#in addition to having his pride injured

[thatswhatsushesaid]

this watershed moment between nie mingjue and meng yao is from cql, obviously, but imo it highlights the fundamental conflict between these two characters in all versions of the canon:

i am once again re-reading the entirety of the empathy flashback chapters because once i start, i just can't stop! there's just too much important information overflowing from this sequence of events! and considering this is the only lens through which we are able to look back at jin guangyao's past as meng yao--and considering how much that lens hates him at this point in canon--so much of what is presented to us as objective fact has to be examined more critically.

so, it bears repeating: all of this is nie mingjue's resentment-addled fierce corpse's recollection of events at least fourteen years in the past, communicated to the reader through two additional filters--empathy, and wei wuxian himself.

Meng Yao had probably carefully worked out how to avoid the vital areas. With both caution and composure, he pulled the sword out of his stomach, producing a string of small, bloody splashes, and pressed the wound—this was all he did to treat it. Nie MingJue, on the other hand, still remained in the posture that he used when trying to help Meng Yao. Half-kneeling with his head raised, their eyes met.

i mean. sure, i guess? this is related to an ask currently hanging out in my inbox that i haven't been able to answer yet (there are so many asks), but i think we really ought to consider just what a life-threatening gamble this was regardless. also painful! it is painful to stab yourself, and then to mash your hand against an open wound to stop the bleeding! why would anyone choose to do something like this unless they felt they had no other choice?

Nie MingJue didn’t say anything. Meng Yao didn’t say anything either. He sheathed his sword, bowed toward Nie MingJue, and sprinted away without looking back.

i've read a few posts criticizing meng yao in this moment either implying or flat out stating that if he can bow and sprint away, he clearly couldn't have been that injured. leaving aside that nie mingjue is perfectly capable of recognizing a serious injury when he sees one, wei wuxian also sees the blood splashing onto meng yao's body and clothes as he withdraws the sword from himself. so, he's hurt. he has seriously injured himself. that he still forces himself to bow before fleeing does seem significant to me. what else could he possibly have said? what would nie mingjue have wanted to hear him say anyway?

He had just acknowledged his mistake and agreed to receiving his punishment before feigning suicide and setting up a trap. Now, he was already long gone. It was probably Nie MingJue’s first time seeing such a shameless person, especially one that had just been the trusted aide whom he promoted himself.

i could live the rest of my life in this sentence (exaggeration. but only slightly), there is so much going on here--first, that wei wuxian feels confident enough in his understanding and interpretation of nie mingjue via empathy to presume that this is nie mingjue's first exposure to such 'shameless' behaviour, because let's be real, how can he possibly know that? like leaving aside the fact that he is the older brother of the jianghu's most dedicated and shameless drama queen, he's been a sect leader for years at this point. beyond that, he is a sect leader during a time of war. mingjue-xiong has seen some shit, ok? i think it is specifically because this supposed shamelessness comes from someone that he himself trusted and promoted, as wei wuxian next points out, that he is so furious.

this part is key, for me, because it emphasizes not the shamelessness (is it tho?) of meng yao's trickery, but that such trickery could be carried out by someone that nie mingjue himself had invested with such trust. he doesn't just feel betrayed by meng yao, though of course that is part of it. his pride has been injured. which makes sense, given the next part of the text:

For this, he flew into a terrible rage, being especially fierce during the Wen Sect’s battles. Even when Lan XiChen had the time to assist Langya, a few days later, his anger hadn’t died down one bit. As soon as he came, Lan XiChen laughed, “MingJue-xiong, what a temper you seem to be in. Where is Meng Yao? Why does he not come and douse your flames?”

i'm not sure i actually want to know what a 'terrible rage' from nie mingjue looks like given what we already know about his brutality on the battlefield. like... this is after he has decapitated wen ruohan's son, wen xu, and made a brutal display of his head and remains to send a message to qishan. meng yao's betrayal has triggered truly unprecedented levels of rage and fury from nie mingjue, something that was already escalating due to his focused cultivation with the sabre, but it results in a man who absolutely cannot handle hearing meng yao's name.

Nie MingJue, “Don’t mention such a person!”

see? (mingjue-xiong don't snap at lan xichen like that 🥺)

Without any exaggeration, he told Lan XiChen of how Meng Yao killed and planned to blame someone else, then feigned death and ran away. After he heard the story, Lan XiChen was also surprised, “How could this be? Maybe there was a misunderstanding?”

Nie MingJue, “I caught him right on the spot. What misunderstandings could there be?”

Lan XiChen thought for a moment, “Judging from his words, the person whom he killed had definitely done wrong. However, he should not have taken his life either. We are in harsh times, so it is quite difficult to determine who was at fault. I wonder where he is now.”

Nie MingJue spoke in a harsh tone, “He should hope that I don’t catch him. If I do, I’ll offer him as sacrifice to my saber!”

(where's a good theresalottounpackhere.gif when you need one)

first: "without any exaggeration" is doing quite a lot of narrative work! even if we accept that what nie mingjue recounts to lan xichen broadly conforms to what wei wuxian witnessed via empathy, what wei wuxian witnessed in the first place was still nie mingjue's recollection of the events as they transpired. wei wuxian did not witness these events himself with his own eyes. sure, i trust that nie mingjue is telling the truth when he shares this information with lan xichen, but he cannot be an objective source of information for wei wuxian--and i think it is significant that wei wuxian doesn't clock this.

second: i think this is why there is an understandable impulse to respond to lan xichen's circumspection with 'hey what the fuck??' when he says 'maybe there was a misunderstanding.' because we are right in the moment alongside wei wuxian, who does not recognize his own bias. and so we end up like, what do you mean, lan xichen! nie mingjue caught meng yao red-handed! wei wuxian-via-empathy told us so! how could we misunderstand any of this when wei wuxian confirmed for us that nie mingjue did not exaggerate any of his explanation?

but lan xichen's thoughtfulness and his instinct to pause, to seek out additional clarification and understanding, are perfectly rational responses given the circumstances, and ideally what he says is something any equally rational person would say in his position. two people he has invested with a great deal of his trust and esteem are at significantly crossed purposes, and he only has one half of the story. lan xichen obviously trusts that nie mingjue is telling him the truth as he recalls it; he just understands, as wei wuxian clearly cannot, that his understanding of this situation is incomplete until he hears the other half of the story from meng yao himself.

However, as though his words turned into a prophecy, during the next few years, it was almost as if Meng Yao had suddenly disappeared, as if he had sunk like a rock into the ocean. No trace of him was left.

Now, Nie MingJue loathed him in the same manner that he had once valued him. Whenever the name was mentioned, he put on an angered face, expressing things hard to explain in speech. When he was certain that no information could be found, he refused to discuss Meng Yao with another person ever again.

i'll wrap this post up shortly because i've already written much more than i initially intended, but i just want to highlight that literal years pass between their confrontation on the langya front and their bloody reunion in nightless city. that is a long time for nie mingjue to spend "loathing [Meng Yao] in the same manner that he had once valued him"--plenty of time for resentment brought on by his sabre cultivation technique to thoroughly sink its claws into his judgment, and his wounded pride.

[inkskinned]

love when men cry about body hair bc "it's hygiene" and yet 15% of cis men leave the bathroom without washing their hands at all and an additional 35% only just wet their hands without using soap. that is nearly half of all men. that means statistically you have probably shaken hands with or been in direct contact with one of these people.

love when men say that women "only want money" when it turns out that even in equal-earning homes, women are actually adding caregiver burdens and housework from previous years, whereas men have been expanding leisure time and hobbies. in equal-earning households, men spend an average of 3.5 hours extra in leisure time per week, which is 182 hours per year - a little over a week of paid vacation time that the other partner does not receive. kinda sounds like he wants her money.

love that men have decided women are frail and weak and annoying when we scream in surprise but it turns out it's actually women who are more reliable in an emergency because men need to be convinced to actually take action and respond to the threat. like, actually, for-real: men experience such a strong sense of pride about their pre-supposed abilities that it gets them and their families killed. they are so used to dismissing women that it literally kills them.

love it. told my father this and he said there's lies, damned lies, and statistics. a year ago i tried to get him to evacuate the house during a flash flood. he ignored me and got injured. he has told me, laughing, that he never washes his hands. he has said in the last week that women are just happier when we're cooking or cleaning.

maybe i'm overly nostalgic. but it didn't used to feel so fucking bleak. it used to feel like at least a little shameful to consider women to be sheep. it just feels like the earth is round and we are still having conversations about it being flat - except these conversations are about the most obvious forms of patriarchy. like, we know about this stuff. we've known since well before the 50's.

recently andrew tate tried to justify cheating on his partner as being the "male prerogative." i don't know what the prerogative for the rest of us would be. just sitting at home, watching the slow erosion of our humanity.

[pomefioredove]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ requiem of a cringe

did something embarrassing last night and was like "I need to go crawl in a hole and die. OR I could write"

type of post: blurbs characters: cater, rook, jack, vil, idia, malleus additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral (the term "damsel in distress" is used in vil's part, but it's meant to be teasing and not indicative of the reader's gender), reader is yuu, rook is rook

I. Talks Too Much

It's not that you're trying to be annoying.

Your mouth simply moves faster than your mind, and before you know it, you've been talking for twenty uninterrupted minutes about... well... nothing.

You always notice that uncomfortable, irritated look on their face just after you're done. And then you keep rambling in an attempt to make it less awkward (it never does).

And now you're here, hiding in the hedge maze outside Heartslabyul, thinking about getting lost and never coming out of it.

Of course, if anyone were to find you now, it'd be him.

"Hey, hon~ you busy?"

"Please, not now, Cater," you mutter.

The boy stills, looking a little taken aback by how miserable you sound.

"Are you still upset about that thing at the Unbirthday Party? That was hours ago, babe! I bet no one even remembers,"

You physically cringe. The faces of your uncomfortable tablemates won't seem to leave your memory...

"I remember it," you murmur, burying your face in your hands. "I'm so annoying."

For once, Cater is quiet. A minute goes by, and you think he may have left, until you hear the grass crunching under his knees as he kneels down and pulls you into a hug.

"You are not annoying. And even if you were, it'd only make me like you more," he mutters, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"Understand?"

Your surprise at his change in tone doesn't stop you from hugging back. "Understood,"

You hadn't meant to say all of that.

You just spilled a potion you'd been working on for hours, and amidst your frustrated floor-scrubbing, you had vented about your entire week to your poor lab partner, a person you had been trying to impress all semester.

He had, gracefully, let you finish your rant, and then let you sit in it, just like the harmless potion now coating your knees as you cleaned up the floor.

Then, he awkwardly said: "That... sucks. I guess. I don't know what to say,"

There had probably never, in your whole life, been a person who looked more unhappy to be around you.

Afterwards, you found a nice spot in the woods behind campus to die.

You lie there, hoping nature would reclaim you before next alchemy class, when some purposefully loud rustling in the bushes catches your eye.

"Ah, Trickster! You really should not lie like that- a predator will take that as weakness, non? Are you injured?"

"Only my pride,"

"Talking about it will make you feel better," Rook says. It's more of a demand than a question.

You sigh. "I think I've done enough talking for... ever, actually,"

"Nonsense," he suddenly straddles your waist and pins your wrists to the earth. "I will not move until you tell me the problem, mon cœur."

You're like an animal in a snare. Once Rook has made up his mind, that's it. He will find out.

And so, with a sigh, you let him take the kill- that is, you tell him everything. Your whole, terrible week, the potion incident, the look on your lab partner's face...

When you're done, he's just. Smiling. "I see now. You are embarrassed,"

"Well... yes. You don't think that's embarrassing?"

He beams. "You are simply overflowing with beautiful emotion and passion for la vie! How could I ever find that embarrassing? You and I are not so different,"

In a weird way, that makes sense. Rook is never one to let shame hold him back from expressing his feelings.

He smiles at your pensive expression, and gives you a kiss on the head.

"Mais, next time you are upset, maybe you should come to me first, non?"

II. Clumsy

Forgetful, scatterbrained, oblivious, dimwitted are all words you've become used to hearing.

As well as a few colorful swears.

You have two left feet, even when you're not dancing- you're used to walking into walls, tripping, and dropping things- it just sucks that you have an audience now.

The first years that had gathered around the mess you made- tripping over your own feet and spilling the papers you were meant to deliver to Ace and Deuce all over the floor- are watching with grins and phones out.

You pretend they're not there, even with their taunts and whistles and laughter.

"Hey! Loitering is a waste of time!" someone barks. Literally.

You look up to see Jack moving through the crowd, scolding the other first years for blocking the hall.

When he sees you in the eye of the storm, on your hands and knees picking up your spilled papers, something upset takes his usually-stoic demeanor.

"What's the matter with you?!" he snarls at the boys. "Didn't anyone teach you any manners?! It's rude to stare- and laugh!"

His ears are flattened against his head when he kneels down beside you to help, collecting the papers, and putting them in your hands.

"Come on, we'll be late if you keep 'sittin there,"

Jack pulls you to your feet and gives one final snarl to the other first years before walking you off.

"...Thanks,"

"Eh? Don't mention it," he says. "Leona woulda had my tail if I just walked by..."

You know there's more to it than that, but you don't push. You're just happy he's forgotten to take his hand out of yours.

You can't handle being the center of attention.

For good reason, too- you're awkward, clumsy, and about the least graceful a person can get.

A true Ugly Duckling at a place like NRC. But Vil Schoenheit sees the swan in you. Perhaps that's why he's always been so patient and sweet.

It's a little distracting.

So much is obvious when he waves at you in the hall and, distracted by his smile, you walk right into a wall.

Though you can't see anything but stars after falling on your butt, the stares and snickers of everyone else are hard to miss.

Vil glares them away with a look that could kill twice over, and then stands over you as you lay on the floor.

"Come on," he says, holding out a hand. "I'll check you for concussion."

