#i keep seeing criticism now that its over and i feel like its misplaced

[inkspiredwriting]

Words Unsaid

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

Warnings: angst

The Hargreeves’ home was silent, the usual hum of life replaced by a tense, suffocating quiet. Y/n stood in the living room, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her gaze fixed on the clock ticking away on the wall. Each second seemed louder than the last, a relentless reminder of the time slipping through her fingers.

Five stood by the door, his face a storm of conflicting emotions. His fists were clenched at his sides, the muscles in his jaw twitching as he struggled to contain his anger. The argument had started over something trivial—a misplaced item, a careless word—but had quickly escalated into a whirlwind of accusations and hurtful comments.

“I can’t believe you sometimes,” Y/n said, her voice rising. “It’s like you don’t even care about how I feel!”

“Care about how you feel?” Five shot back, his eyes flashing with frustration. “I’m doing everything I can to keep us safe, to keep this family together! But nothing I do is ever good enough for you, is it?”

Y/n’s heart ached at the words, but pride and anger kept her from backing down. “Maybe if you didn’t shut me out all the time, I wouldn’t feel like this!”

Five’s face twisted with pain and rage. “You have no idea what it’s like to be me,” he snapped. “To have the weight of time itself pressing down on you. I’m trying, Y/n. But I can’t do this if you’re constantly second-guessing me.”

Tears blurred Y/n’s vision, but she blinked them away, refusing to let him see her cry. “Then maybe you should figure out what you really want,” she said coldly. “Because I can’t keep doing this.”

Five’s eyes softened for a moment, a flicker of regret passing through them. But before he could speak, the anger surged back, and he turned on his heel, wrenching the door open. “I need some air,” he muttered, stepping outside into the night.

The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing through the empty house. Y/n stood frozen, her heart pounding in her chest. She wanted to call after him, to tell him she didn’t mean it, but the words stuck in her throat, choked by pride and fear.

Y/n sat on the edge of the couch, her phone clutched tightly in her hand. The house was dark now, the only light coming from the muted glow of the television. She had tried calling Five’s phone multiple times, but each call went straight to voicemail. Anxiety gnawed at her, twisting her stomach into knots.

Just as she was about to try calling again, the phone rang. She nearly dropped it in her haste to answer, hope flaring in her chest. “Five?” she said breathlessly.

But it wasn’t Five’s voice on the other end. It was cold, detached, professional. “Mrs. Hargreeves? This is St. Matthew’s Hospital. Your husband has been involved in an accident. You need to come down here immediately.”

Y/n’s world tilted on its axis, the words not fully registering. “What…what happened?” she stammered, her heart racing.

“He was hit by a car. He’s in critical condition. Please come quickly.”

The phone slipped from her hand, clattering to the floor. The world around her seemed to blur and distort, the edges of her vision darkening. She stumbled to her feet, grabbing her coat and keys with shaking hands.

The hospital was a sterile maze of white walls and antiseptic smells, the fluorescent lights harsh and unforgiving. Y/n rushed through the hallways, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her mind a whirlwind of fear and regret.

She reached the emergency room, her eyes scanning the sea of faces until they landed on a nurse standing by the door. “I’m here for Five Hargreeves,” she said, her voice trembling. “Where is he?”

The nurse’s expression softened with sympathy. “He’s in surgery,” she said gently. “The doctors are doing everything they can.”

Y/n nodded numbly, the words washing over her without meaning. She sank into a chair in the waiting room, her hands twisting together in her lap. Each minute stretched into an eternity, her mind replaying their argument over and over again. Every harsh word, every angry look—it all haunted her, a relentless loop of guilt and sorrow.

It was the early hours of the morning when a doctor finally approached her. His face was weary, lines of fatigue etched into his skin. “Mrs. Hargreeves?” he said, his voice gentle. “I’m Dr. Nguyen. Your husband…he’s out of surgery. He’s stable, but he’s in a coma. We’re not sure when he’ll wake up.”

Y/n felt the ground fall away beneath her. “A coma?” she whispered, her voice breaking. “But he’ll wake up, right? He has to.”

The doctor sighed, his eyes filled with compassion. “We hope so,” he said softly. “But it’s hard to say. He’s been through a lot. His body needs time to heal.”

Y/n nodded, tears streaming down her face. “Can I see him?”

“Of course,” the doctor said, guiding her to Five’s room.

The room was dimly lit, the soft beeping of machines the only sound. Five lay in the bed, his face pale and still, tubes and wires snaking from his body. Y/n approached slowly, her heart aching at the sight of him so vulnerable and broken.

She sank into the chair beside the bed, reaching out to take his hand in hers. His skin was cold, his fingers limp in her grasp. “Five,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. Please, come back to me.”

The silence was deafening, the only response the steady rhythm of the machines. Y/n bowed her head, her tears falling onto their joined hands. “I love you,” she said, her voice breaking. “I love you so much. Please, don’t leave me. I can’t lose you.”

The days blurred into weeks, each one a relentless cycle of hope and despair. Y/n stayed by Five’s side, talking to him, reading to him, holding his hand. She told him stories of their life together, of the moments they had shared, the dreams they had for the future.

But Five remained unresponsive, his eyes closed, his breathing steady but shallow. Each day that passed felt like a lifetime, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on her.

It was a quiet afternoon when it happened. Y/n was reading aloud from one of Five’s favorite books, her voice soft and soothing. She paused to turn the page, and that’s when she felt it—a faint, almost imperceptible squeeze of her hand.

Her heart leaped in her chest, her eyes widening in disbelief. “Five?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Can you hear me?”

There was no response, but the slight pressure on her hand remained. Tears filled her eyes as she clutched his hand tightly, hope flaring in her chest. “I’m here,” she said, her voice breaking. “I’m right here. Please, come back to me.”

Days turned into weeks, and slowly, miraculously, Five began to show signs of waking. His fingers would twitch, his eyelids would flutter.

Y/n was there every step of the way, her heart lifting with each small victory. She knew their journey was far from over, that there would be challenges and setbacks. But she held onto hope, held onto the promise of their love, and the belief that they would find their way back to each other.

In the quiet moments, when the world was still and the only sound was the soft beeping of the machines, Y/n would lean close, her lips brushing against his ear. “I love you,” she would whisper. “I’m here, Five. I’m not going anywhere.”

And in those moments, Five’s hand would tighten around hers, a silent promise that he was fighting his way back to her. That their love, though tested and scarred, was still strong enough to withstand even the darkest of times.

[filmmakersvision]

Kohrra Review

July 22, 2023

by Inakshi Chandra-Mohanty

Seven years back, we got a glimpse of the downtrodden state of Punjab through the film, Udta Punjab. The drugs, the violence, the chaos. It was a stark departure from the gorgeous pinds, ganne ke khet, and an overall romanticized version of Punjab we had grown accustomed to through the movies. We still see those sprawling fields in Kohrra, but now there is an ominous air over it, a fog of criminality that refuses to disappear. Netflix’s latest series is a crime thriller that follows two police officers, Balbir Singh (Suvinder Vicky) and Amarpal Garundi (Barun Sobti), as they attempt to solve the murder of a groom, just days prior to his wedding. Their personal and professional lives intertwine as the search for the culprit reveals much about the dismal state of society.

It is no surprise that one of the writers of Udta Punjab is a co-creator on this series. Sudip Sharma, also known for Amazon’s critically acclaimed show, Paatal Lok, has the knowledge and writing prowess to explore the gritty depths of Punjab. Along with director Randeep Jha, and co-writers, Gunjit Chopra and Diggi Sisodia, they create a universe that relies heavily on its atmosphere. From the Punjabi dialect spoken by the actors to the stark cinematography, they strive for authenticity.

Though it gets straight into the main plot, the crime being discovered within the first few minutes of the first episode, the story is slow to unravel. The exposition of the characters happens over the course of the series as each episode reveals a little more about their personal lives. The narrative is predictable. But, there is an unpredictability within that predictability. Many aspects of the mystery are easily guessed early on, but they are just loose threads. How these threads are woven together to form this murderous situation is the suspense we relish.

But what sets Kohrra apart, is the way it uses the mystery as background fodder for a poignant story of parental abuse and generational trauma. We see a whole generation of youngsters stifled due to the misplaced frustration of their elders. Happy suffers the inattention of his father, leading him down a treacherous path. Garundi is victim to the emotional blackmail of his brother and sister in law. Nimrat faces mental torture at the hands of her rigid father. Paul feels suppressed by the extreme beliefs of his father and as a result, Liam struggles due to Paul’s pain. The common thread here is the existence of parental figures who are insistent on imposing their beliefs from a generation of the past on their children of today. It is a bleak commentary on familial structures in modern society amid the chaotic crime scene in Punjab.

The brilliant writing along with the great performances bring these characters and themes to life. Suvinder Vicky and Barun Sobti do a commendable job leading the show. It’s remarkable to see how Barun Sobti imbibes this rustic Punjabi character, so different from any role he has portrayed thus far. This may be his fourth release of the year, but it’s definitely his best performance of them all. Suvinder Vicky is a revelation. Despite a career lasting almost two decades, with a few forays into Hindi entertainment, he is largely unknown to an Indian audience outside Punjab. This series has not only brought to light his nuanced acting, but has also catapulted him into belated stardom. While these two actors lead the way, it is the supporting cast that keeps the series afloat. Harleen Sethi is terrific in the role of Balbir’s disgruntled, angry and depressed daughter, Nimrat. Rachel Shelly beautifully portrays Clara’s agony of losing a son in a nation foreign to her. And there are many more actors that do a tremendous job bringing emotion and authenticity to their roles.

As the series comes to a close, I find myself wondering, are we supposed to like these characters? Barring Nimrat and Clara, my heart doesn’t ache for anyone. Instead, I feel disgusted by some of these people and their despicable actions. But, I believe that is the intention. These grey characters are not meant to be likeable. They are instead meant to be seen as an imperfect part of an imperfect society. A society that is slowly drowning in its own evils. But, as they each have their own form of redemption, we experience satisfaction, that in this burning society, there is a glimmer of hope. Just like its characters, Kohrra isn’t perfect. It is slow, it is predictable. But as the mystery takes a backseat, an important commentary on society emerges that makes the series a riveting watch.

[babyloniastreasure]

ya know I really enjoyed how much the Spectacles event relied on servants working together. And not just during the teaming-up parts (though that was really fun to see)-- it was great seeing how they strategized together, and how each team had a special part to play in order to systematically defeat the final enemy. Everyone was on the same side for once and it was nice.

[itsclydebitches]

RWBY Recaps: Volume 8 “Dark”

Welcome back, everyone! Can you believe it's been six weeks already? I can't. Something something the uncomfortable passage of time during a pandemic as emphasized by a web-series.

But we're here to talk about RWBY the fictional story, not RWBY the cultural icon. At least, we will in a moment. First, I'd like to acknowledge that shaky line between the two, growing blurrier with every volume. A sort of good news, bad news situation.

The bad news — to get that out of the way — is that we cannot easily separate RWBY from its authors and those authors have, sadly, been drawing a lot of negative attention as of late. This isn't anything new, not at all, but I think the unexpectedly long hiatus gave a lot of fans (myself included) the chance to think about Rooster Teeth's failings without getting distracted by their biggest and brightest production. There's a laundry list of problems here — everything from the behavior of voice actors to the quality of their merch — but as a sort of summary issue, I'd like to highlight the reviews that continue to pop up on websites like Glassdoor, detailing the toxic, sexist, crunch-obsessed environment that RT employees are forced to work in. A lot of these websites requires a login to read more than a page of reviews, but you can check out a Twitter thread about it here. 

Now, I want to be clear: I'm not bringing this up as a way to shame anyone enjoying RWBY. This isn't a simplistic claim of, "The authors are Problematic™ and therefore you can't like the stuff they produce." Nor is this meant to be a catch-all excuse for RWBY's problems. If it were, I'd have dropped these recaps years ago. I'm of the belief that audiences maintain the right to both praise and criticize the work they're given, regardless of the context in which that work was produced. At the end of the day, RT has presented RWBY as a finished product and, more than that, presents it as an excellent product, one worth both our emotional investment and our money (whether in the form of paying for a First account, or encouraging us to buy merch, attend cons, etc.) I'll continue to critique RWBY as needed, but I a) wanted fans to be at least peripherally aware of these issues and b) clarify that my use of "RT" in statements like, "I can't believe RT is screwing up this badly" is meant to be a broad, nebulas acknowledgement that someone in the company is screwing up, either creatively (doesn't have the skill to write a good scene) or morally (hasn't created an environment in which other creators are capable of crafting a good scene). The real, inner workings of such companies are mostly a secret to their audiences and thus it's near impossible for someone like me — random fan writing these for fun as a casual side hobby — to accurately point fingers. Hence, broad "RT." I just wanted to clarify that when I use this it's as a necessary placeholder for whoever is actually responsible, not a damnation of the overworked animator breaking down in a bathroom. Heavy stuff, but I thought it was necessary (or at least worthwhile) to acknowledge this issue as we head into the second half of the volume.

Now for the good news: RWBY has reached 100 episodes! For any who may not know, 100 is a pretty significant number in the TV world because, when talking about prime time programming, it guarantees syndicated reruns. Basically, networks don't want audiences to get burned out with a show — changing the channel when it comes on because ugh, I've seen this already, recently too — and 100 episodes allows for a roughly five month run without any repeats, making it very profitable. RWBY is obviously not a television show and doesn't benefit from any of this (hell, modern television doesn't benefit from this as much as it used to, not in the age of streaming), but the 100 episode threshold is still ingrained in American culture. Beyond just being a nice, rounded number, it is historically a measure of huge success and I can't imagine that RT isn't aware of that. Regardless of what we think of RWBY's current quality, this is one hell of a milestone and should be applauded.

All that being said... RWBY's quality is definitely still lacking lol.

Our 100th episode is titled "Dark" — keeping with the one word titles, then — and I'd like to emphasize that, as a 100th episode, it definitely delivers in terms of plot. There's plenty of action, important character beats, and at least one major reveal, everything we'd expect from a milestone and a Part II premiere. The animation also continues to be noteworthy for its beauty, as I found myself admiring many of the screenshots I took for this recap. There are certainly things to praise. The only problem (one we're all familiar with by now) is that these small successes are situated within a narrative that's otherwise falling apart. It's all good stuff... provided you ignore literally everything else surrounding it.

But let's dive into some examples. We open on Qrow starting, awoken by the thunder outside. Robyn has been watching him and makes a peppy comment about how none of them will be sleeping tonight, followed by a more serious, "Sounds bad out there." Yeah, it does sound bad, especially when they all know — thanks to Ruby's message back in Volume 7 — that this is due to Salem's arrival. I think a lot of the fandom has forgotten that little detail because people often discuss Qrow as if he is entirely ignorant of what is going on outside his cell. Even if we were to assume that he's forgotten all about the pesky Salem issue (the horror of Clover's death overriding everything else, perhaps) he still knows that Tyrian is running loose in a heat-less city with a creepy storm going on and, from his perspective, the Very Evil Ironwood is still running the show. So it's bad, which begs the question of why Qrow (and Robyn, for that matter) hasn't displayed an ounce of legitimate worry for everyone he knows out there. Thus far, their interactions have centered entirely around Qrow's misplaced blame and Robyn's terrible attempts to lighten the mood, despite the fact that a war is raging right beyond that wall. It's another example of RWBY's inability to manage tone properly, to say nothing of balancing the multiple concerns any one character should be trying to juggle. Just as it rankles that Ruby and Yang don't seem to care about what has happened to their uncle, Qrow likewise doesn't seem to care about what might be happening to his nieces. When did we reach a point where these relationships are so broken that someone can be arrested/chucked into a deadly battle and the others just... ignore that?

So Robyn's otherwise innocuous comment immediately reminds me of how badly the narrative has treated these conflicts and, sadly, things don't improve much from here. We are thankfully spared more of Robyn's jokes when Qrow realizes that what he's hearing can't be thunder. A second later, Cinder blasts through the wall — called it! — and Qrow instinctively transforms. 

The only downside to this moment is that the whole ceiling falls down on Qrow and the others because APPARENTLY these cells don't have tops on them. Seriously. As far as I can recall we don't see the stone breaking through the forcefield somehow and this looks pretty open to me.

If it is... you're telling me these crazy powerful fighters who practice landing strategies and leap tall buildings in a single bound —

— can't just hop over this mildly high electric fence to get out? Qrow can't just fly away?

We're, like, two minutes in, folks.

We transfer to Nora's perspective as she wakes up, seeing Klein giving her the IV. He tells her not to worry, that "you and your friend are going to be just fine." What friend? Penny? Klein went upstairs prior to Weiss hugging Whitley or Penny crash landing outside. I had thought them bursting through the door with another unconscious friend was the first time he learned what the big bang outside was, but apparently not.

Penny is, obviously, a mess. While I now understand the choice to make her blood such an eye-catching color when that's crucial to the Hound's hunt, I still think it looks strange visually. Like someone has taken a copy of RWBY and painted over it. It doesn't look like it fits the art style. More than that, it implies some rather complicated things about Penny's humanity, especially in a volume focused around her being a "real girl." Real enough for Maiden powers, but with obviously inhuman blood that isn't even referred to as "bleeding." Penny "leaks" instead.

Toss in the fact that she's literally an android who is made up of tech — recall the running gags about her being heavy, or it hurts to fist-bump her, to say nothing of keeping things like multiple blades inside her body — yet Klein says that her "basic anatomy" is the same and he can "stitch up that wound."

I'm sorry, what? Whatever Penny looks like on the inside, it's not going to resemble a human woman's anatomy, and Klein might be able to stitch the outer layer of skin she's got, but that won't do anything to fix whatever metal bits have been broken underneath. Penny isn't a human-robot hybrid, she's a robot with an aura. Penny has knives in her back, rockets in her feet, and a super computer behind her eyes. When our clip introduced that Klein would be the one to help Penny, my initial reaction was, "Seriously? He's a butler and a doctor and an engineer?" But RWBY didn't even try to get away with a Super Klein explanation, they just waved away Penny's very obvious, inhuman anatomy. Yeah, I'm sure "stitching up" an android wound is just like giving Nora her IV. I hope the surgical sutures he used are extra strong!

In an effort to not entirely drag this episode, I do appreciate that Whitley is allowed an "ugh" moment about the non-blood covering his shirt without anyone calling him out on it. That felt like the sort of thing the show would usually try to make a character feel guilty about and I'm glad that, for once, he was just allowed to be frustrated without comment.

Then the power goes out and May calls, which raises questions about what state the CCTS is in and when scrolls are available to our protagonists vs. when they're not. But whatever. She's checking in because she just "saw another bombing run light up the Kingdom" and —

Wait. Bombing? Salem is bombing the city? I know we've seen explosions in the sky, but I'd always just attributed that to evil aesthetic. Why does this dialogue sound like it's from a World War II film and not a fantasy sci-fi show about literal monsters launching a ground attack?

May looks pretty against the sky though. I like her hair color against that purple.

I'm admittedly grasping at positives here because we finally return to her "You have to choose" ultimatum and — surprise! — May has pulled back completely. Ruby says that once they've helped Penny, "We'll...we'll do something!" which is once again her avoiding making a decision. Ruby still refuses to choose, instead falling back on generic, optimistic pep talks. They'll figure out how to stop Salem later. They'll think about the impact of telling the world later. They'll choose who to help later. Ruby keeps pushing these problems into the future where, she hopes, a perfect, magical solution will have appeared for her to latch onto. When that continues to not happen, others pressuring her to actually do something and stop waiting for perfection — Ironwood, Yang, May — she panics and continues stalling for time. Wait an episode and the narrative supports her in this.

Because initially May was forcing Ruby to decide. Now, May enables her desire to keep putting things off. "Don't beat yourself up, kid. At this point, I don't know how much is left to be done." That's the exact opposite of what May believed last episode, that there was still so much work and good to do for the people of Mantle. This is precisely what the show did with Yang and Ren's scenes too, having people call Ruby out... but then return to a message of, 'Don't worry, you're actually doing just fine' before Ruby is forced to actually change.

None of which even touches on May calling her "kid" in this moment. That continues to be a convenient way of absolving Ruby of any responsibility. When she wants to steal airships or Amity Tower, she's an adult everyone should listen to, the leader of this war. When the story wants to absolve her of previously mentioned flaws, she becomes a kid who shouldn't "beat herself up." I said years ago that RWBY couldn't continue to let the group be both children and adults simultaneously, yet here we are.

So that was a thoroughly disappointing scene. Ruby gets her moment to look sad and defeated, listing "the grimm, the crater, Nora, Penny" as problems she doesn't know how to solve. Note that 'Immortal witch attacking the city I've helped trap here' isn't included in that list. Ruby is still ignoring Salem herself and no one in the group is picking up where May left off, challenging her to do more than wring her hands over things others are already trying to take care of: Ironwood is fighting the grimm, May has gone off to help the crater, Klein is patching up Nora and Penny. Ruby, as one flawed individual, should not be expected to come up with a solution to everything, but she does need to stop acting like she can come up with a solution to everything when it matters most (office scene) and rejecting others' solutions when they ask for her help (Ironwood, May).

If it feels like I'm dragging the flawed, traumatized teenager too much, it's not in an effort to ignore those aspects of her identity. Rather, it's because she's also the licensed huntress who wrested control from a world leader and violently demanded she be put in charge of this battle. Ruby, by her own actions, is now responsible for dealing with these problems, or admitting she was wrong and letting others take the lead, without purposefully derailing their plans. She doesn't get to suddenly go, "I don't know," cry a little, and get sympathetic pats.

But of course that's precisely what happens, courtesy of Weiss.

During this whole scene I kept wondering why no one was celebrating Nora waking up, especially when Ruby outright mentions her. Have they just not noticed given all the Penny drama? Because Nora absolutely woke up.

Aaaand went back to sleep, I guess. What was the point of that POV shot? No worries though, she'll wake up again in a minute.

Willow arrives and announces that they can fix the power (and Penny) using the generator at the edge of the property. I'm convinced RT doesn't actually know what a generator is because the characters are acting like it's some super special device that only richy-rich could possibly have. Whitley says that it's the SDC executives who have their "own power supply" and that it's "extremely unfair." Now, don't get me wrong, a good generator powering large portions of your house can run you 30k+, but you can also get one that plugs into your extension cord and powers your fridge for a couple hundred. There's absolutely a class issue here, just not the one Whitley and Weiss seem to be commenting on. They make a generator sound like the sort of device that only a politician-CEO could possible have and it's weird.

Likely, it sounds weird because it's a choppy way of getting Whitley to bring up the wealth disparity so he can then go, 'That's right! We're crazy rich with a company housing tons of ships! We can use those to evacuate Mantle.' Awkwardness aside, I do like that the Schnee wealth is being used for good purposes, but... evacuate where? To the city currently under attack by a giant whale? In a RWBY that wasn't determined to demonize Ironwood, this would have been a great plot point during the office scene instead, with Weiss offering her services to Ironwood, even if the group decides that a continued evacuation still isn't possible.

Instead, we get it here from Whitley. Do I need to point out the obvious? That Whitley is the MVP of this episode? He's done more good in an HOUR than the group has managed in a year. Give this kid some training and make him a huntsmen instead.

We're given a (very pretty!) shot of the shattered moon because it wouldn't be RWBY if we weren't continually reminded that gods once wiped out humanity before destroying part of a celestial body... and absolutely no one talks about that lol.

