like footsteps on the polished hardwood floor.

"Excuse me? You can't be here." Martin says after a deep breath. The tape recorder in his hand clicks on again; great, now Jon is going to hear him chasing away his meal. "Did you come to give a statement? I'm afraid we're not taking new ones at the moment."

There's a pang of nausea at the lie, but Martin ignores it. If he can keep one more person from tangling in with this-

"I gave it a while ago. Haven't been too afraid ever since." The woman shrugs after turning to face him. She's wearing a black tank top with a stylized ghost on it, that Martin would once have smiled at. "I'm only waiting for Melanie. You're Martin?"

He blinks. "You... know me?"

The woman's lips twitch. "Jon talked a lot about you while he was staying at my house."

Martin frowns in confusion, until it all clicks in his mind. The ghost, the statement, Melanie, Jon. The fact that he couldn't feel her at all before practically running into her.

"Huh. I- I didn't know Melanie-Georgie and Jon-Georgie were the same person." Martin feels the air around him cool a little more when he gives her a second, evaluating look. She's beautiful, and she looks confident and calm even in this place of terror. Jon... Jon really has a type, Martin thinks as his mind conjures the image of a pair of blue-green eyes glaring up at Peter in defiance.

"Small world and all that." Georgie shrugs. She frowns then, after she gives him a once-over of her own and apparently finds him lacking. Which is... not ideal, probably, but Martin can't bring himself to care. "Are you alright?"

"I am. Thank you." Martin looks away, because her eyes are nothing like Jon's asides from being a similar dark brown in color, but Martin finds himself thinking of them anyways. "Could I ask you to let Jon know I left this here? Or- or Gerry. He'll do too."

He can feel Georgie's eyes on him for another, unbearably long minute, before she speaks again. "Why don't you tell them yourself?"

"I'm- we're not really... talking. Not anymore." He's aware he doesn't owe her an explanation, but it's... why lie to a stranger, specially one that doesn't care?

"Ah." Georgie's gaze falls for a moment, before she lifts it back to Martin's face. "Could I ask why? Jon speaks very well of you. And from what Melanie tells me-"

"Actually, I'd rather you didn't." Martin cuts in. There's a pang of irritation at his stomach, and he feels the Lonely receding just the slightest bit. Not good, not- "With all due respect, it's none of your business, or Melanie's. Or anyone's, really."

Georgie's eyebrows climb up her forehead. "Wow. Okay. I'm sorry, I suppose. I just thought-"

"You don't know me." Martin says it more for himself than for her. She doesn't know him, and she'll forget him the moment he walks away. The so-called "concern" in her voice is just that, a misguided attempt motivated by-

"Well no, but Jon cares for you." She shrugs.

"Jon cares too much, that's the problem." Didn't he hear Tim complain about that years ago, angry and drunk against Jon's desk with Melanie slumped on his side in a similar state? Jon doesn't care until he does, and then you can't tell which one is worse.

Georgie's eyes are still digging into him, so intense Martin has to remind himself she has nothing to do with the Watcher.

"I think it usually ends worse for the ones that care for Jon, actually." And she arches an eyebrow in a gesture Martin has seen Jon made countless times. It's funny, how people pick up traits from the ones they love. He wonders which one of them had the gesture originally, and which one took it in and made it their own.

Has he picked up anything from Jon? The way he pushes his glasses up his nose, or holds his cup of tea? It's... that would be nice, he thinks. That even when he goes into the Lonely, when he's no longer capable of loving Jon -if he still is-, there will be a part of him that remains.

He also wonders if Jon has picked up anything from him, but the thought is cold and faded. Martin has always been on the sidelines, easy enough to forget once you get him out of your way. What would Jon even take?

"-tin?" Georgie's voice reaches him faintly, distorted.

"Maybe." There's a strange echo to his own words, and he can see the wisps of fog curling around him. "But it's good that people care for him anyways."

"What-"

"It's nice to know he won't be alone."

Georgie takes a step towards him, but stops short a second after, as her eyes glaze over for a beat. Her brow furrows in confusion, and she looks around the bullpen, her gaze sliding off of Martin.

"Okay, I'm ready, sorry I- Georgie?" Melanie asks as she comes into the room, frowning when Georgie continues to look around the office. "What's wrong?"

"I... nothing, I guess." Georgie's eyes are still confused. "I just- I could swear I was talking to someone."

Melanie gives the room a once-over of her own and Martin holds his breath, but she doesn't notice him either. Good.

"Huh." Melanie hums in thought for a moment, before her eyes turn mischievous and her lips curl into a grin. "Maybe it was a g-g-g-ghost? I know a pretty girl that does a podcast about that, you should tell her the story."

Georgie huffs a chuckle then, her encounter with Martin already forgotten. "I think I know the one. With the cute girlfriend, right?"

"That's her. Bad taste in food and men, amazing taste in women." Melanie hooks her arm through Georgie's, a pleased, slightly flushed smile on her face as she pulls Georgie towards the door. "Let's go?"

"I- hm. I think I was supposed to tell Jon something." Georgie hesitates a little at the threshold, and Martin's heart skips a bit.

"Ugh, just text him. You'll make his day."

"Don't be mean." Georgie smiles.

"I can live with you on his side or with Gerry on his side, please don't ask me to do both, I'm not strong enough."

Georgie laughs, the sound growing fainter as the door closes and they walk away, leaving Martin behind.

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

Tim stumbles out the door, his head protesting as his body tries to adjust to the change in perspective, which is most definitely not aided by him immediately rolling down half a flight of stairs.

"Would it have killed you to find a something at floor level instead?" Tim grumbles, rubbing at his bruised shin.

"If you find one that's not sealed, feel free to let me know." Helen says dryly, pulling her door closed as Tim glares up at her. "Good luck, dear!"

Tim rolls his eyes, and when he's focused them on the door again it's back to being an old, dusty window through which he can just barely see the street below.

Fine. This is amazing.

A single thread of spider silk pulls at his elbow, and Tim huffs a dry, humorless cackle.

"Done with subtlety, aren't you?" The thread is trying to tug him upstairs, so Tim burns it off before starting in the opposite way.

He can feel the Web trying to wrap itself around him, to obscure his mind and concern him with matters that will take him out of here. Where is Martin? Is he alright? What if he was in Helen's corridors for so long that everyone's gone?

Tim chuckles at the thought as he comes to a stop before a door sealed shut with cobwebs.

Who else could he lose? Sasha's dead, and so is the thing that tricked him into loving it. Danny's gone, his death successfully -but so unsatisfactorily- avenged. Martin continues to slip through his fingers no matter how much he tries, and-

"Just spit it out." Tim freezes when he recognizes his voice, static-y and grainy with the whirr of a tape recorder as background.

"You're not planning on coming back." Jon's voice has the finality of a goodbye, and Tim realizes abruptly that he remembers this conversation. He didn't realize it was being recorded at the time, or he wouldn't sound nearly as put together.

Tim-on-tape laughs, so ugly, so angry that Tim-in-the-flesh flinches.

"That's rich. Do you care now? That's called guilt, Boss"

"Tim-"

"Don't. Stew on it, for all I care. You deserve it."

A sigh, long and tired, before a weak, broken voice.

"I'm so sorry, Tim..."

Tim lets out a sigh of his own, mouthing his next word.

"Good."

Steps crunching on gravel, as Tim walks back into the cheap motel and leaves Jon alone with his thoughts.

It's no wonder the Desolation chose him, all that burning anger boiling just under his skin, the taste of ash on his tongue, the finger pressed down on the trigger to call on destruction like a well-trained dog. So convinced that Jon, who he'd loved so much and who cast him aside without so much as an explanation, was the cause of all his anger. So eager to make him suffer just the same.

"Is that really all you got?!" he shouts out, and his breath comes out in puffs of steam that leave Tim's nostrils burning with the scent of guilt. "Mistress of manipulation, and all you have for me is 'you were angry and a douche'? Because guess what? I still am!"

His hand burns its imprint all the way down to the wood, as the cobwebs shrivel away.

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

I suppose it was clever of you, to send this one specifically. I have never been too fond of his kind. Too... volatile, if you'll excuse the little joke.

But I'll move on. I'm a grown woman, and I know perfectly well when I've lost a battle. It isn't even that big of a tangle in the grand scheme of things, now that I think about it.

And see, that's exactly what I wanted to talk about, Jon. How would you say it?

Statement of Anabelle Cane, regarding inevitability.

Was that good? Did it do something for you?

See, I'm ever so good to you, dear. I know you're on a little 'diet', but one fresh statement can't be too much, can it? Just a single taste, you've been behaving so properly for your team...

But I've strayed from my point again. I do that sometimes, you know? It's a bit hard to focus on a single thing, when everything is so intricately connected! Try following a thread in the weave of a tapestry, see how long it takes you to lose track of it in the big, beautiful picture.

No, what I wanted to talk about, how did I put it? Inevitability?

You're familiar with that, aren't you, Jon? How running and running away only ever brings you back to where you're supposed to be.

I learned of it the first time I ran away from my family home. I had all these grandiose dreams, coming back artfully smeared in dirt, perhaps with a nasty-looking, but perfectly applied gash to my arm or leg, and I would never have to ask for anything again. I would be Anabelle, lost and returned, the greatest treasure my family could ask for.

The house already danced to the beat I drummed, but I wanted more. I wanted things to go my way before I even had to orchestrate them. I wanted things to land on my web, and strangle themselves to death trying to pull themselves out.

It was a good plan, for a nine years old.

I could tell you about the woman, I suppose. Young, and emaciated and lost, weaving herself into a tapestry she could not see, so desperate to feel something that she didn't notice when the syringes began overflowing with many-legged things that scurried and ran through her veins much more effective in soothing her pain and fear than the heroin ever was.

I could tell you how I ran. How I climbed back up my window before my older sister even noticed I was ever missing. How I shook that sleepless night, seeing crawling shadows everywhere, feeling the pinprick of their legs on my skin. I thought the woman was a demon that was sent to scare me into being a nice little girl, to correct me from the nasty schemes I orchestrated to get others in trouble.

You would know, wouldn't you, Jon? The incredible lengths to which a child's mind can go to try and rationalize an encounter like ours.

And it worked, I suppose. For years, I stopped manipulating, I stopped weaving. The urge was still there, and the ability of course. It was almost as though I could see the threads connecting every occurrence with the outcome I wanted, just waiting for me to pull on it the right way. But I didn't. I had seen my punishment, and I would be good, I told myself.

Didn't you do something similar, when you found my little book? You were adorable.

But you see, even though we both tried to run, to break free of the path we were meant to take, we both ended up exactly where we were needed. Don't hate me too much for pulling your strings, dear, just remember there's a bigger puppeteer out there.

And please, don't take this as some sort of grim reminder -everything is always grim with you, isn't it Jon?- that free will is a lie, and we are all just chess pieces moving across a board. That is not what I mean at all!

Free will is a beautiful thing, and so satisfying to have. You specifically have a will of iron, Jon, and that is a high compliment, coming from me. The twists and turns I've had to send you in just make sure you had what you needed to survive! And all just because you were too stubborn to take the path the Eye set for you.

But that is exactly what the beauty of an ineluctable plan is, just to come back to the original subject of my statement. Knowing that your every movement, your every choice is already factored in the grand scheme of things. I find it soothing, don't you? Knowing that no matter how far you stray from the path, you cannot truly ruin anything.

Look at your dear friend. An unwanted variable in my plan for sure, but apparently not to the Mother's one, since I ended up talking to you after all. Perhaps a little earlier or later than I originally should have, but things worked out in the end. They always do.

Perhaps all the players must, at some point, take a look around, and see if they're not standing on a checkered board themselves. I can think of some people specifically, but it wouldn't do to ruin the surprise.

