#i'm going to curl up and cry

[tending-the-hearth]

just violently shot up with the realization that ponyboy was probably so terrified to have to jump on the train to escape after bob's death, quite possibly the same train that had killed his parents, and that's why johnny stayed awake when ponyboy fell asleep, because he wanted to make sure that ponyboy was okay, that his trauma wouldn't be further triggered

[shehungthemoon]

Just dumping my Ina Paha thoughts here. 🙃

First of all I did NOT know it was the 100th episode going into this, so i was very confused watching the montage at the end lol

I also had to click out and make sure I didn't click the wrong episode when the Pilot started playing at the beginning. When I heard Danny's voice on the phone instead of Hesse's I swear I got whiplash

It's filmed so well (bar where they reshot the pilot where Steve gets Danny on the phone instead of a dead dad, in which they literally forgot to put the same filter over the scene to make the stitching coherent) and I absolutely love the camera work they did with the white-room and the video projections. It felt very much a level above normal network television cinematography, especially the parts where Steve's going in and out of the hallucinations.

Steve finally FINALLY killing Wo-Fat was so cathartic, it should have happened ages ago but I'm willing to look past all the dumb ways he survived just to allow this incredible ending to his story.

Ina Paha gave me Kono doing... this. I owe Grace Park my whole life. Pls costuming department put her in hot pink again 💗

yes, it was a Steve episode. but Danny REALLY shone, first as the only resident Actual Detective figuring out what happened to Steve by the tire-tracks, rampaging through the compound steadily and efficiently and knocking people off without a pause, and then in Steve's mind shooting Hesse's kneecaps off?!?!?! That was CRAZY and probably not suppose to be as hot as it was and definitely made me want an ex-mobster AU immediately. Basically I have a competency kink and really like badass!danny shit 😊

Seeing Chin's long hair again made me swoon

My jaw dropped when I saw Jenna! I think it's really interesting that Steve still thinks of her so much, and I was surprised that she showed up in both the actual dreams and the montage. I definitely underestimated how much she impacted Steve's life, it seems, and I hate that we'll never hear him address that and we'll only know about it inadvertently like this.

(hand over the heart for how lori got like. one team shot. poor girlie.)

⭐I took the montage at the end as being flashbacks and memories that Steve was having as he left the compound. Looking at it through that lens certainly makes one unwell.

Obligatory squeal for Adam appearing just to save the day :))) look below to see the love of my life! :)))))) ⬇⬇⬇

Of course, the obligatory mcdanno bullet(s). It writes itself! The way Danny said Steve's name so small and broken when he found him. The way they look at each other on the ground, the pain their faces. I need an official apology statement from Scott and Alex for it. Can we talk about what flashes by during the montage at the end? (IMO it being Steve's memories.) So much Danny.

The first thing is Danny and Steve's first meeting. Jfc. The showrunners milk it SO MUCH and who's complaining

The big, rocking hug. The hands clasping underground. Gracie of course. And then Danny collapsing from the bioweapon, which to be honest I was NOT expecting to see at all--it felt like a genuinely strange choice to include in there and it really ONLY makes sense if you go along with all that being what Steve's remembering. Even then, I was surprised to see it, so basically this is Hawaii Five-Oh making mcdanno gayer than even I was wanting them to be. Steve still thinks about that? From so long ago? Even with so many other close calls in between then and now? Good fucking lord ok then loverboy that's WILD. Canon accepted ig this show is just pure whump.

Danny goes through all of this just days after losing his brother and killing Reyes. JFC can we please address that. I need a 30k introspection fic to let me into this man's mind rn.

The Wo Fat v.s. Steve fight at the end was INCREDIBLE. I would love to give the choreographer's hand a shake, it's some of the best work I've seen on television in a long time. It was impressive for a procedural like this. It was long and physical and you truly didn't know what the outcome was going to be; it everything that their built-up relationship deserved for a conclusion. It also happening with a Steve coming off of hours of torture and drugging was crazy (guess we finally know who would win a PVP if they were both at full strength!). That being said I was really impressed with Wo Fat's capabilities and physical prowess, I was not expecting it to be so even and close to the line. I actually jumped when Steve LIFTED him up into the lighting fixture. We do not talk about Steve's (Alex's???) raw upper-body strength enough.