He brings you to Pomefiore and sits you down, shooing off a few curious underclassmen as he checks your pupils. "Do you feel nauseous?"

"Not really,"

"Then you'll be fine. Just a bump. You really should be more careful, though,"

You've heard that one before. Vil smiles at your dazed expression, and presses a cold compress against your head.

"This will help with the swelling,"

"Thanks," you mutter, still a little out of it. "You're my hero."

His eyebrows raise in true surprise, and then he chuckles. "And that makes you a damsel in distress?"

He doesn't give you a chance to respond before taking away the compress and kissing the red mark on your head.

"Don't think that being so cute is going to distract me. I'll make some time for lessons on poise this weekend,"

III. Unsociable

You'd think that being quiet and staying out of people's ways would get them to leave you alone, but it really just attracts more attention.

And after a grueling period of your tablemates making you the butt of every joke ("wow, I didn't know you could even talk!" "are you quiet because you hate us? come onnn, you can tell me!") you were ready to bury yourself alive.

"I don't ever want to leave," You mumble into the bundle of sheets and blankets on Idia's unmade bed.

"You could stay, y'know," Idia says from his desk, mindlessly scrolling through some gaming forum. "I should blackmail Crowley into letting you stay down here at least half the year."

"Couldn't it be the whole?"

"Nah. You need like, sunlight and stuff,"

"And you don't?!"

Idia snickers. "I'm built different. You know that. I get all my nutrients from blue light... You could at least stay for the weekend, though,"

You roll your eyes.

"...And I'll leak those normies' data. I'm sure I could get into their browser histories and have that emailed to their parents,"

Hm. You genuinely consider it for a moment, but eventually decide to give mercy. You're basically a saint.

"I think I just wanna pretend like I don't exist right now,"

Idia nods in understanding and pushes his gaming chair over to the edge of the bed, before crawling in and wrapping himself around you.

"That can be done. Pancakes tomorrow?"

Sure, there were people who talked to you, but you didn't talk back.

You just don't know how, you suppose. Every time you try, you end up saying the wrong thing, or are accidentally rude, or do something embarrassing.

You don't understand the references people make. You don't get social cues or hints. You have the social skills of an oyster.

Four months at Night Raven College, and you didn't have a single friend.

Well- except for him.

"How are you enjoying your tea?" Malleus asks, polite and curt as ever.

You take another sip- it's tangy, sweet, with a hint of bitterness. Some sort of Briar Valley blend that Malleus had imported just for you.

"I really like it,"

He smiles. "I'm pleased,"

One of the things you find so agreeable about Malleus is his simplicity. He often says exactly what he means; albeit, in a sort of 13th century Lord sort of way.

There's less stress with him. You don't have to pretend to be interesting, or outgoing, or cool. You can just be... you.

Because he likes you.

"You know," you say with a faint smile. "You're so nice to me. Sometimes I think that you're the only person I need. I could be happy with just you for the rest of my life."

You had meant that casually, but when you look back up from your cup, Malleus has this... look.

Wide-eyed, his lips pressed firmly together. There's even a dusting of color on his cheeks.

"Oh," you internally panic. Was that too much? Was that weird? Did you make things awkward again? Crap, you should have just acted normal, what's wrong with you?! "S-sorry, I-"

"Do you truly mean that?"

You go quiet, looking back at him with wide eyes. Your heart is pounding against your chest.

"...Yes,"

Malleus hums, his expression becoming more... pensive, and then...

He smiles. "I feel the same. Shall we go for a walk while the night is still young?"

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

by Lincoln Brown

Beckett Law, a religious freedom advocacy group, has taken up the cause of three Jewish students at UCLA. The students claim that in the wake of the October 7 terrorist attack on Israel, they faced mounting antisemitism, which included barring them from access to areas of the campus. The students are also represented by Clement & Murphy, PLLC.

In the lawsuit, Frankel v. The Regents of the University of California, the plaintiffs claim that pro-Hamas/anti-Israel protesters set up barricades on the Los Angeles campus, effectively creating a "Jewish Exclusion Zone." Beckett Law states that after creating the encampment, protesters not only constructed barriers but also linked arms to prevent Jewish students from accessing the most popular areas on campus. They also imposed an ideological test, and those whose views were deemed to be sufficiently anti-Israel were issued wristbands and allowed to pass unmolested through the "checkpoints."  

By contrast, Beckett law says that Jewish students were harassed and even assaulted. Law student Yitzchok Frankel was forced to find other ways to reach his classes because his route was blocked by the exclusion zone. Sophomore Joshua Ghayoum could not attend classes or study sessions because of the zone and the antisemitic activities on campus. Additionally, he was forced to listen to chants of "death to the Jews" and "death to Israel." Eden Shemuelian had trouble getting to her final exams because of the zones and had to listen to the vitriol from the encampment as she tried to study. These, said Beckett Law, are just three examples of the problems faced by Jewish students at UCLA.

Mark Rienzi, president and CEO of Becket, stated:

If masked agitators had excluded any other marginalized group at UCLA, Governor Newsom rightly would have sent in the National Guard immediately. But UCLA instead caved to the anti-Semitic activists and allowed its Jewish students to be segregated from the heart of their own campus. That is a profound and illegal failure of leadership. This is America in 2024—not Germany in 1939. It is disgusting that an elite American university would let itself devolve into a hotbed of antisemitism. UCLA’s administration should have to answer for allowing the Jew Exclusion Zone and promise that Jews will never again be segregated on campus.

The suit notes:

Defendants have deprived Plaintiffs of the free exercise and enjoyment of religion without discrimination or preference, as secured by the California Constitution, through a policy and practice that treats Plaintiffs differently than similarly situated non-Jewish individuals because Plaintiffs are Jewish.

Defendants furthered no legitimate or compelling state interest by engaging in this conduct.

Defendants failed to tailor their actions narrowly to serve any such interest.

As a result of Defendants’ actions, Plaintiffs have been injured by losing access to educational opportunities, losing access to library and classroom facilities, losing in-person learning opportunities, losing the ability to prepare for exams, being denied equal participation in the life of the university, suffering emotional and physical stress that has diverted time, attention, and focus from study, and by other harms.

In addition to seeking compensation for damages, the primary goal of the lawsuit is to hold the leadership of the University of California accountable and ensure that such a situation never arises again.

As usual, "never again" is here and now. The fact that these "students" take a great deal of pride in slinging the term "Nazi" at anyone with which they disagree yet use tactics that echo those of the Third Reich is ironic and chilling. But their savage nature can be attributed, at least in part, to those who educated them. 

Given that, one must ask if the regents of the University of California were merely caving to mob pressure. Did they turn a blind eye to the madness out of fear or because of the optics? Ideally, there should be nothing wrong with discussing the war and even debating whether or not Israel's response to the Hamas attack has been proportionate. 

The regents, president, vice-president, and chancellors never stopped to think, "Gee, it seems to be getting awfully brownshirty around here." And if they did, they were too cowardly or indoctrinated to say a word.

[fictitious-obsession]

BigBro Dick Grayson with Little Sibling Vigilante Reader Headcanons

I have not done a sibling relationship one yet and really wanted to. Hope you enjoy! Here is my masterlist for more. ~ Anya

When you were brought in by Bruce into the Batfam, he immediately had a soft spot for you.

Training sessions with him are calculated, but not as grueling as with some of the others.  He lets you pick what to work on, but does try to make it more fun.

After training snack stops are a MUST.  Anything from ice cream to sweets to chips to smoothies. He’ll take you after a good workout or training

Patrols can be both fun and frustrating. He will be overprotective, but try to crack jokes on a boring night.

He is responsible as much as he is fun, so when he sees you focused on the patrols or missions, he takes pride in that.

He is well aware that you can fight and kick ass on your own and won’t cut in to take that from you. He really only gets in the way if he feels like you are in danger or at a high risk.

If you get into an argument or fight with one of the other Batfam members, he lends an ear and tries to calm you down.

He knows your body language well and goes out of his way to check if you are okay or give you your favorite things to cheer you up.

He definitely builds blanket forts for him, you, and the other siblings. Full of lights, pillows, and lo-fi music.

When he moves to Blüdhaven, you are welcome to stay with him whenever you want. He is a phone call away, no matter what.

For major events in your life, he is there for you. From a prom night, to your 21st birthday, to bringing your partner over for the first time, he is there as your hype man.

When it comes to romantic advice, he’s a bit of an over-sharer, but he wants you to be happy and not be heartbroken by some jerk. He’ll give you his perspective and red and green flags.

In addition to relationship chats, he loves to hear about your crushes and/or partner.  Seeing you so passionate about someone is adorable and raw to him. He also takes it as a sign of trust.

When you get sick, he goes full mother-hen mode with Bruce and Alfred to take care of you. He will overreact, but it’s out of love

Same goes for if you are injured while on patrol. He goes into first aid mode and fusses over getting everything for you.

He is the dad of the group when it comes to snacks and feeding you. You will not go hungry with him around.

But he isn’t always fun and games. If you are getting too rowdy or rough, he will make sure to let you know.

When a plan of attack is in motion, he watches over you to be sure you do it right and safely.

He does not tolerate separating from the core values of the Batfam, but will not be as harsh as some of the other members.

If you are one of the vigilantes that takes more to violence or killing, he will show disapproval, but not hold it against you outside of the costume.

Overall, he cares for you a lot and will look after you, while still respecting your space and choices. A good big bro.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Hope you liked it. :) Feel free to read more or make requests. ~ Anya

[moonselune]

Scratch me up!

My inbox ate the ask :(

Here are some of the BG3 boys reacting to the marks they left on your back from your prior night of passion

Raphael:

You stand in front of the mirror, inspecting the fresh, deep red scratches running down your back. Serving as a testament to the previous night's passionate encounter with Raphael, you were glad that only your back was visibly injured. He emerges from behind, his presence as overwhelming as always, and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you back against his chest.A smirk plays on his lips as he catches sight of the marks he's left.

"My my, look at that," he murmurs, his voice dripping with pride and possessiveness, as he kisses up your neck. "Such beautiful marks, don't you think?"

You shiver as his fingers trace the scratches, each touch sending a fresh wave of heat through your body. "Raphael, they're quite… noticeable," you say, trying to sound nonchalant despite the blush creeping up your cheeks.

He chuckles, the sound deep and resonant. "And they should be. They are a sign of my claim on you, a reminder of the pleasure we shared. I quite like the way they look on you, a canvas of our love." His hands roam lower, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Perhaps we should add a few more.."

There was no question in his words, and you knew him well enough to know that really it was an assurance. It made your pulse quicken and you leaned into his touch, allowing him to ravish you once more.

Rolan:

Rolan notices the scratches on your back as you get dressed, the morning light filtering into the room and casting a soft glow over your skin. He approaches you, a mix of concern and amusement in his eyes.

"Those look… intense," he says, lightly touching the marks. His tone is apologetic, but there's a glint in his eye that suggests he's not entirely remorseful. "I'm sorry if I got a bit carried away."

You turn to face him, a wry smile on your lips as you cross your arms. "You don’t sound very sorry, Rolan."

"Oh how dare you, accuse me of such a- okay you got me," He quickly gives up his mock offence, a playful grin spreading across his face. You pout and start to walk away from him, but he quickly wraps his tail around your ankle and yanks you back, you tumble back into his arms and look up at him with a light scowl.

"I have to admit, that maybe I am not sorry and maybe it is because I like seeing those marks on you," he pulls you in closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as he rests his head on your shoulder, "I think they suit you."

You roll your eyes but before you could retort with a witty remark, Rolan occupied your lips with his, and his tail began to curl up your thigh and you warmed, smiling into the kiss. It seemed that Rolan was planning to make some additions to your scratched up back.

Wyll:

Wyll's eyes widen when he sees the scratches on your back as you stretch, the morning sun highlighting every mark. Concern etches his features, and he immediately approaches you, his hands gently brushing over the reddened lines.

"Did I do this?" he asks, his voice filled with genuine worry. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you."

You turn to him, seeing the genuine concern in his eyes and let out a light laugh. "It's okay, Wyll. It happened in the heat of the moment. It didn't hurt, not really."

He sighs, still looking troubled. "I never want to hurt you, even unintentionally." His fingers continue to trace the marks, a mix of regret and fascination in his touch. You can tell he has something else to say but he's afraid to say it, afraid to admit to it.

"Come on, beloved, use your words.." You lightly teased as you leaned back towards him. Wyll pouted slightly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"But… I have to admit, they look… kind of good on you."

"You little freak!" You turn and point your finger at him in accusation and Wyll flinches, raising his hands in surrender.

"Hey! I-"

"-I jest my love, I think they look good too." You teased, gathering his hands in yours and leaning towards him, peppering his face with a bout of kisses. A blush forms across his cheeks but he allows your apologetic assault.

"You are cruel, sometimes you know that don't you?" Wyll sighed, with an exasperated smile on his lips. You kiss him again, wrapping your arms around his waist.

"I know you, but you love me."

"Unfortunately."

"Hey!"

I love love love writing these, hope y'all enjoyed it ! - Seluney xx

[imagining-in-the-margins]

🌈 CM Pride Fics ❤️

Hey everyone! Thank you so much to everyone who participated. I am so happy to share everyone’s hard work. If you have a oneshot or masterlist you’d like me to add, please send me a message - new additions are always welcome.

First, check out @blackbird-brewster's 🌈 Masterlist of Entries☀️: This lovely prolific writer has entered several fics, which include Jemily, Temily, Jara, and Je T’Emily fics! Check out their page for even more!

WLW Entries

Out Loud [Ao3] by @gaelic-symphony: [Gen] A series of short fics about Emily Prentiss coming out to each member of the BAU team.

Freedom-Seeking Hearts by @foxy-eva: [Emily/Reader] For how much longer will Emily and Reader be able to contain their freedom-seeking hearts?