Blake's coat might not make any sense for her color scheme, but it does make her easy to spot as she and Ruby run across the grounds. Oh my god, they're actually doing something together! It only took eight years. They even get a lovely talk where Blake admits how much she looks up to Ruby, despite her being younger, and once again I'm struck at how much more I would have loved this scene if it had appeared elsewhere in the series. It is, indeed, as sweet and emotional as all the RWBY GIF-ers are claiming... provided you overlook that this is the exact opposite of what Ruby needs to hear right now. She doesn't need to hear that she's more mature and reliable than her elders when she's functioning under a "We don't need adults" mentality. She doesn't need to hear that not knowing what to do is totally fine, not when that led to her turning on Ironwood, despite not knowing how to stop Salem. She doesn't need to hear that "doing something" — doing anything — is a strength, because Ruby keeps avoiding the big problems for smaller ones she's comfortable with, like standing by Penny's bedside instead of deciding between Mantle and Atlas. Blake's speech is heartfelt, but it's a speech that suits a Beacon days Ruby who is having some doubts about her leadership skills, not the girl whose impulsive — and now lack of — actions is having world-wide repercussions. Everyone is babying Ruby to a staggering degree. It's like if we had a med show where the doctor is standing by the bedside of a coding patient, fretting between two treatments. 'Don't worry,' their colleague says, patting their shoulder. 'I've always looked up to you. You'll do something when you're ready' and then they continue to watch the patient, you know, die.

Also: who does Ruby look up to? Everyone talks about how much they depend on and trust Ruby, but who does Ruby look to for guidance? A number of her problems stem from the fact that she has rejected the advice of everyone who has tried to help her improve: Qrow, Ozpin, Ironwood, even Yang. Ruby is presented as the pinnacle of what to strive for in a leader, rather than a leader who has only been doing this for two years and still has a great deal to learn.

Anyway, they get the generator on and the Hound shows up.

I am begging RT to just make RWBY a horror story. All their best scenes the last three years have been horror I am bEGGING —

Anyway, while Ruby waits to be eaten we cut to Willow and Klein, the former of which is reaching for her bottle, pulling back, reaching again, all while her hand shakes. This is good. This is what we should have gotten with Qrow. Which isn't to say that their (or anyone's) addiction should be identical, but rather that this is a far more engaging and complex look at addiction than what our birb got. Willow tells us that she doesn't drink in the dark despite bringing the bottle with her; tries to resist drinking when she's scared and ultimately fails. Qrow just decided to stop drinking after decades of addiction, seemingly for no reason, and that was that. Why is a side character we only met this volume written better than one of the main cast?

Blake manages to call Weiss about the Hound and she asks if Whitley can handle the airships without her. I mean, I assume so given that Weiss is looking at the bookshelves while Whitley does all the work lol. He makes a teasing comment about how he can if she can handle that grimm and she comments that they still need to work on his "attitude."

No they don't. Weiss stuck a weapon in her kid brother's face. Whitley made a joke. Even if Weiss' comment is likewise meant to be read as teasing, it's clear that we've bypassed any meaningful conversation between them. That hug was supposed to be a Fix Everything moment even though, as I've laid out elsewhere, it didn't even come close.

We cut back to Ruby getting thrown through a wall into the backyard and the Hound creepily coming after her. She's freaked out by this clearly abnormal grimm and Blake is weirdly... not? "It's just a grimm. Just focus!" Uh, it's obviously not. Have we reached the traumatized, sleep-deprived point where the group is sinking into full-blown denial? I wouldn't be surprised. They've been awake for like... 40+ hours.

Because the Hound knocks Ruby out with a single hit. Just, bam, she's down. "Focusing" is not the solution here.

Weiss calls to warn the others about the grimm, telling them to stick together. Willow (understandably) starts freaking out and flees the room (classic horror trope!). Klein is left alone when Penny wakes up with red eyes. Oh no!

Don't worry. You know nothing meaningful happens.

She shoves Klein before (somehow?) resisting the hack, her Maiden powers going wild in the process. Just when it looks as if Penny might cause some serious damage, Nora wakes up, takes her hand, and says, I kid you not:

"Hey... no one is going to make you do anything you don't want to do... It's just a part of you. Don't forget about the rest."

Okay. I want to re-emphasize that I love hopeful, uplifting, victory-won-through-the-power-of-love stories. Istg I'm not dead inside, it's just that RWBY does this so badly. I mean, what is this? It has similarities to the character shouting, 'No! Resist!' to their mind-controlled ally, but this is not presented as a desperate, last-ditch effort by Nora. She just speaks like this is the most obvious truth in the world. If you don't want to have your mind taken over... just don't! It's that simple. The problem definitely isn't that Watts has changed her coding and has implemented a command she can't override, it's that Penny has forgotten about the "rest" of her personhood.

And this works. Granted, not for long, but we leave Nora having successfully calmed Penny down and until her eyes unexpectedly go red again scenes later, we're left assuming that this is a permanent solution. That, imo anyway, is taking the Power of Love too far, overriding the basic reality of Penny being hacked. It’s not a personal failing she must overcome, it’s an external attack. I would have rather had Nora react to the scars she saw on her arm, or have a moment with Klein, or get some love from the group. Not a wakes up, falls asleep, wakes up again to save Penny with a Ruby level 'Just ignore reality' pep-talk, then back to sleep again.

So Penny isn't attacking her allies, or mistakenly hurting her allies with wild Maiden powers. Not that the group doesn't have enough to deal with, but still. Weiss arrives to help with the Hound and attempts a new summon, only to fail when two minor grimm burrow up into her glyphs. I really enjoyed that moment, both for the wing visual and the knowledge that Weiss' glyphs can fail if you break them somehow (which makes sense). Also, I just like that she failed in general? Weiss is, as per usual now, about to demonstrate just how OP she is compared to the rest of the team, so it was nice to see her faltering here.

The Hound tries to make off with Ruby and Blake does an excellent job of keeping it tethered. Ruby finally wakes, only to realize that the grimm is actually after Penny since it's staring at her power up through the window, no longer trying to escape. Moments like this remind me that there's someone on RT's writing team that knows what they're doing, at least some of the time. The assumption that the Hound is after Ruby as a SEW, the surprise that it's actually Penny, realizing it holds up because Ruby is covered in Penny's blood and Blake is not... that's all nice, tight plotting. More of that please!

The Hound drops her and Ruby's aura shatters when she hits the ground. I want everyone to remember this moment as an example of how strong the Hound is. The group may be tired, but unlike YJR they've been sitting around in the Schnee manor for a number of hours, regaining strength. We saw the Hound hit Ruby twice — once through the wall and once to knock her out — and then she falls from a not very high distance for a huntress, yet her aura is toast. That's the level of power and skill the Hound possesses. Decimating YJR, knocking Oscar out, same for Ruby, avoiding Blake and Weiss' hits, soon to treat Penny like a ragdoll. Just remember all this for the episode's end.

Blake tells Weiss she'll take care of Ruby, you go help the others. Yay breaking up the duos more! Bad timing though as the new acid-spitting grimm pops out of the ground and Blake is now left alone to face it.

Weiss re-enters the mansion, knowing the Hound is somewhere nearby, but not where. Suddenly, Willow's voice sounds through her scroll with an, "Above you!" which... doesn't keep Weiss from getting hit lol. But it's the thought that counts! Willow has accessed the cameras she's set up throughout the manor, watching the Hound's movements, and I have to say, that is a WAY better use of her separation from Klein than I thought we were getting. I legit thought they'd have Willow run away in a panic, meet the Hound, die, and then Weiss could be sad about losing her mom.

It does say something about RWBY's writing that this was my knee-jerk theory, as well as my surprise when we got something way better.

The Hound runs off, uninterested in Weiss, and she asks Willow to keep tabs on it. It heads for Whitley next (also covered in Penny's blood) and very creepily stalks him in the office with a, "I know you're here." Whitley is seconds away from being Hound chow before one of Weiss' boars pin it against the wall. He runs, then runs BACK to finish deploying the airships, before finally escaping assumed death. Goddamn this boy is pulling his weight.

I assume all these ships are automated then? I hope someone takes a moment to call May. Otherwise it's going to be super weird for the Mantle citizens if a fleet of SDC ships just show up and hover there...

I don't entirely understand how Weiss saved him though. She's nowhere to be seen when Whitley leaves and he runs a fair distance before he and Willow encounter Weiss again. We know her summons don't have to keep right next to her, but are they capable of rudimentary thought, attacking an enemy — and an enemy only — despite Weiss being a couple corridors down and unable to see the current battlefield? I don't know. In another series I'd theorize that this was a deliberate hint, a way to clue us into the fact that Willow, someone who we currently know almost nothing about, had training in the past and summoned the boar herself. Weiss and Winter certainly didn't get that hereditary skill from Jacques. Hell, we might still get that, Weiss reacting with confusion next episode when Whitley thanks her for the boar, but I doubt it. That scene with Ruby and the Hound aside, the show isn't this good at laying groundwork and then following up on it.

Case in point: Weiss says, "I didn't forget you" to Whitley after he gets away from the Hound, the moment trying to harken back to her promise to Willow. Key word is "trying." Because she absolutely forgot him! Weiss threatened and ignored Whitley until he proved his usefulness. I also shouldn't need to point out that, "Don't forget your brother" does not mean, "Don't let your brother die a horrible death by abnormal grimm." Weiss acts like her saving him is a fulfillment of her promise, rather than just the most basic of human decency. And also, you know, her job.

So that part is frustrating. The entire Schnee dynamic is a mess, from Weiss making a joke of her father's arrest, to Willow (presumably) fixing their relationship by putting a hand on her daughter's shoulder. Okay.

Then Weiss cuts off the Hound by summoning a giant wall of ice. My brain, every time this happens:

YOU COULD HAVE FIXED THE HOLE IN MANTLE'S WALL.

Moving on, Blake's fight against the acid... thing has some great choreography, including Blake using her semblance which we haven't seen in AGES. 

I really like the fight itself, just not what Blake is shouting the whole time. "I need you, Ruby! We all need you!" This has really gotten ridiculous. Ruby is presented as everyone's sole savior despite failing time and time again. It's not that I don't think Blake as a character should have faith in her leader, it's that I don't think the writers should be crafting a story where everyone puts their unshakable hopes in an untrained, disloyal, impulsive 17 year old. I mean, Ruby is currently unconscious, yet Blake is acting like if she doesn't wake up — she, as an individual, if Ruby Rose does not re-join this fight — then all is lost. If Ruby doesn't save them, no one can. Which is, of course, absurd on numerous levels. Blake doesn't need the passed out, aura-less Ruby right now, she needs the still very healthy Weiss pulling out multiple summons and an ice wall! Use your scroll and call for backup again.

But of course, Ruby wakes up and kills the new, terrifying grimm with a single hit. It's a preview of what's to come with the Hound and it's just as ridiculous here as it will be there.

Speaking of the Hound, am I the only one who thought this was... cute?

I can't possibly be the only one. That head-tilt is exactly what my dogs do and my brain instinctively went, "Aww, puppy!"

Murderous puppy.

The Hound realizes none of the Schnees are who it's looking for and runs off. Penny, meanwhile, has been fully taken over because, well, that's just what's convenient now. She resists long enough keep Amity up, then succumbs, then resists to apologize to Ruby, then succumbs, then resists because Nora asked her to, then succumbs once it's time to knock her out. If RWBY was willing to commit to consequences, Penny would have been taken over and that was that. The characters would need to deal with whatever outcome happens as a result. Instead, the show very carefully avoids any of those pesky consequences by having Penny successfully resisting at key moments, despite no explanation of how she's managing that.

She shoves Klein again (Klein is having a Bad Time) and starts walking down the main steps. When Whitley wants to know where the hell she's going, Penny mechanically responds that she must "Open the vault, then self-destruct." I suppose the change Watts made was the self-destruct order? Ironwood obviously wants the vault open, though not necessarily Penny's death. Think what you will of his moral compass, she's a damn powerful ally — a research project, perhaps — and a Maiden to boot. At the very least, her death may give the powers to someone even worse.

God, please don't let them have brought Penny back and made her a Maiden just to kill her again.

The Hound arrives though and, as said, knocks Penny out. We're back to square one with her, then. Note though that this attack is near instantaneous. She grabs its hands one second, is hanging limply the next. Wow, the Hound sure is a terrifying antagonist!

Not for long.

"That's enough," Ruby says and one-shots it with her eyes.

Now, I want to talk for a moment about the implications of that line. "That's enough." Obviously Ruby is #done with this situation and emotionally unwilling to let the Hound kidnap Penny (congratulations, Nuts and Dolts shippers), but there's a meta reading here as well. Not intentional, but glaring to me nonetheless. Basically, the idea that the Hound has, from a plot perspective, done enough. It has served its singular purpose. It kidnapped Oscar and now it dies. Never-mind how insanely powerful we've established the Hound to be, never-mind how Ruby's eyes also work or don't work according to whether anything of actual import is on the line. From a plot perspective "that's enough" and the Hound can be disposed of instantly. It got Oscar and gave us an episode of filler creepiness. Move along now.

The idea behind Ruby's eyes isn't bad, but the execution absolutely is. RT has undermined a huge portion of the stakes by giving their protagonist an instant kill-shot that always works precisely when she needs it to. Starting with the Apathy, we have yet to get a moment where Ruby's eyes fail to save the day when she really needs them to, no matter how incredible the challenge. The Hound was very intentionally written to be a grimm outside of the group's current power level. It thinks, it talks, they literally can't touch it. This creates the expectation that the group will need to grow stronger — or at least become smarter — in order to surmount this new obstacle, yet Ruby's eyes undermine all of that. The group hasn't grown in years, the show just makes enemies weaker as needed (Ace Ops), or has Ruby pull out her eyes as a trump card. It wouldn't be that bad if we'd at least gotten a good battle out of it, one where the group gets close to defeating the Hound on their own, but needs Ruby's eyes to finish it off. Instead, she literally walks up without any aura, announces to the audience that this antagonist's time is up, and blasts it out a window.

Granted, Ruby's eyes don't completely finish it. The Hound pulls itself to its feet and we see this.

Yup, that's a guy and yup, those are silver eyes.

I would like to issue a formal apology to the "It's secretly Summer!" theorists in the fandom. I mean, I still think it would be ridiculous (and at this point highly improbable) that Ruby's dead mother has actually been a grimm mutant this whole time, just hanging out in Salem's realm while she waits for the plot to start before attacking the world, and then sends some no-name faunus dude after the group instead of their leader's mother for extra, emotional torture... but you all were definitely right about the “It's a person” part! I... don't know how I feel about this. Admittedly, it seems to be a logical continuation of the other grimm-human hybrids we've seen — namely Cinder and Salem herself — and it finally explains why Salem wants Ruby alive (even though it actually doesn't because WHY did she want more SEWs for Hound grimm when she wasn't even attacking back then? And already has all these other insanely powerful tools??), but at the same time, it feels like it's complicating a story that doesn't need further complications. The group fights monsters and has an immortal enemy. You don't need to add 'Some of those monsters are secretly human' to the mix.

It doesn't hurt that this twist is giving me Attack on Titan vibes, which, ew. A dark time in my fandom life, folks.

The Hound staggers a few steps before Whitley and Willow dump a suit of armor on it. That's all it takes to kill the most dangerous grimm we've ever seen: a single flash of silver eyes and some heavy metal. This also wreaks havoc with the implication that Salem wants SEWs alive because they create such powerful grimm. Obviously not. I mean yeah, normal huntsmen are going to have serious  problems, we’ve seen that this volume, but any other SEWs nearby will take a Hound out instantaneously. For a villain with so many other powerful abilities — immortality, magic, endless normal grimm, her nifty soup — Salem would be much better served just killing SEWs straight out. Clearly, creating Hounds isn't worth the effort.

The Hound leaves some bones behind and Ruby collapses to her knees, overcome with the knowledge that this was once a person. Again, uncomfortable Attack on Titan parallels.

We finish our premiere with Cinder clearing away rubble to reveal Watts. Honestly, I like that we ended on this because her rescue is hilarious. She just slings him over her shoulders like a sack of potatoes and blasts off with her magic fire feet. Fantastic.

Note though that with this scene we've seen almost everything from the clip and the trailer. What's to come in the rest of Volume 8? No idea. Outside of Winter leading the charge with the bomb, we got it all here.

Time to update the bingo board!

I'm crossing off "Introducing new grimm that are quickly abandoned." Between the Hound and acid-dude both falling to a single blast/cut from Ruby, we've more than earned this square.

It doesn't look as if we'll get another Watts-Jacques team-up now that he's left, but you never know.

Maria's got me worried. I feel like her Yoda fight against Neo is the one thing she'll be allowed to do this volume, but given that we didn't see anyone except Ruby's group this episode, we don't yet know whether the story is now ignoring her and Pietro, or if they'll re-appear in another episode like YJR.  

Qrow is free. Will he get a drink before trying to murder Ironwood? Perhaps.

Still no bingo :(

All in all, the episode was by no means horrible. I think there were lots of horrible parts, but also some legitimately well executed moments, fun action, and scenes that I can easily imagine as squee worthy if you lean back and squint. Everything is comparative and in the growing collection of bad RWBY episodes, this one isn't securing a top slot. Which doesn't mean I think it's good, just... not as bad as it could have been and primarily only bad due to long-running problems, not things this specific episode has done. That's my bar then, so low it has officially entered the underworld.

Still, RWBY is back and a part of me is eager to see where this volume takes us, for better or for worse.

Until next week! 💜

[Ko-Fi]

[silenthillmutual]

hey for the prompts thing, maybe artemy's children and daniil? Also if you wanna stretch your utopian characters writing muscles, something with peter and grace(artemy helping him parent her, since the man was ready to feed her worms)? eva and daniil in the friendship way?? idk, something of that sort. I love your work, you have a delightful grasp of the characters and the english language itself

this isn't my best bc i've just been practicing writing to keep that skill strong, but i decided to do a little of all three :)

-----

“Please, Eva, you have to help me.”

Eva tilts her head at Daniil, her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulder. Daniil knows she’s not that dense; it’s not the with what question, but the why. “Really, Daniil. I think you have a handle on things as it is.”

He absolutely does not have a handle on things. He is in way out of his depth. Over his head. However the saying goes - what’s been expected is far beyond him. Cats, he can watch over easily. They’re mostly self-sufficient, independent, but children? Daniil does not know the first thing about children.

“Humor me, then,” he says. Eva ducks her head, struggling to hide a smile. “Pretend for a moment that I don’t have a handle on things. How am I meant to keep children entertained?”

“Ah, I would think you would remember what it was like to be a child!” Daniil only scowls at the floor, shuffling his feet. “You remember how you wanted to be treated, don’t you? It’s not that different from now. You treat them with respect.”

“I know how to talk to children,” he says, and hopes he isn’t lying, “but how do I keep them entertained?”

“It’s only for a few hours. I think you’re worrying over nothing.” Daniil looks over his shoulder. They’re already seated at Eva’s piano, fingers toying with the keys. Every once in a while they will make contact, a soft plonk as a flat note plays in the open space, accompanied by a giggle. “Besides, Artemy left you in charge, not me. He trusts you.”

“He trusts everyone.” It sounds like more of a complaint than it’s really meant. The haruspex’s undying faith in others is admirable, really. Burakh’s favor is probably the only thing that’s kept the town’s inhabitants from running Daniil out into the steppe. But in this one occasion, that faith seems misplaced. “I should have said no.”

“So why didn’t you?”

Daniil has no answer. Or at least, he has no good answer. Judging by the smile creeping its way onto her face, Eva knows the only one he has. He tries to fan away her concern, and is met with her soft laughter, like the tinkling of glass. “Anyway, I’d feel much safer if you were here to help me.”

“Safer? Daniil, they’re just kids. You’ve done much more dangerous things in the time you’ve been here.” Daniil purses his lips, and Eva sighs. “I’ll help you, on one condition!”

“Name it.”

“Yulia.” Eva huffs, fiddling with her gloves. “I’ve invited her over to dinner, but she hasn’t sent her response. I think she’s nervous about seeing the Stamatins again - tell her they won’t be coming if it makes her so upset! Whatever you have to say, just make sure she agrees. I’ve been dying to see her.”

Much as he’d rather not get involved in anyone else’s affairs, he is sort of desperate here. Yulia can be difficult to convince when her mind is made up on something - impossible, even, he’d say - but he knows how fond the two women are of each other, and maybe his assurance that Andrey will be otherwise occupied will be enough. And really, all he has to do is try. “Fine,” he says, and Eva squeezes his arm in excitement before turning to the kids in the sitting room.

“I see you’ve found the piano. Would you like me to teach you a few scales?”

-

When Artemy agreed to help Peter prepare for Grace’s visit, he had no idea what it was he was signing up for. He’d thought an hour or so - enough time to leave his kids with Daniil and see how they fared together without overwhelming the other man. But it’s been two and a half hours now, and Peter doesn’t seem to be any closer to grasping the basics.

“You need milk, Peter. And eggs. Basic food items.” He stops just short of asking if the man is even aware of what constitutes food. He can’t be certain that the man even eats. He’s malnourished for someone of his height, and from what Artemy can tell his main consumption is twyrine. And that won’t be good for poor Grace.

That’s the main reason Artemy’s stayed so long. He wants to get back to his kids, to spend time with Daniil before the man returns to his work, but he worries about how Grace will fare here when Peter can’t seem to grasp the importance of a clean cooking surface and fresh ingredients. “Forgive me, old boy. It’s been so long since I have sought these things out for myself.”

Artemy tries not to groan. That’s about what he’d figured, and it’s not exactly what he’d call promising.

At least the apartment is looking marginally nicer. There’s space enough for them to walk around in, the empty bottles of twyrine have been discarded and the couch has been cleared of its debris. It’s not much, but it’s a start, and Artemy can appreciate how difficult even this was for the architect.

But it’s still not quite enough. Grace will be over within the hour, and Artemy’s not sure how much more help he can be to the man.

Before he can suggest they hold Grace’s visit off another day, a knock comes at the door and the girl herself enters. She doesn’t look quite sure of herself, her fists curled tight around the fabric of her dress, her eyes cast down; but she enters all the same, and stands just outside the door, waiting.

Artemy is the first to address her. “Grace.” He nudges Peter with his foot under the table. “It’s good to see you.”

Peter looks at Artemy, solemn, and follows his lead. “Welcome, girl.” There’s an awkward pause, and Artemy kicks his shin again. Peter stares at the table. “Come in from the door. There’s room for you by the couch.”

Grace smiles shyly and tucks her hands behind her back as she enters. Her eyes widen, taking in the apartment as if seeing it for the first time. And since Peter doesn’t seem to clean regularly, she very well could be.

“What happened to your paintings?” she asks, her voice quiet.

“I’ve moved them.” Artemy is preparing himself to nudge Peter once again, but this is something he’s more well-acquainted with. He’s slow to stand, one hand on the table to steady himself, and makes his way to what passes for a bedspace in this loft. Artemy watches from the table, chewing his lip, as Peter presents a painting to her.

At least it’s one of the more appropriate ones, though there’s something frightening about the splashes of paint. He’s no art critic, and he won’t pretend to understand, but there’s something very angry about this painting. Artemy wonders how obvious it is to Grace, who hasn’t seen much outside of the graveyard. He can’t imagine there’s much experimental art in the Saburov’s house.

A sudden pang hits him, watching the two interact. He may be frustrated with Peter, but it’s obvious the man is trying his hardest. It’s just been too long since he’s even taken care of himself, that of course it will take a while before he’s able to take care of another person. And Grace has such different needs that Artemy’s unsure the Saburovs will be able to meet. The way they talk to each other, he can sense an understanding between them, even when they’re not talking about exactly the same thing.

He’s going to wind up regretting this, for sure. He didn’t mean to leave his kids with Daniil for so long, but he can’t just give up here.

“It’s about time for lunch,” Artemy says. The two turn to look at him with matching looks of surprise. “Why don’t I show you how to cook something?”

-

Artemy dropped his children off around ten. Daniil expected him back around noon. He doesn’t mind making food for the children, except - well, he’s not the one doing it. Eva caught him attempting to make some excuses to head into the kitchen and beat him to it. “Don’t worry about it,” she said, with a look in her eyes Daniil found almost threatening, “I can handle it. You stay in here and get acquainted.”

“We’re already acquainted,” Daniil pointed out, but it didn’t matter much. Eva was determined to ignore him, making her way out of the room and leaving Daniil with two bored kids.