Anyway. Electricity in the water play. The physicality hell that this gif below is ⬇. Fire extinguishers and loaded needles. Crazy martial arts. Chair and buckets (holy shit did y'all see the force with which Wo Fat SHOT that bucket?????) flying. All's fair. I loved it.

The shot going right through the forehead, clean. I don't know how to put into words why that's so monumental to me but it is.

The mystery bad lady was SO intriguing, I wish we got more from her... How does she know Wo Fat? Why was she entrusted with all that information on him and Steve and especially Doris? Absolutely where did she come from, what was her name? Why did I have a huge huge hot crush on her? All important questions. (Goes to show that h50 CAN give us some more genuine badass, not just there to date someone women characters, just explicitly choose not to. I'm holding out for Ellie to remain platonic so hard right now.)

Almost forgot Danny in that black Hawaiian shirt. Will be whimpering over that image forever. The whole episode I was trying to focus on the underlining betrayal mystery they were laying out but every time my brain started working too hard Scott with his stupid waist and those flower patterns just started flashing into my head

Again, are you seeing this:

I'm unwell and so so happy.

H50 you're a gem when you want to be.

[gilded-gheists]

JUST started a good Durge playthrough and I'm dying over my absolute little guy bard Tinfoil.

[heytheredeann]

Today on Very Serious Spy Scenarios, imagine Illya and Napoleon at the beginning of their partnership, with Napoleon happily pushing all of Illya's buttons every five seconds to try and see what will get him punched and what not. Illya is endlessly frustrated with him, especially because he CANNOT get a rise out of him, no matter how hard he tries.

And then one day, when they are arguing, again, Illya is getting desperate to Win This and so this conversation ensues:

Illya: "What's your problem, your parents never hugged you as a child?"

Napoleon, completely unfazed: "Actually no, my father barely spoke to me and my mother lowkey disliked me, so."

Illya:

Napoleon:

Illya:

Napoleon: "What?"

Illya: *getting teary-eyed*

Napoleon, now a little scared: "Peril?"

Illya: *bear hug attack*

[c-e-d-dreamer]

.

[maudiemoods]

I'm so unmotivated rrrrarrrarrr

[zukkaoru]

hi grace !!

this is really out of the blue and definitely not something i really do but just wanted to say i’m a big fan of your writing and to keep up the amazing work

another friend and i got our friend into bsd and when they finished they asked for fic recs so i legally had to mention you (thus you’ve been known as dead fukuzawa fic author in our gc since) and we had a bsd presentation night where my presentation was approximately 3 hours of my ranpo Thoughts and we did read excerpts from All Lights Turned Off Can Be Turned On (which. noah kahan and bsd is like our gc’s kryptonite) and Enough to Feel Free to prove certain points and better articulate what i was trying to get across with how i perceive ranpo

anyway there’s a souheki section of the presentation and said presentation night spiraled into a couple of things one being a 9 hour bsd playlist with songs that remind us of mostly akutagawa, chuuya, dazai, and ranpo bc those are our main guys (gender neutral) of Ever and where i’m going with this is we have inertia on the playlist and we’ve sobbed over inertia we have fic concepts to inertia so when You posted souheki AND inertia oh it was truly my end ahskdjdk my friends were like oh my god this is so targeted and i sat my ass down and read

and yeah it was fantastic and yeah i have reread it a couple times now maybe back to back idk i won’t tell (it was back to back) and yeah i know this was mostly just like random rambles and im still deciding if i want to send it but i really just wanted to tell you that we love what you’re making and can’t wait to see what else you create :)

anon i am on my hands and knees thank you..... 😭❤️💕 i am gently cradling this ask in my hand. i am printing it out and framing it on my wall. i am eating it. i am going to treasure it forever.