Say Something by @mismatched-sockss: [Emily/Reader] Reader and Emily have been seeing each other for a while now but she can't keep being her secret.

Dress by @railingsofsorrow: [Emily/Reader] Reader is dressed in red, and Emily has a hard time wrapping her mind around the fact she wants to kiss her senseless. 

11:11 by @emberfrostlovesloki: [Emily/Reader] Penelope and Derek play matchmaker after Emily meets Reader, who’s allegedly off the market.

Bailed Out by @snixkers: [Elle/Reader] Elle has a crush on Reader. Elle doesn't want to.

Soft & Sweet by @foxy-eva: [Jara, NSFW] A confession between Tara and JJ leads to a night full of soft and sweet moments

Red Wine Supernova by @snixkers: [Emily/Reader, NSFW] Reader teases Emily at a party and she decides she's had enough.

MLM Entries

Bi the Way by me: [S.R./Reader] Derek learns something very interesting about Spencer after he leaves his bag at his significant other’s house.

For There is Danger in Our Pining by @andiebeaword: [S.R./Reader] Spencer is falling for his new library pen pal. Spencer also has a blind date.

Happy Hydrangea by me: [S.R./TransMan!Reader] JJ is corrected in finding out Spencer has had a boyfriend for a while now.

Off the Top by me: [S.R./TransMan!Reader] Spencer is driving his boyfriend crazy after his top surgery.

The Calamity by @masterwords: [Hotchgan] A series dedicated to HIV/AIDS and how it has touched the lives of Morgan and Hotch (Morgan is HIV+).

Assorted Entries

Like Father, Like You by me: [S.R., Child!Reader] In which Spencer’s child comes out as not-straight.

Pair of Aces by me: [S.R./Reader, Asexual] Reader decides to share something with the team this Pride Month.

(In)visible by @foxy-eva: [S.R./Fem!Reader, Bisexual] There are a lot of obstacles for Reader as a queer woman, but she never thought falling in love with a man was one of them.

Proof of Concept? by @mimicdive: [S.R./AFAB!Reader, Bisexual] Reader feels insecure in their sexuality and Spencer offers validation.

Teacher's Pet by @emberfrostlovesloki: [Ally!Reader/Hotch] Jack’s teacher gets injured during the school day keeping her students safe, so Hotch goes to check on her that evening.

Euphoria by @blackbird-brewster: [Trans!JJ/Tara, NSFW] Jay recently came out as trans, but he still doesn't feel like the man he wants the world to know. His girlfriend, Tara, knows exactly how to help.

Fireworks by @blackbird-brewster: [Trans!JJ/Tara, NSFW] Tara gives her husband, Jay, a blow-job and a New Year's Eve he'll never forget.

Happy Reading!

P.S. If I missed your fic or you have a new one to add, feel free to send me a message. I would love to add it!

[humanitys-strongest-bamf]

#LeviWeek24 | Day 3 - Military + Enemies to Lovers

✧ word count ➼ ~1.3k ✧ notes ➼ canonverse, scout!reader, minor depiction of injury, fem!reader, my attempt to fit enemies to lovers in a oneshot

The Underground was filled with thieves and criminals. If someone were to get lost and end up in the Underground, they'd have a very hard time leaving intact—or so you've heard.

You had never visited yourself, and had never planned to, so you only ever heard negative things about it and the people that lived there. While a part of you knew that a large part of your beliefs was due to stigma, you also never really had a reason to sit down and think about it.

That is, until Levi and his friends were pulled into the Survey Corps.

Erwin had his reasons, and you understood them, but that didn't mean you liked it. You strayed far, far away from those three.

Even after Farlan and Isabel were killed by the Titan, you still found yourself avoiding Levi. You weren't as hard on him, knowing that he just lost his family and was grieving, but you still preferred to not be anywhere near him.

However, as of right now, you had little choice.

You had been unlucky and was ambushed by an abberant, with your gear malfunctioning and jamming up right as you were escaping. You were injured and limping, barely able to walk on your own two feet. You had thought everything was going to end until you were suddenly swept up into the air, with a dark, deep green color filling your field of vision.

You immediately knew it was someone from the Survey Corps, but you were not expecting it to be Levi Ackerman. You had been nothing but an asshole to him, yet here he was, having gone out of his way to save you after everyone else had left you behind.

"Would you quit squirming?"

"Would you quit being so rough?" you hissed as Levi bandaged up the wound on your side that you sustained as you were on the run.

You only made eye contact with Levi for a brief moment before he resumed his work, stitching up your wound and bandaging it up. It was difficult to believe that Levi was the one to save you, especially given the fact about how much of a dick you've been to him from the very start.

"Can you walk?" Levi asked as he began to stand after finishing up your dressing.

You slowly began to stand, but felt the pain shoot through your ribs the minute you leaned onto that side, which sent you toppling towards the ground.

Levi caught you last minute to keep you from worsening your injury. You looked up at him and found your face heating up from the close proximity. His scent was captivating—a mix of an earthy, wooden aroma combined with the soap that they offered back at base. That, in addition to how attractive he actually looked led to you fantasizing about him in ways you'd never admit to.

You cleared your throat, slightly shaking your head as you tried to reorient yourself back to reality.

"…guess not."

Levi cursed underneath his breath at the situation you found yourself in. "Will be difficult getting back to the Wall at this rate."

Your gear was broken and sitting around waiting for any backup wasn't practical either.

"Get on my back."

"Excuse me?" you asked, blinking at him in surprise at the sudden request.

"You heard me. I have just enough gas to get us to the Wall."

"What?!" you responded, finding yourself flustered. "I am not going to get carried back to the Walls by you like some princess-"

"So you'd rather wait to get eaten out here?" Levi interrupted, starting to get irritated by how stubborn you were being.

You were able to recognize that you were indeed being irrational and holding onto a sense of pride that would only get you killed.

"…surprised you'd be able to carry us both, given how small you are."

Levi responded with an unamused look, his eyebrows slightly furrowing in annoyance.

"I'll manage. Now let's go."

You grumbled some smartass comment underneath your breath, but otherwise awkwardly wrapped your arms around his shoulders as he boosted you onto his back. He was actually really comfortable to lean on, although you'd never admit it aloud.

Thinking back upon your history with Levi, you realized how harsh you had been with him. On top of avoiding him, you'd also throw unsolicited comments criticizing his flying and fighting techniques, although you couldn't deny their effectiveness despite not being what you were taught. It was like you made it your life mission to piss him off.

Your heart ached as you glanced at him once he flew up into the air, weaving through the trees gracefully despite the added weight from carrying you.

Barely any time had passed since he began zooming towards the Wall. You had arrived within the blink of an eye. It made you feel silly that you ever tried to critique his flying skills.

Levi set you down, taking a step back while offering to let you lean against him due to your injury. You wrapped one arm around the back of his neck while he wrapped his around your waist to steady you.

"…why'd you come for me?" you asked quietly as the two of you made your slow trek towards the infirmary.

Levi's eyes quickly glanced down towards you, his eyebrows furrowing together as he tried to piece together why you would ask such a thing.

"Everyone was basically back at the Wall," you continued, sensing his hesitation. "I was the one that chose to go back. Why'd you follow after me?"

You knew that with how far out you were, Levi would have had to make the deliberate choice of going after you. The chances of just running into him by coincidence were slim to none.

There was a long period of silence, with the only noise being your unsteady footsteps against the uneven gravel.

"…didn't want to lose anyone else," he eventually muttered quietly, looking straight ahead as he helped you navigate the terrain. "Even if you're a pain in the ass."

You felt your breath catch in your throat and your face slightly heating up upon hearing his words. You've worked together a few times, although you've always had a reluctant attitude throughout it. Despite being offput by him initially, you couldn't deny that unexpected interactions with him always went much smoother than you were willing to acknowledge. The two of you clicked well, even if those exchanges using ended up with you insulting him, and Levi refusing to acknowledge your existence or capacities as a soldier.

"…I see."

You could only muster up the courage to mutter those two words, feeling increasingly distressed about these newfound realizations and emotions. on top of that, you also didn't want to come up with a smartass comment because you knew he was grieving. You'd just end up being a dick.

His grip loosened once you stepped foot into the infirmary, backing away to give the medics space to examine you. He gave you a slight nod of acknowledgement, hesitating as if he was struggling to find the right words to follow-up with.

"…don't let me catch you falling on your ass again," he finally said dismissively.

While the comment would have pissed you off a few hours ago, you shot him a subtle smile in response. You've already known for a while, but he was nothing like the person you initially thought he was. Now, you were willing to give him a chance.

"As you wish, Captain."

#: @chaotic-on-main @levisbrat25 @moonmalice @averysmolbear @cathybarn @tclbts @bejewelledd @sad-darksoul @ackermendick @aomi04 @apolloshaiku @laraackerman @pulpolicia @raenacreates @nube55 @roseofdarknessblog @noctemys @sixpennydame @heichoucleanfreak @catskze @nixie-writes-aot @darkstarlight82 @professorweezy @braunsbabe @lovedbylevi @captainleviswifee @mrsmiagreer @youre-ackermine @starrylevi @levis-squishy-cheeks @deepzombieyouth @evas-leslas @ackrmntea @tobbi-loves-levi @humanitys-strongest-brat @thechaoticarchivist join my taglist!

[notsoattractivearenti]

I'm All Yours (Mason Mount x Fem!Reader) 🔞

WC: 1.2K

Warnings: SMUT, oral sex (m receiving), curse and vulgar words. MINORS DNI

A/N: i think we all know why i wrote this one 🫣🤭 this was meant to be a fluff but somehow i started to write smutty lines and there was no turning back lmao blame mason. yes this is short, not proofread and i'm not good at writing smut btw so apologies in advance if this isn't decent 🫣 tho i hope you guys enjoy and i’d love to hear your thoughts thru ask/reply/reblog 🫶🏻 apologies for any errors! feedbacks are highly appreciated 🤍

–

After 5 weeks out because of the injury he picked up at the Spurs game in August, Mason was finally back on the field for a game against Crystal Palace for the EFL Cup. Throughout the recovery process, he was very determined to heal and get better than before because he didn’t like being away from the pitch for so long. All he wants is to give the new club and the fans the best performance – and getting injured was really upsetting for him, but he didn’t want to let it mess with his head. During his comeback game, he played really well during the first half before getting subbed off – he even did an assist from a corner kick which was perfectly finished by Casemiro with a header goal. Watching how he had gained his confidence back after injury and got to prove that he is a deserving addition to the team – unlike what some people said – made you feel even prouder than you’ve ever been of him.

When he went home after the game, he couldn’t stop telling you how good it felt to go back and win. He was also very happy he was able to make an assist, though he is now aiming for at least one goal for the next game.

“You know, Mase, the fans were very happy with how you played,” you told him with pride, “I’m delighted that you’re back, you were amazing.”

“Thank you, my love, I’ll keep trying to deliver. I’m going to give the best I can. For the fans, and most importantly you.” He smiled.

–

Little did the fans know, he had an advertisement video with Nike Underwear – which had been prepared from a while ago – and now ready to be posted. After the incredible game he just had the day before, uploading the video felt like perfectly timed to treat his fans. 

You weren’t present on the set when Mason and the Nike team shot the video, but you saw the pictures he had on his phone – for your benefit, he said teasingly. Since the first time he showed you those pictures, you couldn’t keep your eyes off of his phone. You slowly and carefully checked them out one by one, zoomed them in and out because you didn’t want to miss every little detail. 

“Fuck…” you panted.

“Mason… These are… Insanely hot.”

He was sitting next to you and noticed how your pupils were dilated, your breathing became heavy, and how you kept biting your lip – you were basically drooling over his pictures and he was really satisfied by your reaction.

“Uh, baby, you good?” He asked as he grinned cheekily.

“What?” You glanced at him for a second. “Oh, I...”

You couldn’t even finish your sentence. Those pictures just made you speechless – that man drove you crazy. And before you know it, you were feeling all hot and heavy and your pussy was dripping wet.

“Baby, I’m gonna need a minute…” You whimpered. “Now all that I think about is how bad I want to suck your dick and have your cum in my mouth. Thanks a lot, fucker.”

“Well…” he kissed your neck, then whispered in your ear, “I would very much love that.”

You looked at him and tried to make sure he really wanted you to give him a head. He assured you by unbuttoning his pants and pulled them down.

“Whenever you’re ready, Y/N.” 

You kissed him on the lips and immediately kneeled between his legs and started by rubbing his massive bulge to build up the arousal. Mason still had his boxers on, and when you felt his bulge became harder, you gently pulled them down.

The second his boxers came off, his dick was already fully erect and you couldn’t wait to have it inside your mouth. You started by spat on his hard dick and stroked it up and down. As your hand moved all over his dick, he bit his lip and let out a few moans.

“Mmm… Fuck… That feels good…”

You kept stroking and gave his dick tight squeezes a few times too.

“Y/N… Stop teasing, please…” He growled.

“Tell me what you want now, baby.”

“I want my cock… Inside your fucking mouth…” He begged.

You began by licking his dick up and down for a short while, then swirling your tongue on the tip. His breath hitched – the way your tongue felt around the head made his heart pound and he was feeling all flushed. You dipped your tongue into his slit, and he clenched both his fists and thighs. 

“Ohhh… F-f-fuck…” He panted.

With your hand still stroking, you slowly put his dick deep into your mouth. You started moving up and down at a slow pace, and gradually changed your pace. As you engulfed his dick within your sloppy mouth, he gripped your hair and you were making eye contact with him which he loves so much – he always thinks the eye contact made the action a lot sexier and he isn’t wrong.

“Don’t stop, baby…” He bit back a moan.

The faster and deeper you went, the more intense the waves of pleasure he had. When you moaned, he could feel the vibration coming from your throat and it gave a sexy touch.

“Y/N…”  he murmured, “I’m fucking close…”

The moment you heard him you sucked faster than before and his body began to shiver. He squeezed his eyes shut, soaking the pleasure in.