Now, how do you close these things? Your charming little catchphrase… ah, of course.

Statement ends.

"I- you found this?" Jon's voice is a bit shaky as he finally looks up from the paper, and the tape recorder clicks to a stop on its own. "Were you looking for it?"

Tim shrugs. "Not really."

"But then- Tim, why were you at Hill-"

"It's none of your business, alright?" Tim rolls his eyes. "Maybe I just decided I really fucking hate spiders."

After listening to that, he definitely does.

Jon's arachnophobia has never been a secret, but he guesses it makes a lot more sense now. A lot of things do.

He doesn't like any of them.

"Tim-"

"I'm going to leave now."

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

"Tim said you were full of spiderwebs." Jon's voice is calm, quiet.

Helen tilts her head. "Aren't we all?" She asks. It's not in her nature to give straight answers.

"I'm starting to think so." Jon gives a sigh.

It's a fun little tableau they make, each on one side of the desk, between them a tape recorder with a bit of tape still left, a sheet of paper next to it.

"This is how we met," Helen hums thoughtfully. There is no map on the paper, and the statement in the recorder is not hers -about her-, but it still feels painfully, exquisitely familiar. "Back when we were both human."

Jon lets out a little huff of air, like her words are somehow a surprise for him, who could Know it all. "Do you remember how that felt like?"

Helen smiles, feeling her lips curl in on themselves dozens of times. "Do you?"

"A little, at times." Jon lays a hand on the desk, and Helen sees the recorder practically click on and vibrate with the need to go to him. Funny little things. "More, lately. I... having everyone helps."

"That doesn't bode too well for Martin."

"I- it doesn't. But I'm- I wonder if you'd be this far gone, if I hadn't turned you away when you first came to me."

Helen tilts her head, when Jon's eyes fix on her. They don't have the lovely green glow they take when he uses his powers, and they look... sad.

It's not an emotion the Distortion knows how to deal with, because the Distortion shouldn't be dealing with feelings anyways. It's even more puzzling to have it aimed at her.

The part of her that is still Helen -is that all of her? Is that any of her?- feels a pang of grim satisfaction. "Is that what this is, then? Making amends?"

Jon shakes his head slowly, sadly. How can a man exude so much melancholy? Is that what happens, when you care so much?

"Not really. I- we were always going to change, I think. Our only choice is how we do it." He pushes the tape recorder towards her, with a tired smile. "I hear you collect them?"

"Only until it's time." Still, Helen cradles the recorder in her hands. Such a curious thing.

"Time for what?"

"I don't know." Helen shrugs at an angle that should not be quite possible for shoulder joints to give. "Doesn't it frustrate you, Jon?"

He gives a little, choked up laugh. "You'll have to be a bit more specific."

"All these rules about what should and shouldn't be done. We are power. Why should we be contained?"

Why should they?

Why should they strive to stay human, when that's the very thing that was ripped from them? Why-

"I think... Because I want to be contained." Jon gives his desk a little thoughtful frown, before looking up at her again. "If I'm going to be a monster, I'm going to be one in my own terms."

"How noble of you." Helen arches an eyebrow, and Jon's lips twitch into the ghost of a smile.

"Selfish, really. It's the only thing I have left."

"Didn't she say it wouldn't matter, in the end?" Helen lifts the tape recorder to tuck it in the pocket of her blazer. "The grand scheme of things, and all that?"

"It matters to me."

"So you'll spend the entire journey there being miserable, just for the sake of some moral high ground?"

Jon shakes his head, his lips moving around words he can't quite put together. It's almost a bad joke, the Archivist, tongue-tied.

"If I weren't miserable in this situation, I wouldn't be Jon." He says in the end. "I- maybe the Spider dropped me gift-wrapped at the Eye's front door, yes. But it can't take that from me. It can't take who I am."

"Bit boring, isn't it? Not changing at all, ever?"

"...Yes, I suppose you of all people might find it so."

"Can I still keep the tape?" she asks, clicking the stop button to make the funny little thing sleep again.

Jon sighs. "It's yours."

Helen smiles. "Just until it's time. Cheers, Jon, good luck on your moral crusade."

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

Corruption statements always leave behind a stale, sickly aftertaste. It's not too surprising really, but lately Jon has started to dislike them even more.

It's the way this entity tries to disguise itself as love, as the natural progression of devotion into indiscriminate consumption, parasitism, destruction.

Everything that love isn't supposed to be, everything that-

The Eye pulls urgently at his mind, and Jon is dragged out of his reverie by the sudden Knowledge of sharp blades and singing blood.

Jon sighs, before diving into his desk drawer to pull out his mobile.

"Yeah, I think, um-" the door to his office opens and closes behind him, and Jon's heart races as he tries to force the next words out. "I think you should probably get down h-"

The phone is yanked from his hand, and Jon vaguely registers the sound of the call clicking to an end, far more focused on the edge of the knife that comes to rest against his throat. Right over Daisy's scar, like it's one of those 'cut here' lines, and the thought is much funnier than it should be.

"Hello, lad." Trevor Herbert's breath is musty and bitter, and Jon sighs. This is fine, this is- all he needs is for one of them to get distracted. He broke Breekon before, and Not Sasha too. This is his home terrain, he can-

"Miss us?" Julia's long-nailed, almost clawed hand grips his shoulder tightly and forces him back on his chair. "We have some things to discuss, it looks like," she says, and though her voice is pleasant enough, Jon can hear the underlying growl under it.

"If you give us the right answers, maybe we won't have to check if you're still human enough to bleed." Trevor smirks. Jon looks up at the old man, but everything in him is telling him to keep quiet, to wait for an opening. Hunters are not to be taken lightly, much less as a pack.

"You've got something of ours." Julia stabs a knife of her own right through Barbara Mullen-Jones' statement. "Took it right from under our noses."

"After we saved you from that Stranger puppet and gave you all the information you needed. Very rude to steal our biggest resource." Trevor presses the blade a bit tighter to his neck, but Jon couldn't care less about it anymore.

How could he have been so stupid? He'd thought they were here for him, why come to the Archives if not to kill the Archivist? Something hot and dark and angry starts brewing in his stomach.

"Gerry wasn't yours," he snarls. "You had no right to-" the knife presses deeper, and Jon's mouth snaps shut more out of the Eye's self preservation sense than his own, his mind still reeling with the memory of the pained ghost that asked him for a smoke, just a shadow of the man he-

"You heard that, Julia?" Trevor cackles." 'Gerry'!"

"Seems like you've gotten pretty chummy." Julia leans over, her mouth curled in a sardonic smile. "Pull dear Gerry out every now and then for a tasty statement, don't you?"

Jon's eyes narrow as he tries to ignore the pang of guilt in his stomach. Of course he feeds from Gerry, but it's- he's not like them.

"Where is it?" Trevor snaps at his silence, giving him a shake. The knife breaks skin, not enough to bleed but enough so that Jon feels the sting.

"I set him free." And Gerry came back to him, he's Jon's now, and they are not taking him again.

"You what?" Julia grabs him by the shirt, pulling him up to his feet. Jon comes gladly, his chin held high and holding Julia's gaze. He can see the Hunt in her eyes, but Jon finds that he's not too intimidated, not after Daisy, and definitely not when Gerry's life is on the line.

"You wasted your time coming here." Jon says simply.

"Aren't you feeling ballsy today?" Julia gives him a hard shove, and Jon topples back on his chair. "But we didn't. We can at least get rid of another mouthy monster before we go. You want the honors, old man?"

Trevor shifts his grip on the handle of the knife, a wide, lupine grin spreading over his face. "Don't mind if I do." Jon's lips twitch into a smile, and the two hunters scowl.

"Get away from him." Daisy snarls from the open door to Jon's office, and Trevor and Julia snap around to face her.

"Who- ah. Got yourself a guard dog, didn't you?" Trevor laughs. "Smart bastard."

"More of a lapdog. She's scrawny, isn't she?" Julia goes for a mocking, dismissive tone, but Jon sees the stiffness in her limbs, and the nervous twitch of a muscle on her jaw.

Jon looks at Daisy, and he realizes for the first time just how sickly she looks. The lean frame that wrapped around him in the Buried now appears emaciated, and though Jon can See the boiling presence with too many teeth trying to burst out of her skin, there's no denying what abstaining from the Hunt has done to her.

"Malnourished, more like. Haven't tasted blood in a while, have you?" Trevor asks. "This one will die nicely; you could come with your kind instead."

"Or I could hunt you instead." Daisy takes a step forward, and Jon Sees the hunter boiling even closer to the surface.

"Don't." Julia say simply, when Daisy makes to take another step. Her hand digs into Jon's hair, pulling back to expose his neck. "Or I'll kill your library rat."

"You can try. You better hope you're faster than me, though." Daisy's voice devolves into a low growl, and Julia responds in kind. Trevor says nothing, merely watching the two women face off.

"Do you really think you can take us both?" She asks, tightening her grip in Jon's hair. "You're weak."

"Are you willing to bet your daddy's life on it?" Daisy bares her teeth.

"I'm not her father," Trevor says sullenly, and Jon snorts.

"Are you sure?" Jon asks, and Julia yanks roughly on his head.

"Shut up, I'll-"

"Let's go." Trevor interrupts. Jon gives him a quick glance, an old wolf that has learned to pick his battles.

"Old man-"

"There's no rush. Plenty of monsters to go around, too." Trevor gives Daisy a grin that she responds to with another growl. "Good luck guarding them all."

Julia gives another snarl, letting go of Jon's hair with a harsh shove that has Daisy flinching forward, before she and Trevor make for the door. Daisy stands there like a statue, and Jon feels the tension in the air rising with every passing second, until Trevor and Julia seem to decide to just go around her.

Their stomping footsteps grow fainter and fainter in the distance, Daisy crouches to the floor, her entire frame shaking.

Jon shoots from his chair. "Daisy? Are you-"

"Don't touch me," Daisy snarls, startling Jon. He pulls back the hand he was about to lay on her shoulder.

"Daisy. Listen to me." Jon kneels before her. "Just-"

"They're not gone yet. They're- I could find them. I could take them down." Daisy's shoulders shake even harder, and Jon forces himself to not flinch back.

"The- remember what you said, Daisy. Don't listen to the blood..."

"...Listen to the quiet," Daisy responds after what feels like an eternity. Jon carefully lays his hand on her arm, right above the spot where her nails are digging into her skin. She leans into it, and Jon wraps his other arm around her.

"It's- you're wasting away." Jon squeezes her shoulders, muttering into her hair. "You need to-"

"I'm not going back to that." Very slowly, one of Daisy's arms comes to return the hug.

"Daisy-"

"I hurt people, Jon. You know I did. I almost killed you-"

Jon squeezes harder, as the Eye drops flash after flash into his mind. The last moment of all the people -all beings- whose last view was the Hunt-distorted face of Daisy Tonner. "That was not you. That was the Hunt."

"We're the same."

"No, you're not!" Jon snaps. "You're- it's different, Daisy. You are different. What you were before-"

"I was a monster." Daisy's voice holds a special sort of fragility, and Jon tightens his grip as much as he can.

"There are worse things to be."

They stay there for what feels like hours, until both their breathings slow down, until Daisy's shoulders stop shaking with the urge to chase, and her nails are no longer digging into Jon's shoulder.

"So... did something happen here, or is this just something you two do for fun?" Tim's voice comes from the still open door, and Daisy whips up so abruptly that Jon is just thrown back in a tangle of limbs. "Whoa, tense."

"Tim-" Jon clears his throat as he climbs to his feet. "This is not a good time."

"When is it anymore?" Tim arches an eyebrow. "So?"

