#in other words: I asked four people for an interpretation of this and nobody had a clue XD

[true-blue-sonic]

Eat smote smoke soap smeegle toodle

If you told me this is how Gen Alpha communicates I would believe it without a second thought tbh

[yazzwrites6962]

hi! I really loved your niragi and chishiya works! I can't wait to see more of redemption! I really enjoy seeing how people write characters like these two and how they interpret them, and so far, I've enjoyed how you wrote them!

Redemption ♡ Suguru Niragi ♡ Part Two

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Suguru Niragi x Fem!Reader ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Part One: Here

Author's Note: UNEDITED! Shoutout to those who asked for another part. I love you guyssss. Also, Y/N's profession/life before the Borderlands is mentioned. Feel free to change it! Sorry for the super long chapter. I know it's pretty messy. I'll work on editing and cleaning up soon. I had four midterms this week, because my professors hate me. Again, I don't own any characters/images!

Genre: BIG ANGST. Maybe a word or two of fluff

Summary: As it becomes obvious that Niragi has a soft spot for Y/N, he is forced to prove where his loyalties lie.

Word Count: 5397

Warnings: Sexual themes, language, OOC Niragi, derogatory language referencing the reader, mentions of substance use, fear, blood, injury, death, cliffhanger

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

"You seem different." A gruff voice teased, nudging Niragi's arm. "You're all smitten over that one girl, aren't you? Is the pussy that good? Maybe I'll have to try her out myself." Niragi flinched, growling at the fellow militant. The room filled with laughter. "She's got a pretty pair of eyes I'd love to see rolling back."

"I'm not different," He huffed, loading his gun. "and I'm not smitten. Get outta here with that lovey dovey bullshit." It had been four days since your last game with Niragi, and the members of the Beach would have to be blind not to have noticed the change in his demeanor.

Every day since that game, Niragi would wake up bright and early to have a silent breakfast with you. You didn't speak much, as you were usually very groggy in the morning. Instead, he would enjoy your sleepy presence. He had grown fond of your messy hair and the way you covered your face when you yawned. He enjoyed seeing the way your eyes drooped even while you shoveled food into your mouth. He loved to look at you; The raw you.

"Nahhh man. You've obviously got a soft spot for the chick." Chimed another militant. "You used to go 'round killing people and shit. Yelling and fucking bitches, getting high all the time. You were fun. Now you're having breakfast with the boring one."

Why were you referred to the boring one? That's difficult to say. Maybe because you spent so much time with Kuina and Chishiya, who mostly seemed to be on the sidelines at parties. Maybe because of your calm nature. Maybe because you were a decent diamonds player. Either way, nobody had envisioned Niragi falling for a 'boring' girl. He was always spotted dragging rowdy women back to his room, notorious for his partner of the night being loud enough to shake the entire floor.

"I do not have a soft spot." Niragi seethed, slamming his gun against the wall and making a loud bang. Everyone jumped, but then continued to laugh at Niragi's frustration. He didn't know why it irritated him so much to be accused of having a soft spot for you. Normally, he couldn't care less about what others thought.

"Then prove it." Chuckled one of the guys. "Your visa is about to expire, ain't it? Hers too, right? Why don't you kill her?" In the normal world, death would be extreme. The mere suggestion of killing another person would send the room into a silent shock. However, in the Borderlands, killing people meant nothing. The militants, especially Niragi, would kill people all the time.

Death to traitors, death to enemies in games, death to anyone who got in the way. It's safe to say that Niragi was probably the most trigger happy of the whole group. Then why? Why did the idea make him feel so nauseous? Even in the last game, you'd injured your led. Watching the blood run down your body as you limped through the game felt like torture to him.

"I'm not gonna kill a the girl just because you tell me to, asshat." Niragi replies, trying to summon up everything he has in order to seem calm. Really, he's panicked inside. He may not be religious, but he prays to any deity that will listen; He prays that the other militants will drop the subject.

"No, think about it." The guy shining his gun in the corner inserts himself into the conversation. "We are the power; We are the order here at the Beach. Right? We gotta stick together. We can't have you getting distracted over a pretty bitch."

"Man, maybe that's a little extreme. She seems like a fine girl, so why not let the man have his fun with her?" Relief washes over Niragi as someone advocates for him. For you. You deserve an advocate in your defense. Why was he so hesitant to be that?

"If the people of the Beach see Niragi going all soft, they're gonna think the rest of us are soft too. This place runs on fear and respect. If people don't fear us anymore, it creates chaos. Do you want chaos? Huh?" The man shining his gun continues to explain, slowly winning over the agreement of the others.

"Bro you must be drunk or something." The advocate rolls his eyes, standing up to leave the room. Before he can get to the door, a loud shot fires and echoes through the little room. There is no more laughter, only absolute silence. The advocate, your advocate, was dead. Shot, clean through the back of the head.

"Dude what the fuck-" Someone pipes up, but the man who shot him only rolls his eyes, unphased by the death. Maybe nobody in the room is very phased by death itself, only at the man's extreme reaction to someone's disagreement.

"This is what we're about guys. C'mon. Fuck! We're the militants. Even saying our names brings fear into people here. Lives are meaningless in this place. His life meant nothing to anyone. Can a single person in here tell me his name?" Crickets. Silence. Niragi debates shooting this lunatic, but every pair of eyes in the room suddenly land on him. "So, Niragi, is it gonna be us or your bitch of the week?"

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

"What were you, before you came here?" You ask, suddenly breaking the silence in your morning ritual. You were more alert today, knowing that at the end of the night, you could be dead. Your visa expires today. "Were you in the military?"

"No." Niragi replies coldly, poking at an egg on his plate. You continue to watch him as he toys with his food, still waiting for a longer answer. His eyes meet yours before he groans and sits back in his chair. "Game engineer. Why in the world would you think I was in the military?"

"Oh, it's just the way you swing that gun around. You always seem so confident." You giggle and flash him a smile. "Who would've thought there a brain somewhere in that hard head of yours?" His eyes flash with irritation for a moment at your joke.

"Watch yourself. I could still shoot you." He grumbles. You know he's joking. You are truly convinced that behind that hard exterior, Niragi is a sweetheart. You could see it in the little things he did. In the way he would look for you to waddle down the stairs every morning, in the way he glanced at you while you were with Kuina, in the way he always happened to be around your hallway at the end of the night to make sure you got back safe. His excuse was that he just seems to be patrolling the area around that time. "What did you do?"

"I was studying pediatrics." You take a sip of your drink, remembering your life before the Borderlands. You were always the perfect student. You were praised for your talents and intelligence, following the expectations that were always weighing in your life. You enjoyed your field, of course. You wanted to help children and make the word a safer place. However, the academic burnout had been really catching up to you. In a way, you were grateful to be taken to the Borderlands when you were. As horrific as all the death was, at least you had some peace during the visa days.

"That girl will be a doctor, or a lawyer someday. Maybe even an engineer." You recall the endless praise you received from teachers and loved ones. It was always the expectation that everything came naturally to you. "I'll be sure to push her in the right direction. She has too much potential to let it all go to waste."

"Cute." Niragi comments, taking a sip of his coffee. "Suits you." Your cheeks flush at the compliment, and you can't help but let a filly grin grow on your face. Niragi rolls his eyes, smirking and shaking his head. "Don't get used to it. You're still a dork."

"Y/N!" You hear your name being hollered, and quickly turn your head to see who it was, despite already recognizing the voice. It's so early, the sun has barely risen. Most people aren't up at such a time, leaving a sweet privacy between you and Niragi. However, this was interrupted by a very concerned looking Kuina. She had never seen you and Niragi actually talking before.

"Kuina! You're up unusually early. What's up?" You say joyfully, as if you weren't caught having a meal with the one person Kuina had been warning you about since you first arrived at the Beach. She eyes Niragi skeptically before he got the message, throwing his hands up and scoffing as he pushed his chair back and left the table. "Hey, why'd you give him such a dirty look?"

"What are you thinking?!" She whisper-yells, as a certain pierced male is still in earshot. "What are you doing down here with Niragi? You know nobody else is down here, right? He could do something to you!" You chuckle, thinking the idea absurd that Niragi would every do anything to hurt you.

"He's not really as bad as everyone says he is. We were just having breakfast. We do every morning." You explain, continuing to ramble on about your pleasant breakfasts. Kuina bites her lip. Of course, she cares about you and your wellbeing, but she also worries about what she will tell Chishiya.

Chishiya had a plan to steal the cards and use you as a decoy. Although Kuina wasn't entirely comfortable with this, she didn't have much of a choice. Now seeing how close with Niragi you were becoming; She debated if it would be much of a good idea to recruit you for the plan at all. Maybe, it would make you even better for the plan. Maybe upon being caught, Niragi would take it easier on you.

"Kuina? Are you okay?" You stand, taking her hands in yours, rubbing your thumbs over them gently. She blinks a few times, returning to the present moment before nodding. "I'm sorry I've worried you. I know you had concerns about him, but I'm a grown woman. I think I can judge him for myself, and I am super sure he would never do anything to me."

"How sure can you really be about anyone in a place like this?" Kuina sighs at your unrelenting trust in the good of humanity. If there was any good in this place, it's you. "Just be careful, okay? How sure is your super sure?"

"I am one-billion percent sure. I trust him." You nod, hugging her. You've been so grateful for what life in the Borderlands has brough you: A break from the pressure of your old life, Kuina, Chishiya, and Niragi. You trusted these people, your friends, with all your sweet, naive heart.

Little did you know, every single one of them had already been plotting against you.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

"Wow! Two games in a row we get paired together! How lucky is that?" You exclaim, holding up your little piece of paper right beside Niragi's. It wasn't luck. It was rigged to be that way. You were meant to die in a game tonight.

"Uh huh. Luck." Niragi grimaces. You're terrified of what may come, but being in the same game as Niragi brings you a little comfort. After he had so nobly helped you in the last game, you had every bit of confidence that this one would be no different. "Just don't be a nuisance."

"Hey! I never am." You whine, making your way towards the car you're meant to take. Niragi watches you walk, the way your arms sway beside you. No matter what it is you're doing, he finds it alluring, and he begins to hate it.

He had come to the revelation that his fellow militants were right. There was just something about you that made him feel weak. It brought him back to the days when he was ruthlessly bullied and tormented, doing nothing to stop it. Would you be his downfall, and is he doing nothing to stop it? He growls, shaking the thoughts from his mind and following you to the car.

As usual, it was you in the back with two other people. Except this time, they were not lip locked lovers. They were strangers, sitting on either side with you in the middle. The young man beside you couldn't have been any older than fifteen, twiddling his thumbs nervously and staring out the window. You remember how afraid you were during your first game and wondered if this was his first game too.

Finally, after a drive that felt like hours, you arrive at a large building. It's not a tower, like your last game was. It's a gym with two floors, filled with various types of exercise equipment. Some rooms have ropes and rock walls, there's a pool, and the technology in the gym was generally very impressive.

"Must've cost a fortune to get a membership into this place." Someone comments. You make your way to the table with several phones on the table. It looks like one has already been taken, but you don't see anyone else in the room other than the people you made the journey with.

You take your device, holding steady as it scans your face. Two minutes and one second until registration closes. You look around the room, searching for Niragi. He's already eyeing you, but this time he doesn't look away when you spot him as he usually does. He gives you a look of pity, something you'd never seen from him before.

"Are you scared?" You ask, approaching him and hugging yourself. "No matter what the game is, we can get through it. I trust you, and you can trust me." You were terrified of the idea that there could possibly only be one survivor in this game. If it came down to it, the only chance you had in beating Niragi was in a diamonds game.

You stop your train of thought. Why were you already thinking about how you could beat Niragi? The game hadn't even started, and you were already brainstorming how to betray him if you truly had to. You shove those thoughts out of your mind determined to stay loyal to your friend.

"Scared?" He raises an eyebrow, scoffing. He was scared shitless. Not because of the game, but because of what may happen to you. On the one hand, he hoped you would die in this game. You were proving to cause more internal turmoil than you were worth. The other part hoped you would make it out alive, so you could eat breakfast together tomorrow. "If there's anything to be scared of here, it's me."

You giggle, finding his confidence adorable. If this game ended up being a gym related physical challenge, you had no doubt that he would make it out. You were not so confident. You weren't weak by any means, but you definitely weren't the strongest. You recall how badly you wanted to start regularly going to the gym, but you were always so engrossed in your studies.

A chime echoes through the room as the game instructions begin to recite over the speakers. The missing phone and its owner poke out of a shadowy hallway. It's a woman about your age with beautiful long brown hair.

Game: Workout - Seven of Spades

Rules: There will be three stages in this game, testing endurance, balance, and strength. Once a stage is completed, you may not return to that room. In your final challenge, there will be a key waiting for you. Retrieve your key and use it to unlock your door out of the building. Should you attempt to take another player's key or exit through a door which is not yours, you will be eliminated.

Clear Condition: Retrieve the key in the final challenge and unlock your door.

"Players, please make your way to the first room." The voice over the speakers says before going silent once again. A big arrow sign lights up, pointing to a room near the back of the gym. Everyone hesitantly follows the instructions.