“Yeah, cum in my mouth.”

“I’m about to cu- ohhh…”

Suddenly, time stopped ticking and his vision faded to black. An explosion of pure bliss just hit and left him breathless. At that moment, he filled your mouth with his cum for you to swallow.

He lied on the bed and was breathing heavily, unable to speak even a word.

“Good fuck, Y/N,” he exhaled, “that was amazing.”

You got up and smiled, now about to clean up. “Mmhmm.”

As you cleaned up, you playfully asked him, “Mase, have you eaten a lot of fruits lately?”

He laughed. “Yeah, I think I have. Tasted sweet, didn’t it?”

You licked your lips – which were still covered with his cum – and nodded in agreement. “Love it.”

–

When the advertisement video was ready, he showed it to you before it got uploaded.

“Woah, you’re going to post this with no warning?” You jokingly asked.

“Yeah, no… Why?” He was confused for a moment.

“Mase, you do know how people are going to react, right? You’re literally wearing nothing but underwear and they can see your bulge? They’re going to go crazy, my love.”

He finally understood why and chuckled.

“Oh baby… I surely don’t mind.” He winked.

“Ugh, please.” You playfully rolled your eyes.

“Hey, don’t worry,” he stood in front of you and gently lifted up your chin, “you are the only one who gets to see and experience the whole show whenever you want to.”

He gave you little kisses starting from your forehead, nose, cheeks then a big one on your lips.

“Just so you know,” he added, “I’m all yours, Y/N.”

You blushed and laughed when you heard him say what he said. 

“Mmm… Lucky me.”

–

taglist: @pulisicsgirl @neverinadream @swimmingismywholelife @chilwellspulisic @bracedes @lovelynikol16 @thoseboysinblue @lizzypotter14 @masonsrem @landoslover

[cenorii]

In 2021, dirty secrets about the use of bioweapons are revealed inside BSAA + there are direct hints in Umbrella Corps that Wesker is alive. I just combine the two puzzle pieces together in my head. So let's look at another interesting post-2009 scenario.

AU - ELEGY OF FREE RADICALS

Chris was once careless about eliminating Wesker. Knowing his nature, he still didn't check Wesker's presumed place of death properly. Relying on his own luck, Chris left the place of battle and never returned there. But he had to go back. It has become his mistake.

Chris reported the scene of the victory to the BSAA. Rotten BSAA could have used that data in any way they wanted. Like going back there and checking out the volcano. They could have indicated on the documents that they were headed to clear the area of the remnants of Uroboros, but in fact to search for Wesker's remains to get rich off the sale and study of his unique biomaterial. But what they didn't expect was to find him alive. Badly injured, helpless, but somehow alive.

Taking advantage of the weakness of the still living organism, he was taken to the secret laboratory of the headquarters. Now Wesker could be under the supervision of BSAA scientists for a very long time. He's much more useful alive than dead. His knowledge, skills, all of it could be utilized. And it was also possible to conduct endless experiments on his unusual body... Testing the limits of his abilities, testing various poisons, looking at the lethality of their new weapons, and etc. He was once again a puppet, as he had once been in Spencer's hands, from which he had miraculously escaped.

The BSAA kept Wesker's abilities under strict control, he was trivially stripped of any PG67A/W injections, replaced with an alternative that was only necessary for his body to regenerate damage after the battle in the volcano, but didn't provide any additional benefits. So he would remain weak but healthy.

Another remedy was also applied to him, eliminating the consequences of merging with the Uroboros, which modified his body in a volcano. It was discovered in 2011, after the events of Revelations 2. It was rude to call it just a serum, it was something more, because it did not remove the virus itself from the body, but brought it into a more stable form, allowing Wesker to take his ordinary appearance. With him, in this form, it became easier for employees to work.

The BSAA restored Wesker, stripped of his strength, any dignity, as well as his freedom. He was bedridden for several years and various weapons were tested on him, then recorded how his body reacted and at what rate it recovered. An immobilized lab rat, a deserved punishment for someone like him? Perhaps. It was thanks to his "sacrifice" that the anti-regeneration weapon was invented, which had once come in handy for Chris in the battle against Mold.

Just think… how many things could the BSAA have invented using the infinite resources of Wesker's body? He was terrified of these thoughts. Terror at the realization that he had no chance of escape, that he was trapped here forever, that he would continue to have his organs taken out of him and be forced into endless pain. He reflected that he hadn't actually managed to do so many contradictory things to deserve eternal torment. And it's better to let him die than to endure this hell. But his own body played a cruel joke without dying. It was an expert on regeneration. His pride was trampled when he begged for death.

BSAA absolutely did not spend any painkillers and sleeping pills on Wesker, absolutely all experiments were carried out when he was conscious. They had already spent a lot of money on him during his recovery, it was a waste to spend even more on someone who could repair any of his damage.

Pain and terror haunted him for six years. He cursed what he used to idolize in himself.

And then he was forced to work for them. In 6 years he had grown accustomed to the constant pain and had already learned to see himself as nothing, sending his consciousness into free floating. Deep in his thoughts, he created a place where he learned to ignore the endless physical torment. But when he was put on his feet and pulled out of this place… Wesker was even more devastated.

It was unusual for him to suddenly return to normal work, all this created a mess in his head, reality seemed to be nonsense. The usual paperwork after hell? Are you kidding me?!

Morally, he was destroyed. His psyche was severely damaged. Wesker from the "torture room" was locked in a cell that looked like a combination of a room and a laboratory. For fear of being put back on the operating table again, he dutifully began to work and develop various things that BSAA would use in the future. But it wasn't life either. Weakened body, lack of abilities... he wanted to die, but he couldn't afford it, because he was practically immortal. Although, even if he used a weapon that stops regeneration on himself... he still wouldn't kill himself.

«Not here»

«Not like this»

At times he thought he was balancing on the fine line between normalcy and insanity. He saw people at best once every two weeks who came to check on his work and were not at all talkative. Wesker had always been convinced he didn't need company, but 12 years without socializing had made him question his beliefs.

Once a month he was provided with food, and then carelessly, because he didn't need food. His body, experiencing hunger, could devour itself and regenerate immediately.

The only reason he was given a room and released from the operating table was because the organization wanted to see what he could offer them. Of course, they didn't stop studying his unusual body and conducting experiments, but Wesker was already in charge of the process himself. Independently amputated his limbs and so on. Only closer to 2019 were these experiments stopped, because they had extracted all possible benefits from his body.

Wesker remotely, horrified, realized that thanks to his body he would live much longer than the average person, if not forever. Which led him to believe that he would be kept in this cage for centuries. BSAA would close, others would take their place, find him, torture him again. And so on in a circle, for all eternity, as long as human society and greed existed. This had to end... but how? A plan was needed, a complex one that could not be unraveled.

His life and existence was a BSAA mystery from 2009-2021. For 12 long years he was not allowed out of the walls of this cell.

Of course he wanted to escape, he had many unrealistic thoughts in his head about it. He was also interested in meeting Chris, aged, changed. To see his reaction, genuine shock rather than the anger he'd reacted to Wesker's earlier 'resurrections'. Is Chris even still alive today? What year is it now?

But this life couldn't go on forever, the BSAA was cracking at the seams. In 2021 it was revealed that they were using B.O.W. soldiers, something Chris couldn't ignore. So he headed over to European headquarters to deal with it - right where his nemesis was located, a complete headache. Chris couldn't accept that his organization, which was fighting biological weapons, would use them. It didn't fit in his head. He had long ago stopped trusting the BSAA, but this was the last straw.

Arriving there, Chris did not expect to meet someone in the basement laboratories whom he had buried a long time ago.

What was he going to do with him? Shoot him in the head without any thought? That would have been logical and in Redfield's character, but over the years he'd stopped being a complete hothead, learned to think first and then act. Gained a little equanimity.

It will turn out that it was Wesker who was involved in the creation of the B.O.W. in BSAA. Especially since these soldiers are improved clones of Chris himself. Who else could have come up with such an idea? Only to a man who thought Chris was "one of his best men".

For the past 6 years, Wesker has been forced to be an advisor to BSAA, sharing all the knowledge and ideas. He might have been able to pull it all off, if only to get back at that organization, turning Chris' anger on it, and turning his attention to himself at the same time. After all, only this "one of his best men" was the only one who could save him. Yes, Wesker was pathetic. He felt he wasn't even worthy of his former name, being so pathetic as to enlist the help of his enemy. But it was the only option. There was no more talk of pride.

However, it didn't matter now, Chris had come here to punish the founders, so their prisoner, their chief counselor, might prove to be the best informant. And an ally.

Natural intuition made Chris believe his former enemy, the biggest manipulator of them all. As if he was definitely not lying now, because he was in such a big asshole that he couldn't let his words sound unconvincing. Earlier, Chris would have easily recognized his lies, but not now. Right now, completely honest and dull eyes were looking at him from beneath translucent glasses. So damn pitiful that Chris automatically assumed the role of the hero rescuing the damsel in distress.

Chris was quickly combine the information together in his head: the situation, the physique, the setting... His opponent had been held hostage by his own ambition, it couldn't help but bring a smile to Redfield's face. But he hid it in his thoughts, because he deemed it inappropriate once he read Wesker's imprisonment papers. Chris had some free time to devote to the situation.

He read about what had been done to Wesker. About all the torture. And Redfield clutched his head, when he got to the description of his ammunition that he'd used against Mold a couple years ago. He was terrified that this weapon had been created in such a gruesome way... through the suffering of his enemy, who, even considering all his guilt, didn't deserve all this. Chris felt that Wesker should have died and rid the world of himself rather than suffer endlessly. Even for him, he thought it was inhumane.

The first thing Wesker said to Chris was: - Now you've taken on the role of captain of the «alpha» too. This jabbed Chris slightly, but he noticed how the hostage said it without malice. Redfield involuntarily remembered 1998, the mansion, the betrayal, the deaths of the Alpha and Bravo group...

The compartment Wesker was in was to him both an office and a laboratory, and a room. A kind of prison, which he could not leave on his own because of his weak physical condition. He was weakened by the daily injections putting his viruses inside his body to sleep.

Releasing him and examining him at arm's length, Chris made sure that in the state Wesker was in now, he posed no danger, just an ordinary disgust. He resembled only a pale copy of his former self.

The BSAA operative dragged him carelessly behind him like some sack of garbage, concerned only with keeping the information in his head intact. But in his mind Chris still held images of what the BSAA bastards were doing here to Wesker. He didn't want to feel sorry for him, but he couldn't control it, Redfield had never been heartless. Initially he had only cared about information, but it wasn't long before he didn't even notice how protective he had become of him. As if a friend, which in truth, he never was. His captive's behavior was different from what Chris remembered. It was different, like a throwback to the past. Perhaps 12 years of imprisonment had had that effect on him.

He was docile, which wasn't surprising, since Wesker had been treated like an object by the organization, and the operating table had been a good teaching moment. Chris couldn't believe that after so many years of hell his former enemy's mind was still intact, that he hadn't lost his mind and was capable of dialog.

Time passed unnoticed during the proceedings with the BSAA about B.O.W., eventually the organization was destroyed and all its equipment, along with Chris's squad, transferred to TerraSave.

Chris during all of this had to sign Wesker into the Hound Wolf Squad as either a prisoner or an advisor. To keep him from getting shut down again, that was the deal. He helps them, they help him. Over time, he was getting back to normal. The food and good company had done their job.

However, Chris didn't know that his new ally hadn't lost all of his strength, and the ones he had were sleeping under the influence of the medicament. But time passed, the medicament slowly stopped working without new doses, and Wesker understood it perfectly well. And felt it. It didn't affect his appearance, so he could play his role for as long as he wanted. But was it a role? Sure he was portraying a courtesy that annoyed Chris to the point of nausea, but it was partially sincere. Having broken with his past at the fault of the BSAA, Wesker could only hope to find a new purpose. After all, as Spencer had raised him, there is no life without purpose.

Therefore, was it so necessary for him to betray Hound Wolf Squad? Would it be beneficial to him? Chris is a strong point. He has no doubt that if he kills Redfield - another will take his place, and will definitely get him into the basement wheel of samsara. So Wesker had no grand plans yet. After all, any of them would be doomed to failure as long as there was anyone in the world capable of resisting.

But Chris risked to give him a goal, which, however, called impossible - to become the best version of himself. To help the Hound Wolf Squad, to work with TerraSave, to use his knowledge for something other than endless failed experiments. Stop being Spencer's failed experiment. The only option Chris would give him a chance at.

Those words stuck in Wesker's head for a long time. Mentioning the old man was like a low blow. Chris knew where it hurt the most.

It had been several years since Wesker had joined Redfield's team. All that time he'd been hiding his abilities so as not to lose the fragile trust in his person. But the truth couldn't help but surface one day....

On one of the missions connected with B.O.W., the blade of an exploding helicopter blew off Wesker's head, and then another piece of debris cut his body in half.

But he didn't die.

Chris was enraged. With resentment, he felt cheated. What else could he have expected?

First, the black mass connected the body, restoring functionality to it, and then this silent carcass picked up the head. It was slow. It looked helpless and creepy. Chris's squad was on edge, but he ordered to wait. The black substance emerged from the base of the neck and attached the head to itself, then the calm expression on the reanimated head changed to horror. Was he in unbearable pain from the newly received oxygen? Or from the fusion of tendons?

When Wesker recovered, he couldn't at first think of a response to Chris' "explain yourself!"

Everyone's fragile trust collapsed, but not Redfield's, for he knew that if his former adversary had wanted to betray him, he would have betrayed him long ago, he wouldn't have let himself be so ridiculously exposed. Especially after all the torture he'd endured. Chris could understand why Wesker was hiding his powers. Redfield had stepped on the same rake of trust again, convincing himself that he had everything under control.