"It's noth-" Jon stops himself, sighing at Tim's unimpressed, guarded look. He chooses to trust. It doesn't matter that Tim doesn't trust him back, he- there's a reason for that, and Jon has to live with it. Maybe forever, now. "The hunters came by. Daisy scared them off."

"Top dog, I like it." Tim smirks at Daisy's answering scoff, before turning to face Jon again. "Did they come for you?"

"No, they-" Jon freezes, Trevor's last sardonic remark ringing in his head like a bell.

They're gone. They're gone, and they- Daisy was able to track him down to Michael Crew's house before she even knew the Hunt was in her. Trevor and Julia are both experienced hunters, and they came here for-

Jon shoots out the door, shoving his way past Tim and ignoring Daisy's concerned call, and hers and Tim's footsteps behind him as he rushes up the stairs and out of the institute.

He knows the way to follow like a bird flying South for Winter, a thread of steel pulling at his very core as buildings and street signs rush past the edge of his vision. He doesn't know how long he's ran for, his lungs burn and his legs are tired, -Jon has never been an athlete- but he's getting closer and-

Jon turns a corner and slams against something solid and soft and warm, bouncing back with a huff before his mind registers the concerned blue-green eyes looking down at him, and the shouting in his head comes to a halt.

"You're alright," are the first words Jon can form coherently.

"I- am?" Gerry arches an eyebrow, and Jon laughs with relief before throwing his arms around him. "Jon?" Gerry asks, an arm coming to rest over his shoulders, a hand behind his head.

"Huh, you were right. I owe you a drink I guess." Melanie says, her voice both dry and unimpressed, and Jon flinches back from Gerry's embrace like he's been burned. She rolls her eyes. "What are you doing here?"

Of course they were together, they're hunting, how could he have forgotten?

"I- the- at the Institute-" Jon sputters. Melanie's not with the Slaughter anymore, but she wouldn't have let Gerry face the hunters alone. His face starts heating up as the uselessness of his mad dash through the city rains down on him.

"Jon, what happened?" Gerry asks, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Is anyone- shit!" Gerry yanks him and Melanie out of the way, throwing the three of them against the wall just as Tim and Daisy turn the corner at full speed.

"We're here!" Melanie calls out calmly, and the two of them skid a few feet before turning back to face them.

"What the fuck, Jon?!" Tim exclaims, steam shooting from his lips as he pants. Daisy eyes him in a way that makes it fairly clear she's thinking something along the same lines, and Jon wishes for nothing more than the earth to open up and swallow him whole. Again.

"Uh- yes, I can-"

"Explain why you made us run all the way to Chelsea?!" Tim shouts again.

"Stop yelling at him!" Daisy snarls. She looks considerably better than she did at the Institute, and Jon wonders if chasing after him did something for her. "Jon?"

Jon darts a look around, trying to gauge the general mood. Tim is, of course, furious. Both Gerry and Daisy are giving him mixed looks of worry and confusion, and Melanie seems to be enjoying his predicament.

"I- they were looking for him," Jon mutters, growing more and more embarrassed as Daisy and Tim start to connect the dots.

Daisy sighs. "You though of calling me on the phone, but not him?"

Oh. That's- Gerry does have a phone that he usually has with him.

"I... wasn't really thinking."

"You're kidding me." Tim groans, and immediately turns to the street to start hailing a cab down. "You're paying for my ride back, you asshole."

"Uh... can I ask what this is about?" Gerry leans down to whisper in his ear. Jon exhales, the relief at finding Gerry alive and well still swelling in his chest.

"At home. Please?"

Gerry's brow furrows, but he eventually nods. "At home, then." And he presses a kiss to Jon's temple.

Jon, who is most definitely not used to public displays of affection, freezes on his spot. His face burns even more when he hears Melanie groan as well, before she begins to walk away.

"Tim, can I ride with you? I don't want to stay any more."

"Be my guest. Maybe we can convince the driver to charge him by the passenger. Daisy, you coming?"

Jon sighs and steps away from Gerry, pulling his wallet out when a cab rolls to a stop before Melanie and Tim. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The idea of four walls and a door as a sanctuary is laughable in the world they move in, but home is home, and it's more about a feeling than it is about a space.

"Please don't go after them." Jon's voice is almost too quiet in the thick darkness of the room, but Gerry can taste the desperate intensity in the words just as clearly as if they'd been pressed to his lips.

"Why would I?" he asks, like the thought wasn't the first thing on his mind as soon as Jon ended his tale. It's not like he can pay them back for what they did to him, keeping him from his rest just to use him, but fuck it would be satisfying.

"Gerry."

It's the emotions poured in it rather than the name, what makes Gerry feel like the breath has been punched out of him.

It's heavy with a sort of devotion Gerry's never been on the receiving end of, but that he's tasted in Jon's words before, sweetening Martin's name like a breathless prayer.

It's new.

It's terrifying.

It's intoxicating.

"Say my name again."

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

"Won't you look at that." The voice that reaches Gerry's ears when he climbs the last step out of the Archives makes Gerry freeze on his spot.

He's heard it a thousand times before, reading his last, most intimate moments like they were a particularly boring instruction manual, tearing him from the painful, burning dormancy of the book for another round of questioning.

"That sneaky bastard." Julia shakes her head with a disbelieving cackle. "Dear Gerard, long time no see. Sorry, it's 'Gerry' now, isn't it?" She was always the one asking the questions, impatient and snappy whenever Gerry took too long to answer.

Gerry snorts, his mouth twitching into a smile. These two are opportunistic hunters if he's ever seen any, a pair of hyenas looking for lonely prey.

"This is very convenient, you know?" Gerry cracks his neck. He's never killed hunters before; Gertrude always thought they were better left alone, since they usually went after other avatars. It's just fitting that Gerry's always been good at learning on the fly. "I promised Jon I wouldn't go looking for you. Didn't say anything about what would happen if you found me."

"Oh, you promised him? How sweet." Julia smirks as she moves, her eyes glued to him as she flanks him. "How did he get you like this, huh? You were much more useful when you were pocket-sized, let's go back to that."

"I hate to disappoint." Gerry focuses on her. She's younger, faster than Trevor. Her neck is also very thin, and he Knows she favors her right side, and forgets to watch her legs. It's just a matter of getting a good kick in-

"Let's just kill him. He's no good to us like this, and who knows what he is now." Trevor is at his other side, no doubt giving him the same evaluation he just gave Julia. "One less monster."

"Oh yes, that's your whole thing, isn't it?" Gerry arches an eyebrow. "Pretending you're doing this to save people, and not because you're just another pair of hungry dogs."

"Better than just playing house with the monsters, if you ask me. How's dear sweet Jon?"

"Doesn't it worry you?" Gerry ignores Julia's taunts, looking at Trevor instead. That always did irk her when she interrogated him. "She doesn't have the best track record with parents, if I were you, I'd be concerned about ending like Robert Montauk."

That does it.

Julia launches at him with a roar, and Gerry has barely enough time to plant his feet to catch her- before a burst of fog shoots out of nowhere between them and Julia skids to a stop inches from touching it.

"I'm going to have to ask you two to leave the premises, please." The three of them freeze as the fog dissipates, leaving behind only Martin's grey, cold-eyed form. Gerry feels his mind kicking into overdrive because this is bad in so many levels. First and foremost, Martin and the hunters are in the same place at the same time, and that's less than ideal. Then there is the fact that Martin just came out of the Lonely, and-

"Who the hell are you?" Julia goes to push Martin aside, pulling her hand back as if burned when it goes right through him. "What-"

"Out." Martin says, his eyes hard behind his glasses. "Unless you want to wait for the others, in which case feel free to stay, they should be here soon."

Gerry smirks at the nervous look that passes between the two. Of course they wouldn't like to be the outnumbered ones.

"Remember how you used to ask me about the monsters? I'll give you a freebie, for old time's sake," he says, stepping forward to stand next to Martin. "You don't want to wait."

"Real cute." Julia bares her teeth at him, and Trevor narrows his eyes. She then whips around on her heel and walks towards the door, only stopping for long enough for Trevor to reach her, and Gerry watches them go with a bitter smile.

The doors closing after them is almost deafening in the silence left behind. Out the corner of his eye Gerry can see Martin start fidgeting, and he takes a deep, calming breath before turning to face him. It's alright. Martin is- he's here, he just has to pull him back.

"Did you really call anyone else?" Gerry asks.

Martin rolls his eyes, and Gerry notices with a pang of guilt that they're a cool, muted gray, despite the interaction. "Of course not. But I had to get them out, and I heard Tim say that Daisy alone was enough to send them running. Figured the idea of more people would only be more effective."

"I could've taken them," Gerry shrugs. Then, and his voice has grown a bit weaker, "I didn't know you could go into the Lonely now."

Martin looks down at the fog rolling around him like he's seeing it for the first time. "Hm. I didn't notice I was in, actually."

"That's- Martin, that's worse." Gerry grimaces. Martin is still human -as far as he can See- but only barely so.

"Is it?" Martin asks, and his contour is starting to blur and fade again, like a mirror fogging up. "Stay here today, will you? I'm sure Jon will be happy to have you."

"Martin, please-"

But he's gone.

Gerry stares for a moment at the spot he disappeared on, but eventually he gives a long, defeated sigh as he starts the way back down the stairs to the Archives.

Sending the hunters running no longer feels like a victory.

[riversofmars]

December 1st    December 2nd    December 3rd    

December 4th    December 5th     December 6th

“Doctor, how is she here? We literally just saw her in the Library and…“ Donna stared at River, struggling to comprehend.

“Younger version? Surely. She said she was a time traveller from my future, remember?“ The young Doctor said slowly, trying to get to grips with it as well. The older Doctors looked on with a sense of sorrow, remember what he - they - had just been through.

“No… older actually… Hello, Doctor.“ River smiled softly. This time, she kept a reserved distance, knowing full well this Doctor didn’t know her in the way the others did.

“Seriously?“ Yaz shook her head in disbelief. “Another one of you?!“

“This is getting really unnerving…“ The Doctor huffed and pulled them along to take cover behind a large bauble display so they could listen in without being noticed.

“You don’t have to tell us…“ Graham shook his head.

“But you just, we just…“ Sandshoes looked at River, he didn't understand what was going on.

“You’ve just been to the Library.“ River deduced from their shocked expressions. River couldn’t deny how much the knowledge that the Doctor had always known how she would die pained her. Not for herself. He had given her the maddest adventures, his heartfelt devotion and the most incredible life… but for him. He had done all those things, loved her so much, despite all the while knowing how things would end, unable to stop it.

“I feel like I’m missing a trick here, what happened at the Library?“ Amy asked, looking around, everybody else seemed to know apart from her and Rory, who looked just as confused. River took a deep breath trying to keep her emotions at bay. Amy looked around at everyone else. Eyebrows and Bowtie shared a sorrowful glance. Bill, despite not knowing much about them, found herself at a lack for words. Donna and Sandshoes picked up on the uneasiness of the others and, having the least knowledge of future events, chose to remain quiet. “River?“ Amy placed her hand on her daughter’s shoulder, needing an explanation.

“The Library is where I die.“ River answered turning to face her at last.

“What?“ Amy and Rory looked back at their daughter in shock. “The day the Doctor first meets me in the day I die, our timelines run in opposite directions for the most part, remember…“ She gave them a sad smile.

“But she managed to get out.“ Eyebrows interjected quickly, he couldn’t bare the devastation on the Ponds’ faces. “She’s alive now.“

“I saved her, her consciousness, to the Library’s data base.“ Sandshoes spoke up, hoping to give them some assurance. He didn’t know who these people were but it was obvious they had a strong connection to River.