The young man you sat near in the car opens the door first. Inside, there are several large balance beams and signs with each person's face, indicating which one each player should go to. You find your face, noticing the weights laid neatly at your feet.

Below the balance beams, which are hoisted nearly six feet in the air, the floor is littered with broken shards of glass. You shiver, dreading what would happen if you were to fall off your beam. There are instructions near each beam, clarifying that each player must make their way across the room on their beams with their weights, which are assigned based on body mass.

Your clock is ticking, and you'd rather not waste time. While some are arguing about trading weights, you pick yours up. They're decently heavy, you won't lie. You feel the tug in your shoulders. With your weights in hand, you begin to make your way across the balance beam. The height is terrifying, and you make mental note to breathe in and out at a healthy pace.

"Look! She's already going!" Someone says, but you don't dare look back. The beam stretched several meters, but you simply try to take it one foot in front of the other. Somehow, you make it to the other side quickly, dropping the weights onto the ground once you reach your destination.

"It's really easy, guys! Just don't panic. We'll finish this game in no time!" You shout back to the other side of the room. "How is this a seven of spades? That was... simple." You say to yourself as you watch the woman with long brown hair step onto her beam.

She had taken her shoes and sweatshirt off in an attempt to make this easier on herself. You could see the panic on her face as she turned back to look at the rest of the group.

"I- I can't! I'm scared of heights!" She squeals. Though you had never met this woman before, you sympathized with her terror, and you called for her to not look back. She took a step forward on the beam, trembling.

You continued to try and reassure the brown-haired woman while others began to cross their beams too. You advised her to watch her breathing and not focus on looking down, but on what was ahead. She had actually managed to make it halfway across the beam, and pride filled your heart.

Unfortunately, good things never last in the Borderlands. The woman looks down, her knees wobbling as she grows panicked once again. She looks back, realizing she is too far on the beam to turn around. You try to console her, but she is too terrified. Her legs buckle underneath her, and she slips off her beam, the weights falling out of her hands as she crashed six feet down into the ground.

The crunch of glass fills the room and the woman begins screaming, blood pouring out from her body as she tried to escape the sharp shards. Wailing and crying, she attempts to crawl the rest of the way. Her palms and knees are reduced to wounded fleshy matter and her throat grows hoarse from her shrieks. This is when you notice the large bloody fragment protruding from her right eye.

You feel as though you're going to vomit, and you turn around, unable to watch. You hear other people shouting, starting to make it across the room and beckoning for the brown-haired woman to endure a little longer. You feel a hand on your shoulder, but you don't dare check who it is. You are too nauseated by the sounds of cracking glass and howling.

"I- I'm here!" The woman's pained voice shouts. "I made it to the end! I'm here-" Her sentence is cut off and you hear the sound of blood splatter. You feared she would be eliminated for not completed the challenge in the way it was intended. How cruel to make her crawl all the way across the room, only to die. You're about to turn and look at how close the dead woman came, but a voice tells you not to.

"Don't look." You had hoped the hand on your shoulder was Niragi's, but instead, it belonged to the young boy you say near in the car. "It's not pretty. Just move on to the next room." He speaks. You nod, your hand tracing the handle of the door to the next room before shoving it open.

Before you, there were pull-up bars positioned over stepping stools. Again, there were instructions to take your place at one of them. You let out a shaky breath and approached one of them. A timer on the wall was stopped at five minutes.

Nobody spoke. Maybe everyone was still processing the gruesome death which had taken place in the last room. There was no celebrating that we'd all make it out. Only mourning for a stranger. You watched the others climb up their stepping stools, and you did the same, gripping onto the bar above your head tightly. You didn't need to be told what to do. You only need to hold on for five minutes.

The challenge begins, and all the stepping stools get lowered into the ground. Trap doors open up beneath everyone. If someone were to let go, they would fall onto the concrete grown of the basement below. Nobody could survive that fall. The timer ticks down tantalizingly slow. You can already feel the burning in your arms. You need something to pass the time.

"Hey." You turn to the young boy, who had taken his spot next to you. "What's your name?" He smiles, seemingly unphased by the deadhang challenge. Underneath the layers of clothes, maybe he actually had some muscle to him. "How old are you?"

"I'm Shinji." He replies politely. On the bar behind Shinji is Niragi, his eyes shut in concentration. "I turned fifteen over the summer. What's your name, Miss?"

"Y/N, and unfortunately I'm not quite as youthful as you." You joke, earning a light chuckle from Shinji. You adjust your hands, glancing at the timer. Four minutes and twelve seconds remaining. "What's your favorite color?"

"Oh, shut up!" Someone growls. It's the man who had been driving the car on the way to this game. "Nobody wants to hear all your boring chatter. Nobody cares about your favorite color, or your name. Just focus on not dying."

Suddenly, there is a mechanical whirring as your bar begins to rotate, your hands nearly slip, but you continuously adjust your grip. The stranger who had been sitting on the other side of you in the car slips, banging her head on the ground before falling into the darkness below. You nearly let out a scream, but you have to focus on the task at hand.

Your pull up bar was now rotating, and you constantly had to adjust your grip while still enduring the burn of keeping yourself on. Three minutes and thirty-nine seconds left. You only hoped there wouldn't be any more surprises during this challenge. Despite the difficultly you were facing now, at least you weren't injured, like in your last game.

You hear another person slip, the crunch of their bones echoing as they crash into the ground. You bite your lip, drawing blood as you attempt to stay stable on your bar. Two minutes and fifty-six seconds.

You don't dare to try and make any conversation now. You are barely able to stay steady as is. One of your arms slips, earning a popping sound in your other shoulder. You scream as pain surges up your arm. You must have dislocated something. You reach back up, attaching both hands to your bar again. Tears prick your eyes, but you can't afford to let go right now. Your life depends on it.

Two minutes and two seconds. More than half the time is already passed. You feel your palms trembling as you try to hang on. Your left arm is now completely numb from the shoulder down. Suddenly, the bars stop rotating. It's a relief, a moment of rest and bliss. Unfortunately, this moment does not last long before they begin to rotate in the other direction. You hear Shinji groaning in pain, and you look towards his direction again.

"Almost there Shinji. Just hang in there a bit longer." You try to sound confident and comforting, but your voice is cracking. He gives you no reply, sweat dripping down his forehead as he desperately tries to keep up with the rotation.

Fifty-five seconds. Five minutes has never felt so long. You hear no struggle or complaints from Niragi or the driver. It makes you regret focusing so hard on your studies rather than being more well-rounded. Maybe if you had regularly gone to the gym a little more, you wouldn't be having such a hard time now.

Three.

Two.

One.

Finally, it's over, and the trap doors beneath you close. You sigh in relief, dropping down to the ground and tumbling on your knees. Shinji is the first to approach you, eyeing your shoulder with a grimace.

"Miss Y/N, your shoulder really doesn't look too good..." He says, crouching to help you up. "I think it's your shoulder blade. It's kind of... Sticking out?" You try to get a good look at your shoulder, but it feels nearly impossible. Your eyes land on Niragi, who has felt incredibly distant during the whole game.

"Niragi!" You shout to him. He pauses, taking a deep breath and begrudgingly walking up to you. "I think my shoulder blade is dislocated. I need your help." You say, looking up at him expectantly. He stands, observing you for a bit before groaning.

"Fine. Turn your ass around." He grumbles. You turn around, waiting for the searing pain that you're about to experience as Niragi pops your shoulder blade back into place. You shriek, but the pain only lasts a moment before relief washes over you. "You've gotta quit your screaming, you banshee." Niragi teases, turning away and trudging into the next room.

You and Shinji follow close behind, being met with a large stairwell going downwards. It makes you uneasy to be going down, especially considering there is only one more challenge before the end of the game. At the end of the stairs is an already open doorway. Niragi and the driver have already gone through.

The next room is a large rock-climbing facility, except it seems the rocks have already been removed from the ragged walls. Instead, there are several long ropes. At the top of the ropes, there are keys. Finally, this is where you're meant to be.

You approach the rope indicated to be yours. Upon a closer look, you realize that this is not a normal rope at all. It's barbed wire, braided up into a thick long cord. This is going to really hurt, but at least your shoulder is fixed for this portion of the game. So much for having no injuries.

There was yet another timer on the wall. Fifteen minutes. This filled you with dread. You would have to climb up this giant barbed wire rope in only fifteen minutes? You spy Shinji inspecting the rope before pressing his finger against it. It slices right into him, a drop of blood pooling on his pointer.

Before you can say anything, a loud beep sounds, and the timer has begun. You gulp, looking in Niragi's direction. He's already begun climbing, having torn some fabric from his shirt and wrapping it around his hands. You steal the idea, advising Shinji to do the same. You tear off part of your clothes, wrapping it around your hands and starting up the rope.

You can still feel your hands being pricked, but at least the spikes aren't digging into you. Shinji is making some good progress. So are you. Maybe everyone will make it to the end without any more death or injuries. Just then, you hear a yelp from your young friend. You look his way, seeing that the piece of fabric around his left hand had come undone. When he notices you looking, he waves the hand in the air.

"It's fine. I've still got the other one! Keep going!" He shouts. You nod, continuing to hoist yourself up the rope. Your hands tingle from the sensation of light pricks over and over again.

You turn back to check on Shinji. He's fallen farther behind, his left hand bloody from climbing. There are eleven minutes left. He can still catch up, right? You try to focus on your climbing, but Shinji's groans in pain keep tearing you away. You want to help him. You wish you could, but there would've been no way for you to reach him.

Your leg slips and a gash is created in your thigh. You hiss in pain as the warm blood begins to drip down your leg. It's always the same leg that happens to end up bleeding in these games. It takes you a moment to readjust, scratching up your limbs as you try to find your position once again. The fabric wrapped around your right hand gets torn, leaving your palm exposed to the barbed wire.

You continue onwards, trying to distance your mind from all the pain you're feeling. It burns like a million papercuts on your skin. Your movements grow sloppier and the wounds on your body grow until you are littered in lacerations.

You're lightheaded, and when you look down, you realize why. The barbed wire is covered in your blood. Not enough to be fatal, but enough to feel dizzy. You feel like you're underwater, and all sounds around you are muffled. There are somehow only four minutes left. Looking up, you see you only half a little more than a meter to go.

You gather all your strength, pulling yourself up further. You're almost there. You can see your key nearly in front of your face. You look back again, searching for any sign of where Shinji is.

He's still very far down, and your heart drops as you realize he likely won't make it in time. Then, you search for Niragi. He must've already made it up, because he was nowhere to be seen. You curse him for leaving you and Shinji behind. The rules clearly stated you could help one another.

"Keep going Shinji! You're nearly there!" You lie, hoping this will motivate him. You reach up to take more of your rope, inching closer and closer to the top. Suddenly, your other arm gives out and you slip down a few more feet. You screech as the wire cuts your face, thighs, arms, and chest. This is not so bad in comparison to falling to your death, but the agony still leaves your brain foggy.

You're getting to the point where you're losing too much blood. Tears fill your eyes as you force yourself to keep going. This is what it's all about, right? Surviving. Living. You need to live to get back home. To see your loved ones again. You need to finish your studies. You need to make it through this game.

You look up, spying Niragi standing on the ledge over you. You gasp, grateful to see that he stuck around. You reach your hand up, well within range for him to pull you to safety. Exhaustion was beginning to set in, and your body ached.

"Niragi!" You choke out his name, your arm outstretched to him while the other barely clung for dear life. "Pull me up!" Yet, you got no response. You didn't feel the warm touch of another hand grabbing yours. Only the cold air around your bloody palm. There was a pause, a hesitance, from the man you thought you could trust. Your sight blurred with tears of fatigue and heartache.

You watched his fuzzy form turn his back you to, walking away without another word.

[psycheetamore]

New territories at a Giedi Prime Party - Kinktober

Nr 2 / 3 of my little contribution to @lady-phasma's guidance for Kinktober/Fangtober for day 3 (ejaculation) (and a bit for day 4, bondage, 8 (submission) and day 28, exhibitionism)

Tags: MDNI, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen Is His Own Warning, explicit smut, Feyd-Rautha is phyiscially imposing, teasing, focus on oral (m receiving - pretty much like you would expect it), also vaginal (f in v, t in v) and oral (f receiving), pandemonium/drug laced orgy, play in public, bondage/submission (but it is not like anyone can truly keep our lord submitted), multiple orgasms, attention to feet, power dynamics, domination (m and f), dubious consent yet explicit consent, spoilers, and of course: ejaculation - the author regrets nothing

Link to painting

Summary: Feyd-Rautha has been enraptured by the fearless Fremen leader (f) while fighting on Arrakis. After she decided not to kill him, he has managed to capture her as he decided to make her his. After some initial struggles on both sides (as he understands she will never truly become his if he forces her), she is starting to be more comfortable in his presence, and is rising in Giedi Prime ranks. He is set on unlocking parts of her she did not know existed, and showing her everything (... this is as suggestive as you can interpret it - see the tags) his planet has to offer. This section shows the second part of their journey (again: meant in the most suggestive way possible - tags).

Word count: 3.5k

Based on chapter 19 of Choosing to Follow Destiny, Boundless freedoms, sexual and otherwise

She was taken to sit on a platform overlooking the crowd, after which the na-Baron took off. This platform supported a 3 by 3-meter lounge bed with four posters and an upper panel. On the sides see-through curtains were tied to the pillars. Sitting allowed her a moment to observe her surroundings.