also re: inertia. that song.. it Does Things to me sdfgfhgjk i literally had to stop listening to it back after it first came out bc it was making me worse but oh my god i love it so much. and it is so dazai TO ME!!! the description for my dazai playlist on spotify is literally:

i've been wanting to post a fic with a title from that song basically since i first listened to it and as i was writing the souheki fic i was listening to my dazai playlist and was like.. hold on.... i'm having title visions. bc the original title i picked for it just was not the vibe anymore lol but Anyway.

thank you so much; i really really appreciate this ask <3

(in case anyone is interested: link to altocbto (my post-doa arc series), link to the souheki fic, and link to enough to feel free)

[sandinthepipes]

Something something the cracks you made I filled with mortar, our mortar was your laughter and you hurled curses at the land, all the words that came out wrong, a broken pot can still hold water, universes out of broken hands, symphonies and sweat and sex mean nothing when you are obsessed, in the wreck stands our piano like a wound i play our song to see if it's in tune

[lesbiansanemi]

I'm so tired

[canonical-transformation]

Also according to the Genshin wiki, in the Mandarin translation, Idyia refers to Rhodeia as "Older Sister Rhodeia"... and I headcanon that Urania is Rhodeia's younger sibling...

So now we have a potential "Of Loch" trio here, so here me out.

Idyia, Urania and Rhodeia interacting with each other, maybe even doing some silly sibling stuff.

Oooooh I love it. (Like yeah obvs many Asian cultures use overlapping terms of endearment for family and close friends, auntie and uncle especially, but I want this to be true.)

They grew up together. Idyia was always the timid one. Bonus points if she's the oldest by a significant margin xD (yes I know that contradicts the older sister part, but shhhhhh)

Related question, do Oceanids "die" when they reproduce? "Merging water bodies together" then splitting apart? Or would they just split off an Eidolon and send it off?

Oh my gods, imagine if the Lord of Amrita was literally the mother of every single Oceanids, no wonder they miss her so much ;_;

[dracolizardlars]

I SPECIFICALLY BOUGHT GLUTEN-FREE FLOUR FROM THE SUPERMARKET AND MADE GLUTEN-FREE CHAPATTIS AND ATE ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NO GLUTEN* YESTERDAY AND MY STOMACH STILL HURTS THIS MORNING RIPPING AND TEARING AND KILLING MYSELF

[ungroomedcat]

I took off work today. I thought it might help my mood but I've only felt guilty. I'm feeling kind of down, not because of work, but a combination of returning there full time, the monotony of it all, my brother ill at home, I read this fic yesterday where the main character's watch got stuck as a symbolism for his life growing stagnant, and it really rubbed that old wound I'd thought I'd healed. I'm thirty one now, I didn't think I would still feel this way. And for a long time, I didn't. This year particularly had been going really well. But tragedy struck and I'm sitting here with an ache in my chest feeling pity for myself. If I could drink, today would have been a good day to.

[epitomees]

((No no but...the last time she ever expressed any semblance of love, spoken or otherwise, was when Naoto's parents were still alive.

She hasn't said it to anyone in years. For nearly 10 years now. She always states how appreciative she is towards her grandpa and Yakushiji for taking care of her, but there's never any vocal recognition of that familial love. It's absolutely become a foreign concept to her now.

Of course she adores her little guinea pig but it's not the same as establishing other human connections outside the safety of her comfort zone. She is...so afraid of feeling that love, of uttering those words, because look what it can lead to...))

[insertsickusername13]

Richjake week day four babyyyy

prompt: fire

word count: 2.1k

Summary: Rich struggles to light a candle for a romantic dinner with Jake.

--

Rich was pretty sure he was going to light the candle wick on fire with just his gaze. 

He’d been there for ten minutes already, the match in his hand unreasonably heavy and the matchbox even more so. It was just a candle. A small, cheap candle he’d bought for $1.39 at a Walgreens down the street. He was going to light it on fire. He was not going to freak out. Jake was going to think it was romantic. 