Wesker, ever since the prototype had merged with Uroboros in his body, had acquired a number of flaws, chief among them an unbearable sensitivity to pain. The only time he could not feel pain was when he was BSAA injected with force restraining drugs. But without them, all the disadvantages came out.

Whereas before he could recover from any wound without feeling anything but minor damage, now the pain was so obvious that every regeneration was accompanied by agony. Especially if it was a burn, for heat is a major weakness for Uroboros. The healing places on his body, after that helicopter situation, hurt like hell.

He was closer to human now than he had been before, and Chris seemed to realize that. That was why he hadn't killed him a second time, but had accepted him back into his squad. It was not only a gesture of goodwill, but also a precaution, a way to keep a dangerous object as close to him as possible so he wouldn't do anything.

How long will they have to cut off the heads of hydra in the face of the creators of bioweapons?

- Why do you trust me, Chris?

- I still believe that anyone can become the best version of themselves. We should prioritize fighting for the future to give someone a quiet life that you and I have been robbed of. I know about Project W. Together we can stop new organizations and prevent many tragedies like this from happening again. And you can help us, Wesker. BSAA took away your choice, but I'm giving it to you now.

Wesker at first couldn't find the words to respond, but after a moment he barely audibly whispered: "Thank you."

From a man who never thanked anyone, Chris was shocked to hear that. And he was proud of him. Had he forgiven him? No, his deeds were unforgivable. But Chris wasn't the kind of man who would turn his back on his one chance to make things right, to make things right on Earth, to save someone's life. In this truce, he sees a future that's bright for everyone.

[junosmindpalace]

Suna isn’t the type of person to go out of his way to impress someone. To quit slacking off during practice when he senses Kita’s watchful gaze, sure, but to invest time grooming himself into other people’s likeness? No way. 

He’s secure in himself for the most part, laid back and nonchalant. It wasn’t as if he didn’t put any work into himself, it was just that he only gave effort in areas he cared about or where it was required of him, and that usually didn’t transcend outside the realms of school and volleyball.

Most of the time (when he isn’t slacking off), Suna is practicing getting down a more efficient spike and doing his best to keep up with his agonizing classes. That was the most he cared about in terms of himself…until you had started to talk up a classmate of yours.

Suna was used to getting attention as an athlete, a lot of times indifferent to it. Atsumu was the one who enjoyed that sort of attention more, but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t a blow to his pride when he hears you gush about a guitarist friend of yours. You would seemingly drone on and on about how impressive he was. You swooned, you would say. Guitarists are so cool. Rintaro listened to all your starstricken rants with raised brows and an annoyed look on his face. He couldn’t help but scoff and look away when you once mentioned something about attending one of his gigs. 

You were enthusiastic about Suna’s volleyball games, but never had you talked about his plays with such reverence. What was so great about guitarists? You could get all the excitement from a concert at one of Suna’s games. There was no need for you to attend that guy’s show. The rush in the stands are pretty much the same you’d feel at a concert venue. 

“Athletes are obviously better. What does plucking some strings have on power and scoring points?”

Suna’s mouth curled downward into a small frown as he listened to Atsumu’s attempt at trying to pick him up during practice. Suna didn’t mean for it to start getting discussed, but Atsumu, dumbfounded by Suna’s irritable mood, got curious on what could possibly make his very nonchalant teammate so…chalant. And so he poked and prodded, making exaggerated comments about his ugly face due to the deep frown on his lips and how he could see the steam coming from his ears until Suna caved in. 

“Obviously something.” 

Rintaro, you should see him play! He’s incredible, it almost has me falling for him. You had joked, but alarm bells were going off in his head, a wave of nausea washing over him and wiping out the remainder of his ego and any sort of nonchalance he was able to feign. That was his final straw. 

It was Aran who was the first to find out about Suna’s new hobby when he visited his house one afternoon, staring in surprise at the new addition to his usually unchanging room sitting in the corner.

“When’d you get a guitar, man?”

“Last week.”

“I didn’t know you were interested in playing an instrument.”

Suna's gaze shifted to the ground as he only gave a shrug in response, because he really wasn’t. At least, not out of a passion for it. He liked listening to music, he didn’t mind listening to other people play, but he himself had never been interested in learning. Well, until he learned about your love for guitarists. 

“They’re just so….you know?”

“I don’t.”

You laughed, even though Suna had meant the words with all the sincerity in the world. And he never got a clear explanation, so now he’s taking it upon himself to figure out what makes a couple of chords so impressive. 

He’s ready to bash his head into the guitar only a couple of days in. The metal strings on his acoustic were harsh on his fingers and always slipped from their position on the fretboard. He gets down the chord shapes decently quick, which motivate him to immediately move onto barring and suddenly he’s back to square one. Transitioning between each chord was also a pain, and don’t get him started on reading sheet music. Injuring his fingers during a game set his progress back a week.

He tries focusing on learning to play your favorite music; solos, riffs and the like. But each tutorial requires another tutorial, and it becomes a vicious pattern of Suna going down a rabbit hole trying to learn one thing after another. 

He’s ready to give up on the whole thing and find some way to impress you with volleyball, but the plan to abandon his progress halts after your reaction to him casually bringing up how difficult it was to play. 

“Wow, Rin, you play? I had no idea! That’s awesome! I’m sure you’re incredible!” 

And suddenly Suna’s back to looking up various tutorials, practicing transitioning between different chords and properly starting out with the basics. He even borrows workbooks from the music rooms to practice outside of school. The patience required of him made his head spin, but it was no matter. He was an athlete with an oblivious crush- patience was his middle name.

He’s surprisingly dedicated, not staying too late after school for volleyball practice and instead opting to work out of his books in the afternoon. He’s gotten farther than he ever expected he would- he even picks up on the language naturally. He doesn’t even realize it until he’s ranting to you about some annoying technical details, not even in an attempt to make you fawn over him.

When he turns to look at you, he’s caught off guard by the impressed look on your face.

“Sounds frustrating. I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it soon.” You said slowly, tilting your head to the side. 

Suna admits that despite having a lot to learn and a lot of practice to be doing in order to improve his musicality, he’s actually found this new hobby of his decently fun. He was slowly starting to understand the appeal you talked so much about, the satisfaction of being able to play a set of chords correctly reminiscent of hitting a good spike.

But ultimately, it’s your almost shy smile and tinted cheeks as you look up at him in admiration that, despite the insane amount of frustration, make Suna glad he decided to pick up guitar. 

[shanastoryteller]

Happy pride!!! I would die for a continuation of lady mo please!

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39

Wei Wuxian is keeping himself upright through sheer force of will and his utter refusal to let Lan Zhan be right about anything.

He has been sort of exhausted lately, but he’s been training himself into the ground and keeping to ridiculous Lan morning routines and he has a curse mark slowly killing him, so he thinks he’s entitled. He would have made it to the Jin tower just fine if he hadn’t run into Song Lan and had to hunt down a town fierce corpses and fight Xue Yang. That alone would leave most people exhausted, so he has a perfectly good excuse for his vision to be going fuzzy on the edges.

Except he’d literally rather fall off his sword and snap his neck then admit that. He can’t even let that happen, because A-Qing is flying on his sword with him, and she’s not even a cultivator. Her bones will break a lot easier than his will.

He’s not even injured. Or, well, not any injuries that count. He once fought off fierce corpses right after having his core ripped out, being tortured, and dropped from a height high enough to kill. Some bruises and cuts are nothing, and they don’t feel like anything now. Maybe he should have let Xue Yang stab him a couple of times. It would have made everything more believable and also would have let him nap with his dignity intact.

They land back at the inn and the rest of the Lans look extremely relieved and then confused when they see their newest additions. Except for Jin Guangyao, who only shows that he’s noticed them by raising a single eyebrow and looking to him immediately.

Jin Guangyao is a stone cold bitch that’s too smart for anyone’s own good. Wei Wuxian sort of regrets that they’d never had any reason to really get to know one another during the war. Surely Jin Guangyao could have steered him away from some of his worse decisions.

“We’re bringing guests,” he announces to all of them, jumping to the ground and nudging A-Qing to do the same with a guiding hand on her hip. “Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen, who I assume you all already know. And A-Qing. They’ve had a rough time and we’re going to be very nice to them.” He looks over to Lan Xichen. “I guess it’s a good thing that you brought the carriage. They can ride in there the rest of the way.”

The awkward silence is broken by Jin Guangyao saying, “Madame Jin is not fond of accommodating extra guests.”

Madame Jin is going to make Jin Guangyao deal with it because she’s petty that way. Apparently Jin Zixuan plays interference as much as he can, but considering he’s no longer fighting fit and the perfect heir he once was, his ability to influence his mother has been similarly reduced.

A politician down to her core. Wei Wuxian might be able to admire it if it didn’t make him hate her so much.

“I’m not fond of Madame Jin, so I’m sure it even outs,” he says carelessly.

Some of the Lan go to the effort to pretend to be appalled but most of them seem to have no problem agreeing, regardless of all the rules of propriety and respecting one’s elders that he’s breaking. People take their cue from their leaders and Lan Xichen is straight up just pretending he didn’t say that, probably because he agrees.

He’s treated to the rare sight of Jin Guangyao’s dimples. “Can you at least pretend not to be a menace? I can only put out so many fires at once.”

��I can pretend,” he agrees and then A-Qing is faking a coughing fit to hide her giggles.

[fatheroutlaw]

Obey Me Brothers with Pokémon

Lucifer's Pokémon

Houndoom: Houndoom was found by Cerberus injured and abandoned. Was then taken in by Lucifer, however he is to prideful to admit he did it out of concern and claims it's because Cerberus needed a friend.

Lycanroc (Midnight): Was Lucifer's first Pokémon and was a Rockruff during his time in the Celesial Realm. During the war Rockruff had evolved to protect Lucifer and in the end joined his Master in Devildom.

Galarian Ponyta: Diavolo had gifted Lucifer the Ponyta as a gift per Mammon, and Leviathan’s request.

Extra: Lucifer uses a Luxury Ball for both of his Pokémon because it matches his suit. The Ponyta was to tease Lucifer for the unicorn sticker. Diavolo didn't know about Mammon and Leviathan's ulterior intentions and just wanted to give Lucifer a gift.

Mammon's Pokémon

Gimmighoul: This Pokémon usually gets left in shop corners since no one realizes it's actually a Pokémon. Mammon was no exception and mistook this Pokémon for a full chest of grimm that was somehow in the human world. Didn't have the heart to sell it since it is alive, so he ended up keeping it. May or may not occasionally give Grimmighoul grimm if he is feeling generous.

Meowth: Mammon went searching for one after reading the Pokédex entries. Mammon gets into more trouble because of his Meowth's behavior when around grimm or any other shiny objects. Mammon helps keep Meowth's coin clean and shiny.

Togepi: Mammon had found Togepi as an egg during a trip to the human world. Had no clue what Pokémon it was at first and attempted to sell it but was caught by MC who convinced him to keep it. MC, Mammon and his brothers made sure to keep the egg away from Beel, even though the younger brother wanted to come see the egg. They just couldn't risk it. Sorry, Beel. They did let him watch it hatch though... Through a window, just in case.

Extra: Uses a Premier Ball for all his Pokémon. Had asked Diavolo to have some to use, which the Demon Lord agreed to happily.

Leviathan's Pokémon

Empoleon: Leviathan had found Empoleon as a Piplup a week after falling into Devildom. This Pokémon helped him cope when he couldn't go to his brothers.

Magikarp: Mammon had found the Magikarp in a pond in Devildom a few weeks after getting the House of Lamentation in Devildom and brought it to Leviathan seeing as Levi had a huge empty tank. Magikarp had eaten an Everstone that was at the bottom of Leviathan's tank. Leviathan still doesn't know.

Shiny Milotic: Was bought off someone when he and MC went into the human world. The human thought she was ugly looking and didn't want her anymore.

Extra: Leviathan uses a Dive Ball for his Pokémon... What did you expect? Milotic was a Feebas when taken in by Leviathan.

Satan's Pokémon

Shiny Espeon, and Non-Shiny Umbreon: There were two Eevees that Satan had found with NB!MC after one of his outbursts. Satan knew Lucifer wouldn't want him to keep them. So that's what he did. Lucifer wasn't happy with the new additions at first, mostly because it was a last minute thing. However, because Satan was responsible and took good care of them he let the Avatar of Wrath go.

Purrloin: MC had given the Purrloin to Satan since the feline Pokémon seemed to like him. Purrloin wasn't MC's Pokémon and was given to her by a nursery worker.

Extra: Satan uses a Friend Ball for his Pokémon to match his Sin, and because he sees his Pokémon as his only real friends who can understand him. His Pokémon help him when his sin acts up.

Asmodeus' Pokémon

Gardevoir: Asmodeus had Gardevoir as a Ralts in the Celesial Realm, which evolved into a Kirlia sometime before the war. During the war Kirlia evolved into Gardevoir to protect Asmodeus but ended up falling down with him in the process. Gardevoir doesn't regret falling down with his Master.

Sylveon: Asmodeus had begged Satan to join him to get himself an Eevee when he saw Satan with two. Asmodeus regularly asks Satan to do photoshoots with their Eeveelutions and usually brings NB!MC along with them.

Audino (Audinite): Asmodeus was given Audino by Solomon who had found her in an abandoned village. Solomon had also decided to give Asmodeus an Audinite when he realized how close the two got seeing as he didn't need it anymore.

Extra: Asmo uses a Love Ball for his Pokémon because they match his asthetic and his Pokémon. Asmodeus' Gardevoir is a male. Asmodeus has his Mega Stone as an earring. Wanted to put the Audinite as a matching earring but decided against it because he didn't know if piercing the Pokemon's ears would be good or not, so he made a bracelet for her instead. Asmo loves making clothing for his Pokémon and his brother's.