People were dancing, dancing alone, dancing with another person, dancing with multiple people. The guests were close to each other, close enough to feel each other’s aura, to bump into each other, to touch, to feel, to fondle, to kiss, to grope, to grab, to disrobe, to rub and push indiscriminately. In the previous room people moved like one, here people became one, or indulged each other’s presence to enjoy themselves by themselves. Everything was possible.

Sounds seemed to fade away, as she started to notice just how the couches were being used: as a place for exploration and play. For finding new acquaintances and improving relationships. Rhythmic movements, caressing of all different body parts, feet in the air, breasts uncovered, moans, women riding men surrounded by people pleasuring themselves, screeches of climaxes, men holding women’s hips thrusting while being touched by others, women kissing every body part getting near their mouths, screams of pleasure, men licking entire limbs covered by fluids, people tied up, walking on leashes, being spanked. All with masks, nobody recognisable, all hierarchy left at the door.

Democracy in a dictatorship.

Bodily smells of passion hit her nose, and not just from what she had been gifted by the young lord.

One human mass copulating in unison, and she was in the mid of it. It was unreal. It must be unreal. But is was not: this is Giedi Prime.

She wanted to become one with them.

Feyd-Rautha had crept up behind her, massaging her shoulders, his sultry voice asked: “do you like what you see?” She did not respond, still being mesmerised. Kissing her neck, he added: “this is a place of absolute freedom.” He pressed his fingers in her shoulders, almost painfully: “but not for you, you are mine and mine alone. I do not share” he said with a raspy voice. A husky, dark, enticing voice. His hands, his mouth, the warm tongue and words coming from it. Being claimed by all of this. The music. The state of mind. It was so much.

She stood up, still with her back towards him, and took a step towards the crowd. He scooted to the end, to have her within reach. His arms surrounding her hips he said: “don’t fight it, embrace it. Learn who you are. Show me who you are.” Continuing with a nearly silky soft voice, as he placed his chin on her shoulder from which she could feel the vibrations while he spoke: “there is nothing wrong with a little, little fun.”

She turned around, causing him to let go. After staring at him for a moment, she pushed her heeled foot on his chest: “take it off, Feyd.”

She was not even curious to see how he would respond. This came from deep in her. He would need to oblige. She would not accept anything else.

He stroked her foot, while she felt his gaze burning from her foot, alongside her leg to under her skirt, up to her chest and to her eyes. His mind was running wild, there was no way he could hide that. He could not hide his smirk.

He was not refusing her, but he was also not complying.

She pushed the heel a bit harder in his chest, causing him to growl and shift his focus to what he needed to do. The sight of him carefully removing her shoe and kissing her foot pleased her. She presented the other foot, the one with the starshaped birthmark, for the same treatment, and was treated with a bonus of him licking the bottom of her foot, sticking his tongue between her toes, allowing her toes to rest in his mouth.

Having the lord na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, sole successor to the Harkonnen throne, being reduced like this before her eyes, it made her feel powerful. It inspired her. It aroused her. There was no rush, she would be savouring every moment of this.

This night she would aim to discover how far she could push the Harkonnen heir. To create some balance in the chaos he had cast her in.

Feyd-Rautha felt her foot retracting from his mouth, and was ordered to stand up and stand still. She climbed on the matrass behind him, to start to unclothe him. Nothing blocked the sights between them and the group fucking at their feet. His cape fell to the ground, his shirt and belt following, displaying his muscular pale physic to his subjects. Any one of them, if they had paid attention during his games, or more importantly: were paying attention to anything else than their own pleasure and others people’s flesh at this very moment, should be able to recognise him, despite his face covering. His strong arms, his sculpted shoulders and chest, his chiselled torso, the absence of any scars on his pristine nearly white exterior: only one person on this planet could claim this perfection.

He felt her hands act as her eyes, as they touched every bit of his bare skin. Electricity rushed across his back.

Soon after, his trousers fell to his feet; she conquered this challenge quicker than he had earlier that day. The only thing protecting his limited modesty was his wrapped loin cloth. His arousal had been present for some while.

There and then he decided he would not be the one to withdraw first. He would not back down. He could take whatever she had to offer. It was not like she could decide to opt out if anything he put her through. If the crowd were to see him, than they would worship him in all his glory.

He was waiting for the moment his last bit of modesty was removed, but it did not come. She leaned over him and whispered in his ear: “kneel, lord na-Baron.” Before he could object to this formal way of addressing him, she had shoved him to the ground. Defiance in the form of acknowledging his status. Defiance, as it emphasised how she had the heir to this Great House subdued in front of her.

It took a lot of his patience to accept this, until he saw she stood in front of him again and ordered him to remove the bands on her wrists and ankles.

He knew she understood what he needed, and gave it to him in free will, despite being a captive he had manipulated.

He felt her hand around his neck, forcing him to stand up again. She claimed his mouth, before he was shoved on his back. As he moved up to be fully supported, she climbed on the platform.

There she noticed ropes hanging from the ceiling and carbines within the matrass on the platform. He saw in her eyes that she only now found out what he had planned to do with her, considering the bracelets he gave her. He did not know whether to feel fear or delight.

Her hands cupped his face as she crouched over him and said with a menacing voice: “I believe I overturned your plans, my dear lord. This will not be for today. Today you are mine. I too do not share.”

She removed herself from the bed, grabbed the discarded bands and threw them on his chest. Before saying anything, she sat on top of him, with only a few layers of cloths acting as last remaining fort to be concurred between them. While she removed her cape, she said: “you know what to do with those, lord Harkonnen” as she slapped his face with her open palm.

It took everything in him not to claim her that very moment, to enact what he had planned and to spill everything he had left in her. At the same time, although it went differently than he had planned on detail level, he did get something he wanted.

She did not make it easy for him to put himself in these could-be-cuffs, as she rode on him. Every fibre in him needed to concentrate to do as she wanted. New territories for a man used to being in absolute control.

Once he had completed this task, she connected the carbines to the rings of the cufflinks. He was bound to the bed and subject to her fantasies. He was extremely curious to see what she would do, despite his feelings of discomfort.

She stood up to stand on the mattress and let the curtains down. At least she offered him some privacy. Prying eyes could still see, but it would be more difficult.

She took a moment to look at him, in all his submission to her. She allowed her foot to trail over his face, chest and loin, before stopping there. He noticed fear in himself that she would stomp, again, on him. But that did not happen.

She kneeled in front of him, placing her hands on his upper legs. He could see from the mirror above them that she looked at the bulge in front of her, covered by the last remaining coverings. It was clear she was in internal turmoil between excitement, authority and unfamiliarity. Her touches were not as fluent or determined as he was used to from other companions, which only fertilised the growth of his excitement. Her tender fingers scouted the fabric, as if to find out how to untie it. How he loved to see her struggle, although just for a short period.

She unwrapped him, as if he had concealed a present. She had seen his excitement before, but it seemed different now. Everything seemed different. Larger, grander, more imposing. No longer hidden he noticed her gulp. ‘Make me yours, become mine’ is what he thought. He couldn't wait for what was to happen and at the same time the night felt like it would be too short.

He felt her fingers glance over him, followed by his tip entering a warm and wet environment unchartered by other men in this pulsating state. Every step she took was considered, not showing any ease; the animalistic instincts still needed to kick in. Usually he would help his playmates, hold their heads, shows them the pace and depth required for his liking. They would find it menacing, but accepted it, being eager to please him. He couldn't help but test the strength of the bindings just ever so slightly. It would be good to have a back up option.

He was big. Long, girthy, veiny yet smooth, pale, throbbing, the tip already shining of anticipation. Physically impressive, as every part of him. She heard whispers of his pets, how they would satisfy him, that he would enshrine himself in their mouths, their throats. She was looking at him and simply could not understand how that was humanly possible. But she felt euphoric, victorious, capable. She would undertake this pursuit, and she would succeed. That is what she had always done, and now would not be any different. But still, where to begin. She had rendered him helpless, making it also impossible for him to help her. This would be her own quest.

She reconsidered her initial approach, and continued more strategic, by first mapping the area, before making any further decisions. He felt how she allowed her hands to roam, see how he would respond to her touches, trailing him, moving him, increasingly with rhythm to match his groans. The mirror showed she had stopped to reposition herself. He thought she would make her life so much easier by having him help her, but this was her rite, so he kept shut. The time would come to introduce her to his preferences.

Her tongue slid up and down his shaft, the same motion repeated with her lips, followed by a combination. She was clearly receptive to his cues, so giving him room to guide her. She let her tongue glance through and around his tip, seeing how far she could go in. She pulled the coverings away to expose the protected top.

His naked tip was smooth and round, dripping, almost like ripe fleshy fruit. A bacchanal it offered to be. It begged to be licked, sucked, eaten, have its juices captured and spilled all around her mouth. It had the fatal cry of the siren, drawing its victims in to never let go. She was lured in.

She lured him in. He felt so good inside her, warm, tongue lapsing, being sucked into her to be worshipped. He belonged there.

The tip and a bit extra, not to big, not too small. Manageable, sustainable. She could allow him to stay there forever. She allowed him to stay there, forever. It felt like forever. It took forever. She created her own trance for him.

He wanted to buck, he needed to buck. It was becoming too much and too little for him at the same time. He needed to be in her. But the restraints were holding him back.

That was not an option. No restrains would hold the lord na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen back. He did not train to have this strong monstrous body without reason. He had prepared to overcome unexpected circumstances, and this was no different.

However, he did not want to take her out of her reverie.

He needed to focus on the constraints to his wrists. He twisted and turned his arms, but the leather bands and their pins were well-made, which was good to know for future references. He could not get his hands together, to allow one hand to free the other. It was challenging to get himself freed without startling her. He tested the strength of the bolting to the platform, and found some give there. If he would find the right angle to leverage his underarm, he should be able to free himself.

It took a bit of wiggling and repositioning, but he found that angle. With a powerful thrust from his right arm and shoulder he had broken the bolt from the platform. Also good to know for future references. With one hand free it was easy freeing the other.

She had kissed more life in him than he had ever known, but he could not endure this any longer. Despite his efforts to be as subtle as possible, the entire matrass gave way while he dislocated the bolt.

She knew.

He did not waste any time removing the remaining bracelet from his wrist, as he wanted her. He wanted to be in her. How he longed to just reach out to grab her and hold her. Thrust himself in her, take her head and push her down on him. Her warmth, the heat in the back of her throat, the wetness. Feeling her gagging around him. Having two of the three her holes claimed on the same day, how he longed for that.

His intense growl did not go unnoticed, as she felt his hands resting on her shoulders. She could retreat to pre-empt what may happen, or she could see how this would play out. Whether he was in control of himself.

Both suddenly became aware how this would play out if he couldn't.

She would make a run for it, considering his legs were still bound. Trying to reach the ornithopter and take off. If that wouldn't work, she would have her weapons to use, towards him or others on her path. Any nascent trust would be nipped in the bud.

It pained him to let her be. It did not come easy. Softly touching her black hair, her cheeks, making all the right sounds to foster her playfulness. Not doing anything else; a first for him. Surrendering to a woman. A first.

The evidence that he succumbed voluntarily, it drove her wild. Even more than having his stealthy body chained to this bed.

It was time for a change.

She stood up, his hands accompanying her body as she rose on top of him. She wanted to let him know what he was doing to her. She removed her panties from under her skirt, went back to him and placed her knees on both sides of his torso. She grabbed one of his hands that had freed themselves, got two fingers to stand up and pushed them inside of her. “You will be my death, Feyd-Rautha.”

He sank back in satisfaction. So welcoming, heavenly, tempting. But this was nothing more than a precursor to a snack. He used his fingers to whisk her north, having his face align with the entrance of her pleasure. While his lips and tongue pried around the most intimate part of her body, he tasted her flavours laced with his. She had not removed his remembrance as per his demand, as she carried him along with her on this journey. While he dove into her and tried to dry her out, his paleness became covered with streaks of grey liquid. It delighted him to savour her.

[…]

She showed her colours, her inner workings. She fought over him. She killed to have him. She wanted him. She was such a good fit for him. “Good girl”, he mouthed, barely recognisable words, before he delved his tongue deeper in her than ever before.

+++

After having received her reward, she moved down to face a stained Feyd-Rautha. Smilingly she leaned over him and kissed him, trying to wipe of the worst mess until he prevented her hand from advancing. Her claim lay clear on him, and he had embraced it.

She liked it.

In spirits on these new experiences, she continued further south, to unlock his feet.

She was planning on continuing her ride with him, but with this step she had unleashed the beast. Within a second after she removed the last cufflink, he had thrown her on her back. He did not take any time to remove her clothing, as he had grabbed her dagger and used it to tear everything open. His patience had been tested enough, tested to its very limits, and could now receive their bounty. Every part of his body had a mind of their own as he pinched her, bit her, licked her, sucked her, petted her, owned her.