Everything else was already set up: the usually bare kitchen table they’d snatched from a curb a couple of miles away had been replaced by a smaller, round, dark-wood table and a fancy white tablecloth (the table from a second-hand antique store downtown, the white table cloth from Brooke’s attic—he’d gotten it when Jake and him had returned to Jersey for the holidays. Three months ago.). 

There was a small vase with a single rose at the center. Plates and Jake’s parents’ fancy silverware that had miraculously survived the fire were already set out.

And there was a candle. 

Though it was smaller than almost everything else on the table it seemed to stand tall, looming over Rich with a cruel smirk on its nonexistent waxy lips. 

Rich inhaled a shaky breath. 

He could do this. It was just a candle. There was nothing destructive about a candle. Rich wouldn’t knock it over and catch the tablecloth on fire, then the kitchen, then their entire apartment. Jake wouldn’t come home to ashes instead of his boyfriend and a romantic dinner. Candles were normal. Candles were fine. Rich could light a candle. 

But he could hear the SQUIP’s voice in his head. It’d been disjointed on Halloween, robotic and borderline meaningless. If anyone else had been listening—Jake, Jeremy, Michael—they would’ve heard pure nonsense. The ramblings of a lunatic. 

Rich had understood every word. He didn’t need to hear its voice to feel his entire body being shot with electricity repeatedly. He’d barely been conscious of his own hands as they poured gasoline all over Jake’s bed and in his closet. Fire, fire, fire, fire. He’d done it trembling, half unconscious and half possessed. He could do it now if he wanted. He didn’t. But he could. He just had to…

Rich dropped the match. Dropped the matchbox. He fell to his knees, his body shaking uncontrollably just like it had when it was still in his head, when it’d told him Rich deserved hell manifested on Earth, when it'd forced him to destroy everything he'd ever loved.

He wanted to cover his face, to hide his shame and the tears he knew were boiling over out of his eyes, but he could’ve sworn he saw the residue of gasoline on his fingertips. He couldn’t bear the thought of contaminating the rest of himself with such a destructive, infectious substance. He held his hands out as far as he could, the terror of what he’d done choking him, the weight of it so heavy he thought he could see the floor opening up, swallowing him and everything he’d done since to try and undo what he’d done, to erase—

“Rich?”

And suddenly keeping himself pure meant nothing. He pressed his hands against his abdomen, hiding them in his shirt. Just as long as Jake didn’t see, as long as he didn’t get ruined, then Rich would be okay.

Rich hadn’t realized how bad it’d gotten until he tried to respond to Jake and the words burned so bad he couldn’t get them past his throat. He opened his mouth helplessly, every apology he could muster trapped between his teeth, and looked up at Jake for… for something. For help. For comfort. For damnation and guilt-tripping and everything he probably deserved.

Jake dropped his bag and, using his cane for support, knelt in front of Rich. 

“Baby? Hey,” as if he somehow knew of every self-destructive thought that had run through Rich’s head since he’d first bought that candle from goddamn Walgreens, he grabbed both of Rich’s hands and carefully unclenched them, his touch softer than anything Rich had never known. “What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong? It’d been so long since Junior year that being on the floor crying didn’t always mean the fire anymore. Sometimes it was missing his dad. Sometimes it was fear of graduation. Sometimes it had nothing to do with the SQUIP and everything that had happened because of it. 

Rich choked out a sob as he pulled himself closer to Jake, desperate for the warmth he provided. He was a magnetic sun—technically Rich could look at him and see fire and destruction but all he saw were beaches and flowers and summertime. Thank the lord for that. 

“It’s okay,” Jake whispered. He didn’t know what was wrong, yet he said it with visceral confidence—it’s okay. Rich will be okay. Jake will be okay. He ran his hands through Rich’s hair and repeated the words again and again. At some point he tried to slip in other reassurances, things he’d heard from Rich’s therapist—five things you can see, you’re worthy, can you breathe?—but he was cut off by Rich’s murmuring against his shoulder. 