Murky had moved on from the piano some time ago, laying on the floor with charcoals and sketch paper Peter had left out the last time he’d come to visit. She didn’t ask for permission, but if Eva wasn’t going to tell her off then neither was Daniil. He can’t imagine Peter minding much or even remembering he’d brought the items with him, and as long as it’s keeping the girl occupied Daniil doesn’t have it in him to complain. Sticky, on the other hand, has taken to snooping around the house.

“Looking for something?” Daniil asks, watching him open up an end table drawer.

Sticky shrugs. “Not particularly.” He closes the drawer with a little more force than necessary and turns his gaze to the staircase, his eyebrows near to his hairline. “What’s up there?”

“My room.”

“Can I see it?” The sudden excitement catches him off guard. Daniil fiddles with his gloves. “You have a microscope, right? I’ve never used one. I know Rubin has one, but he won’t let me see it. Do you have slides? Can you show me something? Can you show me blood?”

“One question at a time,” Daniil says, huffing with amusement. Maybe this isn’t so bad. I was the same at his age. “I suppose you can come upstairs and see it, yes. I do have a few clean slides, yes, but I don’t have any samples lying around. I suppose I can come up with something, but…” he turns to look at Murky.

“She’ll be fine,” Sticky assures him. “It’s not like we’re going far, right?” He turns to his sister. “Murky, we’re going upstairs.”

She pauses in her drawing, looking at Sticky before her eyes turn away. “Do I have to come with you?”

“I don’t suppose you have to, no,” Daniil answers. “But if you need anything, you can come up and get us, alright, dear?” She doesn’t seem all that comfortable with the term, her mouth turning into a little scowl. She doesn’t answer, either, going back to her drawing as if no interruption had occurred.

Daniil leads Sticky up the stairs, listening to his babbling about the things he’s managed to glean from listening to Artemy and attempting to follow in his footsteps, from his discussions with Rubin when the man’s come to visit. Once they’re upstairs, he wanders around the room, picking up Daniil’s books and looking at them carefully, trying to pronounce the words aloud to himself. Daniil takes his distraction as a time to prick himself for a blood sample, readying the slide and pulling the chair back out from the table.

He clears his throat, and Sticky spins around, nearly dropping the heavy tome in his hands. “You wanted to see a blood sample, yes?” Sticky nods, scrambling his way over to the desk. Daniil has to guide him in how to use the microscope, in how to get a clearer picture of what he’s looking at. And Sticky has plenty of questions for him about what he sees, about how blood works in the body, about cells and warmth and movement.

As he’s speaking, Daniil simply forgets to be nervous. It’s not all that different to lectures - and to have someone honestly listening to him is actually quite nice. He’s so engrossed in directing Sticky that he doesn’t notice when Murky joins them. When she speaks, it startles him. “Why do you have a bunch of grass in a jar?” Sticky stifles a laugh as Daniil nearly jumps, moving around to the bookshelf where Murky is on her toes, peering at a glass jar. “They’re not even the right herbs. You can’t make anything out of that.”

“It’s not all grass. Take a closer look.” Daniil takes the jar off the shelf and holds it out for her to better see it. He watches her squint, and directs his finger about halfway up the jar. “Do you see the eyes here? This is a conehead grasshopper.”

Her eyes widen. “You keep a bug in a jar?”

“Well, I’d like to get a terrarium eventually, but you don’t seem to have any in town. I’d have to order one from the Capital.” He pauses. People usually find his collection of insects strange, but Murky seems fascinated. “I have books on insects, if you would like to…” Can she read? “Take a look?” Murky nods, and Daniil takes the jar back, looking through the bookshelf for the guide he’d brought with him.

Sticky’s not particularly interested in the bugs, but he entertains himself looking through Daniil’s medical textbooks while Daniil reads passages off of the insects Murky points to. When Eva comes to get them for lunch, he has to agree to bring the book downstairs with him to get her to go.

“Dad won’t let me keep bugs,” she mumbles around her food. “Says they don’t belong in the house.”

“My mother felt the same,” Daniil tells her. It feels strange to admit it, when it’s been so long since he’s spoken of his parents to anybody. Murky turns the pages of his field guide very carefully, silent as Sticky speaks up to ask him more questions about blood flow and circulation.

Now that he’s found ways of connecting with the kids, communication isn’t nearly as difficult as he’d thought it would be. He feels a little silly for winding himself up the way he had this morning - and these are Artemy’s kids, why had he imagined they’d be such a handful? Sure, they’re precocious, but not any worse than the other children in town.

They’ve just made their way back into the main room when the door to the Stillwater opens and Artemy appears. He looks exhausted, and Daniil can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt. He knows what dealing with the Stamatins can be like, especially given how poorly Peter takes care of himself. He can’t begin to imagine what took Artemy so long, but things must have been pretty bad if it took him such a long time.

Artemy offers Daniil a small smile. “Thanks for looking after them, emshen.”

“It was my pleasure,” Daniil says, and he finds that for once it’s not simply a nicety. “They’re wonderful children, Artemy. Clearly you’re doing a fantastic job in raising them.”

“Truth be told, they raised themselves.” His smile is fond, turning from Daniil to his kids. “You guys ready to go?”

Murky looks up from her drawing - a new one, an attempt to freehand an illustration of a phasmid from Daniil’s field guide. She still has a slight frown on her face as she looks up at her father. “Now? Bachelor was going to show me how to catch insects with a net,” she tells him.

Artemy looks back at Daniil with some surprise on his face. Daniil can feel himself flushing as he tries to look anywhere but at Artemy. “Why don’t you come another day, Murky? It’ll give me time to get a second net.”

“I’ll be ready to go in a minute,” Sticky pipes up. “I just gotta finish -”

“Oh, you can borrow the book,” Daniil says, waving his hand. “Don’t mind the markings I left in it from school. And if you have any questions, well - you know where to find me.”

[nintendousimp]

Train of Thought...

Part:1 Getting Caught

Master 👉Next

Pairing: Akaashi Keiji x Reader, Miya Atsumux Reader.

Character: Gender Neutral! or I want to everyone to feel comfortable so any pronouns welcomed for this story.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW, Some angst and colorful language, mentions of cheating and getting caught in the action, mentions of also thinking to forgive unfaithful partner, some grammar errors 😅 ( I need to emphasize this by saying that English is not my first language and although my English is great I still have a lot of trouble so constructive criticism is welcomed 🥰)

Word Count: 2k

Released date: January 19th 2021

I feel like I need to emphasize that all of the characters in this story are aged up! I’m not comfortable with talking about sexual topics if the characters are still in high school and are underage so,this is a timeskip!😅

Before we go any further into the story, I plan to post part 2 of this! Part 2 will take me a bit longer to post due to personal matters but it will be posted!

Enjoy my first ever Haikyuu x Reader Fic!!!

——————————————————————-

You’ve been working late into the night for the past few months so he must’ve thought that this would be your same routine from your previous nights. He's always been a careful person. He knows you have your location on. He always knows where you are but not just for your safety but to also bring her over.

He knows this is wrong. He loves you and knows he could've talked to you about maybe spending less time at work and maybe make a bit more time for him. Atsumu knows that your work is important and he's not gonna take advantage of you like that, especially when you come home from work tired, and with his volleyball schedule and his career you guys barely got to spend time with each other.

He wants to stop this but his need never stops. He knows what he has with her is just something done out of lust and that’s it. Atsumu only wants her around just to make his cock feel good and that’s it. He's already made it very clear he does not plan to leave you and to not get any crazy ideas.

He thought that tonight would be just like any other. He couldn’t have known that you were on your way home. He couldn’t have possibly remembered that today of all days was the release day of your book that you've put months of work into. Who knew that by mistake you left your phone at the office. All he knew at that moment was that your best friend's pussy takes him so well.

As you were driving your way home all you could think about is to hug your husband and yell to the world that you've finally finished your first written work! You felt such accomplishment that this book that you've put all your heart, sweat, and tears into was finally released! So many people believed in your dream but you felt you really couldn’t have done it without the love and support from your husband.

There have been many times where you felt like you haven't been given Atsumu much attention. You've been working long hours and at times late into the night to get this book out before the deadline you've been given. All those hours of hard work you felt paid off, now all that’s left to do is celebrate and who to celebrate better than your husband. After all, he's the inspiration behind your book.

You get out of your car making your way towards the entrance of your house. You notice a car that you've seen before but you can't remember where, so you just brush it off and make your way to the door. As you're unlocking the main entrance door, you don’t notice anything out of the ordinary. The house is dark and there's no one in the living area, I mean what did you expect its one in the morning. You were going about your routine trying to not wake Atsumu up when you hear some strange noises coming from your shared master.

As you're approaching the hallway that leads to your room, you've noticed the noises are starting to sound a lot more like sexual moans. Your first thought would've been that Atsumu might've fallen asleep while watching porn, and you'd believe that. But these moans sounded too real to be coming from the tv in your shared bedroom. You can see from the small gap underneath the door that the lights are still on.

You're getting ready to enter your room when you notice that the door is slightly open. If only someone were to prepare you for what you were about to see. As you enter the room you see what no woman ever wants to go through. Your husband Atsumu on top of another woman.

"I can never see myself with anyone that wasn’t my husband," you said.

Who would’ve thought that my marriage was falling apart… not me right?

Have I been so oblivious this whole time?

How long has this been going on? The question I proceeded to ask myself...

How did I not see this coming?

But now that you saw everything with your own eyes, you realized you’ve put all the pieces to a puzzle you didn’t even know you were solving.

Today was publishing day and you were gonna surprise Tsumu by coming home after the book release, you would have called but your phone may have been misplaced somewhere in your office. You didn’t have time to go back to the office, you’ve been missing Tsumu a lot. But the surprise you got when you entered your shared bedroom and watched as your husband was on top of another woman was not something you ever expected to happen.

As you stood there watching your husband fuck another woman and not just any woman but your best friend all you could think about was, Atsumu the man that promised to be with you for the rest of your life was in your bed fucking your best friend. You want to be angry, you want to run and scream at them, you want to ask why they did it. Not that any explanation would fix anything, you just couldn’t say anything. As you stood there for what felt like a lifetime. Did you lose your train of thought? Did you forget how to talk?

He finally notices that you’ve been standing there. He panics and gets off your best friend as he tries making his way towards you.  All you could think to do at that moment was to just close the door and run out of the house towards your car and make your way out of there. You started driving with no destination in mind, you just wanted to be anywhere away from this bomb. As you're driving, you end up taking the route that leads you to Akaashi’s place. You get out of the car and make your way towards his door.

It’s like you came here out of instinct.

How can you not when you guys have been working on this project for the past several months. He’s a great editor and a great friend too! He appreciates your hard work! You remember when you told him that you wanted to give writing another try and had an idea for a book he immediately offered his services as an editor. He’s always offered his help to you. Even goes out of his way to help you research some titles or genres that you could find interest in writing. He’s a great guy and you’ve grown very close to him.

Now you’re at Keijis place late in the hours of the night. You decided that you couldn’t do this by yourself so you knock on his door.

“Y/N are you alright, What are you doing out so late?” He asks.

You shake your head no. How were you gonna tell Akaashi your world was falling apart. He’s your editor, he shouldn’t need to know that your husband just cheated on you with your best friend.

“Would you like to come in? We can talk about whatever is troubling you?”

He doesn’t give you a second to answer before he grabs your hand and guides you to the living room. He has you sit on his sofa while he makes you both some tea. Some time has passed since you arrived at Akaashi’s, you’re telling him everything that happened an hour prior to being there. Akaashi is tracing small circles on your back. He tells you that this wasn’t your fault and you're not one to blame here and that

“Hey Y/N?”

“Did you say something Keiji?” Y/N says looking up from his shoulder. He can tell they’ve been crying. Akaashi hated seeing them like this. These past several months, he got to know Y/N as a very kind and goal-minded person. He saw someone who only strived to make her and other’s visions come to reality. The months Akaashi spent with Y/N were by far the best few months of his life. He would never tell Y/N that.t He hates that the book is done because now they won’t get to spend as much time together as they used to.

The months he’s been with her he got to spend a lot of time getting to know her world. He observed the way she would get when she had writer’s block. The number of times he’s watched her get frustrated at how she didn’t like the ending of a chapter for the book. He saw how countless nights she felt helpless and wanted to quit. She would fall into a negative state where she convinced herself she wasn’t a good writer. He also saw the nights where she would vent to him about Atsumu becoming distant once again. NIghts where they would drown themselves with work just so they didn’t think about crying.

He saw all of that. Nights where y/n needed Atsumu. Late nights where he was fucking his wife’s best friend.

“What’s your next move?” Akaashi asked.

“I think the best thing right now is for me to go home and get an explanation”

Your expression is giving regret all over it. How were you gonna go back home and look Atsumu in the face? What more could he explain that you don’t already know? You keep going back and forth between blaming yourself more than blaming him. You want to put this in your head as if it was your fault. But you know deep down that if Atsumu really loves you like he says he does he wouldn’t have cheated. At the end of the day, he cheated on you, not the other way around.

“I think I'm gonna call Yachi and see if she’s okay with me spending a few nights at her place just until I figure out what I’m gonna do. In the meantime, I gotta get back home.”

You sigh, you're getting ready to get up when Akaashi takes a hold of your hand

“Wait Before you go, I have a suggestion for tonight if you’d like to hear”

Akaashi doesn’t want you going alone but he also feels as if he’s overstepping his boundaries. He knows this is none of his business but why does he feel like it is?

“How about we go get some of your things and you spend the night here?”

It was a nice offer from Keiji, but you already feel like a burden. He’s been so kind as to listen to you, you just don’t wanna cause him any more trouble.  

“ I appreciate the offer Keiji but I don’t wanna wrap you up in my troubles.”

“ Y/N you’re no trouble, I just want you to know that you’re more than welcomed to stay here.” Akaashi knew you’d reject his invitation. He knows you’re not the type of person to rely on others' help, you’re a giver not a taker after all.

“Can you promise me if you don’t wanna be there with Atsumu you’ll call me and come here?” Akaashi the overthinker, always worrying about others.

“ I promise I’ll call you Keiji, if anything happens I promise to come back here.” The answer appeases him, he lets your hand go.

“Thank you Y/N Can I walk you out?” You nod and make your way towards the entrance door.

“Thank you for having me over at this time of night..” before you could finish your sentence, you were pulled into Akaashi’s arms.

“You don’t have to thank me Y/N, I’m glad you trust me enough to open up about what happened.”

You don’t know why but his words are making you feel safe. You trust Keiji, he’s not the type of guy to hurt anybody.

You thank Akaashi again as he walks you to your car “ Can I check on you tomorrow?”

You reply with a nod “ See you tomorrow Keiji.”

Both of you say your goodbyes. As you’re leaving Akaashi’s house, you can’t help but feel nervous about the conversation you were about to have with your husband. What was gonna happen with your marriage? Can this be forgiven? Questions that kept plaguing your head. Only one question stuck out more than the others…

Do I wanna divorce Atsumu?

Summary:

L/N F/N a young adult working on their first ever book with the help of editor and friend (Akaashi). Discovers that their husband has been cheating on them for the past few months that they’ve  been working nonstop. Heartbroken y/n decides to drown herself in their work. Will they be able to Forgive their cheating husband from his infidelity or will they approach the man who fell in love with them while working on their book?

© All fiction rights of the story belong to @nintendousimp​

Characters belong to the Haruichi Furudate.

[raelly-writing]

The Lord of Embers

Since I started in Limsa, the Ifrit questline is the first time Thancred and my WoL really interacts and work together, so I wanted to write something for that first impression sort of stuff.

---

The merciless midday sun bore down upon the land, and only a mild breeze stirred the dry air, barely managing to keep it from feeling too stifling.

For all his years in the region, Thancred felt grateful for the shade of the solitary tree that clung to the rocky slope. Leaning against its trunk, he kept one eye on the Amalj'aa encampment further up the ravine, while scanning the lands below, seeking for any solitary figures moving across the flat plane in his direction.

Hopefully the latest addition to their merry band wasn’t completely incapable of following the directions he’d left with the alderman.

Fishing out his water flask, Thancred took a small mouthful to wet his throat. Even for Thanalan, the heat was near unbearable. If he drew Viana’s ire for making her trekk out here for what was a task he could easily do himself, then so be it - he wanted to see for himself how capable this mercenary from Limsa was.

Not that he doubted Y’shtola’s estimation of her abilities - Hells, by his dear colleague’s strict standards, her praise had been positively glowing.

Still, while he’d had no cause for complaints for her conduct so far, his curiosity remained piqued. Even if Y’hstola hadn’t informed them that their new recruit was training with the marauders’ guild, it’d been plain to him from the moment she had stepped into the solar, just from the way she moved, that she didn’t carry that axe just for show.

Just then a dark shape moving amidst the low brush of the lands below caught his attention. Thancred straightened up a little, instantly on the alert. The figure was too small to be one of the beastmen, and there wasn’t much reason for anyone to be heading this way towards the Amalj’aa’s encampment. So, either it was Viana following his directions, or it was another spoken in league with the beastmen.

Fishing out his small spyglass from his bag, he focused onto the figure. Though the armoured figure stayed off the well-trodden path the Amalj’aa utilised, it was easy to pick out their dark red hair and the great axe on their back.

“Well, well, she did not get lost at least,” Thancred mused to himself as he folded up his spyglass. He should be easy enough to spot from her angle of approach, but if needed to, he’d leave the shade of the tree and meet her at lower ground.

But it soon enough became clear that she’d seen him, and Thancred leaned back against the tree once more to wait for her, his eyes locked on the Amalj’aa encampment and ears trained on the sounds of rocks sliding that slowly grew louder. Seven Hells, he didn’t envy her wearing that armour out in this heat. But she was quieter in her approach than he had expected.

Turning his head, Thancred offered her a welcoming smile when she crested the edge of the slope. “Ah, there you are, Viana,” he greeted her. “So good of you to come!”

Viana gave him a curt nod and joined him under the shade of the tree. Wisps of hair had escaped the bun she’d gathered it up in, but other than a mild flush to her cheeks she seemed fairly unbothered by the trek across the plains. “Apologies, didn’t mean to leave you waiting.”

“No harm done,” he replied with a shrug and held out his water flask to her but she shook her head and unhooked her own from her belt. Well, perhaps he should’ve expected a Highlander to know to be prepared for hot weather.

“Did you hear about Sister Ourcen before you left?” she asked before taking a sip from her flask.

Thancred kept his face neutral as he replied, despite the small pang of guilt. “Indeed, I’ve heard all about good Sister Ourcen. Isembard said her wounds were serious. It would seem my suspicions about the poor rose were misplaced.”

Not for the first time in the past few days, he was on the receiving end of a cool and an appraising look. But rather than saying anything, she merely gave him a silent nod and took another sip from her bottle.

Taking the measure of one's comrades was probably something of a useful skill in the mercenary field, but at the back of his mind Thancred had the distinct feeling that he came up short to whatever expectations she had of him. Oh well, he’d play the fool for a while longer still. “But, onto why I asked you to meet me out here,” he spoke casually. “False though they were, perhaps my suspicions were not entirely without merit. Whilst following Sister Ourcen near the Golden Bazaar, a band of Amalj’aa caught my eye.”

He gestured towards the encampment. “And I tracked them as far as here, but…” He slipped on a charming, apologetic smile as easily as one might put on a well-worn glove. “Well, let us just say that I would much prefer to keep my distance and remain here.” He watched her eyes narrow ever so slightly, clearly anticipating his next sentence. “This, of course, brings me to why I requested you, dear Viana. Would you be so kind as to take a look inside?”

There was a flash of something sharp in her expression, a subtle tightening of her brow and flexing of her jaw, before she exhaled in a slow and controlled manner, “As you wish.” It was the polite, well-practised tone of someone used to not making her annoyance with a request too obvious.

Disregarding the feeling that he was poking a bear with a stick, Thancred put his hand on his hip and tilted his head ever so slightly to the side. “Is aught amiss, my dear?”

While making her way past him towards the slope down into the ravine, Viana hooked her water flask back onto her belt, and loosened her axe from its holster on her back, taking the hefty weapon in one hand. “Nay,” she replied over her shoulder. “Merely trying to figure out if there’s more to you than just a pretty face and clever tongue.”

Thancred couldn’t help but chuckle. “Pretty am I?”

But she’d already begun to jump and slide her way down to the encampment below.

----

The distant sounds of soldiers groaning in pain bore down on Thancred’s shoulders as he made his way out of Camp Drybone’s inn and into the mercifully cooling evening air, with a tray of simple breads and pitcher of water in hand. He did not look forward to reporting to Raubahn how things had gone. Luckily, they had suffered minimal losses on their hasty rescue mission at the Amalj’aa’s inner sanctum.

But there were those who still drew breath who were all but walking dead.

Thancred grit his teeth, his eyes searching for the one person who had somehow escaped the primal’s influence. After a moment, he spotted Viana perched atop some crates in a solitary corner. There were a few bandages wrapped around her arms, but scrapes, singed hair and minor burns had thankfully been the worst of her injuries and from what he could see, they did not seem to hinder her much as she gave her weapon and armour a critical look-over.

“Ah, Viana, there you are!”

At the sound of his voice, she immediately looked up. Despite the attentive edge to her gaze - the look of someone expecting orders to move and continue onward, that rest could wait for later - he could tell that she was tired.

“Come now, at ease, you’ve more than earned a rest, I’d say.” He held up the pitcher and tray in his hands, a couple of simple clay mugs balanced amidst the bread rolls. “Some refreshments.”

Her body language relaxed a little, and she pushed together her gear before moving to the side, making space for him where she had been sitting.

Thancred set down the pitcher and tray by her side, before he with a long exhale sank down on the crate. It’d been a long day, both physically and emotionally.

“You alright?” Viana asked just loudly enough to be heard over the noise of the people milling about camp Drybone.

Thancred shot her an easy, disarming smile as he poured up some water. “Flattered as I am about your concern, there’s no need to fret, my dear,” he replied while offering her the mug. “Despite the rather diligent attempts of the Amalj’aa zealots, I’m quite unscathed.”

Viana sighed, the tilt of her head giving him the impression that she’d only just resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she gave him a weary, contemplating look as she accepted the mug from him. “Good to hear.”

“Well, my contributions to this mission have been sorely lacking,” he responded while helping himself to a piece of bread, “so it seemed the least I could do.” He felt the weight of her gaze on him, but before she had the chance to reply, he continued. “Speaking of, I do believe I was in the process of apologizing. I do hope you can forgive me.”

“For what? There’s nothing you did wrong.”

Thancred huffed out a laugh that sounded more tired than he would have liked. “That’s kind of you,” he replied, managing a casual, carefree tone, while he tore off a piece of bread. “But there’s no denying that I arrived too late to be of any use… to you or the abductees.” A heavy silence followed his words. Absently, he popped the chunk of bread into his mouth but barely registered the taste of it as he chewed slowly. The heaviness on his shoulders grew deeper. If only he’d been faster. Stronger. More alert.

It was never enough. He was never enough. And people always died because of it. The bread tasted ashen in his mouth as he slowly ate piece after piece.

“But you tried.”

To his surprise, the firm, guarded edge was gone from her voice.

When he looked at her, he expected it to just have been a momentary slip, but gone was the reserved professional facade. In its stead was perhaps not the relaxed demeanour he might have expected from a friend, but there was an earnest warmth to her gaze when she looked at him.

“Don’t get me wrong, it was a shite situation,” Viana continued with a brief, wry smile, “And it would’ve been the practical thing to just write us all off as an unfortunate loss and not risk any more lives.” She paused, briefly, and he caught the flicker of gratitude in her eyes. “But you mounted a rescue anyway.” She shrugged and looked back out over Camp Drybone. “If you hadn’t arrived when you did, I’d probably have survived Ifrit only to get skewered on some Amalj’aa’s spear while trying to get out of there.”