His tongue claimed her mouth, which she opened widely to accept him. Their eyes locked, allowing him to see in her soul. It was his turn now to command, is what her submissive facial expression told him. He moved to his knees, hovering on top of her. While staring at her eyes, he cautiously linked his finger through the ring attached to her choker. The one leather accessory she did not have him remove. Slowly but surely, he used it to hoist her head up to meet his cock again. There was more of him he wanted to introduce her to.

She acknowledged this, as she wilfully opened her mouth to him and extended her tongue as if to lay a red carpet for him, without breaking their gaze.

He nearly came from the mere sight of the receptiveness of this killer towards him.

She closed her mouth and started sucking him. Following his glance to the ceiling, he introduced her to that feature as well. It was blissful.

Carefully he started to thrust in her. Not too deep, she was not yet advanced enough to give him the entire pleasure he craved for. That time would come. Not too fast, as he wanted to savour every moment.

Her eyes closed. She was enjoying this. The feeling of being the centre of his world, the main reason of his pleasure and obsession, his entire focus. He organised this lavish party, had thousands of people here, for the sole purpose to beg for his attention, yet he had only eyes for her. As far as she was concerned, he could fill her entire mouth, spill over, push it in her throat and further, and she would love it. A token of ownership it would be.

He looked at her. Saw how she was devouring him, her lips wet with saliva. He could not deny her.

Amid dozens if not hundred people fucking each other, he was claiming her. For everybody to see. A dead body being the stark reminder of their possession of each other.

He let go of the chain and grabbed her head, while looking deep in her eyes. He went harder, faster, further than before. He would give her what she wanted.

His precious seed would be spilled in her belly as a token of his dedication towards her.

She grabbed his firm butt to entice him to go deeper. It was not pain-free, it was not comfortable, but it was her demand on him. He could not refuse to accommodate her desire.

Before long warm liquid filled her mouth, coming from a moaning powerful man who could not keep his eyes from her, directed towards the deepest parts of her body.

[veryferaldistributions]

“My Two Dads” was Simply Ahead of its Time: A Short Essay by an Offspring of Same-Sex Parents

In 1987, the show “My Two Dads” premiered on NBC, staring Paul Reiser, Greg Evigan, Staci Keanan, and Florence Stanley. Nicole Bradford (Keanan) is a 12-year-old girl whose mother Marcy Bradford dies suddenly, and she is “willed” more or less to two men her mother was once in love with, Michael Taylor (Reiser) and Joey Harris (Evigan), who were lifelong friends before they fought over Nicole’s mother. Despite attempts at blood tests, the paternity of the child was never confirmed, and after a rocky start, Michael and Joey agree to live together and raise Nicole as a family.

What we have here is a simple, relatively family friendly, prime-time sitcom that shows a very positive interpretation of a kid with same-sex parents. And it is delightful.

I am speaking openly as a queer person raised by two mothers (now four w/step-moms). When I decided to try this, I was bracing myself for the absolute worst most offensive thing I’d ever seen.

And I swear to God, what I got instead is one of my new favorite shows of all time. The characters are lovable and well-rounded, the acting is great, the humor is actually funny, and, whether this was intentional or not, is one of the most progressive shows of its time.

I keep seeing people throwing around the word “homophobic” with this show, and I’m here to politely and firmly disagree with that. Instead, I will opt for the word “dated.” “My Two Dads” was still a product of its time, so I firmly believe many of the choices regarding Joey and Michael’s dating life were made to appease the censors. I never felt like any decision was made in malice to target the queer community. (Not to mention, I could/will make a whole LIST of reasons why Michael and Joey are 100% in love, if not an active couple, despite many attempts to convince the audience they are straight.)

I spent a good chunk of the show laughing to myself and saying “it’s like homosexuality doesn’t even exist in this universe” for how much NOBODY cares about Nicole having two dads or questioning why the dads live together. (Them being potentially gay is only questioned ONCE in the series.)

In the 90s and early 2000s, people never shut up with the questions once I told them I had two moms. I somewhat think this exclusion was also a writing tactic, not wanting Nicole to have to constantly repeat what the audience already knows.

There are jokes that haven’t aged amazingly well, but I feel like it was much more that the writers were ignorant as opposed to being active bigots.

I also really appreciated this show’s depiction of a kid who has a great and loving relationship with a parent she may not be or isn’t biologically related to. Nicole doesn’t care who her biological father is, and loves Joey and Michael equally. Again, as someone with two moms, I get really defensive over the notion that someone isn’t your real parent unless their DNA matches yours. (Side note, always say “biologically related to” as opposed to “REAL parent” whenever asking someone about their parentage. Please. It hurts every time.)

If I admittedly had one qualm about the show, I’d say it hasn’t aged amazing in terms of sexism. Throughout the whole show, it always felt like the women Michael and Joey dated were either complete jerks or bimbos. With the women they finally end up with being boring and rushed. And they also at one point have a female boss, and…it’s pretty bad. Nicole and Judge Margaret were great (Judge being my 2nd favorite character, behind Michael.), but other female characters not so much.

But overall, I really do love this show. It’s one of those really nice warm & fuzzy shows, too (Think “Full House” with slightly funnier writing. Yeah, I said it!). I really wish more queer viewers would try it.

[brsb4hls]

I think one of the main issues with not only s2 but some of s1 as well as that only neil was involved with the creation of both of them because terry unfortunately passed away. It lost something vital in that moment. In s1, they still had the book and I think s1 did a good job as far as adaptations go with some grievances, but now in s2, it's whatever neil is going to do and with how active he is on tumblr and how the fans are and how he's reacting to them, it's losing the spirit of the original even further. Not BECAUSE the ship is canon, but everything else surrounding the ship and how we got there and how the writers and the actors are changing the characters more as they progress from one season to the next. I watched s2 feeling giddy for more good omens and very quickly that giddiness turned sort of confused and disappointed. I didn't want disjointed filler fanfic with a loose plot. It didn't fit. It didn't feel right. Overall, I didn't hate the season, but I didn't quite like it either. The handful of you good omens critical blogs have summed it up very well for me and I'm surprised it's not a more popular opinion. I've just seen a couple people talking about how book fans are complaining which is the most dismissive way to put it. I'm not sure if people are blinded by their theories and canon ship or they just don't care that this season felt almost fanmade, but I'm sad that the book and tv show versions are now miles apart rather than cousins.

That's a long ask, thank you for sharing!

I actually did like season 1, too. The book is very hard to transfer to tv imo and choices had to be made.

Technically, Adam is the main character, but putting more focus on him would either mean a) a kid show with a lot of stuff about the them or b) more Anathema and conspiracy theories discussion.

That probs wouldn't have worked that well, so Gaiman made the two most colourfull characters the protagonists and in order to flesh them out added to their relationship.

Other stuff was added for comedic reasons or drama. Which I get.

So season one was a fair interpretation with necessary (to appeal to a mainstream audience) changes.

And both actors were doing an amazing job, so that helps.

Another plus is that a lot of new fans had so much fun with the material and created a ton of art/fics and revived the fandom.

And then it went off the rails somehow.

The thing is, Good Omens isn't a drama. A lot of dramatic events happen, but they feel understated, it's mainly weird, quirky and funny.

It also isn't a love story. In the romantic sense.

There is a lot of love in the book.

And I truely do not know what exactly happened, that turned such a unique little thing into the most bland, generic romance.

Probably capitalism.

I mean, just watching Crowley and Aziraphale trying to weather everyday life without having their jobs anymore would have been hilarious, but probs to niche.

And I would love to know what made Gaiman change his tune in regards to the nature of their relationship.

He does not really answer stuff, though, he's good at circumventing.

I hope at least it wasn't tumblr that influenced him. In most cases a creative process suffers from too much social media interaction. (Season 3 could get even worse).

The fandom dynamics regarding criticsm are always complicated.

I do speculate that most hyper positive fans are fairly new, just in it for the ship and going with the flow.

Also critcism is kinda a four letter word these days.

Sadly.

I mean it can be fun and relieving to went or pick apart or even ridicule and as long as it's tagged correctly nobody gets hurt by it.

Maybe 'Good Omens' also is a sore subject, because after years of being vague, Crowley/Aziraphale actually got canonized, and no matter what they represent as, they do look like a gay couple to the general audience, and people might be afraid criticsm might reflect badly on the representation they finally got.

Who knows.

In the end, one can always cherry pick. I do like some scenes, I do ship Crowley/Aziraphale, but I'm disappointed that their characters went full on angel/demon cliche contrary to the appealing, nuanced book versions.

And yeah, there is no actual plot so we might as well have gotten smth like Crowley tries to earn money by becoming an uber driver or smth (there's great fanfic about that).

But that's just me, I do get why people enjoy it. Criticsm just helps to deal a bit with the disappointment, because, like you, I was initially thrilled about the second season.

[bubbleonice]

can you see what kind of trauma Tim has that’s causing all this? some other reader said he was tou*hed by a older man when he was in school but i don’t remember who said it.

4 of swords: The Knight is clad in a suit of armour and so we must assume that he has been engaged in a battle of some sort and has needed to protect himself. This Knight has been on the front line too long and through injury or just pure exhaustion no longer has the energy or stomach for the fight. He is mentally worn out with the stress in his life. He was running on empty for some time and this crash was bound to happen. He must ask himself what the real problem is and once identified must concentrate his focus on making it his number one priority. The Knight may be receiving help from a doctor, counsellor or spiritual person. He may also have the support of friends and family even though they could find it hard to reach him during his time. He may be withdrawn, uncommunicative and not his usual self.

The Four of Swords typically represents a low time for you. It is a time when friends and family cannot reach you. It can represent a time when you feel that you would be better off dead. You may in fact feel you have died inside. It warns of the potential for mental breakdowns.

The Four of Swords also raises the possibility that you may have got yourself into an unpleasant situation and now find that you cannot face people. You can only keep this up for a period of time and sooner or later you are going to have to deal with the public at large and their opinions of you. You may feel ashamed or guilty of something you have done and have gone to ground and are waiting for the whole thing to blow over.

King of swords reversed: This card represents manipulation, selfishness, and dishonesty. Be cautious, as there may be hidden agendas or unseen factors that could lead to unfavorable outcomes. This could have been someone moving in the shadows, extracting information, and gaining someone’s trust only to turn against them when things go south. An inconsiderate bully who is smart enough to shape his words into a weapon that serves his own needs. In some cases, silence and humility are better than the brutal truth, if it is a truth that hurts. he might represent someone who expects others to obey their will and conform to their truth. Indicates a cunning person who aspires to be a puppet master.

I don’t interpret the cards as such that Timothee has suffered from any trauma in any sexual abuse or such. This is more about trauma that has to do with trusting in the wrong people time after time. Being naive. Being easily manipulated by people who had hidden agendas. Being hurt time and time again for believing in narratives that held no truth. Being thrown into the lion’s cage. Being a target for everyone’s own gain. Being used for money, for fame, for connections, for clout.

The King of Swords, in reverse, can for him also be a warning that his actions are damaging his reputation and his mental stability. It is lonely at the top, and a fine man can turn into a sly, uncivilized brute. Maybe you are repeating the same mistakes, investing your energy in the wrong direction, and wondering why nobody listens to reason. When reversed in the advice position, the King of Swords serves as a warning that your thoughts are turning against you, affecting your image and behavior.

[middlecross7]

Revelation 1

Author: The Father

(The Father gave this Revelation TO CHRIST JESUS; Christ then gave the information to John the apostle.)

Written Down By: John, the apostle of Christ, one of the original 12.

While you may not understand it first my beginning our look at Revelation 1 with this information, I ask you to be patient and consider what I have to say:

Lazarus is the only named person in the Gospel of John who is called "the one Jesus loved".

Lazarus is also the only person named in John 11:36 when a group of people say, "See how he [Jesus] loved him [Lazarus]".

The idea that the gospel bearing the name of John was written by the apostle John is purely speculation of later generations of the church. There is no internal evidence in the book itself to suggest this.

Just as we know that the gospel bearing the disciple Mark's name is actually the gospel of Peter, Mark having been Peter's scribe and pupil, we know much more about the gospel of John than most people realize.

To begin with: the theory that John is the author of The Gospel is built solely from the fact that John is the only apostle who is not mentioned by name in the book itself, and an early church preacher's opinion that John wrote the account of Christ Jesus’ life and purpose for coming to us at all.

So, like so many other pop cultural beliefs it was just accepted because nobody had a better solution to offer for the authorship of the book. And NOW, this THEORY is taught authoritatively throughout almost of Christianity.

But it's it TRUE???

They tell us that out of extreme humility John does not mention his own name in the gospel account that he himself wrote down, but instead only refers to himself as "the disciple whom Jesus loved".

I've never understood their rationale, how they would conclude that someone singling themselves out from a group to specifically tell everyone that Jesus REALLY loved them is humility.

We know from the author's own hand near the end of this gospel that the writer is definitely the one with the Koine Greek nickname which translates roughly, "the much loved one".

And again, fellow students of the Word, when we just let the scriptures interpret the scriptures, much of our confusion is done away with.

The book itself, when we pay attention and allow the Bible to speak for itself, identifies exactly through this one singled out as "the one Jesus loved" is, there is no grand mystery about it.