“I’m okay, I’m here.“ River assured her parents, hoping to ease the shock of it all, she pulled Amy close, wrapping her arms around her mother.

“Well, you better be, Melody, else I would have been very cross!“ Amy tried to blink away her tears but didn’t quite manage it. River kissed the top of her head and caught Rory’s eyes, full of heartbreak. She grabbed his hand while still holding on to Amy.

“Was this it then?“ Rory asked slowly, trying not to get chocked up. “That terrible day you were talking about…“

“And I made it through.“ River gave him a reassuring smile and squeezed his hand.

“And you, you knew this whole time and never said anything?!“ Rory turned to Bowtie, anger sweeping through him like he hadn’t known before. “You knew, this whole time, how and when my daughter - your wife - was going to die and you never said? Didn’t even try to save her?!“

“Rory, I…“ Bowtie didn’t know what to say, taken aback by gentle Rory’s fierce reaction.

“It had already happened, it was fixed time, there was nothing any of us could do, and believe me, in the thousands of years since, not a day has gone by that I didn’t try and work out that impossible problem.“ Eyebrows interrupted.

“And apparently, at some point we will work it out.“ Bowtie added gently.

“What makes you think it was you, you can’t even remember, I wouldn't take credit just yet.“ River chuckled, trying to lighten the atmosphere and succeeding.

“You. Count your blessings that she’s alive now, else you would have been in big trouble!“ Amy let go of her daughter and jabbed her finger at Bowtie who held his hands up defensively.

“I am, actually... counting my blessings.“ Bowtie smiled looking to River with nothing but relief and love in his eyes.

“Right, sorry to interrupt.“ Sandshoes spoke up, now that the situation seemed to be less volatile. He felt a weird sort of jealousy at he couldn’t quite explain, seeing how the other men were looking at River. “Who are you people.“ He looked around the group utterly bewildered. From what he had heard he had some suspicions, but they couldn’t possibly be true could they.

“Well, Doctor, you never mentioned you used to be so handsome…“ Amy looked from her Doctor to Sandshoes, giving him a once over, distracted from her emotional upheaval, by a handsome young man.

“No, no, that’s enough, one is enough to compete with, thank you.“ Rory pulled his wife back.

“Doctor?“ Sandshoes looked to Bowtie in disbelief.

“Well, that is going to be a bit more complicated to explain…“ River scratched the back of her head.

“You can say that again…“ Bill looked in between the three Doctors utterly confused. It was hard to believe that they were all the same person, but somehow, oddly, it was obvious that they were.

“Okay, now, that’s one coincidence too many.“ Eyebrows interrupted.

“Coincidence?“ Sandshoes retorted. “Never ignore coincidence.“

“Unless you’re busy, we know.“ Eyebrows huffed.

“Right okay… struggling with this but just going with it…“ Sandshoes shook his head to himself before looking to River, who appeared the more immediate concern. “How did you manage to escape?“

“Well, that seems to be a pivotal question, does it not.“ River huffed, annoyed that she didn't have an answer. “I don’t remember anything… and you’re sure you don’t remember either?“ She looked to Eyebrows who shook his head.

“I should remember if it was me, I’m the oldest here…“

“That you certainly are…“ Bowtie chuckled. “And I don’t know what happened either, the last time I saw her was on…“

“Shhh spoilers!“ Sandshoes interrupted and Eyebrows rolled his eyes at him.

“We’re not going to remember this anyway.“ He pointed out.

“What if there is another one?“ Amy asked suddenly.

“What?“ The three Doctors retorted in unison.

“Another Doctor?“ River asked to confirm and Amy nodded.

In their hiding place, the Doctor winced. Clever Amy. But she did't have those answers about River either.

“If none of them remember how they saved you, maybe it hasn’t happened for them yet?“ Amy suggested. “Maybe there is another, older version.“

“Older than me?“ Eyebrows frowned.

“Hardly seems possible but yeah…“ Bowtie had to agree.

“If you don’t stop the age jokes already…“

“Stop bickering, you two.“ River interrupted her husbands.

“So she really is your wife then, is she?“ Donna grinned to her Doctor as she watched the others interact with great amusement. Sandshoes just gave her a huff and diverted attention back to the facts:

“Well, if there is another Doctor, there should be another TARDIS?“

“Or another person with two hearts?“ Eyebrows agreed.

“Let’s have a scan.“ Bowtie suggested and all three Doctors pulled their sonic screwdrivers out simultaneously.

“Trying really hard to not see this as a euphemism.“ Amy mumbled to her daughter who smirked in turn:

“The mind races, does it not.“

“No, nope, nooo. He’s still my son-in-law… all of them are… sort of takes the fun out of it.“ Amy looked to Sandshoes in disappointment.

“I’m really going to need a flowchart for this…“ Sandshoes huffed shaking his head, trying to wrap his head around what was going on. “Hang on… that can’t be possible…“ He looked up to the other Doctors, all of them with the same shocked expression at their findings.

“Fourteen?!“ They chanted in unison and the Doctor went very pale behind the bauble display.

“Oh no, that’s even worse than I thought.“ She whispered, pulling out her own sonic to confirm.

[monster-of-master]

lfc; Sekh’a Okohwe.

The Basics ––– –

NAME:  Sekh’a Okohwe. AGE:  Late twenties. BIRTHDAY:  Twenty-fifth sun of the first Astral Moon. RACE:  Keeper of the Moon. GENDER: Male. SEXUALITY: Heterosexual, polyamorous. MARITAL STATUS: Single.

Physical Appearance ––– –

HAIR:

Smoky-white, and bound in a neat tail bound by a leather strap, that lets it fall below his shoulder-blades. He keeps a relatively clean head of hair, though its cut is uneven in places and its ends somewhat frayed, as if he trims it with a blade that lost its bite long ago.

EYE:

They stand out, and are likely the first thing that one might notice upon meeting him. An eerily pale yellow shine sees them with a dull glow, and it isn’t uncommon for them to flit around erratically. It's no twitch borne from anxiousness or a lack of focus, but instead a desire to keep the goings-on of his environment tracked and well in the forefront of his mind.

HEIGHT:

Six fulms, or thereabouts.

BUILD:

Bitter conflict and bloody strife are abiding companions in the world beyond the civilized borders of man-made laws, and it was this savage crucible that bore Sekh'a. His shape is that of a consummate hunter, the dedication of his life in pursuit of martial perfection producing a physique trim and toned. Broad of shoulders and sturdy of limbs, with lean musculature packed tightly behind the stretch of swarthy flesh, Sekh'a's build satisfies the condition for an ideal predator's frame, suitable at stalking prey for long stretches of time, which is a source of great pride. From the jaggedly strewn scars that decorate his skin to the coarse, and calloused flesh of his hands, Sekh'a appears both well-seasoned, and well-traveled—and no stranger at all to turmoil.

DISTINGUISHING MARKS:

A mask of stygian warpaint smeared across his eyes, and he’s not often—if ever—seen without it. This is one of the few things that he’s meticulous about insofar as his appearance goes.

His wounds are left to heal on their own without the aid of magic to dull pain or whisk away evidence of a misstep, and are seen as a prideful thing, displayed openly. They serve as a roadmap detailing every deed—good or ill—that has shaped his life, and the gnarled, and jagged evidence of past encounters with both man and beast stretch over his arms, belly, and back. Claw, tooth and blade make up the bulk of the unsightly marks that bite into his flesh.

Tattoos are present and compete for territory with the above mentioned scar tissue, though these are far less prominent insofar as quantity. Fanciful line-work of markings that are just as easily mundane as they are magical encircle in his wrists and a wolves fanged and gnashing, bloodied maw that drips from a prior feast, sits over the space atop his right set of ribs.

Personal ––– –

PROFESSION: Hunter, trapper, tracker, collector. HOBBIES:  Cartography, drawing, alchemy, gambling, people-watching. LANGUAGES:  Eorzean common. RESIDENCE: Gridania, presently, though he travels frequently. BIRTHPLACE: Eastern Shroud. RELIGION: Menphina, the Lover. FEARS: Becoming complacent, loss of control, falling into a mundane routine, too much quiet in his life.

Relationships ––– –

SPOUSE: None. CHILDREN:  None. PARENTS: Dead and buried, as far as he’s aware, or keen to speak of. SIBLINGS:  Dead and buried, as far as he’s aware, or keen to speak of. OTHER RELATIVES: None worth discussing. ACQUAINTANCES: Sekh’a keeps the status and identities of those he has dealings with confidential.

Traits ––– –

extroverted / introverted / in between disorganized / organized / in between close minded / open-minded / in between calm / anxious / in between disagreeable / agreeable / in between cautious / reckless / in between patient / impatient / in between outspoken / reserved / in between leader / follower / in between empathic / unempathic / in between optimistic / pessimistic / in between traditional / modern / in between hard-working / lazy / in between cultured / uncultured / in between loyal / disloyal / unknown / in between faithful / unfaithful / unknown / in between

Additional Information ––– –

SMOKING HABIT: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess DRUGS: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess ALCOHOL: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess

Flaws

moody | short-tempered (when drunk) | emotionally unstable | whiny controlling | conceited | possessive | paranoid | liar impatient | cowardly | bitter | selfish | power-hungry greedy | lazy | judgmental | forgetful | impulsive spiteful | stubborn | sadistic | petty | unlucky

Strengths

honest | trustworthy | thoughtful | caring | brave patient | selfless | ambitious | tolerant | lucky intelligent | confident | focused | humble | generous merciful | observant | wise | clever | charming cheerful | optimistic | decisive | adaptive | calm | loyal

RP Hooks ––– –

Trophy Hunter

The thrill of the chase is what truly fuels Sekh'a, be his prey beast or man. Beast slaying and particularly bounty hunting are bread and butter, part and parcel of his life, the latter bringing him contact and working for unsavory individuals. It keeps him flush with coin however, to fund other aspects of his life. Though he ordinarily prefers to work alone—treating this endeavor like it's some intimate and venerated, holy rite—he has been known in the past to take on an accompanying of fellow warriors, if the target is of a particularly volatile nature.

When working with others however, he does demand first choice of trophy, only rarely waiving this perceived 'right'.

Chasing Shadows

When mindless beasts threatening the livelihood of the common folk and debtors skipping town with only the shirts on their backs fail to satisfy the itch, Sekh'a seeks to tackle more vicious prey—voidsent. It's of no surprise then that one of Sekh'a's primary interests is that of that great and fallen empire of eld, Mhach, and the legacy they left behind in this world regarding these otherworldly horrors. A rumor churning within the mill amidst the city-states' occult inclined persons state that there is an individual with an insatiable appetite for such relics, though the reasons behind this search vary person to person, day to day. Some speak of him as some ravenous, maligned beast that seeks to follow in the accursed footsteps of void-mages and demon summoners, gobbling up every speck of forbidden power he can, enslaving these eldritch abominations to do his will. Others describe him as a virtuous—if delusional—soul trying to save the world, by keeping the threat of this collection that he's amassed under stern lock and key. The truth may lie very well somewhere in the middle. Tomes, idols, and other paraphernalia or anything resembling a lead to where such items can be found are said to fetch a heavy purse of gil, they say—or a suitably acceptable trade.

Tribal Roots

Though by and large disassociated with his clan as of late—and rarely chatty about them if asked—some small part of Sekh'a does still enjoy the notion of reconnecting with others still adhering to the lifestyle.

Misfits & Malcontents

Sekh'a opens up to few, and allows even less to glimpse even a glimmer of his personal affairs. These types, however, tend to be the ones that he gets on with most; those that don’t fit into societal norms and who fall through the cracks. Pariahs and those deemed untouchable need look no further in their search of a willing ear to listen to their stories—their great tribulations—and if he's moved enough by them, they might find a helping hand on offer.