Beelzebub's Pokémon

Lucario (Lucarionite): Beelzebub had Lucario as a Riolu in the Celestial realm, who eventually evolved into a Lucario before the war. Lucario had mega evolved to protect Beelzebub and Belphegor. Lucario feels guilty to this day because of Lilith's death, knowing his Master misses her and blames himself. Beel never blamed Lucario for what happened to Lilith.

Snorlax: Beelzebub and Lucario had found him as a Munchlax who was very hungry. Beel feeling sorry and understanding the feeling of being hungry, fed the small Pokémon. The Munchlax kept coming back until finally Beel decided to take him in... His brothers weren't very happy to feed two Avatar's of Gluttony especially once Munchlax evolved into Snorlax. But didn't have the heart to take Snorlax away.

Extra: Beelzebub uses a Heavy Ball for his Pokémon. Lucario used to be in a regular Pokéball but was transferred to a Heavy Ball to match with Snorlax. Beelzebub kept Lucario's old Pokéball and has it in a glass case in his room. Beelzebub and Lucario have matching gloves for their Mega Stones. Beel was given a Lucarionite when his Lucario was still a Riolu.

Belphegor's Pokémon

Musharna: Musharna had appeared beside Belphegor's head one night during his stay at the Demon Lord's castle after the war and just seemed to linger near the Avatar of Sloth. They've been inseparable since.

Gengar: Belphegor and Musharna had found Gengar when he was locked in the attic. Gengar was mortified when he watched Belphegor kill MC seeing as the human genuinely wanted to help Belphegor. MC helped Belphie and Gengar get back together.

Extra: Belphegor uses a Dream Ball for his Pokémon. Musharna was also horrifed to see Belphie kill MC but knew why he did it and couldn't get herself to leave her Master. She was quick to comfort Belphegor when he realized MC was Lilith's decendant.

Work in progress, just random thoughts nothing professional or anything. Doing some side characters next! I'm done for today though.

[mantis-clan]

Mantisclan’s First 33 Moons

Meet Mantisclan! A small clan, formed relatively recently and currently in the shadow of its much larger sister clans, Snailclan and Cricketclan, Mantisclan prides itself on its piousness and devotion to Starclan. Their territory encompasses a wooded area on the border of a twoleg settlement that is split down the middle between the three clans.

Want to know what happened to Mantisclan in the first 33 moons of the story? Keep reading to find out!

Moons 0-10

On the very first moon, Briarmoth, Mantisclan’s deputy, got his paw stuck in a twoleg trap! The very next moon the fierce cat succumbed to his injuries and was mourned by his clanmates and appreciated for his devotion to Mantisclan.

In the wake of his death, Quietstar and Bonespeckle would spend a lot of time together reminiscing about Briarmoth and eventually made it official- they were mates! In a show of love and trust between the two cats, Quietstar appointed Bonespeckle as the new deputy of Mantisclan.

On moon three, Mousekit became Mousepaw! He is apprenticed to Quietstar- being so close to the leader makes him nervous, should he bring up the strange dreams he’s been having? …Best not to. It’s not like anyone would care anyway. On his first patrol as an apprentice, Mousepaw finds the quickly cooling body of a young, abandoned kit. Saying a short prayer, the patrol buries the small cat and continues on. Mousepaw can’t help but feel this was a bad omen.

On moon four, Mousepaw was bitten by a snake, and succumbed to the venom. As he takes his last breath he takes solace in the fact that at least now the dreams will stop and he will wake up among the stars.

Mousepaw is distraught after being sent to the Place of No Stars. Why was he sent there? Surely this doesn’t have anything to do with the dreams that have been plaguing the tom?

On moon seven Quietstar and Bonespeckle find a single abandoned kit that they decide to adopt together, naming her Sunkit.

Lots of things happened on moon ten!

Bonespeckle agreed to venture with Dovewhisker out onto a frozen pond. Bonespeckle went first while Dovewhisker hung back. Bonespeckle slid around playfully, taunting the other cat to chase her.

She was about to launch another teasing remark when the ice cracked below her paws. Dovewhisker lingered to make sure she didn't surface before running back to camp with a yowl. He had never liked Bonespeckle, and the fact he needed her out of the way in order to access the deputy position was just a pleasant coincidence. Besides, the dreams he’d been having lately of the late Mousepaw had been urging him to do something about Bonespeckle.

Larkshade and Quietstar fall into a deep grief, having lost a friend and a lover respectively. After many nights spent mourning her mate, Quietstar finally appoints a new second-in-command.

Dovewhisker.

In her grief-stricken recklessness, Larkshade fought a rogue, and while she drove the trespasser away, she needed to be rushed to the medicine den afterwards.

Moons 11-20

On moon twelve, Quietstar and Larkshade leaned on each other to lessen their shared grief and slowly start moving forward again. A new addition also joins the clan in the form of Bluesky, an abandoned kittypet.

On moon thirteen, Larkshade just couldn’t fight her wounds any more and succumbed to her injuries. As she makes her way to Starclan, she takes solace in the fact that she will be reunited with Bonespeckle and Briarmoth.

Sunkit also becomes Sunpaw! And Quietstar couldn’t be prouder as she assigns the cat she trusts the most to teach her daughter. Dovewhisker.

On moon seventeen, another new cat joins the clan! This time bringing with her three kittens. Meet Breeze (Echokit, Locustkit and Branchkit not pictured)

On moon nineteen, Sunpaw becomes Sunsap and injures her leg in a twoleg trap, causing Quietstar to panic. She can’t lose another cat like this. Not again.

On moon twenty, after a long struggle with greencough, Quietstar succumbs, losing a life to the disease. Facing death has a different effect on every cat. For Quietstar, they have now realised that she-cat no longer describes them. They are much happier now, feeling as though they have a new lease on life.

Echokit refuses once again to go out and play, his joints swollen and painful. It’s becoming clear this is not an isolated instance, and Echokit might need some help. He is diagnosed by Blisseyes with chronic joint pain.

Moons 21-33

The very next moon, his sister is diagnosed with persistent headaches. The chronic illness siblings!

On moon twenty two, Sunsap’s mangled leg is looking much better and seems to have healed well. Quietstar is extremely relieved.

Another queen joins the clan on this moon! Meet Fumble (Thistlekit, Tadpolekit and Ospreykit not pictured).

On moon twenty three, Breeze’s kits became apprentices! Meet Locustpaw, Echpaw and Branchpaw.

Along with the rank-ups, a new loner joined the clan!

On moon twenty five Perditofog joins the clan with her kits (Stemkit and Magnoliakit, not pictured)

During moon twenty seven, an apprentice from Snailclan defected to join Mantisclan. The very next moon she graduated, earning the name Mumblecrackle.

During moon twenty eight Fumble’s litter became apprentices! Meet Tadpolepaw, Thistlepaw and Ospreypaw.

The next moon, Breeze’s kits became warriors, earning the names Locustpond, Branchheart and Echodapple.

On moon thirty, Dovewhisker’s tail healed from a previous run-in with a dog but was left permanently scarred. Deciding to retire due to his growing age and the fact he could influence the clan just as well as a respected senior, he moves to the elder’s den.

Bluesky is appointed deputy in his place.

While on patrol, Quietstar, Tadpolepaw, Echodapple, Peter Pangrove and Branchheart hear desperate screams coming from a nearby lake. Upon seeing the twoleg and the screeching bag they are holding, Echodapple just can't take it. He jumps into action without waiting for the rest of the patrol to back him up and he pays the price. Grabbed by the scruff and thrown hard onto the floor, the only thing the rest of the patrol can do is grab Echodapple and flee back to the safety of Mantisclan. Echodapple suffers serious head injuries.

On moon thirty one the Perditofog kits become apprentices! Meet Stempaw and Magnoliapaw.

Also this moon, Sunsap fought a big dog and was seriously injured.

Now you’re all caught up!

next

Couldn’t find a specific moon or are looking for a more detailed overview?

Find one here!

[ink-flavored]

Anthology Blast Prompt 4: Swallowing Pride

for the Athendroyln After Dark Anthology Full prompt list for the Anthology Blast Tips are appreciated! Contains: dom/sub dynamics, fellatio, hair-pulling, face-fucking, degradation, bondage, name calling, coming untouched, aftercare, injury from sex

The neck brace was uncomfortable, but not nearly as much as the breathing tubes had been. Yatur savored his limited freedom as the elvish nurse checked him over yet again. He sat as still as possible, trying to stare down his nose at his tusks to entertain himself while she monitored the healing spells doing their work on his injured throat. The display next to his hospital bed made a few beeping sounds and showed a dozen graphs he couldn’t begin the parse.

“It looks like everything’s coming along smoothly,” the nurse said. She flipped a switch on the display, returning it to a normal heart monitor. “All your internal thaumaturgic levels are stabilizing and there’s no sign of over-healing.”

“That’s a relief,” Yatur said, but he hadn’t been worried. Maybe it was the painkillers, but he felt fine. “Am I clear to go, or…?”

“I’ll check with the doctor, but we’ll probably want to keep you until the last of those spells leave your system, just in case.”

“Is there a still a risk of over-healing?”

“Not immediately, but if there’s any additional trauma to the area, it might work itself into overdrive at the last second.” She shrugged. “It’s rare, but better to be safe than sorry.”

Yatur tried not to make a face. He’d been hoping to go home today. “Gotcha, thanks.”

“I have to be with another patient, but if there’s anything else—”

A different beep came from the door. The nurse went to check it out, leaving Yatur alone in his bed. He awkwardly swung his entire upper body toward the door, curious, but his eyes pulled him toward his bedside table instead. A tall bouquet of yellow flowers, as fresh as they day they’d been delivered, sat in their enchanted vase. He smiled fondly.

“It looks like you have a visitor,” the nurse called back. “Your partner, Orakh?”

“Send him in,” Yatur said.

She opened the door wide and Orakh shuffled in. Despite his impressive stature and stocky body, he managed to look exactly like a kid coming off a time-out. Yatur would have shook his head if he could move it at all.

“I’ll come see you after I’ve followed-up with the doctor,” the nurse said, “and they’ll let you know when you’re discharged.”

“Thank you,” Yatur said, waving.

“Uh, thanks,” Orakh mumbled.

The door shut and they were alone. Orakh came to the bedside and sat in the visitor’s chair, hunching apologetically. Yatur extended a hand, and held it there until he took it. His lighter green fingers in Yatur’s forest-colored palm, everything was exactly as it should be again. Except—

“I’m so sorry,” Orakh said.

“Stop apologizing,” Yatur ordered. “That’s eleven times now.”

“What else am I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know, something interesting? I’ve been so bored for the last three days.”

“I can’t believe you’re saying that.”

“Are you? Really?”

He rolled his eyes and sighed. “No, not really, but it’s ridiculous that you aren’t taking this more seriously.”

“I’m fine! The surgery went off without a hitch, and I’m—”

“You needed surgery!”

“And it’ll be the funniest story about a scar I’ll ever tell in my life.”

Orakh let go of his hand to bury his face in his palms. “Don’t make this a thing, please.”

Yatur shifted his entire body to lean over and ruffle his hair. “Aren’t you a little proud?”

“No?” He looked up, baffled. “Why would I be proud of this?”

“Why not? I mean, come on, it’s not like you did it on purpose.”

“Exactly.” Orakh put his head back in his hands. “That is exactly why I’m not proud of this.”

Yatur sighed a little, petting him more gently. He hated seeing Orakh like this, especially because Yatur hadn’t been angry even for a second, but it made sense that he would be more torn up about their little accident. He was always so careful, there was no way he didn’t feel responsible. Though, to be fair, their night had started off perfectly...

Yatur was on his knees, wrists bound to his ankles by cuffs and chains, achingly hard. Worse still, he hadn’t been allowed to take his clothes off, his cock pressing near-painfully against the front of his jeans. Right now, there was only one thing he was allowed to do.

Orakh yanked his hair hard. “Open up, slut.”

Already gasping, Yatur dropped his mouth as far as he could, starry-eyed from the fist Orakh held him still with. Staring up at his naked body—fat chest, protruding belly, thick thighs, and heavy arms, dusted with dark hair—Yatur could only whimper as his equally fat cock slid into his mouth.

It always shocked him how he could feel Orakh squeeze past his tusks, almost too thick to fit between them. He tried to squirm forward, desperate, but Orakh kept his head on a slow course all the way down. Inch by inch, he filled up Yatur’s mouth, threatened to fill up his throat entirely, drowning him in cock. Until, finally, his nose hit the front of his belly, and he stopped. Saliva already dribbled out from the corners of his mouth. He wished he could breathe in to smell his musk.

“Look at you,” Orakh sneered. “What a whore. Do you drool on every cock as soon as you get a whiff?” He slowly pulled Yatur away from his dick, all the way until the tip pressed against his bottom lip. “Or is it just mine?”

“Yours,” Yatur sighed, tongue darting out to lick his tip. The salty pre-cum made his mouth feel less empty. “Just yours, please…”

He scoffed. “I don’t fucking believe you.”

Orakh adjusted his grip on Yatur’s hair, taking it in a fist, and yanked again. Yatur’s moan was muffled by his cock. Since it wasn’t forced all the way down his throat again, he just moaned harder. It filled his mouth with no room to spare, and he sucked gratefully.

“Are you really telling me,” Orakh said, “that a whore like you wouldn’t suck any cock put in front of him?”

Yatur couldn’t protest with his mouth full, but he could run his tongue along the underside of his shaft. His domineering posture slipped when he grunted hotly, eyes pinching closed in pleasure. Yatur sucked him again, trying to mouth his way farther down, but it was no use. Orakh had his hair in a vice grip, and he twisted his wrist to make sure he knew it.

“You’re just proving my point,” he said, composure recovered. “You’re such a pathetic slut, you can’t help yourself from sucking me off even when I’m insulting you for it.”