John 11:3

(READ IT)

WHY IS THIS RELEVANT? Because you may well run across an article or 50 written by professional linguists who have historically and at present age emphatically insisted that by comparing the writing styles and grammar of first, second, and third John, and the book of Revelation, all of which we know John the apostle wrote -

to the writing style and grammar of the gospel bearing the name of John, it is simply evident that the same person did not write this book who wrote the other four aforementioned books.

So what exactly am I saying? I'm telling you that the gospel we call the gospel of John is actually the gospel of Lazarus. Written about the time that the apostle John was in prison on the Isle of Patmos, a Roman prison camp island, I would conclude that Lazarus left the name of John completely out of the book to keep from instigating any new persecution against the old brother.

I conclude that Lazarus did not name himself in the gospel because he had a family to worry about, including two sisters, and at the time of the writing and subsequent circulation of this work there was quite an energetic and very active persecution going on against Christ followers, both at the hands of the Israelites and Rome.

Ultimately, the Authorship of the entire Bible belongs to God Himself.

So who He used to pen the words on a page is to a great extent completely irrelevant.

If He is not God enough to be trusted to keep one book intact just as He would have it to be to guide His children safely home, how in the world are we to trust him to be God enough to put all of the molecules of our bodies back together and raise us from the dead?

All of the remarks you have ever encountered about how untrustworthy the Bible is because it's been translated and retranslated so many times that we don't know what it said in the beginning were all made by people that don't know their tail- end from a hole in the ground about the Bible, the original autographs, the copies that are in existence today, or translations. They're just saying stupid things that give them an excuse for not bowing down to the authority of the scriptures.

It doesn't matter how many times you translate a text or mistranslate the same text, the text being translated doesn't change. And today we have over 6,000 copies and partial copies of the same letters that the early church adopted as authoritative. The Bible has never been changed. Your Old Testament is the same Old Testament in use when Christ was born into this world as a human being, there is just a difference in the order of the books.

And our New Testament is the same New Testament agreed upon by all of the churches as far back as our knowledge of those churches reaches.

As for the rumor that Constantine changed the Bible at the council of Constantinople in 325 AD, I would remind you that up until a decade or so before that counsel Christians were being slaughtered for their faith. The same people that stood up in the face of death to proclaim the name of Christ were the people that Constantine called together to give him their judgment on which letters were to be counted authoritative, which word to be considered legitimate teaching from brothers and sisters but not divinely inspired, and which were just spurious nonsense.

The books of the Bible canonized in 325 AD are simply the books already approved by and in use within the world's Christian churches of the age.

A few years earlier our fellow believers were laying down their lives for the name of Christ. They would not have stood by silently and cowardly all of a sudden if the ruler of Rome had stepped in to change the Word of God!

Had this actually happened we would read about another persecution in the 320s AD.

PART TWO

HOW does the BIBLE say Christ will return?

"Behold, He (Jesus) comes with the clouds, and EVERY EYE WILL SEE HIM…."

(Rev.1:7)

How does this plain statement of God's Word fit with the idea of some kind of "secret rapture"?!?

There's nothing secret about every human being on the planet seeing Christ when He returns.

What about Matthew 24:27?

"For as lightning comes out of the east and shines even to the west, so also will the coming of the Son of Man be."

Anything secret about that?

Christ will be universally visible when He returns, according to God's Word.

And you may find it interesting, I do, that the Scripture uses the compass directions of East to West, not North to South. Why is this interesting? Well, at a point, North becomes South and South becomes North. If you travel all the way to the top of the world you're heading north, but if you keep going, once you pass the peak, you'll be headed south.

Likewise, if you travel south far enough, eventually you'll be going north again.

But traveling east never ends, nor does traveling west.

I think the Biblical stress here is that as far as there are human beings on planet Earth, they are going to see Christ in all of His Glory when He returns.

"He comes with the clouds…."

Q: What does THAT mean?!?

When the Lord returns, He will be accompanied by all of His angels— ALL of His angels! (2 Thes. 1:7)

Matthew 25:31

"And when the Son of Man shall come in His Glory, and ALL THE ANGELS with Him, then shall He sit on the Throne of His Glory."

ALL OF THEM!

How many angels remain in "heaven"?

None!

Zero.

ALL of them will be by the Lord's side. Ten thousand times ten thousand and thousands of thousands….

Innumerable.

His return will also be AUDIBLE!

Mt. 24:31 states:

"And He shall send His angels with a GREAT SOUND of a trumpet, and they shall gather His elect from the four winds, from one end of the heavens to the other."

They shall gather, the angels will gather up the bride of Christ, they will not magically levitate up into the air. That is religious mythology.

I Cor. 4:16&17 actually says WHAT?

"(16) For the Lord himself will descend from heaven with a cry of command, with the voice of an archangel, and with the sound of the trumpet of God. And the dead in Christ will rise first. (17) Then we who are

alive, who are left, will be caught up together with them IN THE CLOUDS to meet the Lord in the air, and so we will always be with the Lord."

I defy you to show me anywhere in the Bible where, during this event, it says you will go any further than to the clouds.

There actually is a rapture, but it's no secret. It's going to be really, really loud, and every eye on the planet is going to see it happen. And you're only going into the air, period. No further.

1 Cor. 15:50-58

"(50) I tell you this, brothers: flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, nor does the perishable inherit the imperishable.

(51) Behold! I tell you a mystery. We

shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed,

(52) in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at THE LAST TRUMPET. For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we shall be changed.

(53) For this perishable body must put on the

imperishable, and this mortal body must put on immortality.

(54) When the perishable puts on the imperishable, and the mortal puts on immortality, then shall come to pass the saying that is written:

"Death is swallowed up in victory."

(55) "O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?"

(56) The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law.

(57) But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

(58) Therefore, my beloved brothers, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labor is not in vain."

WHEN will we be caught up into the air?

What does God's Word tell us?

AT THE LAST OF THE 7 TRUMPETS!

Not before the first one blows, not mid way through the trumpets, but at the very LAST one!

The only thing left to be fulfilled at that point is the destruction of the rest of humanity that was left standing on the planet, watching angelic warriors swoop down and snatch God's elect up into the air to get them out of the way. Because everything left standing on the planet is about to die!

Rev. 6:15-17

"Then the kings

of the earth and the great ones and the generals and the rich and the powerful, and everyone, slave and free, hid themselves in the caves and among the rocks of

the mountains, calling to the mountains and rocks, 'Fall on us and hide us from the face of him who is seated on the throne, and from the

wrath of the Lamb, for the great day of their wrath has come, and who can stand?'"

Q: Hide them from who?

From Him who sits on the Throne? Didn't we just read about Christ sitting on His Throne when He returns?

They SEE HIM!

His return is no secret! And when He comes back, He's not leaving for another seven years, people….

When Christ returns, this world is OVER!!!

Jude 14&15

"Behold, the Lord comes with ten thousands of his holy ones, to execute judgment on all and to convict all the ungodly of all their deeds of

ungodliness that they have committed in such

an ungodly way, and of all the harsh things that ungodly sinners have spoken against him."

Jeremiah 25:30-33

"You, therefore, shall prophesy against them all these words, and

say to them: "The LORD will roar from on high, and from his holy habitation utter his voice; he will roar mightily against his fold, and shout, like those who tread grapes, against all the inhabitants of the earth. The clamor will resound to the ends of the earth, for the LORD has an indictment against the nations; he is entering into judgment with all flesh, and the wicked he will put to the sword, declares the LORD.'

"Thus says the LORD of hosts: Behold, disaster is going forth from nation to nation,

and a great tempest is stirring from the farthest parts of the earth!

"And those pierced

by the LORD on that day shall extend from one end of the earth to the other. They shall not be

lamented, or gathered, or buried; they shall be dung on the surface of the ground."

Why won't they be gathered, why won't they be buried? There's nobody to gather them, nobody to bury them. There's nobody left.

"I will utterly consume all things from off the land, " says the Lord. I will consume man and beast; I will consume the fouls of the heavens and the fishes of the sea semically the stumbling blocks with the wicked; and I will cut off man from off the land, says the Lord."

(Zeph. 1:2&3)

"I beheld the earth, and indeed it was without form and void seminal and the heavens, they had no light. I beheld the mountains, and indeed they trembled, and all the hills moved back and forth. I beheld, and indeed there was no man, and all the birds of the heavens had fled. I beheld, and indeed the fruitful land was a wilderness, and all its cities were broken down in the presence of the Lord, by his fierce anger. For thus says the Lord: the whole land shall be desolate; yet I will not make a full end. For this shall be Earth-Morn, and the heavens above be black, because I have spoken. I have purposed and will not relent, nor will I turn back from it."

(Jeremiah 4:23-28)

Together let's

read 2 Thes. 2:1&2.

READ about the destruction of Jerusalem in 70AD!

Every detail of this was fulfilled!

The one who restrained wasn't "the Holy Spirit", he was the father who ruled Rome and kept his kid on a leash! When he died that kid wasn't on a leash anymore, and he wanted the treasure of the temple in Jerusalem! ALL of this was fulfilled IN DETAIL in 70AD.

What is the broader, larger international fulfillment of this going to look like for us in the last hours of the end of the end times?

Well, God tells us in His Word that the "beast", the religious/political system (kingdom, if you will) that will be responsible for the slaughtering of untold millions of the bride of Christ,

will be an ACTUAL PART of the original Roman Empire that survived the death of the Roman Empire.

What "head" of the Roman Empire made a world conquering comeback after the fall of the Roman government? What aspect of Roman rule, alive and thriving and ruling during the reign of the Roman government over most of the known earth, what aspect of that fourth beast of Daniel was healed and went on to rule the world and slaughter millions of God-fearing, Bible believing followers of Christ?

The Roman Catholic Church, under the leadership of one position of power - the Pope.

Rev. 7:9—14

"After this I looked, and behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, with palm branches in

their hands, and crying out with a loud voice, "Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!" And all the angels were standing around the throne and around the elders and the four living creatures, and they fell on their faces before the throne and worshiped God, saying, “Amen! Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever! Amen."

"Then one of the elders addressed me, saying, "WHO ARE THESE, clothed in white robes, and from where have they come?" I said to him, "Sir, you know." And he said to me, "These are the ones COMING OUT OF THE GREAT TRIBULATION. They have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb."

Remember: WE ARE ADOPTED INTO the PROMISES OF ISRAEL! That isn't a metaphor! We are ADOPTED by God Himself into the bloodline Family of Israel.

If you ARE now a child of God through the sacrifice of His Son, Christ Jesus, then you ACTUALLY belong to one of the original 12 tribes of Israel - whichever tribe God had placed you in….

…. And, now this is only my loose opinion and not sound doctrine – just an idea that I have considered:

How did Israel mark their territories! Stones, with the name of the owning tribe written on them. They built monuments of stones as witnesses of oaths that the tribe name was inscribed upon… so, I'm thinking, the stone that the Lord will hand you that has a name written on it that previously no one had known?

I think that could possibly be the name of the tribe of Jacob you belong to. BUT, that's just an idea that seems to make sense.

Again, as many of you have heard me say repeatedly: the outworking of the history of Israel was a prophetic analogy of what God had ordained for his children in world history through Christ.

When the plagues struck Egypt, the trumpets if you will, were the children of Israel raptured away from Egypt? Or did God protect them from the plagues that came directly from His hand?

Have you read the book of Revelation?

Rev. 7:2-4

"Then I saw another angel ascending from the rising of the sun, with the seal of the living God, and he called with a loud voice to the four angels who had been given power to harm earth and sea, saying, "Do not harm the earth or the sea or the trees, until we have sealed the servants of our God on their foreheads."

1 Thes. 5:2-4

"2 For you yourselves are fully aware that the day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night. While people are saying, "There is peace and security," then sudden destruction will come upon them as labor pains come upon

a pregnant woman, and they will not escape. But YOU ARE NOT in darkness,

brothers, for that day to surprise you like a thief."

The Rapture and the Jesuits

The first thing I tell a person who asks about the Rapture is this: "Please do not throw what I am about to share out the window without first carefully examining this historical information.

"The Rapture has seated itself into a lot of the evangelical churches, and few church members question it, as they grew up with the idea. They have never studied its origin and are trusting wolves in their pulpit to sell them on this apostate doctrine."

And this is what I explain: What so many people in the modern evangelical world do not know is that the Rapture is actually a "new theology" which was not taught by Jesus or His disciples, the primitive early church, or by ANY OF the Protestant Reformers such as Luther, Tyndall, Wycliff, etc.

In fact, this idea, which is referred to as "prophetic futurism," was dreamed up by a Jesuit priest named Francisco Ribera, who reached back to a second century heresy and used it as the basis for his made-up teaching of his —

A teaching he created to defend Roman Catholicism, and particularly, the POPE, against the TRUTH in God's Word that the Reformers were using to point a finger in Rome's face and shout publicly, "THIS IS YOU! YOU ARE THIS BEAST!"

*Modern Christianity has largely forgotten the importance of the Protestant Reformation, which took place only a short time ago in history, during the 1500s.

The Protestants were "protest-ing" against the abuses and corruption of the Catholic Church. This time period was referred to as "The Dark Ages," and it was a very dark age. Those who "protest-ed" were silenced by prison, torture, and death. Millions were martyred for their faith in "Sola Scriptura", "Sola Fida", and "Sola Christos",

Scripture Alone as our sole authority, Faith Alone is the sole means of our salvation, and Christ Alone (without His mother's or anyone else's help) for our complete lives and righteousness.