OOC Section ––– –

Hello, hi. Here’s the feller that I’m playing primarily on XIV, Crystal datacenter, and he’s going to be occupying this space with his WoW counterpart. Much of my OOC stuff is already detailed and or being added to on my carrd, so I’ll just go ahead and link that.

Link to carrd HERE

[starlightsearches]

Office Romance: Ch. 12 Threats

General Hux and Kylo Ren have found themselves competing for the affection of a lieutenant aboard the Finalizer.

Series Warnings: Language, some violence, near-death experiences.

Masterlist

AN: Hello everyone! Thank you for the wonderful response to the last chapter, I'm completely blown away! Just so everybody knows, I'm still taking requests for one-shots, headcannons, and preferences.

There are a few super super slight references to sex in this chapter, but for the most part it's pretty mild. Let me know what you think!

Ren stared up at the intricately-painted ceiling as he laid on the bed. He was trying not to think about the fact that you were practically naked—wearing only a robe—and sitting a few feet away from him. Not that anything was going to happen, of course, no matter how badly he wanted it; he had been in this same position for about three hours now with little development.

The First Order celebration thrown in your honor was tonight, but neither the Finalizer nor the Supremacy were large enough to accommodate all of the transports needed to shuttle guests to a party like this one, and so instead you were at an estate on Alsakan owned by one of the members of the Directorate. Everything about the place screamed opulence, including the bedroom where Ren and you were waiting for the party to start. It was twice the size of his quarters on the ship and packed with every lavish furnishing you could imagine. Hux was overseeing arrangements for the festivities in the largest of the three ballrooms now, no doubt bossing around caterers and decorators to the point of insanity.

Ren had followed you to the room they had arranged for your preparation, since he had nothing better to do, and you didn’t seem to mind his presence. He had been to your quarters a few more times over the last few days, sometimes for teaching purposes . . . and sometimes not. You had believed him when he said he was trying to avoid the general, even if you found it a little strange. The white lie was worth it since it allowed him spend more time with you; if he had things his way, he’d never leave your side. Just being there with you in the room with you was almost unbearable, but the torture of it was sweet to Ren, the anticipation delectable.

“Would you hand me my hairbrush?” you asked him, pointing to your bag at the end of the bed. After you had finished reading over your speech for the hundredth time, you started working on your appearance, applying creams and pigments with a practiced hand. Ren sat up on the bed and grabbed your bag, giving it to you and finding a seat on a low bench by the gilded vanity where you worked.

“Have you had any success?” he asked, and he knew he didn’t have to clarify his meaning any further.

“No,” you sighed in response. You looked stunning, your eyes sparkling in the light of the mirror, and maybe he was a little glad that you hadn’t learned to pick up on his thoughts yet.

“It’s a process. It will come in time.”

“It doesn’t feel like a process,” you said, irate, “it feels like . . . nothing. I look at people, I try to feel it, try to sense anything, and-” you shrugged, and the robe slipped from your shoulder, revealing the smooth skin of your shoulder before you pulled it back into place. On second thought, Ren was definitely glad that you hadn't learned to read his thoughts yet.

“Have you tried contact? That can make it easier-”

“I tried that on the general the other day, and it didn’t work.” Ren paused, withholding a scowl. What had that entailed? “I’m telling you, I don’t feel anything!” You hesitated for a moment after your outburst, speaking more quietly, “the only time I’ve managed is when we’ve practiced.”

“I’m sure you’ll get there,” Ren said. He really didn’t want to argue with you, and part of him was still trying to discern what had happened between you and the general, pulling his focus away from the conversation.

“Do you think it’s possible-” you said, biting your lip before continuing, “do you think it’s possible that Snoke was . . . wrong about me?”

“You’re being too hard on yourself.” That particular discussion was not one he wanted to have right now, especially when you were already in a semi-volatile state.

“I’m just saying, maybe I’m not force-sensitive. Maybe I’m just, I don’t know, sensitive to the force? If it only works when I’m around you, could it be possible that I’m . . . accessing part of your power? Is there such a thing?”

“I’ll look into it.” Ren had never heard of anything like that before, but he wanted to give you some peace of mind, and you seemed mollified for now.

“I need to put on my dress,” you stood from the chair, walking to the garment bag hanging up by the door. He moved to leave, but you stopped him, saying, “you can close your eyes.”

Ren couldn’t find anything to say in reply, his mind gone blank, but shut his eyes in compliance, every nerve in his body thrumming as he listened to the sound of your robe sliding to the floor. What would he do, he wondered, if you came over to him, placed yourself gently in his lap, ran your lips over the skin of his jaw? What would he do if you brushed your fingertips over his eyelids, his mouth? If you kissed him? The fabric of your dress rustled as you pulled it over your body, but the sound far away in Ren’s mind, which was occupied by more pressing matters.

“You can open your eyes now.” The enchantment of the moment was broken, and Ren looked to you. You held the crimson gown up over your chest to keep it from falling as the straps and strings of beading hung low off your shoulders, apparently only decorative. “Would you mind lacing me up?” You walked over to him, and faced away; he was glad you couldn’t see the heat rising in his cheeks.

The back of the dress was mostly open, everything from the middle of your spine all the way to your neck visible between the laces of the corset. Ren swallowed hard, and reached for the strings that would hold the dress in place. Had you always had this much skin? And did all of it look this soft? He resisted the urge to brush his fingers up your spinal column, tried not to think about the way you might curve into him if he did, and pulled the ribbons tighter. It was a lengthy process, and he couldn’t stop his hands from shaking as he secured it. You let go of the dress and swished around, checking to make sure that everything felt stable.

“How do I look?” you asked, satisfied, turning to face him and settling the skirt around you. The dress was elegant, ornately beaded with burgundy jewels in organic patterns—leaves, flowers, birds—the scarlet color striking against your skin, giving off an aura of strength and authority. Ren wracked his brain for the right words, but nothing felt powerful enough to describe the way he saw you. Like a goddess, or a warrior queen from the stories he had been told as a child.

“You look . . . nice.” Damnit. That wasn’t the right choice, and your face fell for a moment before Ren stammered to correct himself, “I mean, you look beautiful.” You turned to admire your appearance in the full-length mirror, smiling, taking in the effect of your completed ensemble.

“Maybe it’s a little frivolous,” you said, “but I love these parties. I miss dancing all the time.” You swayed for a moment, and then twirled, holding your hands up for an imaginary dance partner, the skirt flaring around your legs as you moved.

“I never learned how to dance,” God. What other idiotic things should he admit to you? If you ran your hands through my hair I’d probably black out. I thought about kissing you once the other day and I had to take a walk to calm down.

“Come here, I’ll teach you.” You gestured for him to come closer, and he paused reluctantly before giving in. You grabbed both of his hands, placing one at the dip your waist, the beading rough against his fingers, and his breath hitched; he hoped you wouldn’t notice. You demonstrated the steps slowly at first, and he followed along clumsily as you led him in a small circle.

“Don’t look at your feet,” you said, squeezing his hand in yours, “it’ll only make it more difficult. Just look at me.” As if that was going to solve his problem. Ren obeyed, and noticed a familiar look of focus on your face.

“Are you trying to read me right now?” he asked, a little scandalized, hoping selfishly that you hadn’t had any success. If you started getting better at this, he’d have to be more careful around you.

“I’m just trying to get in more practice,” you said, widening your eyes and blinking with mock innocence.

“Are you getting anything?” Did he want to hear your answer? He couldn’t decide if it was worse to know or to wonder.

“You seem nervous?”

“Don’t guess. You have to reach for it.” Ren berated himself silently; he should not be encouraging you right now with his emotions going haywire.

“You’re-” A knock on the door interrupted whatever you had planned to say, and the general stepped in before you or Ren had the chance to answer. He was already dressed for the party as well, wearing a black suit and looking hostile.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Hux said, sounding terribly glad to have interrupted the scene before him. You let go of Ren—his hand slipping from your waist reluctantly—and walked to Hux, brushing some imaginary dust off of his shoulder and resting your hand over the lapel of his suit jacket.

“Hello, General! You look very handsome.” He blushed pink in response, and Ren forced himself not to gag. You adjusted the collar of his dress shirt, your hand lingering near Hux’s neck, and Ren felt the general’s pulse quicken at the contact. She’s trying to read him. Ren was once again impressed by your cleverness, despite the fact that you had just been using it against him. A better person than him would have warned the general what you were trying to do, but if you found out anything unsavory from your attempts to connect to the force, that would be Hux’s problem. Even in a stalemate, Ren didn’t owe Hux anything.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Hux was trying to keep his voice steady, but his attempts sounded ineffective, at least to Ren’s ears, “you look lovely.” You removed your hand from his collar; apparently you hadn’t been able to pick up on his thoughts. The general was dismayed that you had broken contact, and the bitter part of Ren wanted to tell him the real reason it had happened, despite the fact that the temporary wound it would cause to Hux’s ego would only be detrimental to Ren’s long-term goal.

“You’re too kind, General. Is everything ready?”

“Guests are just arriving now. Speaking of which,” Hux said, “The allegiant general and his wife are here. They wanted to see you.”

“They’re here?” Apprehension scuttled up your spine, and Ren picked up on it before you controlled it. Strange.

“Yes, but I can have them wait until the end of the party if you would like.”

“No, that’s alright,” your pulse increased incrementally as you spoke, “you can bring them in.”

Officious prick. Hux kept his mouth shut, but couldn’t keep himself from silently insulting Pryde as they walked back to the room. The man and his wife—a frail-looking, stuffy woman—walked a few steps behind him, talking as if he weren’t there at all, critiquing everything about the evening from the decor to the weather, and Hux wanted to scream by the time they finally reached the correct room. Pryde brushed by Hux as soon as they arrived and opened the door without knocking, his wife following close behind. Hux entered last, finding a place along the wall next to Ren to observe the reunion.

“Oh, darling!” Pryde’s wife greeted you first, and you stood from off the bed to go to her. She engulfed you in a hug, which you returned, bending down to hold the tiny woman in your arms. Pryde approached you next, and you saluted him, and then embraced him as well, placing a soft kiss on his cheek.

“We’re so proud of you, daughter,” Pryde said, holding you at arm’s length, and you gave both of them a gentle smile.

Hux watched the interaction with a strange fascination. His own father had never said those words to him, in public or private, had never expressed any kind of satisfaction in him at all . . . Usually it was the opposite. Hux had been suspicious when you first told him about your relation to the allegiant general and his wife, worried that your upbringing may have been like his own, but it seemed that they were caring parents to you, or at least, more caring than his father had been.

“Darling,” your mother began, looking a little scandalized as she scrutinized your appearance, “don’t you think that might be too much . . . skin for an event like this? You wouldn’t want anyone to think of you as indecorous.” The neckline was rather low, something Hux had already noticed, and the back was open, exposing the powerful muscles of your shoulders and arms. You laughed, brushing off her criticisms.

“Please mother, I like this dress,” you said with a sly smile, “and if you think this is indecorous, you should have seen the other ones I tried on.” You winked, and she reached out and swatted at you, shocked at your cavalier attitude. Hux perked up at your words. He would have liked to see the other dresses. Ren glared at him, hearing his thoughts, but Hux chose to ignore it. After all, he had probably been thinking the same thing.

“You still wear your grandmother’s necklace, though, at least,” your mother said, oblivious to the conflict behind her. Hux had hardly noticed it before now, a modest trinket. Besides, there were quite a few things more exciting about your attire than your jewelry.

“Always,” you responded, taking her by the hand. What would it have been like, Hux wondered, if he had been raised in the Pryde home instead? Would they have treated him this kindly? Or was there truly something terrible and weak about him that his father had picked up on, something that would ensure his abuse regardless of who was supposed to care for him?