At the back of his mind, he noted how frankly she spoke of her own potential demise, with not a hint of mirth to soften her words. The reassuring words did nothing to soothe the choking sense of failure lingering in his chest. If he had been faster to mobilize a rescue force, he might have been able to reach them before they’d even been brought before Ifrit to start with. Despite his internal turmoil, Thancred mustered a disarming smile and winked at her, “Of course I did, I’d hardly leave a fair lady as yourself to her demise!”

This time, Viana did roll her eyes and sigh, but there was the hint of a smile on her lips. “Suppose I should thank you for risking a scratch to mar that face of yours,” she drawled, then gave him a side look. “Thank you, Thancred.”

The earnest, somber tone made his chest feel tight. Thancred swallowed and was a little grateful that a sudden commotion between a couple of residents of Drybone gave him an excuse to look away from her. He watched as the two men were quickly shushed and led away by a guard, before things escalated. Try as he might, his smart replies didn’t come as easily to his far too dry tongue. “Well, at any rate, I should have accompanied you to the ambush site,” he murmured.

“For what? It was a simple mission, you had your own tasks to see to and couldn’t have known there was a mole amongst the Flames.” He opened his mouth to object, but she cut him off, her voice growing rough with poorly contained bitterness that echoed what he himself felt about the situation. “And if you had been present, you would have risked ending up tempered as well and about to be mercy-killed with the rest of the soldiers.”

His stomach clenched uncomfortably at the thought all while his overactive mind was constructing a dozen what-if scenarios where he successfully turned the tide at the ambush, or slipped away unseen to swiftly return with reinforcements before the prisoners even set foot within the Amalj’aa’s stronghold.

A multitude of alternate realities where a score of good men and women were free to return home safely to their families tonight. But wish as he might, there was nothing to do but to face the harsh reality before him, once more.  “You know of the unavoidable fate of those put under a primal’s thrall then,” he remarked matter of factly.

Viana made a low noise of acknowledgment. “I’ve been around long enough to have heard the tales,” she replied grimly. “In Limsa, they often speak of the Company of Heroes’ victory against the Leviathan.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her cross her arms, and he could all but picture the mournful frown on her face when she continued, “I wish I could have somehow saved the others, maybe lent them whatever power it is that kept me from falling under Ifrit’s control.”

With a quiet hum of agreement, Thancred picked at the forgotten remains of the bread in his hand, feeling the slight brush of the crumbs that fell to the ground. “Well, loathe as I am to say it, there’s naught we can do for them now, but to give them a swift, merciful end,” he said. Taking a deep, fortifying breath he pushed away those dark, churning emotions into the deepest recesses of his mind. Surprising as it were, he’d rather not risk losing this sudden favourable improvement of his standing with her. Smiling, he met her gaze. “And I dare say there’s still some reasons to rejoice this day.”

Curiosity and confusion flickered across her features as she frowned at him.

Thancred made a gesture that was the faint echo of a bow as he inclined his head, bread still clutched in his hand. “Ifrit is slain, and by your hand no less. That, my dear, is the deed of no ordinary individual.” He leaned back with a satisfied look on his face, almost relieved to slip back into the theatrics of this well-worn cover persona of his. “Not that I ever thought you were ordinary,” he finished with a dramatic wave of his hand, like he was presenting her some magnificent work of art, rather than waving about the sorry remains of a piece of bread.

Viana raised an eyebrow, the doubt clear in her eyes, and snorted. “You sound awfully sure of yourself.”

“What can I say? My fine eye for talent remains undimmed.”

“Mhm, and would that be why you didn’t just investigate that Amalj’aa encampment yourself?”

Inclining his head, he gave her the placating, pleading look of a man begging for forgiveness. “Why, I hardly had the pleasure of fighting at your side as lady Y’shtola did. You can’t fault me for wishing to see your prowess with his own two eyes, surely.”

She huffed out a short laugh. “Could have just asked me to slay a beast, rather than doing all the theatrics.”

“Ah, but where’s the fun in that, my dear?” he retorted. “Anyhow, on the topic of your splendid victory; I dare say Minfilia will be proud beyond all reckoning when she hears of your deeds.” With that, he rose up from the crate, letting the rest of the bread fall back onto the tray. He’d barely eaten a quarter of the already modest roll. “I trust you shan’t object to my bearing the tidings to her. That way I can claim to have contributed something to this mission,” he continued and dipped into an elegant bow, then busied himself with straightening his clothes. “You, meanwhile, have earned yourself a rest. Take some time to relax, and return to the Waking Sands when you are good and ready.” He glanced up at her and gave her a wink. “Just don’t take too long, will you? The realm’s problems won’t solve themselves.”

Viana was giving him a barely concealed look of exasperation, clearly waiting impatiently for him to finish talking. “Seven hells Thancred, sit down. You’ve barely eaten, nor drank anything.”

Thancred paused, a bit taken back by the firm tone of her voice that was a rather disconcerting reminder of Y’shtola when she got in a particularly stubborn mood. “As much as I would love to-” He interrupted himself when she tilted her head to the side and the crease between her brows deepened a fraction.

“Really, you’ll be of no use to Minfilia if you collapse on her doorstep due to dehydration.”

HIs posture tensed. He felt torn between the guilt that spurred him onwards and that well-honed, professional instinct to dig deeper for more information - the urge to seek out the next task and try to succeed there instead to make up for this failure fighting the curiosity that bid him to stay and see what else he could learn about her. Another, more logical side that he ignored far too often, saw the wisdom in her words. He was hungry and the back of his throat still felt dry with dust and ash. Thancred swallowed thickly, which did nothing to alleviate the sensation. A few minutes wouldn’t hurt, surely? Just long enough to fill his belly and quench his thirst. “Very well,” he finally relented with a charming smile. “It’d be rather ungentlemanly of me to leave a lady to dine on her own, after all.”

Viana huffed out that weary laugh once more, its dryness betrayed by the hint of amusement in her eyes and faint smile on her lips. “Aw Hells, maybe I made a mistake,” she drawled.

“Ah, how you wound me, my dear,” he replied as he settled back down onto the crate. “Many a fair maiden can vouch that I am a most entertaining dinner companion.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that at all.”

[kkeidawrites]

Lost Light

Whew, let me tell y'all writing this one shot was killing me...having to re-watch and relive the experience from this made me have a broken heart again like all those years ago. But, here we are.

Loki Laufeyson x black!reader

Disclaimer: The story you are about to read is full of spoilers from the Avengers: Infinity War movie, I do not own any of the quotes or the gifs that are displayed on this fanfic, that all belongs to Disney, Marvel Studios which is a subsidiary of Walt Disney Studios and its proper companies and I would suggest you not read this if you have not seen the movie yet. This story is both fictional and all the characters that are mentioned are all my personal, made up ocs that I wanted to share. So, just you know, prepare yourselves. Thank you.

The stench.

The falling ash.

The haunting distress call, pleading for any help that was close by, didn't reach a willing ear.

Pieces of the ship, that once held all of the surviving members of Asgard, were scattered astray and skewed in space.

Asgardians young and old littered the remaining floating, functioning part of the ship, dead and being stabbed again by the ones who created the carnage to ensure they stayed dead.

Mawu watched helplessly as Thor laid on the bay of the ship, defeated and critically wounded, his breathing was becoming labored but the Moon Goddess couldn't do anything as she was restrained by the large behemoth that had its foot on her back.

They had fought valiantly and fearlessly, but in the end it didn't matter, Thanos had took them down without breaking a sweat. His lackeys went to work to kill the rest of the innocent Asgardians, claiming he was doing them a favor.

"Your people are nothing now...you have no world to occupy." he had said after he broke our spirits. He spoke to us like we were his captured kill from a glorious hunt.

"Your people are powerless, tired, it would be best to end your suffering."

"I know what it's like to lose," the titan turns his back to stare at Loki who shifted his gaze from his wife back to Thanos. The last thing he needed was the titan to know that he was a married man and Loki refused to allow anymore harm come to her.

He had done so in the past and he vowed to protect her since then. Mawu watched powerless as the feeling of the creature's foot pressed a bit more on her back, making Mawu grunt in pain.

"Feels so desperately that you are right, yet to fail none the less."

Thanos approaches Thor and picks him up by the neck dragging him over to Loki's stiff form.

"Turns the legs to jelly. I ask you to what end? Dread it, run from it. Destiny arrives all the same. Now it's here, should I say 'I am..'"

Thor makes a clipped comment and Loki quickly gazes at his brother fearfully then back to the menacing titan's glare.

"The Tesseract or your brother's head." His large fist began to squeeze the new king's head.

"I assume you have a preference?" Thanos asked smug.

"Oh, I do. Kill away." Loki's statement lifts the titan's chin smugly and Mawu's jaw drops in disbelief; the large brute then takes the power infinity stone and presses it against the side of Thor's head. Thor screams from the immense pain that was coming from the stone and Mawu squirmed under the beast's foot.

"Stop it! Leave him alone!" Mawu yells as she struggled. More pressure was applied to her back and the Goddess gasps in pain going limp, and had no choice but to listen to the agonizing screams of the king of Asgard. Tears were running down her cheeks, as a sob left her lips.

After all they had been through, Loki would pull something like this. Mawu believed that her husband had changed for the better and here he was allowing this monster to kill his own brother. She struggled to turn her head and out of the corner of her eye she watched her husband. He was looking conflicted to what was happening. Thor let out another excruciating cry of pain and Loki balled his fists at his sides.

"Alright, stop!" Loki yells.

The power stone was removed from his brother's head and Thor panted helplessly at Thano's side. Loki sighs in relief.

"We don't have the Tesseract. It was destroyed on Asgard." Thor wheezes.

Low and behold, Loki materializes the Tesseract in his right hand, raised to Thano's eye and the titan gives a chilling grin.

"You..you really are the worst brother." Thor says and Loki comes closer to Thanos as if to hand over the sacred item to him.

"I assure you brother , the sun will shine on us again." Loki tells him and that makes Thanos chuckle.

"Your optimism is misplaced Asgardian."

"Well for one thing, I'm not Asgardian. And for another, we have a Hulk." Just as he said that, the green gamma fused hero came barreling through and punches Thanos giving Loki enough time to move Thor out of harm's way.

"Let him have his fun." Ebony Maw tells Black Dwarf who moved to help their master.

Mawu was shocked at the quick turn of events and the pressure on her back was lifted long enough for her to roll out from under Black Dwarf and use her cosmic beam emission to blast him away from her. Sending another beam at Corvus Glaive, Mawu floated over to Thanos to help Hulk.

This brought Proxima Midnight attention to Mawu's sudden escape and she steps in Mawu's way to halt her assault. Spins her three-pronged spear to ready her stance. Mawu readies herself and her hands and eyes begin to glow a bright blue color.

"You won't leave here alive." she taunts with a smirk.

"We will see, bitch." Mawu sends beams her way and Proxima dodges them, moving close to unleash swings from her spear. Mawu dodges them and blocks the ones that reached her face.

Hulk began with having the upperhand on Thanos but, the titan quickly unbalanced him and took his down within seconds, hauling his large body over his head then slamming it on the ground of the ship's bay. Hulk lays there defeated and not moving.

Thor comes up behind Thanos and hits him with a lead pipe that bounces off his armor and the titan turns around and pushes him away. Ebony Maw takes this time to use his psychokinesis and trap Thor's body with the iron from the ship.

Mawu manages to scratch Proxima's right cheek and the woman grunts in pain touching her cheek to feel the blue blood running down to her lip. She gives a battlecry and sweeps her spear under Mawu's feet but she was quicker to jump back and uses her right leg to come down and snaps the spear in half.

Proxima uses one end of her spear to throw at the Moon Goddess and Mawu dodges it.

Elbowing her in the face, Mawu is quick to get onto her hands and spin her straightened feet in a kick combo on her face. Proxima dodges the first spin but was hit by the second one, along with an uppercut Mawu sent once she returned to her feet.

.As she stumbles back from the attack, Mawu grabs Proxima by the neck and throws her down into the ground, raising her leg to bring it down on her head as a final blow when she was suddenly grabbed by the back of her neck and pulled away from her opponent. Black Dwarf had grabbed her threw her but, Mawu was stopped by an invisible force.

The Goddess squirmed from the invisible force holding her and turned her head to see Ebony Maw holding her against her will.

She cursed him in her native tongue as she was left floating at his side.

However, the thing Mawu saw was Heimdall as he prayed softly to his ancestors and her eyes widened at what he was doing.

"Forefathers, let the dark magic flow through me one last...time." his soft prayer was heard and the Bifrost was opened and immediately took Hulk away. Thanos approaches Heimdall and grabs Corvus Glaive's double-sided polearm as he looks down at the struggling man.

"That was a mistake." Thanos tells the watchman of the gods and stabs the polearm through his heart. Heimdall stares defiantly at Thanos until his last breath of life left his body and he fell limp against the piece of metal he was propped up against. Thor cries in anguish as he watched his friend die and glares hatefully at the titan.

"You going to die for that." Thor swears to Thanos then his lips are bound when Ebony Maw seals his lips with metal.

Ebony Maw then presents the Tesseract to Thanos, as he kneels before the titan and the purple brute removes his armor, and plucks the cube from his lackey's hand. He crushes it and inside his hand sits the space stone. He places the stone on his gauntlet and hums in pleasure of the new power flowing through him.

Mawu suddenly feels weak and lethargic, her head begins to pound severely. You see, when the space stone is disrupted, it effects those who helped create the universe, Mawu is beginning to lose her powers because, the space stone is what keeps the balance of all the nine realms in harmony. With a dark heart like Thanos, the space stone could easily kill the creator gods of the universe.

"There are two more stones on Earth," Thanos marvels at the stones on his gauntlet, he then turns his attention to his 'children'.

"Find them my children, and bring them to me on Titan." he orders and his 'children' kneel down in front of him in respect.

"Father we will not fail you." Proxima Midnight says. Mawu glares at the woman.

"Karachi ẹnu kẹtẹkẹtẹ bishi (Stupid kissing ass bitch)." Mawu cursed and Proxima gives her a menacing glare as if she understood what the Goddess said.

"If I might interject," Loki makes his appearance and slowly moves closer to Thanos.

"If you are going to Earth, you might want a guide. I do have experience in that arena." he gives a dry chuckle.

"If you call failure experience.

"I consider experience, experience."

"Oh mighty Thanos," he grew closer now as he sneakily summoned a knife in his left hand.

"I, Loki, prince of Asgard...Odin's son, the rightful king of the Jotunheim, God of Mischief...do hereby pledge to you..." he gives his wife a look. Just one look to show that he loved her and Mawu's eyes widened. Mawu watched in horror as her husband approached the titan and began shaking her head.

"...my undying infidelity." Loki moves to strike Thanos through the throat but, the space stone possesses his arm to stop him. Loki pants in disbelief and Mawu struggles in her metal bindings, trying desperately to get out to help her husband.

"Loki! Get out of there! Loki!" she screams to her lover, whom even if he wanted to, could not move.

"Undying? You should use your words more carefully." Thanos scolds Loki and pushes back his arm, making the God of Mischief grunt in pain as he was quickly disarmed and Thanos gripped him by the throat. Mawu struggled harder as the titan raised her lover higher to get a better look at him. Loki's choking gargles alerted both her and Thor.

"Let him go you alainiye lori (son of a bitch)! Loki!" Mawu grunts as her metal prison squeezed around her body. She watched pitifully as her husband squirmed in Thano's squeezing grip and her tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Don't...Do not do this! Please don't do this!" she cries as the sound of Loki's bones began rattling.

As he struggled, Loki had the gal to look in Thanos in the eyes as he whimpered out one last statement. "You...will never be...a god." Loki then shifts his wavering gaze to his wife and gave her a painful smile then mouthing his love to her before the crack of his neck resounded in the tense atmosphere.

"Noooooooooooo!" Mawu yells.

Thor's muffled cry of anguish is a haunting one as Thanos brings his dead brother's body over to his bound form, dropping him at his feet.

"No resurrections this time." Thanos taunts. The titan then raises his gauntlet and activates the power stone, all around them what's left of the Statesmen began to explode and Thanos uses the space stone to open a portal and the Black Order leave the blowing up ship.

The metal around Thor disintegrated and he quickly crawled over to Loki's body. He looked over his brother's face and sobs left his lips as he hugged him to his chest.

"Loki..." he whimpers solmenly.

Mawu however, had another agenda, once she was released from the metal prison her eyes had coated over to a dark blue color and her hands glowed a illuminated white color. Her adrenaline was high as hell and so was her anger which gave her more of a boost as she flew up from the Statesmen and aimed her glowing hands at Thanos' ship.

"O gba ọkọ mi, ẹbi mi, lẹhinna o ro pe o kan le sá? Iwọ yoo ku loni, aderubaniyan(You take my husband, my family, and then you think you can just run away? You will die today, monster)! " Mawu beams up her hands and begins throwing concentrated cosmic energy balls at the ship.

Two of the engines on the ship went up in flames, and Mawu flew closer to punch a side of the ship but, her assault was cut short when a canon blasted her away. This gave the ship enough time to portal out of there.

Mawu regained her balance mid-flight and her brows furrowed in anger as she watched the ship disappear through the portal. Her tears returned and her adrenaline wore off, as the Statesmen blew up in a purple flash behind her. Mawu welcomed the force of the blast as her eyes returned to its original brown color.

She simply floated in outer space as the debris of both the ship and deceased Asgardians coasted past her. Mawu's eyes caught Loki's departed form and moved closer to him, grabbing his cold hand and pulling him to her chest. Mawu cried in his chest as she wrapped his arms around her body, wanting to once again feel his loving embrace.

The moon has a dark side and it has a bright side but, with how her emotions played out, the moon has been cased in a dark grey hue that stirs the gravity on the Earth.

Mawu didn't care about any of that right now...her husband was dead, her heart has been torn in two, and there was nothing she could do to change it. Mawu's eyes filmed over a grey color and she fell limply against her deceased husband's chest as her body shut down into a vegetative state.

The light was lost from the moon that day and the end of the universe was closer.

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I hope you all had a good cry like I did when I wrote this story. This had been sitting in my brain for weeks, yall. WEEKS. And I finally sat my ass down and wrote it. So, enjoy, like, comment and reblog. Also make sure to head over to my inbox for any requests. Peace y'all.

[currently-exsisting]

Coins & Coffee Shop (Akaashi Keiji)

Pairing: Akaashi Keiji x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Pure Fluff, Second Hand Embarrassment

Word Count: ~1.5K

A/N: You can't tell me Akaashi's demeanor doesn't scream dark academia vibes and I'm totally here for it. Also, this is my first post here so I hope you guys like it and I'm always open for constructive criticism! (ꈍᴗꈍ)

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Everyone has little aspects about them that make them unique. No one has the same features as anyone else but people do share common traits among each other. (Y/N) was known to be many things. She was intellectual, indecisive, inquisitive, sometimes lazier than she would like to admit. But above all these things, (Y/N) was an honorary member of the klutz society. It’s not that she chose to constantly trip on her own feet or overlook the miscellaneous sock that somehow found its way out of the laundry basket, it was just that the universe had placed some unspoken curse on her that bound her to these actions in her everyday life. Some days seemed to consist of fewer misdemeanors than others. Today was seemingly one of those.

(Y/N) had just finished her second interview of the week and so she went to treat herself at a small coffee shop located in the quieter part of town. Although it is labeled as a coffee shop, the young woman was never a fan of the bitter drinks most adults fawn over. Her typical order consisted of a medium-sized hot, Darjeeling tea. She preferred to use honey as a sweetener because it added a unique flavor otherwise unattainable.

She entered the small coffee shop and made her way to the barista to place her order. She didn’t give her surroundings much thought, her mind was wandering, thinking about the latest article she wrote for the local newspaper.

“Hello miss, how may I help you today?” She placed her order with a lopsided smile, her mind still not completely present.

“That will be $3.25 please.” (Y/N)’s fingers fumbled around as she was reaching for the correct amount of change, causing a few dimes and pennies to fall on the haphazardly cleaned floor.

She muttered a small sorry as she scrambled around to gather the few coins, mentally cursing the mere existence of them. Just as her finger reached to pick up the last coin, a stranger’s long, skinny fingers brushed up against hers.

“Oh thank you!” (Y/N) pulled her hand away after the stranger gave her the discarded coin. She hadn’t looked at his eyes yet, far too embarrassed to even look at his face.

That was until her stranger let out his first few words. “It was no problem.” Quickly (Y/N) raised her head, causing a sharp pain to shoot up her neck. Her slight grimace faded into a nervous smile, completed with wide eyes. The boy- no, the man in front of her was nothing short of angelic. His face could easily be mistaken for that of a Greek god. His slightly shaggy, raven hair fell on his forehead, framing his face. His cerulean eyes looked like they were unintentionally piercing into (Y/N)’s thoughts. And, as if he was able to use those eyes to read her thoughts, a small smile gracing his lips. (Y/N) were in the presence of an angel, there was no doubt about it. However, her heavenly daydream quickly crash-landed back on earth when the barista let out a forced cough.

(Y/N)’s eyes widened even more- if that was possible- as she realized her situation. She quickly tore her eyes off the stranger without another acknowledgment and turned back to the counter. She grabbed her tea, nodding her head in both gratitude and apology. (Y/N)’s mind, still hazy from the multiple levels of embarrassment she caused herself, didn’t conceive the idea that the man standing behind her was also in line and didn’t, as she previously thought, move away after helping her.

She whipped her whole body around yet again, itching with the idea of escaping the immense tension she created and misplaced her feet. Her legs tangled together like a braid, causing her to lose what little balance and dignity she had left.

It’s not that she meant to trip and spill her tea all over him; it was just the way of her people. People that she never disliked more than in that singular moment. (Y/N) looked up at the stranger, who was now holding her shoulders back to keep from falling over, for the second time in the span of two minutes. Except, this time he was covered in a light yellow-brown drink, his face contorted due to the hot tea burning his skin.

“Oh my goodness! I’m so so sorry!” (Y/N) scrambled to grab some napkins that were placed on the counter. She pushed him down into a nearby chair as she dabbed the napkin over her shirt. Her hands came across his abdominal area and she felt the hardness of his abs. Her indecipherable tangent of apologies paused and her cheeks flushed to an even brighter red.

It seemed as if the tea had cooled off because the man let out a small chuckle. His hand reached down to grab her wrist but he didn’t pull it away. (Y/N)’s eyes were still stuck gazing at the light brown shirt, speckled with unorganized dots of darker brown. When he grabbed her hand she slowly lifted her face. And without meeting his eyes, she let out another meek apology.

“It’s alright, you won’t be able to remove the stains or the dampness with a napkin. I was on my way home anyway so don’t feel bad about it.” His face had returned to the relaxed, nonchalant expression he had on previously. His cheeks were tinted a faint light pink color but he attempted to force the color to seep back into its typical hue.

“But I have to make it up to you somehow.” Her eyes wandered around the small cafe, thinking of something she could do for the gorgeous man. “Oh! Let me pay for whatever you were about to buy! It’s the least I can do and I am not taking no for an answer.” (Y/N)’s expression lit up as she stood back up from her crouching position. Her cheeks that had just started to lose their pinkish tint flamed up again when she realized the man hadn’t let go of her hand.

He slowly, almost reluctantly, let go of her wrist as he let out a small nod and stood up alongside her. “What’s your order?”

“A medium Earl Grey tea” The man, as (Y/N) had picked up, didn’t say or do more than was necessary. It wasn’t that he was careless but rather extremely reserved. Noticing this, (Y/N) let out another smile.

“Do you prefer tea over coffee as well? My favorite is Darjeeling but Earl Grey is delicious as well, it has a sort of musky yet elegant taste.” The man shook his head in another slight nod but this time it seemed as if he was more intrigued by the conversation. His eyes were focused on her as she placed the order yet again, this time paying in full bills instead of reaching for change.