But no matter how hard the inquisition tried to silence the voice of these protestors, the Protestant movement continued to grow. Something had to be done to take the heat off of the pope and the Catholic Church.

In 1545, the Catholic Church convened in a place north of Rome in a city called Trent.

This meeting became known as "The Council of Trent".

One of the main purposes of this council was for Catholics to plan a counterattack against Martin Luther and the Protestants.

Thus, the Council of Trent became a center for Rome's self named Counter-Reformation.

Up to this point, Rome's main method of attack had been the burning of Bibles AND OF THOSE IT NAMED HERETICS, who were none other than true Bible believing children of God.

NOW they were going to try a new approach by spreading false ideas through a theological attack.

Some eleven years before the Council of Trent, on August 15, 1534, Ignatius Loyola founded a secretive Catholic order called "the Society of Jesus", also known as the Jesuits.

The Jesuits definitely have a dark history of intrigue and sedition—that's why they were expelled from

Portugal(1759),

France (1764),

Spain (1767),

Naples (1767),

and Russia (1820).

They were, in a sense, the military arm of the Roman Church.

At the Council of Trent, the Jesuits were commissioned BY THE POPE to develop a new interpretation of Scripture that would counteract the Protestants naming of the Bible's Antichrist prophetic- figurehead as the Roman Catholic Church.

Francisco Ribera (1537-1591), who was a brilliant, smooth talking Jesuit priest and doctor of theology, accepted the task.

In 1590, just five years after Trent, Ribera published a commentary on the book of Revelation as a counter- interpretation to the prevailing view among Protestants, which identified the Papacy with the Antichrist.

Another brilliant Jesuit scholar, Cardinal Robert

Bellarmine (1542-1621) of Rome, also got on the band- wagon.

Agreeing with Ribera, both began a counter- interpretation putting all Bible prophecies in the books of Daniel and Revelation way off into the future. This interpretation was later referred to as "prophetic futurism".

If you do your own research, you will find out a lot

in regards to this. This is purely a historical fact, I didn't make these things up.

The problem the Catholics had was getting the Protestants to swallow this "new theology".

It took a while, but modified versions of this Jesuit-inspired "prophetic-futurism" were introduced into the Protestant world by a man named John Nelson Darby, an Anglo-Irish Bible teacher. He was the first Protestant to bite the hook of this "Roman Catholic, Counter-Reformation" teaching.

Dispensationalism and Futurism

John Nelson Darby infused this "new theology" into the Protestant world in the mid-1800s.

The Rapture was not accepted in America at that time, even though the idea was spreading across parts of England.

Charles Spurgeon rejected Darby's "new theology" and convinced the American evangelical world of his day that it was HERESY.

DID YOU HEAR ME?!?

Charles Spurgeon labeled this entire false teaching HERESY!!!

One of the most important figures in this whole drama is Cyrus Ingerson Scofield (1843-1921), a Kan- sas lawyer who was greatly influenced by the writings of Darby.

In 1909 Scofield published the first edition of his famous Scofield Reference Bible which adopted this new theology in his study guides and the footnotes found in that Bible.

And little by little, "futurism" made inroads in America.

It wasn't until the late 1960s and into the early 1970s that HAL LINDSEY started propagating this Rapture theology by introducing it at the Dallas Theological Seminary.

*I read his book, "The Late Great Planet Earth".

This, plain and simple, was nothing but prophetic futurism.

In 1976 there was a movie by the same name. And it was the movie that was the catalyst to the evangelical world in accepting this new theology called the Rapture.

Years later, in the 1990s, the Left Behind movie series became a big hit among evangelical Christians.

Tim LaHaye and Jerry Jenkins took the future one-man Antichrist idea of Hal Lindsey, Scofield, Darby, Irving, Newman, Todd, Maitland, Bellarmine, and RIBERA, and turned it into "the most successful Christian-fiction series ever" (Publishers Weekly).

It took the devil 500 years, but at last he had led professing Christians -like lambs to the slaughter- into believing a diversionary false doctrine that will leave them COMPLETELY UNPREPARED emotionally, mentally, and spiritually for what will happen in the last years of human history if they are in the generation upon which God roles time up and closes it. Protestants finally swallowed the Jesuit-inspired teachings of prophetic futurism!

HERE ARE SOME SUMMARY THOUGHTS ABOUT THIS TEACHING:

1. The Rapture doctrine is one of the most recent "new doctrines" in the history of the church. The only doctrine more recent is the invention of the sinner's prayer, a practice begun by Wesley at his gospel revivals in the 1700s, presented by Billy Sunday in 1930, and made popular by Billy Graham beginning in the mid 1940s.

2. The fact that John Nelson Darby invented the popular, modern manifestation of the pre-tribulation rapture doctrine around 1830 AD is unquestionably true.

All attempts to find evidence of this wild doctrine before 1830 will fail you, with a single exception:

Morgan Edwards wrote a short essay as a college paper for Bristol Baptist College in Bristol, England, in 1744 where he described a "pre-tribulation" rapture.

However, friend, Edwards' ideas, which he admitted were brand new and never before taught, had no influence on the modern spread of this false doctrine.

That prize goes to John Nelson Darby.

3. Prior to 1830, no church taught the Rapture in their creed, catechism, or statement of faith.

4. Darby has had a profound impact on religion today, since Darby's "secret rapture" false doctrine has infected most conservative evangelical churches.

While the official creeds and statements of faith of many churches either reject or are silent about the Rapture, they also do not openly condemn this doctrine.

They are cowards.

And God hates a coward, in case you missed that:

Rev. 21:8 says—

"But as for the COWARDLY, the faithless, the detestable, as for murderers, the sexually immoral, sorcerers, idolaters, and all liars, their portion will be in the lake that burns with fire and sulfur, which is the second death.”

NOTICE HOW GOD links together spiritual cowardice, faithlessness, and what is detestable to Him! DO NOT miss that!

A last thought about our attitude toward what we choose to stake our Eternity on:

We in modern Western society have fallen into the poor habit of judging Truth, and/or God's acceptance of whatever we choose to "believe", on the merit of our imagined "sincerity".

Family, you can be absolutely sincere about something you believe and yet be sincerely absolutely WRONG!

If there were no eternal danger in our buying into lies that masquerade as Truth, the Lord would not have warned us over and over about false gospels, false teachings ("doctrines").

He would not have moved Paul to recurringly warn us about heretical doctrines that would infiltrate the body of Christ, and further warn us NOT TO BELIEVE THEM.

So, again, BE CAREFUL what you choose to step off into Eternity chained to!

Many are going to go before Christ at the Judgement in full confidence that they are absolutely good to go — and Christ is going to tell them, "Depart from Me, I NEVER knew you!"

(Mt.7:21-23)

And on that text: if Christ never knew them, then they were never saved and so never had the Holy Spirit dwelling in them.

…. so how were they doing these things they claim to have been doing in His Name?!?

Or is the truth of their situation that perhaps they were caught up in a false gospel movement that shouted a lot and PRETENDED to be doing miracles and casting out demons, but they weren't actually doing these things at all.

It was all hype. It was all imaginary. It was all pep rally, or, as the Scripture calls such things: vain jangling, storm clouds without water, beating at the air….

Amen

[bobmusialblog]

The Professor and the Chauffer

Things aren’t always as they appear.

A geology professor had written a detailed research study that started to attract some word-of-mouth attention. This was before social media, so he was still relatively unknown. Other than his immediate colleagues, few people even knew what he looked like.

To further create awareness for his research, the university where the professor worked, encouraged him to do 10 regional campus visits within driving distance of his home base. His department had even arranged for a car and a chauffeur to take him to the various campuses.

After having been together for a while, the professor and the chauffeur became comfortable with one another. As they were driving from one campus on the way to the next, the chauffeur jokingly said to the professor, “I’ve seen your presentation six times now, and I could probably deliver it better than you can.”  They both laughed. Then, after thinking about it, the professor said, “How about if we see? Nobody at our next engagement knows what I look like. So, I’ll let you give the presentation.”

Realizing the professor was serious, the chauffeur agreed and they traveled on to the next campus, where the “chauffeur” became the “professor.”

They were both dressed appropriately and upon their arrival, were escorted into a waiting area backstage of an auditorium. They were met there by a woman who was their host and informal introductions were made to who was perceived to be the professor and his chauffeur.

Pleasantries were exchanged for a few minutes, then their host excused herself, moved out from behind the backstage curtain, and walked out onto the stage. Once there, she explained who their guest presenter was and provided some background information. She then turned, faced offstage, and held her hand out as she gestured towards the “professor” and invited him out to meet the audience.

Instead of the typical four-, or five-person attendees as had been with past presentations, the auditorium was packed. A fact that revealed itself to the “professor” as he made his way onto the stage and to his “chauffeur” who remained backstage.

After the initial shock dissipated, the faux-professor moved to center stage. He stood there nervously arranging some notes on a lectern. Looked back toward the chauffeur/professor. Then, he took a deep breath and began to speak.

What came out of his mouth was not only informative and highly accurate, it was presented in such a way that it drew the audience into the geologic story that the professor was weaving with his compelling words and gestures. 

The audience was captivated. The presentation was memorable. And when the presentation was over, the “professor” received a standing ovation. The “chauffeur” looked on incredulously regarding what he had just witnessed. He too was impressed by the performance, its delivery, and the reaction from the audience.

By this time, the faux-professor was feeling pleased with himself. He had proved his point to the real professor. He felt good about it and was confident. So confident, he then brazenly asked,

“Does anyone have any questions?”

Immediately several hands shot up. It was then he realized his mistake, but he had to go through with it. So, arbitrarily he picked out someone from the front row who had been energetically trying to get his attention.

Once recognized, the excited person, then stood and enthusiastically asked, “Professor, what’s your interpretation regarding the law of superposition as to why it is inapplicable to intrusive, highly deformed, or metamorphic bodies of rock lacking discernible stratification?”

The professor/chauffeur was quiet for several seconds. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the real professor shrinking in his seat, and lowering his head feeling guilty about the charade.

It was then the faux-professor gathered himself and said . . . “Thank you for your question. And while your question is complex, the answer is relatively simple. In fact, it’s so simple, I’m going to have my chauffeur answer it.”

Takeaways:

Even detailed presentations can be made to be captivating, intriguing, and memorable. Being smart is good. Being street-smart makes it better.  (But, then again. I’m slightly biased.)

[lmsarchive]

ENG 346 Lit Review #1

Mrs. Todd’s Shortcut: Diana the Daredevil

Stephen King’s 1984 short story “Mrs.Todd’s Shortcut” is a narrative about the events leading up to the disappearance of Ophelia “Phelia” Todd. The narrator’s name is David, and in the story David is listening to his friend Homer as the man recounts his interactions with Phelia before she vanished from town. According to David, Phelia is part of a group of people who only stay in the story setting of Castle Rock, Maine during the hotter months of the year. Unlike the rest of the summer people though, Phelia is willing to get dirty helping out the locals with their tasks around town. While the other vacationers will put together a committee and raise some money, Phelia will help clean local war memorials. The funny thing about her though is that she is obsessed with saving time. Phelia’s primary hobby is exploring roads less traveled and mapping out quicker and more efficient routes between her chosen point A and point B. 

During his retelling of the events, Homer recounts how Phelia explained to him that all records are beatable, that there will always be a way to get yourself a blue ribbon. In Phelia’s explanation she talks about how mathematically, humans should be able to run a mile in four minutes at the absolute minimum. She asks though, how this has been beaten despite the mathematics? Phelia takes this question and runs with it. Well, it would be better to say that she drives with it. Over the course of the story Phelia progressively takes less and less time to drive between her destinations. Eventually, she is able to get home from a town that should be two hours away in forty minutes. As she gets quicker and quicker, her surroundings become less rooted in reality. Homer describes how when he saw her car after a drive, it had bugs on the windshield that shouldn’t even exist and that a mutant looking beaver was plastered to the front bumper. Mrs. Todd's shortcut is not just a story about an unexplainable event, but a deep dive into human nature and the way that nurturing the human spirit preserves youth and passion.

One of the most interesting elements of “Mrs. Todd’s Shortcut” is the duality of Phelia and Diana. When Phelia is driving, Homer explains to David that she takes on a completely different personality that is marked by its wild beauty and intense focus on the road; that she becomes Diana, Roman goddess of the moon. This is in direct contrast to her beautiful, but gentle and kind hearted demeanor in everyday life. When Phelia gets behind the wheel of her Mercedes, she is freed from the restraints of society and the expectations forced upon her as a woman. Most of the time when she drives, she is alone and has nobody around to witness her metaphorical transformation. She even explains that her husband is rarely willing to drive with her despite her insistence that he experience her shortcuts. The fact that Phelia allows Homer to see her during one of her most vulnerable states shows a deep trust she feels for him, perhaps a feeling that they are cut from the same cloth. Phelia sees driving and making her shortcuts as a temporary escape from the daily rituals and routines that add monotony to her life. 