A knock on the door interrupted Hux’s uneasy thoughts, and he opened it, blocking the view of the rest of the room. A servant of the estate stood at the door.

“Excuse me, General, but all of the guests have arrived. We’re almost ready for you to make your entrance.”

“Of course,” Hux said. He closed the door and turned back to face the room. Pryde looked at him with rancor, as if Hux had been the one to interrupt the gathering.

“We’ll leave now,” Pryde said, his hand on your shoulder in one final display of affection. “General, walk with us, I’d like to speak with you in private.” Hux raised his eyebrows in surprise, he had not expected Pryde to acknowledge him, but followed them out.

“Go on ahead, Mira,” Pryde directed his wife, shooing her down the hallway towards the party. He turned back to Hux, displeasure evident in his gaze, but the general stood his ground. Hux wasn’t a child anymore, and he wouldn’t let someone like Pryde push him around as he had so many times before.

“Walk with me, General.” They headed deeper into the shadowy portion of the hallway, away from the party, stopping in front of a large window that overlooked the massive grounds. The rain outside was torrential, falling in thick sheets, distorting the image and streaking down the glass like so many tears.

“I assume she told you,” Pryde said, finally.

“Yes.” So this was about you. Hux should have guessed.

“I assumed as much. She has always been a terrible judge of character.” Hux felt no sting in the insult, but his anger flared that your father would speak of you that way.

“On the contrary, Allegiant General, I’ve found her to be an excellent judge of character, present company notwithstanding.” It was not above Hux to make a snide remark, especially when Pryde had started it. “I assure you that I have no ill will for your daughter. I’ll keep the information private.”

“See that you do.” He made no move to leave, and Hux felt compelled to stay as well, despite his desire to do otherwise. He hated the idea of leaving you alone with Ren for any more time than necessary, especially after the impromptu dance lessons he had barged in on earlier. Pryde broke the silence again, his tone casual but his words laced with something dangerous, “My daughter is the most important thing in my possession. I will protect her by any means necessary. I’ve killed for her before, General, and I wouldn’t hesitate to do it again. Do we have an understanding?”

“Of course, sir,” Hux knew he was being threatened, but he couldn’t bother to care. He found the conversation tedious, the warning a little clumsy. To his surprise, Pryde grabbed him by the arm, his grip much stronger than his age would suggest, and forced him to make eye contact.

“Listen to me you piece of shit,” Pryde was seething as he spoke, so different from the caring persona he had adopted only moments ago, “your father may have been too stupid to kill you when he had the chance, but I will not be making the same mistake. If my daughter is harmed while under your supervision, I will not hesitate to end you. Do I make myself clear?”

“As I said before, sir-” Hux pulled his arm from Pryde’s grasp, straightening out the wrinkles in his jacket sleeve, “I understand you perfectly.”  The man sneered at him, disappointed that his intimidation had not yielded better results, and stalked off down the hallway. Hux composed himself, running his hand once more over his jacket sleeve before heading back to the room.

“What was that about?” You asked the general as soon as he entered. Ren, too, was trying to determine what had happened, and he found the memory easily, observing Pryde’s threats with more unease than Hux had expected. What did he know?

“Just a question about Starkiller Base. Are you ready?” Hux didn’t feel good about lying to you, even if it was necessary for your peace of mind, if not your protection. Regardless of how affectionate Pryde had seemed, Hux doubted that he was a man who would accept any kind of defiance, even from his daughter.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you said, taking his arm. Ren placed his helmet over his face, and followed closely behind, the three of you on your way to greet your guests.

Ren hated parties. He normally could avoid them, as many members of the First Order were somewhat uncomfortable in his presence, but the ones he had attended were boring at the best of times. It didn’t help that most of the reasons that these gatherings were supposed to be enjoyable were denied him: the extravagant meals, the posturing in front of colleagues and competitors, and the dancing—something he never thought he would enjoy, but now that you were there . . .

It seemed from the beginning that this party was going to be more intolerable than most. It bothered him that you were on Hux’s arm, but Ren did have a reputation to maintain, and the Directorate was distrustful of force users; they would like any reason to question his competence, and showing any weakness would have immediate consequences.

The party started off with a reception line, which he was required to be a part of even though no one was there to talk to him. Ren was forced to watch as Hux showed off for you, probably part of the general’s plan, introducing you to members of the Directorate with a superior air. The grand manner with which he presented himself was already annoying, but even worse, it seemed to be working: you practically fawned over him as he spoke, admiring the way he was treated by the highest ranked in the Order. You had almost fainted when he introduced you to Rae Sloane, one of your personal heroes, and Ren was having a harder and harder time trying not to lash out.

A servant announced that dinner was about to be served, and you found your way to your seats at the high table. Phasma joined your group on the general’s left, in her armor but without her helmet now that she had finished with the assignments for the Storm Trooper security detail. The Troopers stood on the edges of the ballroom, more for show than anything else.

The meal began, the polite dinner conversation along with it, and Ren participated in neither, instead choosing to watch you, grateful for the mask—grateful that you couldn’t see the softness in his face as he studied you intently. You’re not eating, you pressed the thought towards him silently, feigning focus on the discussion happening at the table. Ren knew a shrug in response wouldn’t suffice, but he was unsure how to communicate back to you without alerting the other guests. Your hand slipped surreptitiously from above the table into your lap, and then underneath, reaching to him. He could see your fingers wiggling in his periphery. It’s worth a shot, he heard you, and he cautiously pulled his glove off of his right hand, placing it in yours. Your fingers intertwined with his, and he felt his palm begin to perspire almost immediately. He sneered behind the mask, disgusted with himself. How could he even think of being with you in that way when this slight contact had such an effect on him?

He focused his thoughts, trying to make his message stark in his mind so that you could more easily grab onto it. He could feel your attempts to focus, but nothing yielded, his thoughts still secure, and his palm grew slicker. Would you notice? What would the others think if they caught you holding hands like children away from prying eyes? Maybe, he thought, he could help you if he just gave a little push.

A strangled cry rose from your throat, which immediately turned into a coughing fit, drawing the eyes of the other dinner guests. Ren pulled his hand from yours, too abruptly, and he knew without looking that Hux had seen.

“Are you alright, Lieutenant General?” Phasma asked, and a waiter, sensing your distress, came over to refill your glass. You took a long sip of the wine, finally able to breathe again.

“Yes, I’m fine,” you assured her, and the others relaxed, except for Hux, who still had his eyes on Ren, “I don’t know what came over me.” Pryde was looking at you, as well, seated a little ways away, his gaze boring into you, and you shrunk infinitesimally, a stabbing fear entering your head. The same fear you had felt earlier in the bedroom, when your father had first come to visit.

“It’s probably just the nerves, Lieutenant General,” Sloane said, “I’m sure your speech will be wonderful.” Ren could feel your heart flutter at her words, the pride of being recognized by someone as powerful as Sloane only slightly dampened by your interaction with your father. The chatter resumed at the table, and you glanced at Ren, another one of your thoughts coming to him: how did you do that? Ren shrugged in response, but you moved your hand under the table again, insistent, and he was forced to oblige.

I’m sorry, did I hurt you? He pressed the thought at you, gently this time, and you shivered in response, but your expression remained impassive.

No, it just surprised me. It’s the strangest sensation, I don’t know if I could explain it . . . Have you ever done something like that before?

No, Ren could feel himself blushing like an idiot. The question felt suggestive in a way that put him on edge, and he hoped that you wouldn’t be able to pick up on his discomfort through your tenuous connection. He needed to distract you. Do you think anyone else noticed? Your father? You stiffened, pulling your hand from his, shaking your head minutely. By now, Ren had sensed a pattern. Whenever you thought of the allegiant general, your thoughts turned black.

The plates from the final course were cleared away, and the general took the stage, giving you a small introduction before your speech. Ren listened half-heartedly as Hux blathered on about bravery and loyalty and dedication. He finished, and you moved to the stage as Hux once again found his seat.

Ren tried to force himself to listen to your speech, but he couldn’t manage to focus on anything you were saying. He was still thinking about your father. Before the party, he had been curious: you acted the part of a loving daughter perfectly, but the terror had been undeniable. You, a person who feared so little, were practically paralyzed when Pryde had singled Hux out, pacing anxiously in the room while they had talked. He was still trying to make sense of it all when Hux elbowed him in the side, hard.

“What?” Ren whispered, hoping Hux could hear his anger despite the mask.

“There’s a Storm Trooper, up against the wall over there, six down from us. The fidgeting one. I want you to tell me what they’re thinking.” Ren rolled his eyes. A twitchy Storm Trooper; how trivial. Ren was about to tell Hux to piss off, but he looked to Captain Phasma first, and stopped. She was on edge, a fierce look in her eyes, completely ignoring your speech, her entire body focused only on the Storm Trooper in question, her hands balled into tight fists. He had never seen her this way before. Something was wrong.

Ren closed his eyes cast his focus outward, letting the thoughts of the crowd spill into his consciousness, trying to pick out the Storm Trooper in question without alerting any of the others to his presence.

He stood from the chair, knocking it over roughly, and Phasma and the general moved with him in tandem, out of their seats without Ren needing to say anything. But they were too late. Ren was forced to watch from across the room as the Trooper raised his blaster, aimed at your heart, and fired.

Tags: @dark-night-sky-99​

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #331

my head hurts way too badly to think up some intro lyrics, so just g’night.