(Y/N) turned her head around, slowly this time, after she got both their drinks. Her eyes caught on his piercing blue ones yet again and she felt her heart skip a beat. She acknowledged the upward tilt of his lips but decided not to comment on it. “Do you mind if I join you?” Heading towards a pair of chairs set around a mini coffee table by the window. The man simply shook his head and sat across from her. They conversed about their lives for a bit until their drinks had cooled down and they seemed to be well acquainted with each other.

“Oh, where are my manners? My name is (Y/N) (L/N), and again, I'm so sorry for inconveniencing you.” She took a sip of her tea and placed it down on the table.

“Akaashi Keiji; and like I said, don't worry about it. You do have a way of attracting clumsiness though.” (Y/N) looked away, embarrassment creeping up on her again.

Nodding her head she let out a sigh, “I can’t help it. The more I think about fixing my klutzy nature, the more it becomes prominent.” She reaches her hand to grab her cup. “I need some sort of anti-klutz device.” Rolling her eyes, (Y/N) wasn’t exactly paying attention as to where her hand was headed. Just as her wrist knocked the edge of her cup, Akaashi’s hand jolted out to hold the drink steady. (Y/N)’s brows crinkled and she rested her head in her hands in frustration. “See!”

Akaashi’s smile grew larger.“I don’t know about an anti-klutz device but I’ve had my fair share of clumsy friends so I can be of some assistance.”

(Y/N) peaked out from between her fingers, “You mean you want to willingly spend time with a hazard such as myself.” She said that as a joke of course, but Akaashi still nodded in his nonchalant manner.

“ Did you know that it is a person’s nervous system that causes them to be more or less clumsy?” he hummed and continued, now looking at the young woman in front of him that had him infatuated in her, “I can’t change your clumsiness, but I can be there to catch you if it causes you to fall.”

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

Weeping Statue | Feeding Habits Update #6 & let’s chat about quitting writing

Hello! Are we back for another Feeding Habits update (finally)?? Let’s chat chapter 7, Weeping Statue.

Just a reminder: This is my original work and plagiarism of any form will not be tolerated.

Can we talk about struggle? Because this chapter was IT. I believe I started it in late July and finished it earlier this month. I’ve taken my time with chapters before, but this was next level--the amounts of changes I went through in one chapter was astronomical, and reminded me of drafting chapter three earlier in the summer. I went through so many stages writing this chapter: from enjoying it, to feeling no joy from writing at all, to nearly quitting this book altogether!

Scene A:

Harrison and his mother Suzanna simultaneously avoid each other over breakfast after he failed to return home the night previous

She lowkey calls him out (calling out his denial of missing Lonan)

Scene B:

Harrison goes to a farmhouse owned by Theodore Harvey, a friend of his mother’s, to drop off the rescued litter of kittens from chapter 6. He realizes he is missing one kitten and concludes Reeve has stolen one after dinner the night previous.

Scene C:

Harvey invites Harrison inside for coffee where he admits his coffee machine is broken.

Harrison fixes the coffee machine, and is hired by Harvey to flip the rest of the farmhouse as he and his wife are moving.

Scene D:

On his way home, Harrison stops at a gas station where he buys a bouquet of tulips for his mother, a dog collar for the puppy he found in the kitten litter, a pack of gum, pastries, and sunscreen before heading to a beach.

At the onset of a lightning storm, Harrison swims in the ocean and has an epiphany--he decides to accept his miserable life (a development!)

Scene E:

After the beach ordeal, Harrison returns to his apartment ready to accept the plainness of his daily life when an old ghost from his past (his! ex!) Lonan appears to be having dinner with Suzanna

This chapter brought so many things. A) many... breakdowns lol (I cried a lot!), B) many false epiphanies that wound me back into ruts, C) a desire to quit this series that was just as terrifying as it sounds and D) an ideology I never would’ve gotten on my own. Just have to thank my sister Sarah for telling me a few weeks ago after I insisted that I knew what needed to logically happen but couldn’t write it no matter how hard I tried. She said: “It’s not about what works, it’s about what you want” << literally changed my philosophy on writing, even as someone who tries their best to advocate for care and enjoyment in writing. Not sure if it’s because of the timing when she said this, but I’d probably never had made it out of the rut without having this said to me.

I was *not* planning at all to have my boys reunite so soon in the book. Technically, it is not very soon and we are almost done the book, but for some reason, I really didn’t think it would work so early because I felt Harrison’s POV was so undeveloped already (I still think it is). HOWEVER, the fact of the matter is: it was not working at all. I knew exactly what I needed to do to get to point A to Z but the thing about writing is, it is not formulaic! I tried to make fit what I thought worked, but as time progressed and I immensely struggled, less and less did I want what worked. Writing was miserable and that’s not what I want writing to be for me. So I took Sarah’s advice, and I did what would make me happy, and that was, and has always been, seeing my boys interact.

Now that I’ve finished this chapter, I’m not sure if I made the right decision! I have yet to write the boys interacting so I don’t know if it will work, but what I liked about this method is that it freed me from this constriction I’d written myself into and opened a new avenue to do something that DOESN’T “work” for the story but that does work for me. To me, this project, this series, is more important to me than making something “work”. Sustaining my health and happiness (which were declining on the path I was on) is critical for me and my writing journey.

EDIT: by the time I’m editing this post, I have written the boys interacting and haha yep this was the right decision! Was doubting myself for a sec, added in a lil robbery, and now it’s all good (oops)

Excerpts:

I don’t have too many for you because this chapter does need an edit to “set” it in place (right now it feels like liquid Jello that has been in the fridge but is yet to set up). I know it needs one more scene but I cannot :) write :) what :) it :) needs :) no matter how hard I have tried, and so I am giving that section of the story a break instead of over-kneading it and toughening up the dough unnecessarily.

Here is part of the opening scene! There are things I don’t like about this but I am trying not to self-hate, so !!!

The next morning, Harrison gets up at dawn to drop the kittens off at the farm, and Suzanna makes coffee for one. This is unusual for both—Harrison rarely leaves the apartment, and Suzanna always makes coffee for two. In his room, Harrison combs his hair and twists his earring, its blue gem pearling in dribbles of sunlight. In the kitchen, Suzanna stirs coffee like it’s wronged her. Harrison dabs cologne onto his throat and blinks off his hangover. Suzanna flecks her spoon onto the tabletop so it leaves an egg of amber on the surface.

When he approaches the kitchen, Harrison pretends he does not see his mother and his mother pretends she does not see him. They move like this, repelled, one moving left, the other moving right, one opening the top cupboard, the other opening the bottom.

Harrison stops at a convenience store and buys a hodge-podge of things (also the beach scene which yes mirrors the last scene in Lonan’s POV hehe I indulge myself):

He picks up the best bouquet of fuchsia tulips, a collar for the dog he left in his bedroom even though it’ll be weeks until she’s big enough to fit in it, a pack of spearmint gum he doesn’t need, a package of pastries, and a tube of sunscreen—SPF 30. He almost drops every item at least once on his way up to the register, and definitely drops them when his receipt is spitting from the machine and the store clerk says she likes his earring—is it vintage—and he nearly vomits in the parking lot, trained against the hood of the taxi—is it even his taxi—the plastic bag teetering from his wrist, rain coiling against his cheek, the air so humid, his clothes so heavy, it is no wonder the next place he ends up is the beach.

It is never smart to swim during a storm. If he thinks hard enough, his mother’s voice warns him to keep from the shore, stand behind the yellow line, stay safe, stay where you are, don’t run under a tree, and even more, don’t run into the water. He does everything wrong in an even worse order—dollops sunscreen into his palm before opening the pastry so his teeth freckles with zinc, chews the gum and the pastry at the same time so his tongue becomes a slime of crumbs, rests the tulips too close to the shoreline so they wilt under a wave, misplaces the dog collar in his own left hand, and dives into the water fully-clothed.

Harrison getting very angsty about Lonan’s future (which he’s predicted completely wrong haha):

He will die alone. Reeve will not think of him again and he will deserve that. Somewhere in the city with the missing kitten, drinking bottles of holy water because there is no drink more fitting for a woman so sacred. His mother will miss him only briefly, and then return to her daily life of no longer needing to clean up after him. Maybe she’ll find the tulips. Put them on display until they wither, then use their carcasses as fertilizer. Save electricity. Use the coffee machine less. Downsize to a smaller, cheaper, prettier apartment with arched walkways and stained-glass windows. Harvey will think he is a fluke who missed his first day of work and will never think of him again. The dog isn’t old enough to recognize him. Suzanna will give her the collar. And Lonan will continue his life in Las Vegas, tottering after Eliza, refilling her wine, getting neon at house parties, watching French silent films without captions because he’s probably learned another language, cut his hair, gotten a tattoo, learned how to cross-stitch, bought life insurance, a yacht, a coastal summer home, learned how to play the mandolin, perfected his lamb sous vide. He’s probably married. Him and Eliza family-planning. He’ll expand a future, and Harrison will do the opposite. There is something freeing in being unmissed.

Lightning snaps across the sky like a wishbone, sounds like the prick of tambourines from under the water. Everything turns violet—the clouds, his skin, the waves. Tomorrow will be a better day, as he sinks lower into the current, tomorrow will be a better day, as the light fades and dissolves into blackness, tomorrow will be a better day, as seaweed wraps his throat, as the freezing water impales his ribs, as he burrows under and simultaneously, rises up.

This next part comes right after!

In the stomach of a tidal wave, the sky is so much bluer. An unrolling of cyan like fractals of a baked marble. There is so little to remember. No grocery lists, no fresh turmeric, no shift of portabella mushrooms. No outstanding to-dos—no kibble to by, no resume to update. Harrison folds in blue and lets it gorge his eardrums. He gives his body to that wide chasm of water and breaststrokes not into a second life, but a third.

Here is the last bit:

He buzzes back into the apartment at 3:00AM, tracking in saltwater and SPF, puff-pastry gummed to his palm, a dog collar wound around his ring finger, a sheath of tulips shedding into the elevator behind him.

He hits every floor button twice and is undisturbed when the elevator lurches and reopens in sixty-second intervals. A man rotating a jade cuff on his wrist gets on at the fourth stop and gets off at the sixth. A woman wearing a lynx cape gets on at the eighth stop, breaks up with two girlfriends, and gets off at the eleventh. Two children in coveralls tail in after she leaves and throw jacks at each other’s eyes until one of them bleeds, and by then, they are on the fifteenth floor and the children are leaving like they have not left behind accidental shell casings. On the sixteenth floor, a deer head chihuahua patters in with no owner and barks at the door chime the moment it releases and lets him out. A mother and daughter shell pistachios on the twentieth, a maintenance man introduces himself as David though his nametag says Maxwell on the twenty-second, a flock of teenage girls in whirl about a new way to blend oil pastel on the twenty-third. So it is no wonder by the twenty-fifth floor, Harrison misses his stop and becomes one of these people too—the man with zinc down his eyes like a weeping statue, juggling pastry and a dog collar and a seedy bouquet of tulips.

He tracks seawater in that hallway, parts of him scattering with the zinc, the petals, the crumbs. Like a way to get back home even though he hasn’t started at his destination, he moves through the labyrinth of halls, both starving and nauseated. Tomorrow he will rise at dawn and taxi to Brooklyn and hammer four nails into two pieces of plywood and repeat. He will feed his dog. Learn how to cook something that will impress his mother, something French that he can’t pronounce like brasillé or oeufs cocotte. Find liberation in the constrict of routine or at least pretend to. It will be good for him, the rising, the taxis, the hammers, the nails, the dog food, the cooking—it will all be good.

By the time he gets to their door, his fingers are oiled and dripping with sunscreen. Rising, taxis, hammers, nails, dog food, cooking. He nearly drops the house keys. Rising, taxis, hammers, nails, dog food, cooking. Tomorrow will be his arrival. Rising, taxis, hammers, nails, dog food, cooking. His beginning swelling as he turns the lock. Rising, taxis, hammers, nails, dog food, cooking. There is no other way out.

The apartment is dark when he tracks in. The scent of cinnamon steeping the air like Suzanna’s pulled a saucepan of papas off the stove. At first he doesn’t hear it, but he should, the voices leafing the kitchen like a flit of moths. He steps out of his shoes but never sets anything down, even after he passes the coffee table. Two plates ringing the centre, streaked with and caldeirada and bayleaf. A pitcher of lemonade sweating onto the glass. It is almost like he never left, like he and his mother shared dinner, sipped from each other’s cups, cleaned the tines of each other’s fishbones. And he almost believes it. He never went to the farm. The kittens are where he left them, just a few feet away, not in Brooklyn. He doesn’t have a job to tend to. He never fixed the coffee machine. He didn’t go to the convenience store. He is not slathered in sunscreen, not holding a dog collar or pastries or a bouquet of tulips. He never dove into the ocean like it was some port to asylum and didn’t emerge soaked and walking half-dead to his apartment because he never left. This reality is so easy to believe, he is unfazed by the voices and how they get louder when he reaches the kitchen, when one says “Were you shopping for the apocalypse?” and the other one chokes on its drink and apologizes for its rudeness and stares at him in daydream, those eyes like forget-me-nots, gas fires, seafoam, the wing of a starling, his drop earring.

Harrison is grateful he is soaking wet when he enters that kitchen and Suzanna and Lonan sit at the table sharing a box of petit fours. At least he has an excuse when he drops everything.

That’s it for this update! The tea starts HERE!

--Rachel

[sugar-petals]

I just saw a vid of the new run bts ep where jk accidentally showing his tatts n he looked scared and covered them quick and it made me so sad bc it looks like its him that doesn’t want to show them not big hit they probably don’t even care

i don’t know about bh’s stance, but as for jk: there’s literally us on his tattoos; no way he would try to conceal his love for his fans and the group, it goes against his entire nature. he’s rather, as usual, hiding it because he anticipates disagreement of people who don’t fall into that category. we’re familiar with that double bind in kpop and you see discussions on that all over the place, not just matters of taste but also taboo and law included. 

now it has to be said that jk generally doesn’t enjoy showing his body just because. and we don’t know all his worries when he covers up, nor the full extent of his tattoos and how private their themes may be. but if you ask me, he’s not hiding them because he’s hellbent on not showing it to those they are intended for. i wouldn’t worry about that. 

it all rather connects to an anticipated response from others. misplaced stigma has made jk feel shame and hypervigilance even if there’s inherently no reason to. he hasn’t put anything ominous or disturbing on himself. in the right kind of environments as we saw, he’s happy to reveal them without going back and forth whether he should or not. 

i’d respect his personal reasons to decide when to go sleeveless, dismiss people who want to influence his expression, while at the same time not agreeing when he finds them inappropriate, and also not be too concerned about him not wanting to show his arm in all circumstances because that’s likely not the case. 

jk very well wants to show them the way he meant them to be shown. a guy who wears 95% white tees and is an athlete incarnate moving his clothes about all day won’t put secret things on his arm he doesn’t want to put out there permanently. the sheer amount he got tells you how much he loves it, too. he’s made up his mind about it, it’s only a fraction of frowns that prevents him from being at ease unlike he planned. one remark can ruin everything, how he behaves indicates just that perhaps. also keep in mind that jungkook’s shame can serve certain people indirectly without them having to crook a finger, he censors himself already.

that fraction and cultural stance might stick around or fade partially due to accustoming, but i think that time works in favor of him anyway and he will have to accommodate less in the future. fact is, jk prevents all possibility of offense, he is so polite it’s overwhelming. i hope things will be favorable for him and he can show his skin without second thought and unfitting criticisms coming to him.

[trillian-anders]

beguiled

pairing: geralt of rivia x reader

warnings: violence, angst, smut, jealousy

word count: 3.1k

description: part 2 of 3. it’s been decades since you’ve last employed the witcher to help you dispatch of a spectre. you seek him out for him to help you with one more task and jealousy rears its ugly head. 

The room smelled of mead. Sweet and sticky. Viciously spread through the bodies until they were dripping with it. Words cooed into ears in dark corners, a hand drifting up a skirt, picking at the laces of a dress. A brawl in the middle of the room over something trivial. A misplaced footstep. A bump of a shoulder, who knows. It was not a party unless someone had a broken bone by the end. It was not a party unless at the end someone was in critical condition.

The Queen sat proudly, poised and sure, nary a hair out of place. Sipping merrily but keeping her wits. Her eyes tracing the shapes of the walls, banisters, chiseled marble. Drifting out among her subjects, her warriors, to keep herself aware of what was going on below her pedestal. Looking down at the merry drunken fighters and the pretty little maids they set their eyes on.

As much as every kingdom felt like they were different, superior, they were all the same. Cheating Kings, spoiled wedding beds, hushed trysts in the night. Drinking yourself blind after an economic win, drinking yourself half to death after barely surviving battle. If the blade were not your end, surely it would be your poisoned liver.

Geralt had seen hundreds of these parties and surely, Geralt would see a hundred more. His cup never empty, a pleasant strum in his belly and his pocket full of coin. He was satisfied with his hunt, the unpleasant beasty falling to his sword, and the Queen paid him handsomely. The gift of a free meal and a warm bed to pass the night. Now he just needed a warm body to fill it.

A scent, familiar, stirred his loins. Lilac and gooseberries. The drift of it curling around him and tugging him away from viewing the brawl from his table. He could almost taste her, Yennefer, his nose picking up her scent. It tore him from the throne room, bathing himself in it as the crisp night air met his nostrils. Cup discarded he followed the trail, far into the hedge maze before him. The twisting and turning leading him towards her. Bringing him closer and closer to the center of the maze. To the small pond and bench, a large tree cloaked in the darkness of the night. The source of the scent directly below, but it was not Yennefer.

It was you.

A cheeky grin on your face as he tried to not show his surprise. Jaw set tight. Fists clenched in a subdued anger.

“Witcher.” You grin.

“What are you doing here?” You tug your bottom lip between your teeth, gazing around at the night lilies, the pond still and silent.

“The question dear butcher,” You muse, “Is what do I want?”

“You tricked me.” A statement.

“Your affection for Yenn tricked you,” You scoff, standing, “It just helped me bring you out here,” The castle behind him still standing, lights from the throne room casting shadows on the grass. “If I knew you had such an affection for her previously,” The last time you’d met, when he ripped the Hym’s claws from your back, “I might not have gone so easily on you.” His mind flipping back decades to the feeling of his back digging into the stone floor. He would be lying if it did not cause his dick to twitch in his trousers.

“What is it that you want Mage?” He was annoyed, you could tell that very well, but he could have just left so it is something.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you last…” Stepping towards him, hands on your hips, you peer up into his face almost flush with his chest, “How would you like to make a bit of coin? I have a proposition for you.” A heated glare, it stirs in your loins and sets your belly on fire. The scent of lilacs and gooseberries evaporating from the air.

“What do you want?” It was a bite and you place your hand on his chest, letting it drift up to hold the side his neck, pressing your breasts against him. Close.

“I need you to kill a little beasty for me,” A doe eyed look, your thumb coming to brush his bottom lip, “How skilled are you at alchemy?”

Very skilled it seems. Those little black vials of swallow sat in a satchel on his hip. Something tied to Roach’s saddle quite tightly as he rode. You lead on your own horse, taking him far away from the city and deep into the dark wood surrounding it. The mare’s steady hoof beats sync, and that is the sound between you. You could feel those amber eyes boring into the back of your head, you had not half a mind to wonder what went on in his. Good fortune brought him back to you, good fortune or that shiny gold coin you had kept for decades now.

His grace and mercy.

You turn to look at him, meeting his eye, “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” You ask, “Daydreaming about someone else?” You did not expect an answer, and he did not give one. “You know, she told me about the wish.” The steady beat of hooves. “The wish you’d always find your way back to one another.” It felt bitter on your tongue. “And you made that decision after one meeting?” Bitter and sour, a bubbling in your belly. “I should be bereft that you hadn’t the same fondness of me, but then again she’s a bit more attainable. Powerful. It is attractive really. I could understand… if I wanted to.”

“All mages are powerful.” His low timbre, it sends a shiver down your spine.

“I’m sure her Elven blood helps her none.” You muse. A day’s journey it had been. A small village looms in the distance. “We should make camp.” As the sun begins to set. “I’m getting hungry.” By the river you set a fire, Geralt hunting game.

“So why do you need me to kill a drowner?” He asked, dropping a bundle of rabbits by the fire. “What do you need it for?” You furrow your brow, standing from your crouched position digging through your bag,

“I’m not paying you to ask questions Witcher.” He rolls his eyes, sitting heavily on an overturned tree, pulling the game into his lap to skin and prepare to cook. You shrug your coat back on, sitting across from him. The sound of wood crackling, he set the rabbit up on a makeshift spit.

“What happened with the King?” Of course, he would ask. The King whose son was now on the throne, the curse from the Hym gone from the town, but not forgotten. You were sure he heard tales of his own bravery there. Geralt of Rivia, whether it was fame or infamy was anyone’s guess, but if he did their dirty work for them, he could stay.

 “He died thankfully,” You sigh, “His stupid little heart gave out… his son is on the throne now.” Geralt looks across at you, a strange look on his face. “You know, for a Witcher who is supposed to be above emotion you certainly show a lot of it on your face… What?”

He shakes his head, looking back onto the roasting rabbits before saying, “For a moment I wondered how you felt about it, if you felt anything for it anymore.” The guilt. To tell the truth it comes and goes, but you say to him,

“It’s long forgotten.” Which you are sure he does not buy it, but he drops it none the less. “When was the last time you’ve seen her? Yenn?” He shifts in his seat,

“Eight years now.” You hum.

“She’s ever the flighty bird.” An unimpressed stare.

“As if you’re any different.” He jests. You shake your head, sighing contently,

“I never said I wasn’t.” He looks at you for a moment more, debating something in his head before deciding against it. The dinner eaten in silence, you lay under the stars swathed in your coat, the fire burning into embers beside you.

“You were going to leave anyway.” A whisper. “What difference did it make that I told you to leave instead?” Silence. You could hear the crickets in the distance, singing for their night.

“Go to sleep.”

…

You dipped your toes into the river, the day was warm, you had been sweating in your dress. The outer heavy layers discarded as Geralt walked the length of the river you watched him from the corner of your eye as his amber orbs searched its depths. The Drowner was nearby, that you knew. A ghoulish figure that preyed on pretty milkmaids that were bathing in the river or pulled merchants from a low hanging bridge.

They are necrophages. They drown you and then devour your corpse. And you had brought your lovely Witcher to a nest. The pesky things were severely damaging your trading routes. A little business you had cultivated for yourself, your home being not too far from here, you sold the thing that people wanted the most, a mage’s services.

Your toes in the cold water would hopefully bring them to the surface, pull one out of hiding. You dared to venture deeper, shifting your skirt higher on your hips.

“Stay. There.” He says, eyes moving over the deep depths of the lake. “You always seem to have a death wish.” He murmurs.

“None more so than you,” You muse, kicking your foot in the water. “I’m sure if I were to be swept under, you’d valiantly save me… another song for your little bard to come up with. A tale of a poor maiden and the grizzled Witcher who saved her from a watery grave.” You watched your toes wiggle against the dirt of the lake floor. “Saving her from being eaten by a drowner, so thankful that she rode your cock until morning.” You laugh. But he paused. Settled on one part of the lake’s edge.

“Get out of the water.” Spoken in a panic. You had been in the water to your knees, amusement lost as his eyes met yours, fear. For you. You quickly tread to the edge, feet meeting the harsh rock bed of the lake as you tripped out into the mud, his arm pulling you away fully.

A head bobbed to the surface. It was an ugly thing, scaly and green. A sharp fin sprouted from its back with three spikes and devilishly long talons stretching from its long fingers. You had never seen one alive before, it took your breath away. As one head bobbed, two more sprouted behind him. Three.

“It seems as though the whole nest is hungry.” You tug your bottom lip between your teeth, walking backwards to grab your own sword. Geralt was brave and mighty but a nest of drowners at once was not going to be an easy feat.