Phelia explains to Homer that while she does like to drive, she does not like to be behind the wheel of her car for too long. What she wants is to get where she needs to go, not to take the most time possible doing so. I interpreted this as a sort of reclamation of her life and her time. The story makes it clear that her and her husband do not have a very strong connection in any sense of the word. She stays in the marriage because that is considered the socially acceptable option and a duty that is expected of her. This would make sense as to why she has such a deep obsession with saving time behind the wheel, she desires to reclaim her time and wants to get as much back as possible. The time that was stolen from her by being married to her husband.

During Homer’s drive with Phelia, she drives through the wilderness as a shortcut. In the forest, Homer sees trees and animals and bugs and plants that he does not recognize from anywhere else. He also talks about how the roads and paths that she takes are completely unknown to him despite the fact he thought he knew the area as well as a person could. I see this as being very symbolic of social norms in general and the perception of new things. Symbolically, the unknown forest represents lifestyles that are outside of societal expectations and foreign to most people raised by those standards. When Homer drives through the woods with Mrs. Todd, he is metaphorically being exposed to new things and ideas that he had never thought of before. Literally though, he is experiencing the other world or dimension that Phelia is able to access by becoming Diana and mapping out a new shortcut. Either way though, the unnatural wilderness represents unknown and unexplored territory to Homer that he is being introduced to by spending time with Phelia. When Homer notices all of the strange bugs and animals dead on the Mercedes after Phelia gets back home the quickest she ever has, this symbolizes the fact that before her disappearance, she was starting to bring elements of Diana and her free spirit into her domestic life. The merging of her identities raised the need for one of them to win over the other, and eventually Diana took over completely.

Perhaps the most obvious and important example that proves “Mrs.Todd’s Shortcut” is about the revitalization that comes with giving in to one's passion is the fact that Phelia and also Homer eventually begin to age in reverse. Homer notices throughout the story that when Phelia drives, she is more beautiful and regains a sense of youth. At the end of the story, David sees Homer for the first time in years and he seems to be much younger than before. He also notices Phelia with Homer who now appears to be a very young woman. It is not the actual act of driving that makes them younger, though, it is the nurturing of their free spirits that does the job. 

Mrs. Todd’s shortcut, while undeniably a cooky tale about a sort of time travel and unexplainable events, is also a love letter to adults who don’t let their age get in the way of what they love. Mrs. Todd manages to take on the responsibilities of a grown woman around town while also allotting herself time to do what she enjoys. By breaking down social norms and conventions, Phelia manages to reverse the clock and do what she has always set out to, buy herself some more time. While in the real world we may not age in reverse by developing our hobbies (sadly), our inner children that seek excitement and adventure will be nourished in doing so.

[moonvalecrossing]

Alright, top 3 favorite and least Gym Leaders of Paldea?

Hell yeah Fam lets do this! PROBABLY MORE SCARLET AND VIOLET SPOILERS KIND OF. THIS IS YOUR ONLY WARNING. Also unpopular opinions probably! I aint stopping you from liking what you like. Nobody attack me for the following!

Favorites first.

#3. Kofu. I like the colors in his design. I like that he's a friendly old man. I also liked how they used him to introduce a side activity in the game that I might otherwise have completely passed by. Even though I wound up climbing the mountain around Cascarrafa in order to get to the other town he went to because I was scared to cross the desert and run into the part of Arven's quest that was out there. I want to try his cooking.

#2. Grusha. The last gym leader is always supposed to be the strongest and I did not expect to find the Ice Type gym in this slot. Of course, but his point in the game I was a tad over leveled. By this point in the game, even when I was swapping out and training entire teams for a gym/team star/legend battle I was already thinking about what mons I'd take to the elite four and any other endgame stuff so I already had a pretty good party set up. I sorta pulled the rug out from under this cool cucumber's sassy ass. It was absolutely adorable how he was clearly embarrassed when our character asks for a picture with him after earning the badge.

#1. Larry. Larry is we all. All of us are Larry at some point. This man is so tired you guys. He just wants to get his job done. He didn't want to be a gym leader, he's just really good at it so that's his job now. The poor thing is even one of the elite four. How did they manage to make a tired salaryman a pokemon trainer? I don't know but I'm so happy he exists 10/10 I would hang out and share a meal with him when he had some time off.

Honorable mention: Ryme. Her hair is dreadlocks shaped like skeleton parts. She's a rapping old lady and that is rad as FUCK. Yes, queen! SLAY! RAISE THE DEAD. NECROMANCY!! The only thing I didn't like about her design was the fact the people who made her model made her dress so damn tight that you could see her navel through the fabric as well as the damn creases where her thighs meet her abdomen. Not even rapping grandmothers are safe from the male gaze anymore, folks. Every woman wears vacuum sealed plastic in the future.

Now the least favorites! Preface: I don't HATE these characters. Well besides the unlucky duck who's sitting at the top of the #1 slot. I kinda really hate them but we'll get to that. <3

#3. Brassius. PUT DOWN YOUR PITCHFORKS, DID YOU SKIP THAT PARAGRAPH UP THERE JUST NOW? I don't hate him. But... I don't really like him too much either. I want to, don't get me wrong. I'm a sucker for artist characters. I've always considered myself an artist. But... this guy is a lot of what I hate about artist characters. A bit abnormal? The dude was standing on the damn windmill before the battle started and implied he watched us collect those sunflora from all the way up there. He uses the word 'avant-garde' way too much. Also, gonna say it now. His pieces of art aren't that great. He's got like 200 of the same sunflora statue all over Artazon. It's not even that impressive of a statue. Just slightly exaggerated of a regular Sunflora. And whatever that other work is supposed to be... yes, okay sure Brassius is such a skilled artist that his weird thorn ring thing needs to be shown on billboards all over that one city. At least they decided to give the multiple copy pastes of this piece different colors. And then there's the class he joins in during Mr. Hassel's teachings at school. If you pick the wrong emotion when he asks how he was feeling when he made that damn sunflora statue? "No no no... completely and utterly wrong!" Look here you avant-asshole. If there's one thing that really rustles my jimmies its 'artists' who get offended at someone having an incorrect interpretation of your art. You made a mildly constipated looking sunflora statue, not some great piece depicting Arceus mourning over having no choice but sealing Giratina away. Get out of my art class before you spread your bad personality to the younger students. Don't glare at me when those creepy eyebrowless eyes. You look 24 going on 79. Burgh will always be the superior artistic gym leader!

#2. Tulip. Okay, so overall I love this woman's design. Well besides whatever the Kentucky fried fuck is going on with her eyelashes. Like, goddamn woman. Stay away from open flames they might catch fire. How do you hold you eyes open with that much weight on them? However, the design is about all I like about her. We're introduced to her gabbing on her phone. She's not thinking about the gym battle she's about to be challenged to, oh no. She's too busy planning out a makeup line with someone. And this cake-up faced woman has the gall to decide the tagline for this new line of cosmetics should be 'naturally beautiful'. Uh, honey, no. Please do not enforce the idea that 'natural' beauty needs eyeshadow, mascara, lipstick, and the whole nine yards. It's bad enough that women end up trapped in a Schrodinger's Box of being 'slutty' and 'fake' if they wear too much makeup, or looking like a corpse or they're sick if they don't have enough makeup on. When she finally deigns to get off the damn phone she's quick to let you know that being gym leader is just a side gig and that her make focus is all about makeup. She then calls our character cute and says that her ESP training made us all the more beautiful. Woman your challenge was possibly my least favorite of all of the gym challenges. It was obnoxious and all it made me feel was a strong desire to have my Annihilape break your nose. And when we finally beat her? One of the first things she says is that she should take you under her wing before we find our big break somewhere else. You stay away from me, lady. This tube of purple lipstick is all I want in life. Oh, and I hope you trip on your heels when you get back to your absolutely packed schedule. Seriously, don't quit your day job. Quit your side gig. Let me battle someone with a better personality. Also? Ryme's got better taste in makeup than you.

#1. Iono. I hate this child. I hate this child so, so much. Gamefreak did an amazing job of recreating everything I hate about the stereotypic streamer girl persona. LOL SO CUTE AND RANDOM INTRODUCTION? Punny name? Oh, Iunno, looks like it! A weird-ass crazy vtuber design? Hot damn this kid's got it all! It's a good thing she's got simps like Electro King throwing money at her because after she filed her teeth down to get those absurd spikes her dental work must be an absolute nightmare. Like Tulip, Iono is clearly more focused on her job outside of working as a gym leader. She only cares about how many views you can get her. She even says as much before introducing her gym 'challenge'. We can't 'collab' with her unless we play a cheap man's version of where is waldo with some random guy she pulled off the street (who luckily just so happened to be someone we could easily recognize). If we can't get this narcissistic cotton candy brat the views she wants, we'll fail. Were I actually in this universe, my gym challenge would have ended right here because I would have called her out on that shit, walked right out of the gym, filed a complaint with the league, and bought tickets to the furthest away region I could as well as got my legal name changed as soon as I touched down. I'll be carrying my best pokemon on me at all times because there's no way in hell I'm getting jumped by rabid manlets because I called out their waifu. My brother keeps telling me she's a grown ass woman. Yeah, okay. I don't care how many thousands of years old that dragon loli is she looks like a child. The final cherry on this sundae is how she signs off after losing her gym battle. I'm guessing she's supposed to do that heart symbol with her hands as the camera zooms in on it but, unfortunately, her designers decided to give her some bigass sleeves that cover her hands. So in that split second zoom we get, all I saw was the camera zoom in on this child-looking streamer's non-existent boobs. Fantastic and not the least bit unfitting. I bet Electro King had more pokebucks for her after that one. Also she did what I absolutely hate and had an electric type that's immune to ground types because of FUCKING LEVITATE. Fuck. I hate that ability so goddamn much. How dare you make me dislike Mismagius in any way.

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

[leiawritesstories]

Improbability

Rowaelin Month, Day 26: You’re seeing my roommate and accidentally walked into my shower. Featuring Sam and Rowan as roommates. :)))

Word count: 1542

Warnings: language, little bit of math gobbledygook that I stole from my stats class.