He whimpered and wriggled in his bindings, because it was true. Yatur didn’t care what Orakh said—didn’t care about anything Orakh did to him—as long as he got his face stuffed. He could spit in his eye, slap him across the face, tell him he was worthless, but as long as Yatur got to suck his cock, even once, even just a lick, he’d do it gratefully.

“I guess it’s not that bad,” Orakh said, pulling Yatur away again. “That you have no standards and all.” Before he reached the end and left him empty, he pushed back in. “It makes you the easiest fuck in the world.”

Yatur moaned around him, not for anything he said, but at the feeling. The sensation of a cock moving back and forth across his lips, his tongue. Orakh didn’t stop moving, using his mouth like a hole to fuck. He watched as Orakh’s cock got farther away, then closer, then farther, then closer—his own cock throbbed in his pants. Yatur couldn’t help moaning while he sucked, laving Orakh with his tongue, trying everything he could think of to keep his cock inside, to keep him fucking his mouth. He didn’t even care about going breathless—he needed it so badly.

“Imagine if you cared,” Orakh continued, sarcasm dripping off every word. “Think of all the cocks you never would have sucked, if you weren’t such a dirty whore. If you weren’t so desperate, maybe you wouldn’t have fucked every dick you’ve ever seen. Wouldn’t that be tragic?”

To punctuate the sentence, he thrusted hard. Yatur choked as his fat cock touched the back of his throat, but it was gone as soon as it arrived. He whined as Orakh pulled him away. He laughed at his aguish.

“Gods, you’re pathetic. You’re a pathetic fucking slut.” He popped his cock fully out of Yatur’s mouth, and yanked him higher. Orakh looked him in the eye, a burning, demanding stare. “I want you to say it.”

“I—” Yatur rasped, trying to find his voice.

“Tell me what you are.”

“I—I’m a slut.”

He cupped a hand around his ear. “You’re a what?”

“I’m a slut! I’m a slut, I’m a pathetic slut! Please, I’m a slut!”

Orakh smirked, and it melted him inside. “That’s what I thought.”

This time, there was no build up. Yatur got his mouth stuffed all the way to his throat, his nose mashed against Orakh’s stomach. He curled his toes and his fingers and his cock twitched in his pants. Fuck, it felt so good.

“And because you’re such a slut,” Orakh said, patronizing, sneering down at him, “I’m going to treat you like one.”

He pulled Yatur away, and he gasped for air. Orakh let go of his hair to grab both sides of his head in his big, warm hands. Yatur had just enough time for his stomach to flip over before Orakh thrusted into his mouth.

Yatur choked as his cock slammed down his throat, but wasn’t given any time to recover. Orakh held his head in place and snapped his hips again, and again, and again. Each thrust shoved his cock deeper, forcing every inch of his thick shaft down his throat. Orakh stuffed him like a too-small cocksleeve, and used him just as flippantly.

Trembling in his restraints, all Yatur could do was take it. Drool and pre-cum spilled from the corners of his mouth in long strands, and he knew his boxers were ruined, but he couldn’t do anything about it. He couldn’t do anything about his body that begged for release, he couldn’t beg for more, he couldn’t even moan. Helpless, Yatur just kept his mouth open and waited for Orakh to be finished with him—to toss him aside like the easy slut he was.

Part of him hoped it would never end. He loved being used, he loved that Orakh could barely fit in his mouth. The tip of his cock hit the back of his throat with every thrust, easily, and he felt Orak trying to fit even more. A particularly hard snap of his hips pounded the back of his throat so hard he felt tears spring to his eyes.

“Don’t fucking tell me,” Orakh grunted, huffing from his work, “this is too much for you.”

He pulled out slowly, and Yatur took the welcome opportunity to breathe. The tears slipped down his cheeks, his throat throbbed from the barrage it had taken, but Yatur still wanted more. He looked up at Orakh, prepared to beg again, but he didn’t get a chance. Orakh fucked his throat hard, and pulled out slow. Another thrust, a slow retreat.

“Take it,” he commanded, and thrusted again. “Take it, you—stupid—fucking whore.”

Yatur arched his back and would have sobbed if he had his mouth to himself. His body screamed, his ecstasy wound tighter and tighter by the second.

“You’re nothing—but a needy—fucking—hole.” He kept going, thrusting to punctuate every word. Yatur thought he might explode. “Worthless—pathetic—slut!”

That finally undid him. Yatur jerked in his bonds and a desperate, broken sound burst from his utterly fucked throat. He denied cock twitched and coating his clothes in desperate cum. Orakh didn’t stop, still using him while his body quivered. Only when he slumped, completely spent, did he pull his cock out of his throat—but still kept it in his mouth.

“You liked that, huh?” he teased, but his imposing demeanor wavered. His cock was hot and heavy on Yatur’s tongue, desperate for its own release. He let go of Yatur’s head and took his hair in a fist again. “Be grateful I fucked a dirty slut like you. Suck.”

And he did. Yatur sucked the cock that abused his throat so tenderly. He mouthed and licked and treated it like it was the most precious thing he’d ever do with his lips. Orakh moaned to reward him, twisting his hair in his pleasure.

It only took a minute for his work to pay off in the ultimate prize. Orakh came with another twitch of his hips, spilling down his aching throat. Yatur accepted that, too, swallowing every salty mouthful with a small whimper.

After he was done, Orakh released his hair gently. Yatur fell back against the bed, exhausted. He didn’t even bother ending the scene properly—just sat back and breathed. While he rested, Orakh got down and undid his restraints.

“Hey, good job,” he said, voice so much softer now. He put the cuffs to the side and helped Yatur unbend his legs. “Are you alright, how do you feel?”

“Good,” Yatur rasped. He was going to be sore tomorrow, for sure.

“I’m glad.” Orakh took his messy face and kissed his nose. “Thank you for doing all that. I love you.” Yatur tried to say it back, but coughed harshly. Orakh stood up. “Water. I’ll be right back.”

“Pants,” he wheezed, gesturing at the dark stain on his front.

“And new pants.”

He left with purpose, a man on a mission. Yatur closed his eyes to breathe some more, and contemplate how lucky he was.

“You couldn’t have known,” Yatur said, smoothing his hair to try and get him to look up. “We’ve done stuff like that scene a hundred times, and nothing bad happened.”

“I know,” Orakh said. He took his face out of his hands, but didn’t look up. “I just… I feel like I ruined it.”

“What?” He folded his arms over his chest. “Come on, look at me.”

It took several seconds, but Orakh lifted his head at last. Guilt marred his expression, guilt and apology. It was heartbreaking. And complete bullshit.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Yatur insisted. “This thing”—he pointed at his brace—“does absolutely nothing to take away from how much I enjoyed that scene, and you’re being ridiculous if you think this has ruined blowjobs for me or something. It hasn’t. I’ll be okay, but I’m going to be less okay if you keep beating yourself up over this.”

Orakh didn’t reply. He squeezed his eyes shut in a look Yatur knew too well. He swiped the tissue box off his side table and handed it over. Orakh took it and ducked again to dab at his eyes.

“We know to be more careful now,” Yatur continued, so he didn’t feel pressured to say anything. “I won’t be able to do oral for a while, anyway, so we’ll have time to come up with ways to make it safer.”

He crushed the tissue in his fist. “I should’ve—”

“Stop.”

“I should have thought of that already. Before something like this happened.”

“Accidents happen! Risk aware consensual kink, right? We did think of this.”

Orakh took a shaky breath. “I just… I’m supposed to make sure we both have a good time.”

“You’re acting like I didn’t have a good time. Also, who says it’s just up to you?”

“Everything? I don’t know.” He pinched his eyes, his thinking face. “My whole life, I got told that a good sex partner makes sure that whoever they’re sleeping with is having a good time. It was the most important thing—don’t be selfish, don’t do things they hate just because you like it, don’t ignore what they need. You know? And I ruptured your godsdamned airway, which—” He snorted, humorlessly, and dropped his hand. “I don’t know, it feels like I failed at all that.”

Yatur understood. He’d grown up hearing the same thing. “I get it. But you’re still wrong.”

“How?”

“Because you dragged me to the hospital in the first place, remember?”

Yatur had been sore after a rough face-fucking before. Usually a cough drop fixed him right up, and failing that, hot tea with honey. But this time was particularly… weird. The pain was closer to having a needle stuck back there than a sore muscle, and he couldn’t get a full deep breath, no matter how many times he tried. It was hard to swallow, too. He reached up to rub his neck, for the fiftieth time since he’d woken up that morning.

 “What’s up?” Orakh asked, looking up from the morning newspaper.

“I don’t know,” he rasped—his voice was still raspy somehow. He hadn’t been able to swallow more than a few mouthfuls of tea. “My throat hurts.”

“Hurts?”

“Yeah, it’s a bit sharper, I guess? Than usual.” He tried to cough, but it just sent another painful spike through his neck. He winced.

Orakh folded the paper down. “Do you need to call a doctor or something?”

“I don’t think so. Maybe I’ll take a bath?”

“How would that help?”

“Maybe it won’t? It just feels a little hard to breathe, so—”

“You can’t breathe properly?”

“I said a little, Orakh—where are you going?”

He’d gotten up from the table and made a beeline for the foyer. “We,” he corrected, shoving his feet into a pair of slip-ons, “are going to the ER. Right now.”

Yatur almost rolled his eyes, “Come on, babe, it’s not that bad.”

“And if it’s not that bad, they’ll tell us that at the ER.”

He sighed, ignoring how much it stung, and stood up. If it would make Orakh happy to check, he’d go get an x-ray or whatever. He really didn’t think it was that big a deal, though.

And it turned out Yatur was very wrong.

“If you hadn’t shoved me out the door, I wouldn’t have gotten checked out at all.”

“Because you’re stupid,” Orakh said.

“Yes! Very!” They both laughed, and it lightened the oppressive mood at last. “If you really failed at being a good partner and caring about my needs, you wouldn’t have brought me here.”

“Alright, alright. You’ve made your point.” He took a breath and reached for his hand. They laced fingers. “Thank you.”

“Thank you. For caring about me.” Yatur squeezed his hand. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Yatur let the moment hang for a few seconds, running his thumb over the back of Orakh’s hand. Then, he decided to ruin it. “Plus, imagine the story I get to tell at the Community Contribution Show next year.”

He blinked, confused. “What? That you sucked my dick and lived to tell the tale?”

“Yeah, basically.”

Orakh laughed, and Yatur was too proud of his own joke not to join in. They may have needed to tone down their favorite scenes, but as far as Yatur was concerned, everything in his relationship was perfect.

-

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Dream Currents

Captain Rex × OFC Force Goddess

— Chapter 20: Identity

Tags: teen & up, f/m, gen, hurt/comfort, childhood friends, romantic friendship, fluff, pre-star wars: the clone wars, clone cadets (training in kamino), very rex-centric, rex whump, the worst is probably sw curse words (tell me if I should add more tags!)

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Six-Seven decides he likes DC-17 better.

It’s lighter than the usual DC-15S he used when he ran in simulations. He can hold it with one hand instead of two. Gives him some excellent excuse to train his non-dominant hand. Gives him the chance to do something with said hand, which is firmly gripping another DC-17. If one of his arms comes injured, his other would still be able to defend and offend. He won’t lose grip – that is, if at least 3 of his fingers aren’t broken. He won’t have to clutch it every waking moment because there’s holster for it – a holster! – something that’s absent for the 15S, and it’s shorter in length, both blaster and holster a perfect accumulated weight on either of his hips. Oh and, if he’d register the blaster as his default sidearm, he’s mandated to have two.

So many reasons. So many advantages in his favor. Thus, for him, it’s perfect.

One of the reasons he’s happy to be transferred to command.

Come by the end of the year when they have to register their preferred weapon, which they’ve been given the independence to choose either the 15S and dual 17, Six-Seven wouldn’t even think twice to submit for the latter.

“Stars, he’s in love with a kriffing blaster,” Two-Four eyes Six-Seven admiring the pistol for, probably, the seventeenth time that week, and it’s only Taungsday. They have multiple blasters laid out for brief inspection in the target practice chamber at that moment.

“I understand his perspective,” Wolffe shrugs from beside him.

“Me too,” Fox mumbles across them.

“Me three,” Bly chimes in from his spot sandwiched between Wolffe and the blond himself.

Two-Four scowls. “It’s short-ranged. DC-15 carbine is long-ranged. Something you may need if you’re on the lookout from up top.”

“Then send your men instead, sir,” Six-Seven quips. Each Fox and Bly openly offers him a sharp high-five.

Two-Four stares at them in disbelief. He glances at Wolffe, who only shrugs.

“He’s right.”

“Sharp one, Six-Seven,” another command clone offers him a fist bump with a proud grin stretched across his face.

Two-Four huffs loudly among the amused chuckles of their other brothers. “You lot are ganking me now with you–“ he sharply points at Six-Seven “–as the instigator. I won’t let this go.”

The blond grins innocently. “I have no idea what you’re implying, sir.”

Six-Seven addresses him with sir so constantly that Two-Four realizes a bit too late that it’s never been a sign of respect at all – not with sarcasm behind the word. The others seem to catch on and snicker behind their hands, amused by either Six-Seven’s occasional antics or his grounded presence alone as the newest addition to their barracks. Every single person in the command batch is aware of how hardworking Six-Seven is to adjust – from the vocal inquiries in a whisper towards one of them to the slightest pull of both brows when the concept of command authority clashes with his submissive programming among the heavy swirls of his thoughts – and every bit of the effort to catch up is commendable, and seems worth the transfer decision.

Fox caught Two-Four sniffling one time they were all watching Six-Seven beat the shebs out of Thorn on the sparring mat, and Thorn himself has been the best out of his batch capable of doing takedowns – apparently Six-Seven gets absolutely sick about it no thanks to Two-Four that snatching himself out of a takedown before it even happens is hardly a sweat breaker. Two-Four visibly wiped his eyes when it actually happened. Fox had to pat his vod on the back in shared pride.