Have you ever become good friends with someone you never met in person? Oh yeah, I've had best friends over the Internet. Hell, I'm closer to many online friends than I am most irl ones. They know "the real me" more. What do you consider your default mood to be? Stressed, probably. Discontent. What’s the longest amount of time you’ve ever kept a goldfish alive for? Not long. Proper goldfish husbandry is a very neglected topic, and I sure as hell never knew how to set up its tank adequately. Have you ever been paintballing? No, don't plan to. It looks like it hurts like a bitch. Do you want a large wedding? No. Did you ever collect any sort of cards? I had a very small collection of Pokemon cards. I didn't collect them avidly. What’re the best and worst books you ever had to read for a class? The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton was the best. The worst was some book we had to read in the 6th grade about a kid during some war that moved around a lot... I don't remember the name or who wrote it, but it sucked. What’s the best meal you had at an amusement park, or If you haven’t been to one, how about a good meal at another place like a zoo, aquarium or museum? I don't know. I haven't been to many. Who, whether a person or company, emails you the most? My PHP therapist emails me a check-in sheet and Zoom link every day there's a therapy session. What kind of sound or noise freaks you out the most and why do you think it scares you? Let's seeeee... I don't know if there's a sound that actually freaks me out. There are some I don't like, but none that like, frighten me. At least that I can think of. What’s the strangest art piece you’ve come across? Biiiitch there's a painting in Amnesia: A Machine for Pigs I'm not gonna go into, but shit fuckin wild. What’s the most clever or unique name you’ve come across for a business? I've definitely heard some cool ones, but I don't know about one that really stands out to answer this. If you had to name one of your hypothetical future children after a song, which song would you pick? Maybe like... okay, I'm blanking. Good thing I'm not having kids to name then, right? What’s the last song you heard? "Down in the Park" by Marilyn Manson is on atm. What is your favorite line from a TV show? *shrug* Any current family issues? No. How many hours do you spend online a day? How do you feel about that? I'm doing something on the computer pretty much... always. I hate it, and I hate it a lot. I don't want my life to be tied solely to the digital plane. I want to do more than bounce back and forth from website to website. Do you think that people have the power to make their own lives better? Absolutely, but there are some things they simply cannot change. It's about perspective and how you play the deck you're dealt. What is the biggest problem in your life right now? Right now, the most limiting thing is my physical health, probably. Just walking being torture affects my ability to exercise, and my body is a major reason - if not the biggest, at this current time - for my depression. This also plays a massive role in jobs I can handle. Not to sound like my emo self writing middle school poetry, but my body feels like a prison. Do you feel that you are loved? I know I am by some people, though I have a hard time understanding why a lot. What is the one thing you want most from life? Life satisfaction. Pride in what I've accomplished. A regular state of being content. Birthplace? I'm just gonna say in eastern NC. Do you believe in love at first sight? No, merely infatuation. Love is much too deep for that. Do you think dreams eventually come true? Some can, but usually only if you put effort into making that so. Favorite fictional character? like ummmmmmmm have you heard of this sassy bastard called Darkiplier- Go to the movies or rent? Before Covid, I loved going to the theater. It was something to do, plus a giant screen is nice. McDonalds or Burger King? McD's. I'm not a big BK fan. I only really went there during my vegetarian phase for the veggie burger. Current annoyance? This motherfucking headache. Last thing you ate? I have a meal replacement shake with me right now, if you consider that "eating." I didn't have a proper dinner. The last solid food I had though was some cookies and cream Greek yogurt. Last thing you bought? With my own money, I think I bought Mom and I some cheap McDonald's order semi-recently? Or maybe paying my $100 deposit for my tattoo was most recent, idk. Soonest thing you are looking forward to? For Mom to get her CT scan and find out what's going on in there. What did you do today? It was a pretty average day. I woke up way too early, though. The only thing even semi-unique about today was I played World of Warcraft for a few hours again; I've been quite unattached to it lately, but I went through an episode today of actually having fun playing. Oh, and I've been battling a migraine. It's more of a severe headache now, at least, but it still sucks big time. Do you like to see it snowing outside? Oh yes, absolutely! When you were in high school did you ever have bomb threats? I believe once we did from a very volatile student that honestly caused quite a lot of trouble. He's dead now. Who knows ALL of your secrets? Nobody. Did you have a job before you were in college? No. Have you ever thought about what it would be like to have a baby right now? That's a terrifying thought, no. Are you on birth control? Yeah, but just because it tames my menstrual cramps. Without it, they could be debilitating some days. Who is your last sent text to? My best fren. Have you ever eaten at Chipotle before? Possibly? Idr. Do you swear often? Excessively. I had a dirty mouth prior, but my swearing got really bad when I started staying at Jason's house a lot. He and especially his mother swear like mad. Do you own any shirts with a peace symbol on it? No. Do you have your national flag hanging up anywhere outside your house? Not at this house, no. Would you ever go to Japan? Oh, yes. I would love to. It's... very morbid, but I would really like to walk the (public) paths of Aokigahara Forest, nicknamed "Suicide Forest" for the horrible amount of, well, suicides that happen there via hanging. Like, you might just casually run into a dead body. I want to just... feel it there, walk in silence and empathize with people who didn't know what else to do and hope so deeply that those departed know they were never alone in their pain. I know with absolute certainty I'd probably be teary-eyed the whole time and cry a whoooole lot, but it's just an experience I want to have. What was the last thing you went to Walmart for? Some basic groceries. What should you be doing right now? Sleeping, given this headache... I just don't want to yet. Are you afraid of getting your heart broken? I'm fucking terrified of that ever happening again, far more than words can properly express. Have you ever been in a choir? Yes, actually; when I was a Catholic kid, my sisters and I were in the church choir for a year or so, idr. Do you have a Twitter? Yes, but only to like Mark's tweets, haha. Oh, and very rarely enter giveaways I'm interested in. Describe your retainers to me, if you have them, that is. I have a permanent metal one behind my front row of bottom teeth to keep those straight. My upper teeth had one of those normal retainers you take in and out, but I didn't wear it enough, so now it doesn't even fit. Would you like for someone to call you right now? No. I'm tired, my head hurts, and I'm enjoying the song I'm bingeing. It's so weird, I rarely ever go on music hunting trips (no real reason, I just... don't), but I've found great shit lately. Do you like to brush your teeth? No; it's a chore. I only do it because I don't want my teeth decaying, falling out, or getting too yellow, and the taste in your mouth and gritty texture on your teeth isn't exactly great when you don't brush. Have you ever had a surgery? Two. Give out your phone number over the internet? I have over private messages. Do you look older or younger than you actually are? Given my wardrobe (like graphic tees and band shirts), I probably look younger in the eyes of especially older people. I personally say I look my age, though. When is the next time you’ll be up on stage? I never plan to be again. What is the last show that you watched a full episode of? Some cooking show with Mom. Nailed It!, I think? Do you know anyone who lives in Utah? No. I love Utah, though; it's actually a place I'd be willing to live in with just how pretty it is and not super populated. Do you get your feelings hurt easily? VERY. I'm probably one of the most sensitive people you can meet. Do you still talk to the person you last made out with? Yeah. Have you ever seen your best friend cry? Ugh, yes. What kind of vitamins did you take as a kid? First we took those nasty, chalky Flintstones kinds, but as time passed, Mom moved onto giving us gummy bear vitamins that were perfectly fine. Did you get any compliments today? No. Are you friends with your neighbors? Not "friends," no. What towns have you lived in? Three different ones. That's all you're getting. Have you ever thrown up from drinking? No. Done any illegal drugs? No. I mean I've had some alcohol underage, but I've never done anything remotely hardcore. What’s the longest amount of time you’ve been on an airplane without changing flights? Idk. Who have you texted today? My mom and best friend. What time did you wake up this morning? Ugh, like five in the fucking morning. I couldn't go back to sleep. What is your favorite condiment to go with french fries? Ketchup. What do you have a habit of doing when engaging in a conversation with someone? Making shitty eye contact, and I'm one of those people who "talks with [their] hands." I also lose my train of thought a whoooole lot. Have you ever layed in a hammock? Yeah; we had one growing up. Have you ever lost a pet in a tragic way? How did you cope? Well yeah, I've had lots of pets, so thus lost some in particularly painful ways. The most scarring loss of a pet though is as follows: Teddy, my dog, picked up one of our cat's very young, wandering kittens in his jaws in a manner that looked as if he was trying to carry it like Aphrodite (the mother cat) does when she would bring them back behind the couch, where she gave birth/had her little "nest." I absolutely freaked and had to pry the kitten from his mouth, and it slowly died in my hands. I think Teddy accidentally crushed its ribs. I. Was. A. Mess. Then, there was Aphrodite herself. I've told the story before of our former neighbors calling animal control because our cats would wander through their yard, and all of our cats were taken away while I was unaware at school. Came home, and they were all gone. Aphrodite was my baby, so I was devastated. Screaming, sobbing, cursing on the porch for like 20 minutes... It was awful. What type of curtains do you like? I don't... know? I don't know the actual names of any types... What type of quality is a must-have in a friend? I absolutely cannot be friends with someone who thinks they're above everyone else. Are you any good at reading someone's body language? I think I am. What goes good with a nice cold glass of milk? Cookies! Especially Oreos. Dip it in there for around five seconds, and it's perfection. What fruit is too sweet to you? Grapefruit came to mind first. How did you feel after your first kiss? I had butterflies galore and was so giddy and smiley. After the first, I just wanted to kiss him a billion more times. What’s your favorite constellation and why? I don't have one. Shower curtain or door? Curtain. The glass doors are too revealing. Have you ever thought to yourself that you’re the luckiest person in the world? Most deeeeefinitely not. What time of day do you most enjoy looking at the sky? Sunset if there are clouds present, but sunrise if the sky is pretty clear.

[hogwartsfirebolt]

The most heart-warming fic I have read in a thousand years: A FIC REC

Falling for a Golden Boy - @rockmarina​ - 44k - Explicit

Merlin. Why couldn’t Draco have moved to a forgotten village in the Alps? He could have turned into a shepherd, learned to make his own damn cheese and given up his damn magic. But no, he’d had to come back to his Eighth year, hadn’t he? And this was his life now. Draping himself over Potter to hear words from him that he knew Potter wouldn’t ever mean.

Great. The school year ahead of him looked simply great.

“All I know is—when I’m with you, I…” Potter, the heathen, grunted when he read the rest of his line. “Do I really need to say this?”

“What, scared of believing your own words, Scarhead?” Draco spat.

“Boys,” O’Neill warned them.

“All I—all I know is you’re the most amazing person with weak ankles that I've ever met, Meg.” Potter scowled. He was blushing again. “And when I’m with you, I feel less alone.”

Or where a drama play, a grumpy pompom and a bunch of well-intentioned friends help Draco and Harry find peace—and each other—after the war.

Thoughts under read more

When I read the summary, I was inevitably drawn to this story like a damn bug to a lightbulb, because it sounded cheeky and clever and sweet, and I DAMN LOVE Hercules so, so so much. By the time I found it, I was on the deepest of fic reading slumps of my life, and nothing I did seemed to get me out of it. I took a chance on this, on a story that took two worlds I hold so close to my heart, and I am SO incredibly glad that I did. Marina took both my hands and pulled me out of the slump, got me so excited and charmed me so deeply that I couldn’t help but squeal, at times. Just a little. Just a tiny bit. 

This is a story about kids who recently came out of a war and whose mental dust has yet to settle. They are brought back to school to finish up their studies and, hopefully, make some sense of everything that happened to them, and in that process they are introduced to a new Muggle Studies professor and required to participate in a play. Hercules. That’s right. And just like in the movie, we need a lost boy who became a hero with the help of two great friends (in the form of a pegasus and a satyr but OH WELL), and a love interest who is on the wrong side of the war and forced to work against the hero. It DOES sound quite familiar when put like that, don’t you think? 

The characterizations are beautiful from the get-go. We enter this story holding Draco’s hand, see him struggling to be better, consciously stopping when he catches himself being an asshole in his head, and just genuinely trying so hard to shed the skin of the person he was before and resurface as a better, kinder version of himself, that it’s impossible not to fall in love with him. On the other side, we have Harry, who has put the past firmly behind closed doors, and to quote the way he’s described in the story, is fresh out of a war, barely of age. A young man who just wants to be done with this and left alone, if you don’t mind?

In this, we find both Harry and Draco slowly, but surely taking control of their own narratives, shaking off the hands that have pushed them around like puppets for their entire lives in a way that lets them be free to try new things and gives them a shot at happiness, lets them just be young and even silly, at times, and it’s so incredibly touching to see them take a chance on that. 

At first, they are a mess. Though Draco is pretty good at reining himself in, he just freaking loses it around Harry, and it’s HILARIOUS and done in a way that is SO true to their relationship in canon, I got such a kick out of seeing Draco have this almost oblivious schoolboy fixation on Harry, still, the one that just makes him want to needle him into petty fights that are sprinkled with those little moments that almost tip on the edge of a kind of flirtation that is more like a challenge, and I love, love, love the way the author did this, gave us a starting point to their relationship that already felt so volatile and set up to change as they are forced into the leading roles of the play. 

For that reason, their scenes together felt overwhelming not only to them, but also to me as a reader, both from their proximity and the way the characters they’re playing and the dialogue fit their own dynamic, but spun in a way that takes what is being said and makes it their own, and this is so incredibly well done, the scenes of the play seamlessly fitted into the eternal sideshow that is Harry and Draco, that I enjoyed it beyond measure. Seeing them slowly, very, very slowly explore and adapt to new dynamics was absolutely delicious.