“I just wanted a candle,” he borderline sobbed out, snotty and muffled, “So I could give you dinner and it could be romantic and I’m sorry, I couldn’t do it.”

“Babe—” Jake lifted Rich off his shoulder, a small smile on his face, “—we don’t need a candle for dinner.”

Of course, Jake would say that. Of course, he wouldn’t even notice, the goddamn angel. He wasn’t the one who got dragged to expensive restaurant after expensive restaurant for grand anniversaries and birthdays while struggling with the knowledge that he could never afford any of this on his own. That the paycheck he brought home every month was minuscule compared to even a small percentage of Jake’s fortune. Jake never had to wonder if he was a leech, sucking up spare bits of affection and funds where he could. He didn’t notice the candles and roses at every restaurant they went to. That was Rich’s job.

Rich squeezed his eyes shut against Jake’s open expression. Even faced with complete darkness, he heard Jake’s voice saying, “Deep breaths.”

Rich obliged. One breath in, one breath out, slow and steady, until he could look at it like Jake was: Just a candle. 

“I’m still thoroughly romanced, y’know,” Jake whispered. He cupped Rich’s jaw and ran his thumb over his eyelashes, “I've got those stupid butterflies and all.”

Rich scoffed, the cruise Jake had taken him on for his twenty-first birthday still playing in his mind. The concert they’d gone to for his twenty-second. Objectively, he knew this was enough. He was enough. He’d been to countless therapists and fought endless battles to get to the point where he knew Jake didn't need more than this, that money didn’t matter, that Jake loved him for things like this, but that doubt—bitter, poisonous, ruinous—hovered, waiting for its moment to sink its teeth into Rich’s skin. 

“Yeah,” Rich replied, and it was more to himself than it was to Jake—a vocalization of his own self-deprecating thoughts, not meant for anyone else to hear, “Romanced enough to marry me?”

He didn’t realize what he’d said until he felt Jake’s hand go slack on his face. Fuck. Fuck, no, he had a fucking speech. He wasn’t supposed to say that—

Rich looked up, eyes wide, everything else blurred and forgotten—fuck candles and fuck money and fuck the dinner he planned, he’d just accidentally fucking proposed. All he saw was Jake’s expression, all he felt was lightning in his chest and stomach. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

“Hm?” Jake squeaked. He looked about as shell-shocked as Rich, if not more so.

Rich had two choices: chicken out or own up to it. The fact Jake’s panicked expression—comically wide eyes, lips pressed together to stop himself from breaking out into a smile, cheeks bordering between pink and red—was so beautiful Rich was pretty sure he wanted to kiss it until he died was an answer in and of itself. 

He fumbled for the ring in his pocket only vaguely aware of Jake’s jaw dropping as he pulled it out. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt, erasing the remnants of his breakdown to the best of his ability. He had a boyfriend to propose to. A perfect, pretty, loving boyfriend, and he was not going to let that be tainted by his own lingering insecurities. 

“Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath. Jake looked like he was going to pass out. “Okay, I was supposed to do this later, but you’re—shit, I’m supposed to be on one knee.”

Still shaking, Rich struggled to untangle himself from Jake’s limp grasp enough to prop himself up on one knee. 

“Okay, starting over, I wanted—I was gonna do this while we were eating dessert, I thought you might be more likely to say yes if I was feeding you ca—”

“Yes,” Jake blurted, “Yes. The answer’s yes. Right now.”

Rich blinked. 

“I’m uh, I haven’t even talked about how much I love you yet.”

“I don’t care. Yes. I want to be engaged to you as soon as possible. Get fucking—” he scrambled over to Rich, glowing like a buttercup or sunflower. Rich was so enchanted by the sight he couldn’t find it in himself to protest as Jake shakily took the ring ($3,471—Rich spent eight months saving up) from the box and held it out to Rich. 