“Stay behind me.” The foul creatures trekking through the muck towards the two of you, spreading area attempting to circle. You grip the handle of your sword, the creatures coming close. A swipe of their claws at Geralt’s belly. One moving to the side to encapsulate you. You press your back to his, hand thrusting forward and sending the two beasts on your side back before swinging with your sword and severing its arm from its shoulder. A gooey black blood pouring out. Thick and viscous.

You could hear the smooth movement from behind you, Geralt’s silver sword cutting through the air with speed and precision. Two bodies lay at his feet, one at yours. There is four more. Your hand moves out again, pushing the four back as Geralt lifts his sword and buries it into another, he pushes you out of the way of one’s claws and buries his sword in its belly, grunting and swinging again.  

You huff as the last body falls, gazing over at Geralt. “You’ve got a cut.” You pant, wiping sweat from your brow.

“Very astute of you.” He glares, rinsing his sword off in the lake.

“It’s about to get cold.” You walk over to your horse, grabbing your boots off the ground, “Take their heads and let’s go.” You mount. He looks at you incredulously.

“Go where?”  

“To my home.”

…

It was simple, mostly brick, one story home. It was not what Geralt was expecting. A garden overflowing with herbs, and a cat out front, lapping water from a dish. He dropped the heads in the front garden, he’d scrape their brain matter out later to make his swallow, something he’s sure you’d be able to help him with seeing as you had all the other ingredients already growing beside your house.

“Take your boots off when you come in.” You peer at him over your shoulder. “I’ll make a bath.”

The tub was steaming as he submerged himself into it. Scalding on his skin and burning on his healing cut as he watched you from across the room, stripped down to your shift. Comfortable enough in front of him for that, or maybe you just did not care.

“Have you always wanted to live alone?” He asked, “Is that why you’re all the way out here?” Truthfully, you did live in the middle of nowhere, but living alone, that was just,

“A side effect from not being able to trust anyone.” You shrug, pulling at the laces of your shift, he gazed at the side of your breast revealed, “A mage’s life is funny, being needed by everyone yet being important to no one.” He watched as you dropped the shift entirely, stepping towards the large basin to sink yourself in across from him. “But it seems like Yenn will escape that life too,” A green monster behind your eyes, “She’s important to you.”

“The djin.” He begins, “I don’t know why that was my last wish… I just…”

“You felt like she was your destiny.” A sad smile on your lips as you leaned over and grabbed the bar of soap beside the basin. “In an instant.” It was almost cruel. But he had to wonder,

“Why are you so jealous of her?” He watched you soap up one leg. “You’re just as beautiful, just as intelligent…”

“But alone.” He watches you dip your leg back under the water, switching to the other, “It wasn’t my choice to become a mage, but it was hers. She wanted this power. She wanted to ascend.”

“And you didn’t?” He watches your head loll to the side, resting your cheek on the side of the basin.

“I thought I did once,” His leg brushes against yours, your feet going into his lap, his hands caressing your calves. “But I thought once I ascended people would have to listen to me, that men would have to listen to me, but I just became… a toy. A pretty toy for men to play with.” You rub your foot on his thigh. “I don’t hate Yenn.” You admit, “She’s a good friend.”

“But you want what she has?” You give him a soft glare.

“Don’t get cocksure. I want someone to think I’m important to them,” You admit, “Doesn’t have to be you.” But you want it to be. A strange affection you had borne for him. It was too much, too open. Too raw. He tugged on your legs, pulling you through the water and to his lap, pressing his lips against yours. The meeting electric, hardening your nipples against his chest, his wet fingers burying themselves in your hair while his mouth consumed you. A soft moan like a prayer on his lips.

Your hand drifts down between you, stroking his growing length, hardening him under your gentle assault. His hand groping your ass, grinding your clit against his pubic bone. The rhythm simple, yet effective, his tongue parting your lips as you cum against him, his hand holding your mouth to his while you squirm. His cock found your entrance and bracing his feet against the bottom of the tub he presses himself into you. That burning stretch you remember making your eyes roll.

The water sloshes over the side of the basin as your hips meet, Geralt grunts as you roll your hips to meet his, your moans swallowed by his tongue. You’re brought over once more, his hand steadying your hips to grind your clit on his pubic bone, he lets you throw your head back, letting a loud moan rip from your throat as your legs begin to shake. He picks up a brutal pace, tugging on your hair and bringing your mouth back to his as you feel him release inside of you.

“Don’t tell me to leave,” He says, “Just don’t tell me to leave.” It is spoken into the column of your throat as he works his way through the aftershocks. It was too intimate. You back away. He is lost you. You step from the tub, leaving him in the grey water.

He watches you dry yourself and refuse to meet his eye. He sighs heavily, leaning his head back against the basin.

“You wouldn’t be so alone if you didn’t push everyone away.” It spills from his mouth before he could stop it. You glare at him; he could see your eyes grow wet. Fuck.

“It wouldn’t matter either way.” You wrap the dressing gown around your body, turning your back to him. He sees you look at a coin on your vanity and watches as you run your fingers across the surface. You sigh, “You know when I was a girl,” A harsh swallow, “You saved my village from a beast I hadn’t known existed.” You picked up the coin and turned to him, walking over to the basin where he stood from the water, your eyes locked with his. “Before you left, I placed myself beside your horse, trying to get a glimpse of an actual real-life Witcher.” He watched you move the coin between your fingers. “You gave me this, I was filthy and starving, and you gave me this coin.” You held it between your thumb and pointer finger, “And I’ve used it to call upon you twice now, but you can take it with the rest of your coin and those drowner heads as payment for relieving me of another problem and you can leave right now.”

“Y/N…” You drop the coin into the tub, it sinks down to his feet and he watches you crawl into your bed, facing away from him.

“Leave.”

 .

.

.

tagged //  @bookish-shristi​ @saturnki​ @jennmurawski13​ @geeksareunique​ @the-soulofdevil​ @tinmunky​ @gifsbysimplysonia​ @alwaysbenhardysgirl @beck-alicious @msgeorgiarae​

[qvid-pro-qvo]

need for more

aos!leonard mccoy x female!reader, who’s a nurse on the starship enterprise.

word count: 7091

rating: mature, for medical trauma (blood and gore, injury), angst

part two of more than a game, you and me.

After a few weeks of what you think you want in your relationship, Leonard seems to hint at something more. With the memory of a previous relationship lingering over your head, you pull away from a good thing, wondering if you can ever pick up the pieces.

That wasn’t the last time you went to Dr. McCoy’s – well, Leonard’s – office to kill time between shifts. Or during shifts. Or after shifts. And a couple of times, if it started in one location and ended up in your quarters, well, that was between you two.

But that’s all it was, you reasoned, with the sole confidants you trusted with that kind of information.

“You’re lookin’ like the cat that caught the canary,” Scotty said with a raised brow, your answering shrug not at all deterring him from curiosity even as he was shoulder deep in a nacelle. “Are we sure that there’s nothing more that we need to be discussing?”

“It’s just sex, two consenting adults. All it needs to be.”

“Right,” Christine nodded along, as the two of you chatted in the medication room, the other nurses and aforementioned doctor unable to hear a thing with the sealed sliding door. “And that’s the conclusion you both came to, hmm?”

Well. It wasn’t exactly discussed in depth, that’s for sure.

The thing was, he knew your name now. He knew what kind of shampoo you used because he saw it in the showers he took after a couple of rounds, and you knew how he took his coffee after early morning moments, but talking wasn’t something you did. You never even spent the night. It was a silent agreement. Couldn’t that be all it needed to be? The fact that you thought he looked fucking delicious in a blue Starfleet uniform and he liked the way the regulation whites looked on and off, that couldn’t be the end of it?

It’s not like he dared to let it go any farther. There wasn’t any offer to spend time together without the sex, and you didn’t think it was your place to offer anything when it seemed clear that Leonard’s feelings didn’t proceed past a “good lay.” It was something you kept on the down low, and no one said a damn thing about it.

So you didn’t talk about it. Or, at the very least, you didn’t bring it up as a point of conversation, because at the end of the day it was a good thing that you were comfortable with. Histories didn’t have to repeat themselves, of course. There was a reason Leonard’s eyes had felt like criticism, why a year on one ship was a landmark and anything beyond sex was out of the question.

It was still raw. Ached when you dared to remember.

And then the mission happened, and you had no choice but to.

-

Simple. Mission off-world. A potential new life-form and a new civilization was in the job description of the Enterprise, and so the captain needed an away team. Even with the arguments, of course, Leonard always got roped into it, and even though he pretended to be a gruff, no-nonsense kind of guy, he usually got up to nonsense with Captain Kirk.

“When’s the shuttle leaving?” you asked, sitting on the edge of the bed as you reached for your communicator. You hadn’t heard any kind of beeping, but it never hurt to keep checking for missed messages.

“Tomorrow morning, 0800,” he said with a groan. You could picture his eyes rolling, and the bed creaked a little as he rolled onto his side, fingers beginning to glide over the skin on your back, connecting some unknown dots. “Jim told Sulu to do some maneuverin’ with the ship to make sure we could find a place to land, hopefully in an optimal location.”

He always dropped his g’s when he was tired, and when you turned to face him, he looked it. The week hadn’t been kind to him, or the crew, and the kind heart you’d gotten more and more of a peek at during shifts ached when the crew suffered. Especially when it felt preventable, or some kind of misplaced wrath the universe decided to throw on good people. You’d gotten to know him, almost by accident, and that made you smile a little bit more.

“I didn’t think the great Dr. McCoy could get up that early,” you teased, and his hand stopped roaming to curl on your hip.

“Oh, I dunno,” he purred, and there was that smirk of his, just as brilliant of a victory as the first time you urged it out of him. “Maybe if I get real tired out that eight hours won’t be too hard to find. Could wake up bright and early, and well-rested.”

Your laugh was light, and you matched the quirk of his lips with your own, leaning forward to take a couple of kisses from him before whispering in his ear. “Something tells me you’re always a pain in the ass to get up in the mornings.”

That got a pinch from him, but you barely felt it as you giggled, the look on his face, a little sweet and a little sour, completely worth it. His expressions were things you sought out, earned. It felt nice, to know you were responsible for the sweet.

A few minutes later you felt him slide into the shower behind you, hands wrapping around your waist as his mouth teased a moan from you as it roamed over your neck.

“You’re lucky turtlenecks aren’t in regulation,” he murmured, choosing to bite on your shoulder as his finger brushed over your hips. “Though I have half a mind to convince you to ignore regulation.” His words made you shiver with that half-promise, and smile with his teasing, but you made sure to level a look as you turned to face him.  

“So you can skip the consequences while you’re on-planet? I don’t think so. In fact, I think the regs are saving me from an inordinate amount of concealer purchases,” you shot at him, reaching up with your hand to gently pat on his cheek. The water made his hair flat and stick to his forehead, a situation you rectified as your brushed it back. “Don’t make me kick your ass.”

“Kick my ass, huh?” he grumbled, but it was half-heartedly and with a smile as he leaned in to kiss you. You stayed like that for a while, kissing under the warm spray, and when you pulled away it was so you could use the soap to lather up, offering it to him so he could get your back.

“I could kick your ass from here to New Vulcan, and don’t you forget it.”

The moment ended. Like all moments, there was a start and a finish, and the finish line came roaring into view as you heard him hum out a little tune as the soap foamed on your skin. Unfortunately, your eyes were closed, so you didn’t see it. You were humming something from the home world as he muttered to himself.

“Mm, I’m gonna miss you, Y/N.”

And, well. Wasn’t that… a sentence, at the very least.

One that made your insides twist up. Not unpleasantly, not completely, but something like fear and a little bit of delighted glee tangled to make your chest ache, your stomach turn. And with all of that, doubt decided to rear its ugly head, starting a pain right behind your eyes.

“You mean you’re going to miss my body,” you offered. A simple rectification, something that could make something like feelings go away. “I don’t blame you, it’s a great one.”

“Hmm?” Leonard was barely paying attention, eyes focused on the middle of your back, the soap against your skin as he assisted in scrubbing.

“You’re not going miss me.”

That made him stop. Stop kissing you for sure, and when you turned to face him it was because he spun you around, his dark brows furrowed together so tightly they almost seemed to join above his nose. “Well, that’s comin’ outta nowhere. What do you mean I’m not gonna miss you?”

“I mean that,” you said with a sigh, rolling your eyes, feeling the spray hit your back wash away the soap for long enough that you could twist back and turn it off completely. “You’re not going to miss a thing. It’s a landing party. You’ll be gone for a couple days and then you’ll be back.” With that, you figured the conversation over, and your hand reached to pull back the glass door. You were sliding out when you realized he wasn’t following, just staring at you, those brows now adjusted so that his face looked completely pinched.

“So, what, I can’t miss you? D’you think I don’t care about you, Y/N?” Leonard said, and he sounded… almost shocked. Surprised, even, but your rolling eyes made it clear that kind of act wasn’t exactly convincing.

“I’m not saying you hate me,” you replied, shrugging as you held your towel around you, reaching for something softer to wrap around your hair. “I’m just saying that we have a lot of fun having sex, and that’s okay if that’s all it is. You don’t have to pretend like there’s anything more.” That’s how it went. How it went before, at least.

This time he did follow, stepping out of the shower, catching the towel you threw at him, and the next few minutes were spent in silence. Tension filled the air, just like the steam, and you pressed the button for the vent a couple of times before realizing that it was shorted out. Great.

And then you realized that Leonard was… silent. An odd thing for him, especially when the two of you didn’t have clothes on. When you looked back at him, the wheels were definitely turning, and his lips were a little pursed, but he didn’t offer anything up as your eyes met, just looked you over as you reached for your toothbrush.

“Something on your mind, doctor?” you managed, keeping your tone teasing, but before you could get to your nightly routine, finish cleaning up, his hand reached out to cover yours on the brush, lowering it from your mouth. It was rough, from Georgia calluses and from Starfleet scars. “Leonard… I’m not the captain, you can speak freely.”

“Y/N… you think there’s nothing more here?” he asked, and his deep eyes met yours with an intensity that made you swallow, mouth falling a little open as you stared back.

Was he that dense? It wasn’t like he made anything else an option. “Considering that during shifts you only call me ‘nurse’ and after shifts you don’t talk to me at all except for a joke or a comm when you wanna bunk over, I’d say it’s a fair assessment.” Your hand pulled away from his so that you could cross your arms over your chest, leaning against the bathroom sink.

And that… well. You’d see Leonard McCoy grumpy; you’d seen him angry, even, but this was… something else. More like sullen. A shadow seemed to fall over his features, and he pulled his gaze away to look at himself in the mirror.

“What, do you think there is?” you asked, not even scoffing at it, just raising your own brow, and when he heard that he seemed to shut down even more, the hand that had held yours reaching to hold his towel up. Your eyes widened a bit, and there was a tightness in your chest again, fierce and almost like hope, and your hand still seemed to thrum with the gentle touch he’d offered. “Doc… do you?”

But before any more could be said, or done, his eyes, unreadable, pulled away from the mirror to meet yours, narrowed, dark.

“No. That’s obviously ridiculous, ain’t it?”

It was mean. It was plain mean, sarcastic, almost caustic as it came from his lips, and as you watched him say it you could barely blink. Even when you first met, he’d never been that dismissive, that cruel, and you forced yourself to look away, holding your own towel close against yourself. Crushed, maybe? And then anger. Pure anger.

“Yeah. Obviously.”

You pushed off of the sink, and when you opened the bathroom door with the slam of another button, the steam rushed out along with you. Leonard followed soon after, but you didn’t dare make eye contact with him, instead making sure you kept covered as you moved to your drawers to find new clothes for yourself.

“You should go. I’m gonna call an engineer for the vent, wouldn’t want anyone to see you in here,” you called over your shoulder, still refusing to make eye contact.

“Right. Wouldn’t want anyone to see us,” he scoffed, and when you turned around, it was with narrowed eyes of your own.

“No, I wouldn’t. Unlike you, I’ve still got a respect for regulations that don’t involve our sick bay.”

“Is that all you care about, then? Regulations?”

His pants were already on, pulled up with enough indignation that you had to roll your eyes again, yanking up your shorts with matched intensity.

“Excuse me? No, Dr. McCoy, I care about my job. Believe it or not, between the two of us, I do think I’m more likely to get punished for this little thing we have going on,” you snapped, “and I would like to keep my position on a starship for a little while longer.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” His voice was well above normal decibel now, a hand pulling through his wet hair. “You sayin’ I would leave you out to dry?”

“I’m saying only one of us is close personal friends with the captain of the Enterprise, Leonard. Whether you like it or not, that’s how politics work. The ones with connections get protected.” Your eyes closed, your hands clenching into fists as you felt memories wash over you, your first posting playing in your mind.

“Y/N, I wouldn’t do that.” His blue shirt was on now, a bit wrinkled, but otherwise without any obvious signs of wear. Easy enough to explain. “And Jim wouldn’t let that happen, you know that!”

When you opened your eyes again, he was dressed – he was Dr. Leonard McCoy, chief medical officer of the Starship Enterprise, and you… well. You were just a nurse, weren’t you?

“No, Dr. McCoy,” you said with a sigh, voice small, tired. “That’s not something I know at all.”

His eyes got big then tightly closed, a hand coming up to pinch at the bridge of his nose, a headache fighting him, surely. Another time you would’ve offered him a water, something oral he could take for the pain, but in that moment, you just felt a little empty and very ready for bed.

“Have a good mission,” you offered, as something like an olive branch. To keep the pain from being something that’d cause you both a nightmare at work. But when he nodded, he could barely look at you, and the door to your quarters slid shut in the silence.

-

“You wanna talk about it, Y/N?” Christine asked, as you laid back on her bed, eyes staring up at the ceiling as she got ready for her shift. When she saw you the day after your fight with Leo – well, with Dr. McCoy, she insisted on you coming over after your rotation.

“Talk about what?” you asked, before rolling so your face could be shoved into a pillow.

“I asked to be polite,” she shot back, and when you looked at her, her gaze was pointed. “What I should really say is that you’re going to talk about it, so you’ll feel better and so I can solve your problem.”

“I can solve my own problems,” you groaned out. But it was muffled enough that Christine could feign ignoring it when she came to sit next to you.

“I know that. But when you’re close to the situation it can be tough.”

Another groan.

“Y/N. I’m on your side. Talk to me,” Christine basically commanded, and with a peek out with one eye you rolled back on your back, huffing.

“I got into a fight with Dr. McCoy,” you got out, rubbing a hand over your face. Of course, Christine didn’t say anything, but she did seem to squint, pushing you on. “Before he left on his land mission with the usual crowd. He’d come over, we had sex, and afterwards when we were in the shower, he… said he’d miss me. While he was on the surface.”

There was no immediately reply. When you looked at her again, she seemed to be confused, confirmed by her glance up and down your body on her bed. “And the fight happened after that?”

“Yes.”

You described the situation. You talked about the way he looked at you, the way he touched you, and then the way he shot down anything more with a word. You talked about the way you questioned his feelings, the way you threw his position in his face, and the way he finished it all off by leaving without another word. By the time you were done, Christine’s face had gone through various versions of horrified, and your face was beet red with something like shame.

“So, a doctor and a nurse can’t talk to each other,” she started. “Sounds like the beginning to a bad joke.”

“No joke here,” you offered, swallowing tightly. “Just a big fucking mess. And now he’s on-planet, so I can’t… y’know. Do something sane like apologize.”

She hummed before standing up again, moving to a drawer to find a clean skirt to pull on. “Just overthink.”

A nod from you, and she hummed again, something that made you sit up, the pillow you’d interacted with before now pulled to your chest. “So. What can I do?”

And with a long look from her, she just sighed, sitting down so she could rest a hand over your fingers, giving them a loving pat even as she toed her shoes on.

“I think the first question is, Y/N – what do you want?”

-

The talk with Christine could only last so long. She had a shift to report to, and you had a shower that needed fixing, but even in a short amount of time Christine gave you a lot to think about. Something you pondered over for the next few days, as Leonard and the captain and the commander beamed up and down, back and forth, exploring a strange new world.

That left you a lot of time to think about what you wanted.

You wanted Leonard. Christine didn’t need to tell you that much. But you wanted more than the routine. More than the fucking whenever schedules could allow. You wanted more than moments stolen away and nights apart. You wanted to know him. You wanted to listen to him ramble about the horrors of intergalactic travel and rave about Jim Kirk and rant about the stupidity of the bridge crew. You wanted to see that smirk that sent chills up your spine and that smile that left you feeling warm.

Hell, you wanted more.

But, of course, when you figured it out, well. That’s when it all went to shit. Three days after Leonard left your quarters, to be precise.  

“Bones!”

The captain’s nickname, usually full of teasing and life, sounded like it was ripped out of him, like the pain of saying it almost outweighed what happened. Your fingers were busy running scans over Scotty, who had half a swollen face and a steadily rising heart rate, and the soundtrack to you shooting him up with diphenhydramine was the sound of Leonard’s groans, the kind that made your blood run cold. The only reason you heard them was because Commander Spock had an open channel between here and the surface, and he was prepping to beam down again.

“Did you see what you got slashed by?” you urged, forcing Scotty to focus on you as you did your best to stifle the bleeding with some clean gauze over the spot. “Scotty, tell me, what’s going on down there?”

“It was a trap,” he got out, his words thick as one side of his mouth was prohibiting movement due to the swelling. “Jim and the doctor got the brunt of it. We just… we just thought…” he mumbled, and you called out for another nurse as he began to tumble forward.

“Get him to a biobed, and keep that gauze on him!” you ordered, watching as the other nurse helped Scotty limp over to a free space. “I’ll prep the fluids.”

The whole ship was on red alert. Captain Kirk was getting ambushed, and for some reason hadn’t been beamed back aboard. But all you could think about was Leonard. Down there, obviously hurt, and you couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

It scared you. It really, really scared you.

“Nurse,” Commander Spock called out, and you turned to face him, realizing you’d frozen in your spot, the bag of fluids for Scotty still in your hands. “From what I saw before arriving back on the ship, we’ll need an osteo-regenerator and a blood transfusion when I return. Do we have types that match for the captain and the chief medical officer?”

“We’ve got O- for both,” you responded, before rushing to Scotty to give the nurse attending to him the fluids he needed. “Who else is on the surface?”

“After the last round, no one. We’re lucky the degree of injuries was not more serious, considering their advanced weaponry.”

You glanced around at the medbay, a good proportion of the biobeds filled and medical staff filling the place to capacity, treating the wide array of pain. “Yeah. Lucky. I’ll have two biobeds waiting.”

Another moan, from the communicator, one that made your heart stop. Your hand reached up to rest on your chest, swallowing tightly as you thought about Leonard in that much pain.

And after Spock left, leaving you to rush to assist the doctors as they began move from bed to bed, it was all you could think about. Almost all of your regenerators were in use, and your tricorders were buzzing like nobody’s business, but the noise was nothing compared to the pounding of your heart, the thought of him dying down there.

And then, you heard it. Another groan of pain, Captain Kirk’s panicked voice as they began their movement towards the beds awaiting them.

“God… goddammit…”

“Sulu, get us out of here now!”

“Aye, Captain!”

They seemed to stumble around the corner, and when the arrived, three nurses could help support their weight. The Captain’s upper arm looked like it had a bite taken out of it, and his cheek was marred with what looked like slashes, but Leonard… oh, Leonard.

“What happened?” you breathed out, your eyes widening in horror.

His leg was broken. That much was clear, and the angle made you sick, the way the bone seemed to show through the damage. But what was much worse was the stab wound to the gut, sluggishly dripping blood through his own fingers as he tried to staunch the flow.

When his eyes seemed to scan the room, he barely seemed in it, and when they met yours, something seemed to come over him. “Y/N,” he groaned, coughing as he was lifted and laid onto the bed waiting him. “Y/N, I – I need to… tell you…”

“Leonard, I need you to save your strength, okay? Oh, god, we’re gonna need more blood,” you called out, and another nurse scurried away, Dr. M’Benga coming alongside you to assess the situation.