The first time they kissed, when it came, took my breath away, and after, the way anticipation built every time their eyes met, the not knowing what was coming next tinged with such a deep shade of want – not even a want of anything specific, just nearness, just the other’s company – reminded me so much of the way crushes felt when I was in high school, the build up to each kiss had me clutching my chest and, when they happened, the intensity had me blushing, and every single time this happened I just marveled at the fact that this was written in a way that all these FEELINGS they had jumped right out of the page with authenticity. We see them change the way they act around each other, after that, Harry becoming charming and confident and shy, all of these simultaneously, and this gives an extra layer to Harry’s character that we learn along with Draco, all the colorful laughs and silly jokes, all the stealing Draco’s hat, how he literally pushes him to adopt a little pet and then attempts to annoy him into naming it something ridiculous.

It almost hurt to see them learning to trust each other, in how lovely and heart-warming it is, how they find in each other someone to talk about things they desperately need to let out but never felt they had the space or the words to, it just felt very organic and magical, how evident it is that they both feel like they’re allowed to be themselves and to be vulnerable when they’re in each other’s company, unveiling new parts of themselves every time they felt ready, and that was so beautifully executed that I could have swooned. 

The story unfolds along the school year, but a lot of things happen in the Christmas holidays, and it’s all just so lovely and festive that I felt completely wrapped up in it, I could see the Hogsmeade Christmas Market in my head, I could imagine snow clinging to their coats and cheekbones, I heard the fire crackling and remembered every detail about Home Alone and it was incredible. 

Every moment of this fic is dotted with details that make it feel real and alive in a way you don’t often find, all the side characters are complex and deep, so diverse, and the little time we spend with them is enough to care for them and love them deeply. Greg is autistic in this, and Draco’s relationship with him is such a beautiful, beautiful touch, as are his moments with Parvati and even Luna. I loved that there’s an openly transgender character, I loved Draco making sense of his own sexuality and finding that he doesn’t have to fit anyone else’s definition of anything, just his own. I loved O’Neill, because it feels so incredibly important to have an authority figure giving guidance to students who are lost, a teacher who, for a change, treats them with respect, wants to love them and genuinely wants to help. She was one of my favorite characters, because she helped them all, loved them, taught them to be genuine about their feelings, helped them find themselves when they needed her, encouraged them to try out new, hidden talents. I’m tearing up just remembering her. I want someone like her in my life. 

I don’t know what else to say. This story is incredibly beautiful, and much deeper than I could ever have imagined, emotional and authentic and human and true, and I wanted to start reading it again as soon as I finished it. If you like post-war stories that feature spot-on, gorgeous characterizations, mistletoes, bowtruckles, hats with pom poms on them, lilies, outings that everyone knows are dates but the people on them, and rather a lot of singing and blushing, this is the fic for you. Which, WHO DOESN’T LIKE THOSE THINGS? So this is the fic for everyone. That’s my hot take. 

If you want to feel warm and fuzzy RIGHT THIS SECOND, I’m dropping another link for you right HERE. Let Marina know how beautiful her story is in a comment, and after you’ve done that, come cry about O’Neill with me. Much love ❤️

[inventors-fair]

Combat Commentary

Thank you all for your entries! Here is commentary for all the entries that weren’t winners or runners-up. I hope that this format, along with the gallery, allows for people to get everything they can out of the Fair.

@ace-hobo — All for One // One for All

This was a clever use of the split-card naming convention, and I liked this card in general. There’s an amount of math to do that can make combat difficult, and if this card isn’t uncommon it probably should be. It’s hard to make it out with that symbol. Regardless, a fine card, costed effectively, a good split. Some people might be pedantic about the name; I think it’s nice.

@competitive-casual-magic — Oil and Fire

Now this is a cool card. Wrecking Ball, but shock, but deathtouch, but not. What an interesting idea. I like the fact that it deals two damage to any target, not just a creature. Giving it flash is very cool. I imagined a lot of scenarios in which this card could blow out someone during combat and make for some complex scenarios. I don’t think this should be rare, personally, but maybe it’s complex enough. In something like Modern Horizons, it would be uncommon. For standard, hm... I’m on the fence about that.

@dabudder — Adrenaline Sliver

This card irks me, not because you did anything mechanically wrong or because it’s not a great idea, but because it gives slivers a boost based on the number of slivers you control rather than +3/+2. Part of the flavor of bloodrush was the fact that it based it on the creatures P/T and abilities. The dissonance in this specific card is frustrating. Still, forget that. I love the concept. I do enjoy this card. Don’t forget in future iterations to capitalize all instances of the word “Sliver.”

@dancepatternalpha — One Last Fight

Follower really liked this card. I liked it as a combo piece. Flavorfully, it’s pretty neat and I like the effort that you put into the flavor text. It’s very difficult for a new player to understand exactly what use this card does without understanding how combat works, but that’s what makes it a good uncommon. I imagined pairing this with Spikeshot Elder and having fun there, heh. 

@fivetrillionelves — Conquer Fear

Interesting card, pretty strong trick! I like the way it makes one of White’s weaknesses, its small creatures, a lot better. Flavor text does need that end quote. Not a whole lot to say about this card. It gets the job done. Might be hard to understand in multiples on the same creature, though.

@fractured-infinity — Unstoppable Curiosity

I am not a fan of this card, clever as it is. I don’t like buffing an opponent’s creature just for minor card advantage. If this was “Whenever a creature deals combat damage to you this turn, draw a card” or some effect where you could utilize the weakness without making yourself weaker, I feel like this card could be cool. As-is, I’d never use this card on an opponent’s creature. On my own, it’s not bad. “Trample” doesn’t need to be capitalized. Also, I JUST got the flavor text. It’s a touch unclear.

@ghost3141596535 — Bullshift

He, nice name. I can see that you intended this for Ikoria, and I like that aspect of it. Thank you for marking the rarity. Don’t forget your periods. As someone who hasn’t played with mutate, I can’t really say how strong this card is in practicality. It’s odd that it allows for mutate in creatures without mutate. I don’t know how that works within the rules.

@guardgomabroa — Sudden Desertion

I really like the flavor of destroying an army (which should be capitalized) but I feel that that’s too narrow to really have a strong reason to exist. It’s a cute card that’s using Magic naming conventions for flavor reasons rather than the game itself. Maybe that’s enough. I’m a little more of a stickler. It’s kinda cute, though, and I’m a fan of white removing things from combat, too. Maybe in WAR it could have been played. 

@i-am-the-one-who-wololoes — Desperate Effort

I don’t believe “sacrificing” a “target” blocks well. The fact that it makes this card need two targets is confusing. Why not just “As an additional cost” the sacrifice? What’s the point of doing a creature that your team controls? Why only an unblocked creature? Why does it give the +X/+Y effect instead of a simpler +X/+X effect? I think that this card has too many moving parts and could have been simplified significantly while keeping the same strong flavor.

@machine-elf-paladin — Hunger of the Grave

This card was a contender for runners-up. It also could have used flavor text. It’s a great addition to Zombie tribal, great with graveyard strategies, well-worded and powerful with the lifelink. Not much to critique here. Good job.

@mardu-lesbian — Phantasmal Fallacy

I like what you did with the name. I think that this is a powerful cantrip that’s playing with some design space. “Planeswalker” becomes a 4/4? That’s a control card for sure. I’ll smack you in the face with a Mind Sculptor. The cantrip might be too powerful, as four power is pretty strong as-is, but I think this card is basically fine and pretty fun.

@misterstingyjack — Quickdraw

Interesting card. I like the magically influenced gunslinging flavor and what can be done with other equipment in this set. The fact that this can essentially be a five-mana do-nothing spell without so much as a cantrip is frustrating. This card should be, I feel, three mana at most. Might require playtesting, but still. Definitely not five.

@nikkatsu-dnd-mtg — Trade-Off

Firstly, this card’s name doesn’t stand on its own without flavor text to back up whatever’s happening, and the fact that there’s no flavor text is a major blow. I’m not sure why it’s an Arcane spell, and I’m definitely not sure why this is common. This card is a blowout and a half. Getting tokens is worth it, and swinging with a team of 6/6s minimum is insane. It’s a one-mana go-wide spell that should cost at least five mana and be at least uncommon. I know you thought that static abilities was a good enough loss, but I assure you: it is not.

@nine-effing-hells — Bardic Performance

I’m on the fence about this card, even though it’s probably good. You took the fairly complex addition of sagas and made it a simple and fun buff in the vein of Travel Preparations. I think this card is a fine uncommon, probably. There’s a tiny bit of disconnect between bard things and counters like that, but the flavor can be bent, and I can just suck it up. This card is good.

@piecesofliquid — Instinct of Greed

Concept is good. There are three specific things I would do to improve this card. One: Change the name to “Greedy Instinct.” No real reason, I just like it. Two: Most importantly, I would change the “exile” to “sacrifice” and take out “you control.” Sacrificing is only something you can do anyway, and it would work better with other red strategies. Three: The flavor text needs to be in quotes. Other than that? Again: good.

@real-aspen-hours — Sudden saplings

Yeah, as you said in Discord, this card is basically Blinding Fog. Instead, let’s talk about improvements for future submissions! Firstly, the card name should be capitalized; I copied it exactly as you submitted it. Secondly, you didn’t include a rarity, which is something you need to consider. Thirdly, if the flavor text is a quote, which it appears to be, it needs to be in quotation marks. That’s all I can think of off the top of my head. Card’s fine for a functional reprint, lol. I like how you changed it to “by creatures” for a more Fog-gy effect. Why ALL creatures?

@shandylamb — Knowledge Breeds Strength

Strict +X/+X effects are not in Blue’s slice of the color pie. This is a green card through and through. I think the flavor text could have been a little more creative. The idea, however, is sound. This card would have been fine twenty years ago, probably. I don’t mean to sound snarky with that; it’s simply something old Blue could have done that isn’t done anymore. 

@snugz — Necromantic Ninjutsu

I am of the opinion that this card should be rare. I am also of the opinion that if this card was rare it would have won above and beyond. What a fantastically creative card. Follower loved it, as did I. For a standard set, though, rareify that baby. Great great great job.

@starch255 — Invisible Wall

Wow, this card is... Not Fun At Uncommon In Limited. The idea is sound and I would love playing this card, but it’s just too much! The hexproof, nuts. The nigh-infinite life, crazy. What a frustrating card to play against. If this was FOUR mana, I might consider it. However, I do like how trample effs this card over. Regardless of that, though, I’m not a big fan, no matter how much if a fan I am. If that makes any sense.

@teaxch​ — Serene Crane Maneuver

Interesting! I think this is one that needs the two targets, unfortunately, but I can imagine how this would work in limited. I would probably only sideboard this card if I felt really really clever, but I like it for flavor reasons and mechanical reasons. Again, I just wouldn’t...play it, necessarily. Maybe I would, but it would take the right environment. This is a volatile card.

@theobligatorysql​ — Combat Trick

This card absolutely needs to be an uncommon and absolutely needs a better name/flavor combo. Now, I do like it mechanically, and it’s pretty cool, but I’m not a fan of the fact that this is a meta-card. In a vacuum, I freakin’ love it. I feel that this card would go well in something like a Custom Cube.

@tmstage​ — One-Two Punch

Very cool. Aethertouch is one of those things that you’re introducing that I would have to see played out before I pass judgement on it. As of right now, I think that this card could have been a cantrip or something. “Non-lethal damage” — hm. Not sure how I feel about that, though. But I assume also that blue is what makes this card Jeskai. Personally, for three colors, I’d like to see something simpler and/or more streamlines. New concepts are scawwy, o noes!... In all seriousness, keep Aethertouch for future designs.

@walker-of-the-yellow-path​ — Meat Shield

“Target creature GAINS indestructible until end of turn.” It’s an actual ability now, remember? Aside from that, this card is...fine for one mana. It’s not perfect, it’s kinda clunky, but it seems like something WotC would print so you have that going for you. I like the simplicity of the flavor text.

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