“Put it on me,” he said, “Put it on, I—”

Rich took the ring and slipped it on Jake’s finger. He got the privilege of watching the stars and sky light up as Jake broke out into a golden grin. Pretty, he thought, pretty, pretty, pretty—

Jake launched himself at Rich, knocking them both flat onto the floor, his arms finding their way around Rich’s waist with starved desperation and his lips colliding with whatever skin he had access to: first Rich’s neck, then his cheek, then his lips, over and over until Jake was crying so hard he had to stop just to get the chance to breathe. 

“You proposed to me,” he giggled, “You fucking proposed, you… oh my god.”

Rich threw his head back laughing. He couldn’t say it, couldn’t vocalize it like Jake was trying to do, but everything felt coated in unbridled elation. Jake wanted to marry him. Jake said yes. He was getting married to his best friend and they were going to spend the rest of their lives together.

“I do,” Jake said, propping himself up on his elbows so he could look down at Rich, “I do. Can we get married right now?”

“I think we should eat dinner first, sweetheart, I spent all day cooking.”

Jake perked up.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I made those scallops the way you like ‘em and pasta.”

Jake’s eyes lit up. Like a kid in a candy store (except that candy store only sold expensive seafood), Jake climbed off Rich and sat at the table. 

“I am so fucking glad I’m marrying you,” he said, already laying his napkin out on his lap. 

Rich flushed as he got to his feet, planning to grab their plates from the kitchen to show Jake the fruits of his labor, but was stopped by his foot colliding with—

With a matchbox. A small, unassuming matchbox that singlehandedly had the power to tear Rich apart limb by limb. 

Nothing could dim the giddiness he’d felt since Jake said yes. With unfounded confidence, he picked up what would usually be made of flames and fear and opened it, carefully taking a match into his hand. 

He could do this. He could light a candle for a romantic dinner with his boyf—fiancé.

He struck the match. 

Jake blew it out. 

Rich stared at the charred wood for a second, uncomprehending, before looking up at Jake. He almost wanted to scream. He couldn’t do that again. Once was enough, there was no way he’d be able to make more fire. 

“There’s no point,” Jake said.

“I want—”

“I broke it.”

Rich blinked at him.

“What?”

“I broke the candle.”

“How do you break a candle—”

Jake glanced nervously under the table. Despite Rich's disblief, there the candle was. Broken.

 It’d been mushed down into a mound of wax, the wick bent and covered in so much wax there was no way it’d light even if Rich wanted it to. Rich felt like he’d just been pulled from the brink of insanity by an angel. 

“I don’t need a candle,” Jake said, flashing Rich a crooked, nervous grin.

“Oh.”

A pause. It was a hurricane of a moment, the silence complete and violent despite the exultation that had drowned the room a moment earlier. 

Then, voice quiet with shame, Rich said, “I… I fucking hate candles.”

Jake reached out and squeezed his hand. 

“Not you, though,” Rich continued, squeezing Jake’s hand back, “I don’t hate you. I actually really fucking love you.”

[somelazyassartist]

I hate the doctors I don't ever want to go ever <- person with so many medical issues

[tiredassmage]

🖊 for Tyr 👀👀 maybe early Intelligence days thoughts?

Experienced a Thought I've been delaying acknowledging for like a month now??? Probably??? Aaauhhhh that spawned a potential emotion-busting revelation, so I MEANT to talk about this in like, a constructed manner, but then I busted out a fic musing about the latest ping pong ball of a thought to go flying across the room like that scene from the first Men In Black, so uhhhh Merry Crisis with me?!

I'm still rotating this in my head wondering if I really need to add another layer of complexity to Tyr's already botched life, but also: it's real damn good and it hurts me, so, naturally, I'm going to release that upon the world now, too. xD

Anyway. Vague context if you want it: I posted this trying not to chew on this like a stick and go absolutely insane about it, bUT it only encouraged me, so now we have this instead.

x-x-x-x-x-

DECKARD, TYR V.