“Nurse Y/L/N,” he commanded, “and Nurse Chapel! We need to focus on the stomach wound, I’m worried about what could be perforated. Dr. McCoy, this is Dr. M’Benga, can you hear me?”

“Computer, raise the lights over biobed seven 15%!” Christine yelled out, her own face pale, but focused. “Let’s get him oxygen, his sats are below 85!”

“Heart rate is 140, BP is dropping. We need fluid replacement and two IVs placed, stat!” you cried.

“Y/N… please…”

“Let’s prep the crash cart.”

“I need a suture and a drainage set.”

“What does that reading say? Bump the O2 two liters.”

“Y/N…”

But he could only look at you, even as his eyes seemed to close, even as the world seemed to fade away. Your eyes were starting to blur with tears, but you blinked them away – you had a job to do, and that job was keeping him here, and alive, and safe. “Leonard, I swear to God, you are not dying on me now. Not now, not ever, you hear me? Leonard. Leonard? … no.

No.

Leonard!”

-

Somehow, he pulled through. Somehow, Dr. Leonard McCoy didn’t die that day. Somehow, all he’d walk away with was a scar on his stomach and a few rounds of bone regeneration scheduled throughout the following week. He stayed unconscious for a good chunk of that time, but between the moments awake the crew marveled at the resilience of their chief medical officer.

“There’s… there’s no way Bones could die on a starship, y’know?” Captain Kirk told you, as you both lingered by his bedside. “He stayed alive out of spite.” His voice seemed a little thick, but you didn’t mention it, just smiled weakly at him as you held his hand,.

And when it was just you and him, and his eyes were closed and his breathing was steady, you stuck around. The other nurses whispered and the other officers raised a brow, but you barely noticed.

A mission. One mission, and that could’ve been it. That’s all you could think about it, and as you sat by his side, your shifts for once coming second, you found yourself thanking whatever you could think of that it wasn’t over.

“Oh, Leonard.”

Your hands enclosed around one of his. He spent more time with his eyes open than closed nowadays, but when his eyes were open you often excused yourself, giving him time with Jim and the bridge crew. You took your step back, just knowing he was calling to you as he lay on that fucking bed, and when his eyes closed again you resumed your place, sitting back and watching or keeping his fingers warm.

One day, about two weeks into his recovery, your replicated coffee was the only thing keeping you on your feet when you felt a tap on your shoulder. When you turned around, you were shocked to find the captain, now more like an acquaintance, rather than another nurse. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Oh. Hello, Captain. Did you need something?”

“Nothing personally,” he replied with a small smile, but his hands were clasped behind his back now. “It’s Bones. He’s asking for you.”

You felt your heart begin racing, and the mug in your hands was held with white knuckles. “Oh. Is that right?”

“Yeah.”

There was a brief pause, and you found yourself staring at your coffee, mouth open with words you weren’t sure how to say. “Captain… I – I don’t know if it’s a good idea. The last time we talked…”

“Please, call me Jim,” the man asked, lifting a hand to stop you. “And… look. Y/N. I know what happened, all right? Between the two of you.”

“Oh. That’s… that’s… uh.” As you stared up at him your mind began to race, your coffee lifted just so you could have something to do, but his eyes didn’t pull away from yours, his mouth twisted into something… pensive.

What could you say? What could you even dare to say, knowing that he knew everything? that surely this was the last step in the road? “Look, Captain,” you finally said, voice low, “I can… I can resign, if that’s what you want. I understand, what we did, it was unprofessional, and I take full –“

“What?”

When you blinked, coming back to your senses, the captain looked horrified, like you’d grown a second head, and you found your hands lifting in surrender.

“I do. I take full responsibility, and if you want to transfer me to another ship, I understand.”

“What? No, no, Y/N. Stop. I don’t want your resignation. I just wanted to say that I think you and Bones should give it another go.”

Now it was your turn to look shocked, mouth agape as you lowered your coffee and stared at him, wondering where his second head would shoot from.

“You don’t – you don’t want my resignation?”

“Why would I want your resignation? Bones himself said you’re one of the best nurses on the crew. Why would I turn you away?”

Your mind was thrown back to your quarters, to the way Bones looked at you. That same horrified expression, at the idea of turning his back on you.

“It’s… it’s happened before. With a boss. I won’t get into details, but. Let’s just say my previous job wasn’t as great as this one is.”

If someone asked you to name one way to get Jim Kirk mad, well. Informing him that one of his crew had gotten royally screwed over by their previous boss was a pretty sure shot. The guy looked like he was going to punch someone, or more specifically, find the right person to punch.

“Look, Y/N, if you need me to direct this ship anywhere specific…”

“No!” It shocked a laugh out of you, the captain’s sudden fierceness, and you found yourself laughing almost too loudly, like after two weeks of pain the laughter had been pent up within you. You ended it with a smile, and wiping at your eyes. “No, it’s not – it’s over. It’s in the past, I promise. It’s what I was expecting, that’s all. To… to lose this. Thank you, Captain, for the offer, but. The past is best left in the past.”

There was a brief moment when the Captain looked like he had half a mind to ignore you, but thankfully, after five terrifying seconds, he nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. “All right. Well. No accidental murders today. But, look, ou should talk to him. To Bones. Something tells me he’s not gonna stop sending me to get you until you show up when he’s awake.”

“Right.” Your stomach churned, for a second, but the Captain – Jim – looked so earnest. Like he always did. So sincere. “Okay. I’ll head over.”

“You want me to walk you?”

Selfless. Considerate. You began to see the hype around Jim Kirk, and for the second time in that conversation, you smiled.

“Thank you, Jim. But I think it’s better if I go alone.”

-

When you pulled aside the privacy curtain, Leonard was very much awake, as well as proving why doctors made the worst patients.

His thin blanket was thrown aside, on to the ground, and Christine looked like she was about two more minutes away from reporting a murder in the medical bay. Leonard, on the other hand, barely had her in mind as he yelled in a voice rough from a period of disuse, sitting on the edge of his biobed, ready to jump ship. His hair was ragged around the edges, and his five o’clock shadow had grown out to a full beard, unkempt and scratched at as he moved. “Nurse Chapel, I am telling you, if I spend one more goddamn night here, I am gonna lose it. How the hell else am I supposed to rehabilitate this leg if you won’t even let me walk from here to the goddamn door?”

“Dr. McCoy, I am begging you to please wait until I have the wheelchair ready for you. The regenerated bone still needs time to adjust, and your dermatological regen hasn’t even finished yet. Not to mention you’re definitely not strong enough to travel anywhere on your own,” she stated plainly, arms crossed over her chest.  

“I can live with a scar, Nurse Chapel, and I sure as hell ain’t a goddamn foal,” the man started again, reaching for the edge of the biobed. As he did, you watched his blood pressure drop from the position change, and with a sigh you moved to be in perfect catching position. “Lord knows I’m a doctor and not a fuckin’ physical therapist, but I’m telling you I can at least walk right over there to where the door is and make it back to my own… goddamn… bed…”

As he began to sway, you moved forward to lean him back in the bed, smiling at Christine as she came about his other side to rearrange his legs, covering him back up with the blanket.

“Well, looks like I came just in time,” you said with a smirk, and when you looked up at Christine she was laughing.

“And it looks like you’ve got him handled for the moment. I need to prep his next round of hypos, he’s still on some antibiotics after those open wounds,” she explained, glaring at the patient, who had recovered from his bout of dizziness and found himself looking up at you. And only you, since Christine walked out and closed the curtain behind her, leaving the two of you alone.

“Y/N,” Leonard said, his voice softer now that he was calmed, your hands moving over him and adjusting his blanket. His eyes hadn’t met yours yet, but you could feel them on you as you pulled back from fidgeting with it. “You’re here.”

“You did want the captain to come find me, right?” you asked, biting your lower lip as you glanced toward the door. “If you need someone else, I can go track them down…”

But before you could even think about taking a step, his head was shaking, those brilliant eyes looking up at you from his supine position, those dark brows furrowed as he looked you over. “There’s no one else, Y/N. He got the right gal.”

You could only nod, swallowing, glancing down at the bandages you could see the outline of through the blanket.

Leonard followed your gaze, and his eyes narrowed when he saw what you were looking at, tilting his head to the side so he didn’t have to look for too long. It was a bad memory, that only made the breakthrough pain worse. “They’re mainly for support, now, but… it wasn’t good, how I ended up.”

“I know, doc,” you whispered. “I was there.”

But what the both of you really knew, as you stood beside his bed, was the dance you two were managing to avoid the real conversation. The one that had your hands wringing just out of his line of sight, the one that had his head beginning to ache.

“I can… start us off,” Leonard offered, but you shook your head, eyes closing tight.

“No!” Your voice was desperate, and he just gaped, watching you shake your heard. “No, I owe you an explanation. And you… deserve one, after what I said.” With a soft sigh, you settled in the seat next to the biobed, one hand squeezing your own knee.

But. Where to start.

“The last time… I was in a relationship – a real relationship, I guess – was about a year and a half ago,” you sighed. Your eyes were open, but you didn’t look at Leonard, didn’t watch his lips curl into a frown, didn’t watch his fingers tap on the sheets. Instead, you stared straight ahead, finding yourself lost in the memories.

“He was a doctor, at the hospital I worked at. It was a Federation hospital, with direct ties to Starfleet, so we saw a lot of more serious cases, especially with the Academy basically on our doorstep. It was… my dream, to work there, basically since I left school. My mother had been treated there my entire life, and Starfleet was more of a path to that dream, treating cadets off-mission than anything. A fantastic research and teaching hospital working with the Federation, one that wasn’t in ship?”

Your hands were still wringing, and as you glanced at Leonard, he seemed to be listening, breathing steady.

“When I started working there, though, I realized how relentless it was. How anyone would do anything to get over anyone else. And the doctor. He – he was incredible.” You managed a smile, but it was sad around the edges, even as you let out a little chuckle. “Witty, and funny, and incredibly talented, and when I got to know him that’s all I saw. The wit, and the humor. But as we got closer, and more involved, I started to see more. I saw behind what he showed his patients, and the other nurses, I saw – well, I saw the mistrust of patient reports, I saw the ego, and… well. I saw the danger he was putting himself in, and his coworkers, not to mention those he cared for. We began to fight, and he would make me swear not to tell anyone, saying that it would ruin his career, and that if I did it… well. He’d make sure I’d pay.”

Your hands were fists now, apart, the knuckles so white it ached. You didn’t even notice Leonard’s hand on top of yours until you felt the warmth, let it leech into your joints.

“I thought I had loved him, I really did, but the things he was doing. It was more than just snagging a narcotic hypo. He would ignore real concerns of his patients because he just didn’t care for them. And then when I’d bring it up, angry and frustrated at unnecessary pain and consequences, he’d brush it off. He thought he was invincible.” Your nails were digging into your palms again, and you huffed, shaking your head.

“So, I turned him in, to the hospital. Called his bluff. I showed them the notes he was making in his paper files, I had evidence for everything. I figured that maybe he’d get punished, and after… it’d all be okay. But.”

“Y/N,” Leonard murmured, but you shook your head.

“By the time I turned him in he’d already prepped his whole story. And, what’s more, he had a fall guy. Me. So, when I turned in all the proof, they laughed in my face, and then – and then…”

“They kicked you out. On the curb,” he supplied, and you nodded.

“I almost got my license revoked for the shit they accused me of. But, thankfully, the worst punishment I got was transferring. And then I met you…”

“And it felt like it all over again?”

He thankfully didn’t mention the tears in your eyes as you finished, or the way you wiped them away as you shook your head.

“Not even close! It’s… it’s different here. Everyone on this ship is incredible, and the whole staff here was kind, and considerate. And you were abrasive, sure, but… I just felt like I had to prove myself. And so, after a year, when you stumbled onto me and Christine, I just – I just needed to prove I was competent. And then when it started to become more than just sex, I – I got scared.”

“Y/N,” Leonard whispered, and you stood up, gripping his hand now, managing to smile at him as you did.

“I know you’re not him.” You squeezed his fingers, and he squeezed yours back, but you were already pushing forward, eyes closed tightly. “I know that. But I just got so worried that I would – I would find out that this awesome doctor, that loves his patients, that cares for them, didn’t care about me. And I’d get duped again.”

There was silence. The sound of the machines, the whirr of the biobed as it took another reading for Leonard’s vitals, but when you opened your eyes to look at him, he was staring right back, something like a shine in his eyes as well.

“Darlin’,” he whispered. “You’re an incredible nurse. A badass healer. And more than that, I – goddammit, I care about you. More than you could ever know. Hell, when I first kissed you, I knew that you were special. You’re not just competent, you’re outstanding.”

“Leonard,” you breathed, but he squeezed your fingers again, pulling them to his lips with a huff.

“Y/N. When I was on that god-forsaken planet, you know the last person I thought of, the last moment I had in my mind?”

You shook your head, but he was already smiling, lost in his own thoughts.

“You. You, whirling around on me in the bay, pointing your finger, kissing me. You, taking care of patients. You, you, and you, and all that we had. All that we have. And I thought to myself, that if I stayed alive, I would head back to that starship and beg her for more.”

That got a laugh out of you, wet with tears and heavy with exhaustion, but you laughed, and you laughed, and you leaned your head down to rest it on his chest, something like peace overwhelming you as his lips pressed into your hair.

“I want more, too, Leonard,” you finally whispered, and when you pulled your head back it was to see the way his smile looked before you kissed it off of him.

-

“So,” Jim started, sliding off of his biobed as he watched you and Leonard, well, show off some PDA once Bones was back on his feet. It was more subtle than it could’ve been, his hand resting on the small of your back, your heads together as you looked over scheduling for the next week. “They finally fix things?”

“About a week late in noticing, but yeah. That’s what it looks like,” Christine offered, barely glancing up as she offered a hypospray for pain to one of the yeoman who’d been down to offer some sort of backup to a brawl in the engineering bay.

“Huh.” The captain stared for a moment, before shaking his head, letting out a little chuckle. “Well. Good for them. Bones wouldn’t ever shut up about her.”

Christine managed a little laugh herself. “Oh, don’t worry. That was mutual. I can’t believe they survived this long without making out in his office.”

That made him wince. “Chris, please tell me the biobeds were not involved.”

Which made her laugh even harder. “Don’t worry, Captain. We disinfect after each use.”

[rpmemesbyarat]

RP Meme from "Chapter Two: The Hurricane’s Eye" in the Shadow Lords Tribebook from "Werewolf: The Apocalypse" Part Two of Two

Some of it is true, but most is not.

The details vary from place to place, but any you hear which are “true” most likely are not.

Be aware that the invitation itself is a great honor, and conduct yourself accordingly.

Renown is not important, and neither is rank.

Only ideas count, along with the will to act on them when need be.

While most of us are aware of that purpose to a greater or lesser extent, the hard truth of the matter is that we are more interested in our personal agendas than we are in any

higher goal.

All of us lust for power, but most have forgotten the reasons why we pursue such ends, and why the ends we seek most certainly justify any means we might employ to achieve them.

All pursue the path to power in different fashions.

Competition makes us stronger, and divergent philosophies yield opportunities missed by other, simpler credos.

They are not interested in personal power for its own sake, nor in leadership of any sort.

They are more than willing to debase themselves for the sake of others, and their actions free many of us to bring other, more potent schemes to fruition.

Though they will not (usually) use this information for personal gain, they have no compunctions against destroying an unfit leader so that others might take his place.

They are pitiless and remorseless, and cloaked in an aura of mystery that only adds to their fearsome reputations.

They have eyes everywhere, and they are watching.

The lure of power intoxicates them, and they will do anything in their power to bring it within their grasp.

Power is the end for them, not merely a means to an end, and as such dominance and control are their meat and drink.

Few of its members come to healthy ends.

Pity so few of them make good on their rhetoric.

Circles within circles. It’s how we work.

They are, for the most part, fairly deluded individuals, pretending they are responsible for the sins of their forefathers and letting their sense of guilt guide their actions in the here and now.

It should be obvious that the time has come to put the past behind us and move forward, even as we learn from our mistakes to tread more carefully in the future.

But these fools wallow in the pain they feel they’ve caused, and hope to undo it and make things right again.

What they fail to understand is that, even if they’re successful, it won’t help us in the here and now – at best it will appease the souls of the dead, and we don’t have time for that now.

Their hearts might be noble, but their intentions are misplaced, and that might cost us dearly when all is said and done.

From time to time we hear that someone or other has started practicing those dark rituals once again, but none of these reports ever proves to be substantial.

None are immune to this, no matter their station.

They’re a by-product, the proof that we’ve fouled things up, nothing more.

Any fighting force needs strategists as well as warriors to be effective, and you must always remember fall into the former camp.

If you are foolish, however, you will only be consumed by your own ambition. Tread carefully.

You should always remember that it is only overt displays of aggression which are typically frowned upon.

It is mostly a matter of courtesy and ceremony, which means observing it is no great bother.

Accepting an honorable surrender leaves your opponent beholden to you, which gives you a tremendous advantage over that individual and all that are allied with him.

An opponent who surrenders in this instance is either attempting to trick you, or not very honorable to begin with.

Always bow to your betters, but do not let them cow you into submission unless they truly are your betters.

Humans have always feared us, and with the advent of an industrialized civilization they now have the tools to turn that fear into hatred and persecution.

If a warrior, to say nothing of a leader, is not fit to pull his own weight within a sept, then he is not fit to live.

Even an old and frail leader can prove to be surprisingly fit in mind and spirit, and if he is capable of performing his duties you damn well better mind your business and leave him be.

Our leaders must be continually tested to keep them in fighting trim, and that means making power plays when you can get away with it.

Don’t be a fucking asshole.

This isn’t about you, you little shit.

We’re fighting for a cause, and that comes first.

Stay on target, get your tasks done, and deal with any problems in leadership only after your immediate task is completed.

Violate this law, and you will not merely be punished. You will die. Painfully.

In many ways, it seems as though we have passed a turning point.

He’s going to change the world, if he has to kill every man, woman and child on Earth to do it.

You can make these people do just about anything, provided you can make it a point of honor for them to go along with your plans.

Do your homework before coming here, though, because you’ll be skinned alive if you don’t.

We have no business being there, and it has little to offer us in any event.

The ruthless politicking would be worth the trouble if the opponents were worth our time.

I wouldn’t say they’re making nice with us, but their kind and ours are becoming more and more interdependent, and that means the opportunities here are staggering.

We all have the same goal, and that means there are many opportunities for personal glory and consolidation of power if one plays his cards right.

This place is a gold mine, so don’t ignore it.

They are, of course, social outcasts, but that only enhances their utility in many respects. They see all that happens around them, and no one notices them as they scurry about their business. They are so eager to please, and so willing to talk to people who take the time to notice them and treat them like human beings — or even simple dogs. Call them mongrels if you will, but do not discount the wisdom they have to offer.

You should not ignore them, but do not expect much from them, either.

Some of them fancy themselves canny politicians, but this is a delusion. Be sure to indulge them, however, as they do not take insults lightly.

That makes them available, gullible, and effective, three fine traits in any tool.

Just be sure to cover your tracks whenever you make them suffer — they do not take kindly to being manipulated, and they have a longer reach than you might think.

You can manipulate them, if you approach them with care.

You must continue to humor them, of course, but they are no longer your masters.

Valuable allies, if you ask me.

They are stupid and hateful, and do not act on their convictions. I do not even think they have convictions.

We’re better off without them.

Bah! I don’t care how useful the little beasts are!

And do I need to reinforce the importance of dealing through intermediaries? I thought not.

We need no more enemies, particularly those that can rise from the dead.

They are wondrous sources of information, and ultimately disposable. They are ideal tools.

I say they’re vermin, and deserve to be stepped on accordingly.

They are of no concern to you.

While this may not seem like a critical project, it nonetheless deserves our attention.

Most of the others are both dangerous and more numerous than we are, so you must exercise extreme caution when dealing with them.

Do not assume they think like you do, or that they are motivated by the same sorts of goals.

These are alien beings, and you must treat them accordingly.

This disgusts me.

You don’t want to make them angry, but if you can get one in your pocket they can prove to be a terrific ace up your sleeve.

Your humanity is showing.

These beings hold secrets, and secrets hold power.

It is typically not our way to truck with the dead, but they are a resource, which is easily exploited if you know what they seek, and how to get it.

I’ve encountered ghosts in a number of places, typically sites of horrific acts or great battles.

Their time is gone, it seems.

It is a sad thing, I suppose, but they are ultimately of no consequence to us.

I’ve never understood why it is they’re here to begin with.

Unfortunately for them, they are clumsy, disorganized, and more often than not incompetent.

They have no real community to speak of, no formal training to fall back on, and no coherent agenda.

This makes them fantastic tools, since they never know what to expect from us and are just looking for targets which often coincide with our own.

So, a little push here, a little nudge there, and they do our work for us, all without us dirtying our hands or wasting other, more valuable resources on the job.

Great opportunities, there, so long as we can keep their attention far away from us.

They are uninformed, disorganized, misguided, and utterly ineffectual without aid from other sources.

This makes them fine pawns, I suppose, but don’t count on them for too much.

[hellomynameisbisexual]

I’d go so far as to say that the nomination probably saved the site, in fact. For those who need a little background: despite being a small voluntary project the site was nominated for the 2014 Publication of the Year award by Stonewall, the UK’s largest LGBT charity, just nine months after its inception. This was a landmark step in Stonewall’s positive new direction on bi issues. To the best of my knowledge, this was the first time Stonewall had specifically nominated a specifically bi publication or organisation for an award. At this point my co-founder, who was taking care of the business side of things, had recently jumped ship and I was seriously considering packing the whole thing in. I won’t lie, I was astonished to read the email.

I’d worked on a publication which won the award under my editorship a few years previously. Unlike Biscuit, however, g3 magazine – at the time one of the two leading print mags for lesbian and bi women in the UK – had an estimated readership of 140,000, had been going for eight years and boasted full-time paid office staff and regular paid freelancers. Biscuit, by contrast, was being dragged along by one weary unpaid editor and a bunch of unpaid writers who understandably, for the most part, couldn’t commit to regularly submitting work.

Little Biscuit’s enormous competition for the award consisted of Buzzfeed, Attitude.co.uk, iNewspaper and Property Week. We didn’t win – that accolade went to iNewspaper – but the nomination was nevertheless, as I say, a huge catalyst to continue with the site. I launched a crowdfunder, which finished way off target. I sold one ad space, for two months. Then nothing. I attempted in vain to recruit a sales manager but nobody wanted to work on commission. Some wonderful writers came and went. There were periods of tumbleweed when I frantically had to fill the site with my own writing, thereby completely defeating the object of providing a platform for a wide range of bi voices.

The Stonewall Award nomination persuaded me to keep going with the site

The departure of the webmaster was another blow. Thankfully by this point I had a co-editor on board – the amazing Libby – so I was persuaded to stick with it. And here we are now. I don’t actually know where the next article is coming from. That’s not a good feeling. But, apart from for Biscuit, I try not to write for free anymore myself, so I understand exactly why that is. As a freelance journo trying to make a living I’ve had to be strict with myself about that. I regularly post on the “Stop Working For Free” Facebook group and often feel a pang of misplaced guilt because I ask my writers to write for free, even though I’m working on the site for free myself, and losing valuable time I could be spending on looking for paid work.

Biscuit hasn’t exactly been a stranger to controversy, in addition to its financial and staffing issues. Its original tagline – “for girls who like girls and boys” – was considered cis-centric by some, leading to accusations that the site had some kind of trans/genderqueer*-phobic agenda. Which was amusing, as at the height of this a) we’d just had two articles about non-binary issues published and b) I was actually engaged to a genderqueer partner, a fact they were clearly unaware of. Now the site is under fire from various pansexual activists who object to the term “bisexual”. To clarify – “girl and boys” was supposed to imply a spectrum and, no, we don’t think “bi” applies only to an attraction to binary folk. The site aims the main part of its content at female-spectrum readers attracted to more than one gender because this group does have specific needs. But there is something here for EVERYONE bisexual. Anyway, it’s a shame all of this gossip was relayed secondhand, and the people in question didn’t think to confront me about it (which at least the pan activists have bothered to do). We damage our community immeasurably with these kinds of Chinese whispers.