Not a moment later the alarm chime prompts them to fall in formation. Just as the last of them snaps into a perfect, straight-spine stance of attention, instructors and overseers trickle in from the corridor at the end of the chamber. And behind them, is a brother to their own.

Six-Seven has heard about the Alpha-class before. Absolute living legends they are, though not as much as the surviving Null-class that Kal Skirata took under his wing. Battle-hardened clones whose gait and cadence are laced with command and experience. It’s no secret that sometimes they’re deployed on several missions that call for skills strictly taught by Jango Fett himself, simply making them idols and role models for the enthusiastic younger cadets.

Murmurs of acknowledgment and praise are already floating among the cadets – who apparently no longer stiff from standing in attention – when Alpha-17 walks into the room and gains his place before all of them. Six-Seven knows better than to break his stance unlike the command batch, so he stares forward and keeps at it, sticking out like a sore thumb right in the front of their formation.

A shout of attention! from one of the instructors results the others snap back into place.

The brief introduction runs through as fast as a one hundred meter sprint. Alpha-17 is present in today’s target practice to oversee part of the command training. Simple as that, as if he’s walking in here on a whim, almost sounding like there’s absolutely nothing else behind such reason. Six-Seven knows better. He'll absolutely smash his track record today with the DC-17. More damage per second with dual blasters rather than one, it’ll be an easy sweep. He may as well consider smashing Two-Four who worships the DC-15S. Sounds unfair that it calls for another attempt at headlock and merciful half-assed punches before bed, but he’s already willing to toe the line to put the ori’vod into a headlock himself.

“How many of the ade got names?” Seventeen’s voice, despite intended to be low in volume, carries through the silence of the chamber, save for the low hum of lighting and the fact that it’s raining tookas and massifs outside.

“I can name several. Most of them are still numbers,” the instructor next to him hushes back.

Seventeen hums, and turns to face the formation. “They don’t have names. Imagine dying in battle, living your last breath, and your comrades only remember you by a string of numbers.”

If it isn’t the most poetic irony of the year, because his name is Alpha-17.

“I know it’s not of utmost importance to you at the moment,” Seventeen’s voice bellows in the chamber, “What’s important for you is the upcoming war. Fighting for the Republic, defending it to your last breath. Sacrifice, and honor. The very values you’ve grown up with.

“I don’t care we’re labeled as products that came out of this facility. The Kaminoans, the war, Jango Fett. They gave us life. Purpose. Regulations and protocols, all that we must abide by. The soldier within every single one of us. But behind the soldier, is an individual person. We are programmed to serve, obey, and follow orders, but we can’t forget things that we’ve learned about life itself. Your life. Ten years of your life. What you’ve learned, be it practical aspects or emotional – do not throw it away. What you’ve learned made who you are now.

“I’m in favor of Kal Skirata’s belief. We have every right to our Mandalorian heritage – it’s where we all come from. The resilience and loyalty that run in your veins are the ones that ran through your ancestors to the time of Mandalore the Great! Every single one of you is a Mandalorian. By flesh and blood. Fearless warriors. Relentless, independent sons of Mandalore! That, is what I want all of you to remember. That, is your identity.”

No matter how hard he tries to deflect it, the address burns holes into Six-Seven’s head. He can feel it – every thread and essence of his being strained and stretched thin to even affirm every word said. He could physically feel the blasted CT programming inside his head grappling against the audible encouragements to be independent that it took the form of a migraine making Two-Four look at him with concern when he clutched his head.

It feels like it gets worse.

But behind the soldier, is an individual person.

Six-Seven feels the urge to scoff, but swallows it down.

Are we even our own person?

Not when you’re not even regarded as sentients. Not even when you’re labeled as mass-produced property of the Galactic Republic. Not even when you’re expected to obey, obey, obeyobe–

A booming thunder cracks in the distance, startling Six-Seven out of his depths. He slows his breathing, ignoring the single drop of sweat running down his temple. Ignoring how his fists clench onto the blaster pistols his knuckles turn white. Ignoring how his heart threatens to beat the hell out of his chest and how the blood thrumming in his ears is so kriffing loud they’re merely seconds away from exploding.

So. It does get worse.

During the rest of the address and even after he falls into the queue, he lets himself lull and drift away. In the muffled noise of harsh Kaminoan rain within the cages of the numbness of his mind – the resonating pain recedes and fades into the surrounding vast space. He shuts his eyes, hearing himself breathe, loosening his muscles. Discreetly, he seeks for the muffled rain sounds. How it crashes against the domed roof of the cloning facility and how calming it must feel to be soaked in nature’s water that he almost desperately seeks that comforting feeling…

Sea waves lapping at his feet and warm sun and mild breeze and luminous smile and the glorious joy in his chest when she held his hand…

Miss me already?

He gasps, eyes blown wide open, and immediately recollects himself as he tries so hard to not make his heart actually beat out of his chest in shock, and to water down his next-thing-I-know-is-being-sent-to-psych-eval reaction.

Great. Now I’m going insane. Hearing her voice in the middle of the day?

“You alright, vod’ika?” Two-Four asks beside him, queuing along. Somehow, it doesn’t startle him, as if he’s already expected this.

“M’alright,” Six-Seven murmurs and goes to ignore the concerned pinch between the other’s eyebrows. The last thing he needs right now is actually being sent to both psych eval and physical.

Ground yourself. I’m always here.

It’s faint, like wisps of intangible tendrils inside his fogged mind that waters down his burning embers of distress. It’s faint, barely there, escaping his reaching fingers like mist, but… it’s there. She makes sure she’s present – like she always does. Reluctantly and guiltily, he holds onto her comfort – though it only took form as a phrase or two but… comfort, all the same. Her comfort. Achingly familiar and full of warmth to the brim, even though it feels horrifyingly wrong to bask in them during his waking moments, much less during target practice. It takes a moment for him to realize that time has stretched and the line has moved forward, and that his heart no longer beats the kriff out of his chest and his head weighs nothing like his previously distressed episode.

She must’ve stretched her power out so far to even do…this.

He sighs, nudging himself out of his trance and back into the unmistakable noise of blaster fire and the quiet hum of the target practice chamber. And soon, he finds himself scanning the serial number on his wrist and standing in front of his target practice walled section. Timer resounds, and so does his blaster work, shooting into the plastoid target boards.

Why him?

Decanted CT. Trained CC.

Both a blessing and a curse.

“You’re the transfer CT-7567?”

Just in time as the timer chimes to end the first round – Six-Seven doesn’t need to turn to see Seventeen hovering over his shoulder just a few feet away, the break giving him the opportunity to salute. “Yes, sir! CT-7567, sir!”

Amused, Seventeen waves him off with at ease and rest followed by another mutter that sounds like carry on to Six-Seven’s ears. A little if not hesitated, Six-Seven lets his eyebrows twitch in confusion, anticipating questions but not getting one. Anyway, he starts another round – the moving plastoid boards once again falling one by one as he sets his eyes straight, just as how he aims his dual DC-17 hand blasters, firm and precise. The timer runs along, the targets shift and fall under blaster bolts, but Six-Seven takes notice of how the hairs on the back of his neck bristle, because Seventeen remains rooted where he is. The amber brown eyes shared among hundreds of thousands of brothers inspect the younger one with intrigue, and Six-Seven himself practically feels Seventeen’s eyes crawl and drag along his mutated blond hair and slimmer physique.

“You don’t have a name yet, brother?”

Seventeen’s voice is gruff as he carries the conversation under the impression of private small talk. Six-Seven falters for a second, and the latest of his blaster bolt lands slightly three inches from the center mark – a hit all the same, but not quite the satisfaction that throttles victoriously through his veins.

“No, sir.”

“Why?”

Six-Seven takes a breath through his nose as if just remembering that he lost his respiration rhythm to the perplexed nature of the question. A break in the target range as the targets shift and stand back up again, and he goes again. “I direct my focus primarily on my training, sir,” he answers firmly, blaster fire a brown noise to his ears.

“Do they treat you well?” Seventeen asks again.

Perfect timing, it seems, just as the timer in Six-Seven’s target range buzzes signaling the end of yet another round. Allowing himself a looser stance, Six-Seven carefully clicks the safety of the DC-17 back on and holsters them before turning to face the Alpha-class clone fully. “Sir?”

Seventeen is already scrutinizing him. Behind the sharp gaze, Six-Seven can still spot a subtle concern. “The rest of the command batch. You feel welcomed?”

“Yes, sir.”

Seventeen rolls his eyes, the concern drops altogether. “If I tell you to drop the ‘sir’ and quit the stoic CT façade so you may speak colloquially, would you do it?”

At the sterner tone, Six-Seven snaps back into a straight-spine position. “Sorry, sir, I wouldn’t. You outrank me. Addressing you formally is strictly protocol.”

“Do you call the others ‘sir’? They are to be your commanders,” Seventeen deflects rather smoothly that it catches Six-Seven off guard. The shared closeness between Two-Four, Wolffe, Fox, and Bly and a thought crosses Six-Seven’s mind, but Seventeen beats him to it, “But they’re also your brothers.” A beat of silence, before, “As I am, to you.”

Seventeen is quite literally, genetically, biologically, undeniably, undoubtedly his brother, yes. Not only in blood, but in purpose. Clones bred for harsh missions and war campaigns. Seventeen is older than Six-Seven and the rest of the cadets. His gallant and towering stature and bulkier armor easily affix a strong air of command that echoes resoluteness and call for reverence. Seventeen is a seasoned warrior who believes in kinship, believes in his brothers who need as much warmth and support to carry on through the war because as much as the Kaminoans want their cloning products to be carved into an empty shell of total submissiveness, they’re…

Hm.

The Kaminoans wouldn’t call them sentients.

In the sea of such subjugation, Seventeen may as well shine in his own role as a rebel slinking in the shadows.

A notion that strikes the slightest fear to most clones Six-Seven included, like an ember he always manages to put out before it spreads and takes form as a hot flaming threat that leads to reconditioning.

“Regarding colloquialism, sir, I wouldn’t dare to cross the line.” Six-Seven daringly meets Seventeen’s scrutiny. “Respectfully, sir, even the fact we are brothers, you’re older and in possession of much more experience. It’s only right I address you formally, a distinct treatment to my brothers in the command batch, who lack real experience as we are all cadets, still.”

“You’ll grow out of it eventually,” Seventeen dismisses, sounding almost bored. He sighs. “You walk and sound different. It’s your CT gait and cadence – the Kaminoan programming that hounds your shebs off to be in order and more submissive – I understand. But now you are with your command peers. You’re here because you’re exhibiting their traits.” Six-Seven stands still, obediently acknowledging that comes, as Seventeen runs yet another observation on his person. A smirk ghosts over the older clone’s lips. “I’ve read your reports. Top marks in every single drill and simulation. Excellent leadership. Bet it was an easy ticket to the command batch. Did you ever expect to be transferred?”

Six-Seven exhales.

“…To be honest, it had been my major aspiration, sir.”

Raised dark brows. “And why’s that?” Seventeen crosses his arms. The Alpha-class must’ve expected a curt answer out of him and goes to clearly show he wants none of that template of an answer Six-Seven gave during that one interview that he adds, hurriedly, “Elaborate.”

Six-Seven gulps, as appearing to lay out an eased and honest answer to his superior remains an unfamiliar concept to him. It's always been different with Two-Four and the coeval others, but Seventeen is a kriffing legitimate decanted Alpha-class.

“I stood out with the top marks,” starts Six-Seven, “and a clone from the command batch named CC-2224 said he saw my potential, sir. He introduced me to his batch and since then we’ve all grown close.” To spit it all out he may as well take a deep breath. “The reason is, it would be an absolute honor to be in battle with them one day. Though I wouldn’t dare to get my hopes up to achieve the rank Clone Commander since I am not a CC, as regulations state the rank to be permissibly granted upon a CT is no higher than a Captain, the most important thing to me is the honor to stand by their side.” Tail-end nervousness sneaks in, the same thing that settled within him during the first days he dared to open his mouth in tactical focus group discussions, and he quickly bats it away with a clear of his throat. “Sir.”

It's hard to tell what’s swimming in the mirrored eyes of the Alpha-class, nor what it is exactly in his thoughts. Hardened gaze of a decorated warrior. Faded lines on his face that indicate old scratches of wounds and age and experience. One of many things Six-Seven is certain he’d receive himself by the mercy of time and battle – if he survives long enough.

“As I said,” Seventeen’s gruff voice says with finality, “You’re now part of the CC’s. Act like it. Ignore your serial type. What matters is your skill,” he pats Six-Seven’s shoulder, “And you’re here because we know you’re capable of loosening your own screws…”

There’s something that flashes in Seventeen’s eyes, something that later Six-Seven registers as challenging.

“…but you just don’t wanna do it.”

A halt in the air where Six-Seven daringly meets the other clone’s scrutiny with the noise of blaster fire in the background, before, with another pat to his shoulder, Seventeen steps aside and pauses yet again, and Six-Seven follows his gaze where it’s set to an array of blasters laid out on the table. A glance at the holstered dual DC-17 on Six-Seven’s hips held by the standard utility belt, and onto the holoscreen in the younger clone’s section that displays his numeral track record of the hour. If it isn’t amusement that grazes Seventeen’s lips in a smirk, it’s satisfaction.

“And get yourself a name. I swear to Kad Ha’rangir, I won’t ever call you by your designation number. Pain in the shebs to memorize.”

Seventeen begins to walk away past the table with a strong stride, shoulders straight, eyes up, on his way to oversee others. Six-Seven can hear the humor in his tone as he grumbles that last part, and it sets him at the slightest ease as it reminds him of his brothers in the command batch. Before he can turn back to his target practice though, Seventeen glances back at him with a glint in his own amber brown eyes.

“If you haven’t come up with something the next time you and me see eye-to-eye, I’ll label that blond head of yours with something I come up with.”

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