Keeper stilled as his eyes landed at the top of the next file, the steady hum of air circulators and databanks blending into a yet more quiet background noise. Carding through potential recruits was a lengthy process, even with the rigid requirements of the Intelligence Academy.

Perhaps his wife was right, he considered idly. The long days and dwindling nights had long characterized his career with Intelligence. Surely it was, on some level, partially responsible for a few of the permanent lines dug in across his features and the graying, receding hair. He still hadn’t pinned whether work at the head of Operations division outpaced the weight of being in the field.

Such idle musings would do little to cull the ever-growing list of his responsibilities.

He turned away from the face of the chrono again with a sniff. Briefly, he pinched the bridge of his nose and closed aching eyes. He’d call it soon, but he’d opened this last report, so there was little sense it putting it off further. Academy leadership had urged him to take particular interest in this potential officer.

A frown set a bit further across thinned lips as he read over the name again.

Deckard.

High marks in weapons proficiency, infiltration, negotiation… High marks relatively across the board. Impressive. Very impressive for such a young recruit.

For the moment, he skipped the file attachments. Data first. Early twenties. Successful shadow and support on a wet-foot operation local on Dromund Kaas. Adaptable in the field. Good at taking orders.

Limited connections with family - that would make operations easier long-term.

Deckard. Fairly ranked officer in the Imperial Navy. Marriage to a testy, if moderatly influential Sith Lord some three decades back or so. He remembered the one rather well, had exchanged some mild pleasantries over the engagement… Hot headed, their daughter. She'd be about the age to send to Korriban now, he reckoned, if she hadn't been already.

The son, it seemed, had managed to dodge that ill temperament thus far.

Deckard, Tyr V. Reportedly orphaned by fleet action and charitably raised by the then-Commander Deckard - the officer had been related to the boy’s parents and had taken him rather than pass him off to an impassionate system.

That same piece of action had earned the patriarch a promotion to Captain following, if memory served him correctly.

Keeper drew a hand across his chin. The boy’s discipline and piloting training would have made him a just fit for the Navy to keep, but Academy recruitment had singled him out during early martial skills training.

His fingers hovered - hesitated - over the attached shots from Academy entrance.

Outplayed, or simply mocked by whatever forces were or were not at work in this wretched galaxy, Keeper mused with a scowl threatening his lips. A Watcher or three were always fond of telling him it’d make those lines around his eyes more permanent - a sentiment the wife often echoed.

That was the bloody thing about Ciphers - they were damn difficult to truly eliminate. Silent fingerprints left across the galaxy despite retirement or reassignment or even gross and utter failure.

Keeper closed the file and dimmed the lights in his office before he leaned back in his chair and released a long, bone-deep sigh slowly, hands steepling to touch fingertips to his forehead.

He was all but the top of his class - strong potential to be an absolute asset to Operations. An opportunity that couldn’t be passed up in a right mind.

Particularly with whispers that the military was still probing for weaknesses along Republic lines, they could ill-afford to be short-staffed. The… competitive nature of their Empire always bred opportunity. The grass was tall and there were vipers aplenty.

Duty seemed to remove the choice in the matter.

He opened his eyes and leaned forward. They had a number of sensitive operations that would need delicate, well-trained hands coming up. He’d examine this latest grouping of operatives personally, he decided.

That would show him painfully well just how much a son would manage to follow a father. Even as well-removed from a Cipher’s imprint as had been affordable by the circumstances.

He picked up the datapad once more, finished off the approval for the select few that would be moving forward to finalize their training and transition into active service. Then he stood and prepared to head home, but not before lingering a few moments longer over that last file.

He should have sent the boy much farther than Dromund Kaas.

A moot point and an ill-advised longing now, he reasoned as a finger brushed the edges of the screen. Whether or not it would’ve saved the boy from Intelligence, they’d never know now.

At the absolute least, he’d avoid mentioning this to the wife. For now. Their illustrious Emperor, even in sleep, knew she worried plenty enough as it was.