Biscuit ed Libby, being amazing

Whilst trying to keep the site afloat, I’ve also been building on the work I started right back when I edited g3, and trying to improve bi visibility in other media outlets. I’ve recently had articles published by Cosmopolitan, SheWired, The F-Word, GayStar News and Women Make Waves and I’m constantly emailing other sites which I’ve not yet written for with bi pitches. Unfortunately, although I am over the moon to be writing for mainstream outlets such as Cosmo about bi issues, it’s been an uphill struggle trying to persuade some editors out there that they have more readers to whom bi-interest stories apply than they might think. It’s an incredibly exhausting and frustrating process.

Libby and I are doing our best with Biscuit. I can’t guarantee that I would be doing anything at all with it if Libby hadn’t arrived on the scene, so once again I would like to mention how fabulous she is. But we desperately need more writers. We need some help with site design and tech issues. We need a hand with the business and sales side of things. We can’t do it without you. And if you know any rich bisexual heiresses who read Biscuit, please do send them our way. 😉

Grant Denkinson’s story

denkinsonpanel

Grant speaks on a panel chaired by Biscuit’s Lottie at a Bi Visibility Day event

So first of all, explain a little about the activism you’re involved/have been involved in. 


“I’ve been involved with bisexual community organising for a bit over 20 years. Some has been within community: writing for and editing our national newsletter, organising events for bisexuals and helping others with their events by running workshop sessions or offering services such as 1st aid. I’ve spoken to the media about bisexuality and organised bi contingents at LGBT Pride events (sometimes just me in a bi T-shirt!). I’ve helped organise and participated in bi activist weekends and trainings. I’ve help train professionals about bisexuality. I’ve also piped up about bisexuality a lot when organising within wider LGBT and gender and sexuality and relationship diversity umbrellas. I’ve been a supportive bi person on-line and in person for other bi folks. I’ve been out and visibly bi for some time. I’ve helped fund bi activists to meet, publish and travel. I’ve funded advertising for bi events. I’ve set up companies and charities for or including bi people. I’ve personally supported other bi activists.”


What made you get involved?

“
In some ways I was looking for a way to be outside the norm and to make a difference and coming out as bi gave me something to push against. I’ve been less down on myself when feeling attacked. I’ve also found the bi community very welcoming and where I can be myself and so wanted to organise with friends and to give others a similar experience. There weren’t too many others already doing everything better than I could.”

How do you feel about the state of bi activism worldwide (esp UK and USA) at the moment?

“There have been great changes for same-sex attracted people legally and socially and these have happened quickly. Bi people have been involved with making that happen and benefit from it. We can also be hidden by gay advances or actively erased. We still have bi people not knowing many or any other local bi people, not seeing other bisexuals in the mainstream or LGT worlds and not knowing or being able to access community things with other bis. We are little represented in books or the media and people don’t know about the books and zines and magazines already available. The internet has made it easy to find like-minded people but also limited privacy and I think is really fragmented and siloed. It is hard to find bisexuals who aren’t women actors, harmful or fucked up men or women in pornography designed for straight men. We have persistent and high quality bi events but they are sparse and small.”

What’s causing you to feel disillusioned?

“I’m fed up of bi things just not happening if I don’t do them. Not everything should be in my style and voice and I shouldn’t be doing it all. I and other activists campaign for bi people to be more OK and don’t take care of ourselves enough while doing so. People are so convinced we don’t exist they don’t bother with a simple search that would find us. We have little resources while having some of the worst outcomes of any group. I don’t want to spend my entire life being the one person who reminds people about bisexuals, including our so-called allies. I’m not impressed with the problem resolution skills in our communities and while we talk about being welcoming I’m not sure we’re very effective at it. I’m fed up with mouthing the very basics and never getting into depth about bi lives and being one who supports but who is not supported. I’m all for lowering barriers but at a certain point if people don’t actively want to do bi community volunteering it won’t happen. Some people are great critics but build little.”

What do you want to say to other activists about this?

“Why are we doing this personally? I’m not sure we know. How long will we hope rather than do? Honestly, are there so few who care? Alternatively should we stop the trying to do bi stuff and either do some self-analysis, be happy to accept being what we are now as a community, chill out and just let stuff happen or give up and go and do something else instead.”

Patrick Richards-Fink’s story

085d4de So first of all, explain a little about the activism you’re involved/have been involved in.

“Mostly internet – I am a Label Warrior, a theorist and educator. Here’s how I described it on my blog: “One of the reasons that I am a bisexual activist rather than a more general queer activist is because I see every day people just like me being told they don’t belong. It doesn’t mean I don’t work on the basic issues that we all struggle against — homophobia, heterosexism, classism, out-of-control oligarchy, racism, misogyny, this list in in no particular order and is by no means comprehensive. But I have found that I can be most effective if I focus, work towards understanding the deep issues that drive the problems that affect people who identify the same way that I have ever since I started to understand who I am. I find that I’m not a community organizer type of activist or a storm the capitol with a petition in one hand and a bullhorn in the other activist — I’m much better at poring over studies and writing long wall-o’-text articles and occasionally presenting what I’ve gleaned to groups of students until my voice is so hoarse that I can barely do more than croak.” So internet, and when I was still in school, a lot of on-campus stuff. Now I’m moving into a new phase where my activism is more subtle – I’m working as a therapist, and so my social justice lens informs my treatment, especially of bi and trans people.”

What made you get involved?

“I can’t not be.”

How do you feel about the state of bi activism worldwide (esp UK and USA) at the moment?

“I feel like we made a couple strides, and every time that happens the attacks renewed. I hionestly think the constant attempts to divide the bisexual community into ‘good pansexuals’ and ‘bad bisexuals’ and ‘holy no-labels’ is the thing that’s most likely to screw us.”

What’s causing you to feel disillusioned?



“It is literally everywhere I turn – colleges redefining bisexuality on their LGBT Center pages, news articles quoting how ‘Bi=2 and pan=all therefore pan=better’, everybloodywhere I turn I see it every day. The word bi is being taken out of the names of organisations now, by the next group of up-and-comers who haven’t bothered to learn their history and understand that if you erase our past, you take away our present. Celebrities come out as No Label, wtf is that. Don’t they make kids read 1984 anymore? It’s gotten to the point now that even seeing the word pansexual in print triggers me. I’m reaching the point now that if someone really wants to be offended when all I am trying to do is welcome them on board, then I don’t have time for it.”

What do you want to say to other activists about this?

“Stay strong, and don’t give them a goddamned inch. I honestly think that the bi organizations – even, truth be told, the one I am with – are enabling this level of bullshit by attempting to be conciliatory, saying things that end up reinforcing the idea that bi and pan are separate communities. We try to be too careful not to offend anyone. Like the thing about Freddie Mercury. Gay people say ‘He was gay.’ Bi people say ‘Um, begging your pardon, good sirs and madams and gentlefolk of other genders, but Freddie was bi.’ And they respond ‘DON’T GIVE HIM A LABEL HE DIDN’T CLAIM WAAHHH WAAHHH!’ And yet… Freddie Mercury never used the label ‘gay’, but it’s OK when they do it. And he WAS bisexual by any measure you want to use. But we back down. And 2.5% of the bisexual population decides pansexual is a better word, and instead of educating them, we add ‘pan’ to our organisation names and descriptions. Now, this is clearly a dissenting view – I will always be part of a united front where my organization is concerned. But everyone knows how I feel, and I think it’s totally valid to be loyal and in dissent at the same time. Not exactly a typically American viewpoint, but everyone says I’d be a lot more at home in Britain than I am here anyway.”

[capricornus-rex]

The Haunt of Redemption (10)

Sequel to: A Path I Can’t Follow

Chapter 10: Return of the Jedi | Cal Kestis x Reader

Summary: It has been months since your last encounter with Cal, at that time he was a fledgling Inquisitor. In an ironic twist of fate, you cross paths and blades with him once again, and he’s keen on turning you into an Inquisitor as well—unless you bring him back to the light first.

Tags: Dark Side! Cal Kestis, Inquisitor! Cal Kestis, Redemption Arc! Cal Kestis

Also posted in AO3

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 | Previous: Chapter 9 | Next: Chapter 11 | Masterlist

10 of 11

Not only did Cal feel the emotions that you allowed him to feel again, you showed him the memories that truly mattered. He was seeing everything in your point of view.

He saw himself—his old self—leaning against the broken wall of the Vault’s outer enclave, staring at the sunset upon Bogano. It was as if he was reliving the memory of his past self—he felt your hand slipping into his, in return, you clutch it back as both of you peered at the suns sinking behind the mesa.

However, your vulnerability allowed him to intrude beyond that line. He found you inside a house that he’s never seen before and he caught a glimpse of the Holocron being hidden away in a box by a pair of hands; before the slip-up could get any worse and expose Obi-Wan with the Holocron, you pushed him out and erected the same wall.

The vision ended and he jerked his hand away at the abrupt jab of light, a deep buzzing sound cracked in his ears as he shifted back into reality. The Grand Inquisitor saw how the Eleventh Brother appear disoriented—surely, he must have gotten some results.

“Well?!”

“I… I saw it… it was being kept away someplace.”

“Where is it? Where is that place?!”

“I… I don’t know…” the boy shuddered.

As he stepped into the light, it terrified you more when he got closer to you. Your lip shivered in fear, goosebumps pelted your skin, and the hairs at the back of your neck stood up. The Grand Inquisitor shoved Cal away and stood eye-to-eye with you.

“I see,” he purred. Then through his jagged, pointed teeth, he hissed. “With the Holocron nowhere to be found, yet the boy claims that you’ve seen its contents, perhaps not all is lost after all.”

“I can see that your overconfidence is your best asset,” you spat.

“Charming,” a sarcastic smile crawled about his lip pale, ivory lips. With a flicking gesture of his fingers, the operator pushed the button and the shock was so sharp that your spine arched against the bed. “You will either tell us what we want to know or you die in this very contraption.”

“Maybe I’ll go with… PISS OFF!”

“Very well,” he sighed, sarcastically rolling his eyes. He abruptly turned to the operator and barked. “Set the voltage level to five!”

Another notch turned, followed by the press of a button. The two conduits hummed as it closed in on your body. As the cold, metal pads pressed against the flesh below your collarbone, the only thing you’re able to do is suck in a huge dollop of air and release a gut-wrenching scream so loud that your throat has gotten dry from all the crying. Your body jerked in response to the high voltage—your knees buckled, your wrist pivoted underneath the cuffs, and the agonizing throes of your body to all sides rattled the machine itself.

The Grand Inquisitor threw his fist in the mid-air, signaling the operator to pause, and interrogated you again. There was a sinister glint in his eyes at the instance of an afterthought.

“You know, there is another proposition that may perhaps be of great benefit for either party,” he sniggered. He didn’t await a reply from you, and so he continued. “Join our ranks, I’ll let you live and you will be of better use to me, far better than that traitorous Jedi, Cere Junda.”

“You don’t know Cere! She is a far better warrior than you could ever be!”

“Such misplaced faith, such misguided strength,” he subtly turned to Cal. “Now, I see why he was so eager to take you in because he told me you’d prove me of something—and I’m beginning to see it just now.”

You glanced over the taller Inquisitor’s shoulder to find Cal, he stood there, his eyes avoided you in the brief second that your gazes met.

“I’m impressed that the Eighth Sister spoke highly of you,” the Pau’an added. “As matter of fact, it’s a first for her! She never really liked competition.”

“Send her my regards then,” you spat.

“So, [y/n], what will it be? Die a ‘noble’ death here or see the true magnitude of your power—something that the Jedi nor your Master was ever able to unravel for you!”

Another shock. Your body is gradually growing numb from the electricity coursing throughout your body, your muscles are now suffering from spasms, your heart rate is three levels above normal—any more and it would get touch the critical level—and your breathing labored as you endure the pain.

“That high pain threshold is quite impressive. Not many can live beyond six,” he sniggered. “Notch the setting to seven!”

“No… NO!!!”

As the level of the shock increases, it went from mild to excruciating. Your muscles sprained due to your thrashing, you could feel your nerves burning at the intensity, every limb in your body jerked and curled at the mercy of the voltage.

“Well, he was right about one thing. You are strong, indeed. I am only keeping you alive because he told me that you can be of use to me.

“CAL… PLEASE!!” you cried out, throwing your head back to release an ear-shattering, painful scream.

The sensation was similar to being burned alive, except this one packed a bigger punch—since electricity consumes the body slower than fire, therefore it causes the victim to suffer for longer while still being partially-alive depending on their pain tolerance.

“What’s it going to be, child?!”

“I am a Jedi…! You can never break me!”

“I often find heroics quite dull,”

The indigo cracks of voltage danced before your eyes, your vision has blurred and you could only make out the colors and the silhouettes of those in the chamber. Cal shirked farther back in the room, he was slowly dissolving into the shadows from your perspective, and your cries of pain mixing with the call of his name were agonizing and stomach-churning.

He averted his eyes, even shut them tight with his hands tucked behind his back, and struggled to ignore your cries for help.

“CAL… HELP ME…!!”

Involuntarily and suddenly, a memory that the two of you shared played before his eyes. He saw you clinging on the edge of a cliff after a Nydak destroyed the stone pillar you used as a stepping stone. Your fingers were digging into the muck but you were slipping away.

“Cal, help me!”

“I got you! Don’t worry, baby… I got you!”

The memory of him running to you, grabbing you on both arms to pull you back up. He catches you in his arms in the final tug and cradled you.

An energy he has been unknowingly piling up was almost too much for him to contain. This energy rooted from all kinds of emotions—hate, pain, and anger.

“No…” he mouthed, his eyelids relaxing but keeping closed.

“HELP ME…!”

The Grand Inquisitor has sensed it, but reacted too late. Cal released perhaps the strongest wave of energy, inflicting Mass Push and Empowered Slow in quick succession on everybody in the room except for you, he switched on BD-1 using the Force and ran to you. While the little droid took a minute to reboot his entire system, Cal unbuckled the restraints as quickly as he can. Your body, limp and exhausted from enduring all that pain, fell away from the machine.

“I got you …!” Cal gasped as he caught you.

“Cal…?” you struggled to open your eyes, a blurry image of his face filled your sight.

“Don’t worry, baby, I got you…! Can you stand?”

You didn’t answer, you struggled to stand and Cal supported you by wrapping your arm around his shoulder. Both of you hobbled away from the machine and to the door. Apparently, the effect of Cal’s abilities against the Grand Inquisitor wore off sooner than the rest.

“YOU WEAK, INSOLENT COWARD!” The Grand Inquisitor bellowed while trying to break free, you and Cal were taken by surprise when you saw the Pau’an flexing and stretching his neck and shoulders.

Knowing he had to think fast, he used the Force to pull your lightsaber resting on the control terminal and handed it over to you; he also found that BD-1’s back to full function.

“BD-1, come on!”

When the little droid saw that Cal was helping you, he made a quick, cheerful chirp and flew towards the both of you with his turbojets and perched onto Cal’s shoulder.

“Yeah, buddy, I got you!” he patted the little droid’s head and it chirped in response.

BD-1 voluntarily popped out a stim for you, which Cal caught in the air and injected right into you, hoping that the substance would help you recover enough strength to fight.

“Here,” Cal hands over your lightsaber. “Can you fight?”

A smirk curled at the corner of your mouth as you turned to face him and the both of you traded nods—an unspoken conversation that only you and Cal know the words to.

Your lightsabers ignited and hummed in unison, the both of you positioned into a defensive-offensive stance. It was two against one, though the Grand Inquisitor appeared to be unfazed by the odds. Both parties lunged at one another, the Pau’an deflected both sabers on each side and despite your combined strength, he didn’t back down—rather, he shifted all his weight against the two of you, and the dark warrior loomed over the two young Jedi.

For every jab either of you have for him, he always had a way to parry it. His skill was commendable, but it was also irritating and frustrating.

“Your skills pale against mine! I am more powerful than any Jedi combined!”

“Does he always gab this much when fighting?” you remarked. “It’s annoying, really.”

Cal smiled to himself. He almost hate to admit he missed your sarcasm.

“YOUR BLIND FAITH OF A FALLEN ORDER SHALL BE YOUR DOWNFALL!” The Grand Inquisitor snarled, in addition, he produced his ignited lightsaber in retaliation. The halo that encircled the hilt started spinning in a dramatic speed.

This time, it was the Grand Inquisitor who was in the offensive. He was more adept in using the aggressive, acrobatic forms—you detected a mix of Forms IV and VII, Ataru and Vaapad respectively—and he always managed to keep up with your next attacks, it’s as if he’s foreseen it before you could even make the move. The only thing you had against the Grand Inquisitor is your numbers; if you could overwhelm the Inquisitor with alternating attacks between you and Cal, it would confuse him and lose his focus—even for just a minute or a second, it counts.

You were on the defensive side of the duel; meanwhile, Cal sent a flurry of attacks in the Grand Inquisitor’s way—he attacked with a medley of fast-paced flourishes and spins, at the end of his figure-eight spin he stopped with a backhand that acted as a deflect against the Inquisitor’s overhead strike.

“[Y/N]!!” He simply called.

Cal made sure there was enough space between him and the enemy, he also timed in dropping his lightsaber to the most precise split second, enough for you to slide into the space between them and catching the falling saber altogether—when the black hilt fell into your grasp, the slightest turn of the wrist pointed this blade against the Grand Inquisitor and you slashed him across the shins.

“Agh!” the Grand Inquisitor exclaimed as the saber seared through his greaves.

You couldn’t help the feeling but celebrate in-battle—it was a bad habit, whenever you know you have taken the upper hand that is when you start partying inside your mind while still flinging a lightsaber at the enemy.

He fell to the floor, on his knees, but he was still able to deflect your overhead strike. He stood upright again in the small window of a second after he fell to the ground and was back in action. He focused more on Cal, hell-bent on destroying his former protégé who turned tail at the last minute. Crimson blades torched the darkness and the collision produced a fountain of sparks. The Grand Inquisitor did a cheap shot and jabbed Cal in the jaw with his able, the boy stumbled and it was the Pau’an’s chance to strike—but you quickly deprived him that when you directed your Force-Halt on him.

The Grand Inquisitor remained cemented, with his body still as a statue, and you ran up to him with a downward slash followed by the hardest kick your leg could muster. The impact of his fall was so hard that the gray little discs attached to his ears fell off, all of a sudden, a hybrid of high-pitched white noise and a deep, low buzzing entered his eardrums and nauseated him. The two of you backed away as you watched the Pau’an writhe on the floor with his hands padding his ears, your eyes searched for the gray ear discs and kicked it to the farthest side of the chamber.

“Come on, we gotta get out of here!” you cried.

The two of you made a run for it, Cal destroyed the control panel and the door froze in a partially-opened state. Vaulting through the sizable gap that the door left, the next gauntlet was getting past the bridge. A Stormtrooper punched the alarm before joining the fray, you and Cal easily cut through the numbers and sped across the bridge until you’ve reached the other side.

“[y/n], help me with this!”

Both of you tore the bridge apart by severing its connection until it was fully dismembered from the main platform. The bridge groaned as it became a slope upon its collapse, bringing down the Stormtroopers with it. Cal led you to the elevator and searched for the right button in the middle of a panic, he crunched a button of that eventually led you to a series of corridors.

“Cal, where are you taking us!?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Just now, actually!”

“Then follow my lead!”

For every one out of three turns in a hallway, you are met with a patrol of Stormtroopers who are now vigilant due to the high alert that’s been set off.

“Wait, there they are!”

Cal fished out a thermal detonator from his utility belt and tossed it right into the spot filled with Stormtroopers and then used the Force to shut the door until the bomb went off. A muffled explosion quaked the corridors and the siren howled in a continuous tone. With Cal on the lead, you covered the flank, cutting the path between yourselves and the units of Stormtroopers on your trail.

Your running speed has noticeably slowed down, you could barely keep up with Cal and looking over your shoulder to check if there are enemies behind you.

Come on, [y/n], come on! You coaxed yourself mentally. The exhaustion was eating away at your body for every step you take.

Along the way, you and Cal alternately destroyed the control panels of the doors that you’ve passed by, further cutting off the Stormtroopers chasing you.

“Here, [y/n], here!”

You come across a control room, but you emptied it of Stormtroopers and a single Imperial security droid. Cal approached and peered through the wide windows.

“There’s the hangar!” Cal pointed. “I think we can hijack a shuttle there and get the hell out of—!”

He turned around, his smile that was filled with the hope of a successful escape melted the moment he saw you fumbling to the ground and clutching your torso.

“[y/n], are you okay?” he ran up to you and caught you once again in his arms.

You didn’t tell Cal, but the successive exhaustion of being tortured via electrocution, being caught in combat, and now in the middle of a hot pursuit during a breakout has taken its toll on your body.

“Cal…” you fought between speaking and breathing, managing a tender cooing tone. “My baby… save yourself…”

“No, I’m not leaving you! Not when we’re so close!”

The response he received from you is your labored breathing, struggling to hold on for dear life.

A violent tremor shook the entire structure, the bridge must have totally gone down and damaged the lower levels. Subsequently, the destruction would cascade down to the fortress’s core; if you’re not quick enough, you might as well go down with the building.

“Come on, up you go!”

Cal scooped you up in his arms and sprinted through the hallway that leads to the shuttle hangar. He gently put you down behind some crates and fought off the guards blocking his way to the ship.

“There’s the traitor, stop him!”

A team of Stormtroopers led by a Purge Trooper rifleman blasted away at Cal, the barrage overwhelmed him and he didn’t exactly have Cere and her Force field to shield him from the hail of bullets. He banked the bullets back to their senders but a gunner from the upper platform sniped at his lightsaber with a charged shot—supposedly his head but his hand slipped.

The destroyed lightsaber clattered next to your feet and Cal slipped to the covers with you. You ripped open a concealed section on the right leg of your cargo pants and fished something out of it.

It was Cal’s lightsaber.

“You idiots didn’t search me,” you lightly thumped his head with the emitter as you sniggered.

He held your face and pulled you in for a kiss—it was abrupt, but you could feel the press of his lips against yours.

“I’m glad we didn’t!”

He ignited his true lightsaber, the radiant beam shone over the gloss of his eyes, and a grin stretched from ear-to-ear.

Now back in action, Cal banked the next shot at the sniper; vaulting over the crates, he carved a path to the group of Stormtroopers who were backing away in fear of the one-man army. He took down the leader Purge Trooper and then pulled all of his enemies around him, the lightsaber flew in a fan-like motion, tearing down the Stormtroopers in a single sweep. He returned to you behind the crates and found you unconscious, he checked for a pulse—there was, but it was weak.

“Come on, sweetie, up we go!”

He scooped you again bridal-style and slammed the door button open. Upon entering, he headed for the lounge and laid you down on the couch, kissed your forehead and then darted to the cockpit. BD-1 hopped over on the dashboard and watched Cal work his magic on the ship—a crank of the main power lever that wired the ship to life, and then lightning-fast pace of typing the coordinates and prepping the ship for hyperspace both at the same time. BD-1 noticed another team of Stormtroopers flooding the hangar and shooting the ship, he alerted Cal in a string of frenzied trills.

“I know, BD, I see them!”

He turned the analog stick of the guns in the direction of the Stormtroopers and sent them flying in a single blast. Not wasting a moment’s notice, Cal hovered the ship and made the jump to lightspeed as soon as he got enough altitude from the crumbling fortress.

“Boo, woop?”

“It’s okay now, BD. We’re going home.”

Cal caressed little BD’s head, profusely apologizing to what he did to his first friend and even touched the little droid’s flat, rectangular head with his forehead.