Enjoy!

~~~~

“Mate, you alright with my girlfriend coming over today?” Sam called out to his roommate. “We’re probably going out, but I asked her over here first.”

Rowan pulled out one of his earbuds and stuck his head out his bedroom door. “Yeah, that’s totally fine, just for God’s sake warn me if you’re going to do the dirty on our couch, bud.”

“THAT WAS ONE TIME!” Sam yelled, “and I was 100 percent sure you had football!”

“It’s called soccer, Cortland!” Rowan laughed, never missing the chance to poke at his British roommate. 

“Whatever, mate. You’re good with Ae hanging out here for a bit, yeah?”

“Sure am. She’s a fun person.” Rowan put his earbud back in and returned to doing his homework, or rather, swearing at his statistics textbook. Some fifteen minutes later, he heard the door of his and Sam’s dorm open.

“Anybody home?” enquired a throaty female voice. “Someone told me he was at home, but obviously he’s too busy to go out today. Guess I’ll just go drink with the girls, then.”

“And leave me lonely?” Sam asked.

Aelin Galathynius, who’d been dating Sam for almost two years now, smiled. “Never.”

He returned the grin and pulled her into the living room, where their conversation faded into a blur of noise too dim for Rowan to interpret. Not that he minded…much. Aelin was hilarious, though, and he loved hearing her make cracks at Sam’s British habits, her friends, her day, and pretty much anything else she thought deserved a snarky comment. 

Slamming his stats book closed, Rowan huffed a sigh and decided that he could use a quick shower to relax a little before heading out to training. He grabbed his towel and a bar of soap and went into the tiny dorm shower, which was low enough that he, at 6’3,” had to crouch to fit under the shower head. Grumbling to himself about the stupidity of whatever idiot architect designed dormitory showers, he stood under the stream of hot water and tried to make sense of all he still had to do. Which was too much. After somewhere around five minutes, he stuck his head out of the shower, realizing the dorm had gone awfully quiet. 

Maybe Sam and Aelin were out, then, he thought.

Rowan turned off the shower and reached for his towel, giving himself a quick dry-off before stepping out. He was just wrapping the towel around his waist when the door swept open.

“Oh, shit, sorry, I didn’t realize you were in here!” gasped Aelin.

Rowan gaped at her, forgetting that the only thing between her and a prime view of what he may or may not have been doing in the shower was a dark green bath towel.

A too-thin green bath towel.

Aelin’s turquoise eyes traveled down his frame, decidedly not missing a single detail. A pink flush spread over her cheekbones, and she hastily backed out of the bathroom and shut the door with a firm click.

Rowan swallowed whatever he’d thought he might have said and told his raging male hormones to calm the hell down. Quickly, before anyone else could walk in on him, he pulled on his practice jersey and sweats and went back to his room, where he grabbed his soccer bag and hauled ass for the gym.

He spent the entire 90-minute workout trying and miserably failing to get the image of Aelin Galathynius in her unfairly attractive blouse and miniskirt blushing at his nearly-nude self out of his mind. When he got back to his dorm, having showered in the locker room, this time without anyone interrupting, Sam and Aelin were gone. Sam had left a note on his bedroom door, stating that he’d probably be back around three. Checking his watch, Rowan groaned. It was almost two, and he’d broken down and signed up for stats tutoring at four. 

He just hoped that whoever the tutor was, they’d be able to help him get his mathematical shit together and pass the course. 

~

Two hours later, Rowan walked into the library and took a seat in the study room marked with a sign that read “STATS 320 TUTORING 4 PM.” Nobody else was there, but to be fair, he was a little early. He plopped his textbook, notebook, and calculator onto the table and waited. 

And nearly fell off his chair when Aelin Galathynius walked into the room.

“What the hell?”

“What the hell, what?” she asked, obviously amused at his reaction. 

“I--I didn’t expect to see you here, that’s what the hell. You here for tutoring too?”

“Yes and no.” Rowan blinked in confusion. Aelin’s little smirk grew bigger. “I am the tutor, Rowan. You’re here for my assistance…and expertise.” She winked.

He felt himself flush at the image that conjured. “Yeah, expertise, in stats, right?” He knew full well he was stammering like a fourteen-year-old on his first date, but that about summed up how his roommate’s girlfriend made him feel right now.

“Correct.” Just like that, Aelin was all business. She set her backpack down, closed the door, and sat across from Rowan. “So. How can I help?”

He sighed. “I’m stuck. I need this class, it’s the last math I have to take for my major, I’m usually decent at math, and I’m fucking stuck on a concept my professor said was fucking simple.” 

Aelin listened to his mini rant without comment. She pulled out her own stats notebook and calculator from her backpack and slipped on a pair of glasses. Rowan cocked his head. 

“I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

“Reading glasses, Whitethorn. I’m supposed to wear them whenever I’m reading, on my laptop, or studying, but do I? Hell no.” She grinned. “Don’t tell my optometrist.”

“Given that I don’t know them, no problem.” He returned her grin.

She flexed her fingers and turned her attention to Rowan’s math. “Right, big bad soccer boy. Where are you stuck?”

He flipped his book to the section on conditional probability distributions. “Here. I took notes, and it seemed logical enough, but I completely tanked the quiz we just had, and I don’t know where I went wrong.”

Aelin scanned the quiz. “You’re reading the graphs wrong.”

“What?”

“Conditional probability is the probability of an event occurring given that a certain condition is satisfied.” She opened her notebook to a blank page and drew a horizontal line. “Any time you see a condition, that condition goes in the denominator.” She pointed to one of the problems he’d answered wrong on the quiz. “What’s this question asking you to determine?”

“Probability that a student chosen at random is an engineer given that the selected student is female.”

“Right. So, you take the condition, the ‘given,’ and put that number in the denominator. Remember you’re only looking at the row labeled ‘female,’ because that’s the condition. Once the condition’s written in, you find the other part of the question, in this case the number of female engineers. Put that number in the numerator, divide by the denominator, and there you have the probability. Does that make sense?”

“Condition in the denominator…” Rowan mumbled, writing it in his notes. He looked up at Aelin and smacked his hand flat on the table. “Aelin, I’m a fucking idiot. I spent so much time trying to look at the totals that I didn’t remember to keep the condition, I--goddammit, I’m stupid.”

“You’re not stupid, Rowan, lots of people struggle with conditional probability at first.”

“I’ll bet you didn’t.”

“Oh, I did. A lot.”

“Really? But you just explained this shit to me better than my professor.”

“I…I happen to like stats. Might be part of my major description, but I just find working with the numbers extremely satisfying.”

“What’s your major?” he asked, intrigued.

“Don’t judge me.”

“Nope. Promise.”

“I’m in finance.”

His eyebrows shot up. “I’m impressed.”

She blushed. “Thanks. It’s a lot of stats and spreadsheets and yelling at each other about the stock market, but I really love it.”

“You’re making me look bad; I’m just your standard pre-PT student athlete”

“Standard pre-PT student athlete,” she mocked, “don’t sell yourself short, Whitethorn. Pre-PT is nothing shabby.”

“Yeah, but not remembering a stupidly easy math concept sure as hell is.”

She snickered. “Fair enough. Is there anything else I can help you with, or is that all for this session?”

He flipped through his notes. “That’s all I had for today, but I’ll probably be back at some point whining about another tricky concept.”

Aelin grinned, closing her notebook. “Wait until you get into chi-squared models. I’ll be here then, waiting for all the stats students to come crying to me while I plug seventeen equations into my spreadsheet and hope it actually calculates the quarterly interest this time.”

Rowan shook his head. “You lost me at ‘chi-squared,’ Aelin.”

“Oh, trust me, it’s fun.”

“As much fun as you and Sam have?”

Her voice dropped to a sultry purr. “Your couch would know.”

Before he could sputter out a response, she’d shouldered her backpack and was walking out the door. Rowan watched Aelin Galathynius leave, wondering how fast he could make up an excuse to talk to his roommate’s brilliant girlfriend again.

[krreader]

the same pain.

pairing: jung hoseok x foreign!reader fandom: bts warnings: mentions of miscarriage genre: angst ; fluff word count: 750+

summary: interviewers often went too far to see how much they could push the person sitting across from them. but hoseok wasn’t having it this time..

a/n: I didn’t mean for this to become this sad?? it just... happened? sorry?

The perk about releasing a solo album were the solo interviews. At least that's what many idols in groups felt like who were often overlooked due to other members being more popular.

This had never been much of an issue for Hoseok, because Namjoon always made sure that nobody ever felt excluded in BTS.

Yet, when he released his first solo album, he couldn't help but be excited for all the attention that was on him and his achievements.. the ones that he only was responsible for. It was like all the hard work really paid off.

But this time, it was different.

Because within the first five minutes of the interview, Hoseok realized what the interviewer truly wanted to know and talk about.

“One thing I have to ask... it probably came to a surprise to all of us Korean fans of yours when your company announced that you were dating (Y/N). Despite her foreign success, she isn't really one of us,” he started laughing. Like that was funny.

Hoseok was professional enough to let out a snort that could be interpreted as a small laugh, but his answer was still salty: “She's a human being. I'd say she's just like us.”

“Well, what I mean is that the values that you hold are probably different right? A lot of cultural differences that the two of you have to overcome. If I'm not mistaken,” he looked down to his notes, “You actually spent a holiday that they're celebrating in their country with her, correct?”

They. Like you and your family were outcasts.

And that's just it, isn't it? The issue that Korea still had nowadays. Narrow-minded people who couldn't understand that just because two people didn't share the same cultural background, didn’t mean that they also couldn’t fall in love with each other.

“I did,” was all that Hoseok said to that question.

“Fans reactions were mixed to all of this, weren't they? Thinking that you spend too much time with her, not focusing enough on your career?”

“Well, I think that if that were the case, I wouldn't be sitting here today, trying to talk about my new album,” Hoseok folded his hands over his lap and cocked his head to the side, “Idols manage to separate their personal lives from their professional ones rather well. One of the first things we learn.”

Hoseok's manager was watching him like a hawk, ready to intervene when it got too personal or when he thought that Hoseok couldn't handle the question. But for now, he was doing a rather good job and the questions all backfired, turning the interviewer into the bad guy.

But then he dropped the one question that made Hoseok gulp down hard.

“What about that rumor that she's pregnant?”

If it had truly been a rumor, he would have laughed it off and shook his head, he would have said that it's ridiculous. If it had been the truth, Hoseok would have lied to keep this secret a little while longer.

But the truth was a little more difficult... and a lot sadder.

His manager walked up to the interviewer the moment that he saw Hoseok get up.

“Wait..- you didn't answer my question!” the interviewer tried to go around the manager, but then another security guard came into view and put his hand on his chest, shaking his head.

The interview was over.

He had taken it a step too far with that question.

Why, though, only you, him and the people that you trusted enough to know, knew.

You sighed heavily when your boyfriend walked into the apartment later that night with slumped shoulders and a head hung low.

It wasn't hard to tell that they had asked him about it, just like every single person that had interviewed you these last four months had asked you. You knew they had asked him, because your reaction was always the same that he had now.

So you instantly got up and just wrapped your arms around him, gently brushing over the back of his head and kissing his cheek.

“It's okay.. we'll have another chance one day.”

Hoseok didn't reply, didn't cry, just wrapped his arms tightly around your middle and pulled you as close to him as he could.

You two had lost so much in the last couple of months.. but never each other. That would never happen, no matter who tried to tear you apart.

[indelibleevidence]

Practical (tag to 2x08)

Author’s Note: I’m still not entirely convinced this is worth sharing, but here it is: my interpretation of Kurt’s thought process when it came to realising Jane is still his friend, and should come to his stupid party.

***

This wasn't the first time Kurt Weller had been taken captive, but it was the first situation where none of his team knew where he'd been taken. The first time he'd been without backup, with a frightened civilian to protect, and very little idea of how to get out of this.

He had faith that Patterson would come through for him, and send help—if anyone could track down the weapons dealers' hideout, it would be her. And even though he'd left Jane on the dock with four million dollars' worth of untraceable cash, he didn't even entertain the idea that she'd take it and run. She wasn't perfect, but that wasn't who she was. Or at least, it wasn't anymore.

His people would back him up. All he had to do was watch, wait, and work on these restraints tying him to the chair. His wrists were abraded and sore, but he was slowly beginning to make headway with the knots.

Just out of reach, Dr. Chen was silently testing her own bonds. Jane had spoken Chinese to her, when they'd first seen her being hauled out of the trunk of the car, and Chen had responded in the same language. Mercifully, she also spoke English, which meant Kurt could involve her in his escape attempt. They'd already conferred a little, in hushed tones, but a guard was stationed just outside the cell, making it a risky proposition to move their chairs closer together, to work on each others' restraints.

He lost his grip on the knot he was working on, and grunted with pain as the rope slipped against his raw skin. Chen glanced over at him.

"Who was the woman?" she asked.

Kurt didn't think she was talking about Lynn Burton. "Which woman?"

"The one who told me everything would be all right."

Despite their situation, Kurt couldn't help but smile a little. That was Jane—taking a moment to comfort someone in distress, no matter the danger. "My partner, at the FBI. I sent her for backup. If we can get out of this cell, I think she'll have people on the way to help us."

"But she doesn't know where the boat took us. They had a radar jammer."

"My people are smart. They'll figure it out."

"I hope so." Chen fell silent again.

Kurt continued to work on the ropes, his thoughts turning back to that moment by the dock. Jane had tried to make him go for backup instead, insisting that she was just being practical. That he had a baby on the way, a family to worry about, but she had nobody, so she'd take the risk and go on the boat.

She'd spoken with a touch of wry self-deprecation, but no self-pity. She hadn't been playing for sympathy—the situation had been time-sensitive, and she'd known it. If he hadn't tricked her into looping around the building to attack an enemy who didn't exist, she'd have put the entire Sandstorm mission at risk by endangering her life.

If something happened to me, no one would miss me.

If he was being honest with himself, her words had taken him aback, shifted his entire perspective for the couple of seconds before he'd decided on a course of action.

He swallowed the urge to laugh at himself. Sure, Weller. You were just worried about Sandstorm.

Still working on the knots, turning his face from Chen for as much privacy as the moment could give him, he allowed himself to dive into the possibility. Before now, he'd never allowed himself to imagine Jane's death, recoiling from the idea with immediate mental reassurances that it would never happen, that she was tough enough and smart enough to handle whatever life threw at her.

Part of that denial was because he hadn't been able to face the idea of Taylor's death, but while he'd hung on to the idea that Jane was Taylor for as long as he could, now he'd been forced to accept the truth.

He imagined it now. Jane Doe—who'd betrayed them all, who'd broken his heart, whose pre-ZIP self had cruelly exploited his personal tragedy for her own ends—dead in this cell, tied to the chair he now occupied.

No one would miss me.

He imagined working the tattoo cases without her, attempting to put together enough intel on Sandstorm to bring them down. Seeing close-ups of her skin on Patterson's screens every day, and knowing that photographs were all that remained. Holding his newborn child and knowing that, if not for Jane, Allie would have lost the baby.

God, it hurt. He hadn't wanted to admit it, amidst the anger and grief of the past few months, but he'd been glad to have her back on the team, at least during the field missions. It was easier to work within a team of four than three, and he and Jane had always had each other's backs in dangerous situations.

He'd been too stubborn to admit, even to himself, that he'd missed her—but he had. He'd told Tasha—within Jane's earshot, even though that part had been an accident—that he didn't want to be in the same room as Jane, and it had been true. But that was because when she was there, he breathed easier—and how could he feel that way, without betraying Mayfair's memory, and Taylor's?

And if he hadn't been willing to face that, how could Jane know that he felt it? That he cared about more than the mission, that he needed to know that she was safe?

Even after everything that had happened, he still wanted to protect Jane Doe. Not Taylor, but Jane.

She thought that he hated her, and accepted that without a fight. She wearily carried the weight of the team's grudges—though after what the CIA had done to her, and the position she now found herself in, he didn't know how she stood it.

I'm just being practical...

Now that he thought about it, she'd been throwing herself into danger a lot lately. She'd never been hesitant to put herself in harm's way, but these days she was downright reckless, as though her life meant nothing to her—as though she was willing to sacrifice everything to atone for her mistakes.

In his mind's eye, he saw her casting aside her weapon, then walking towards a volatile, armed teenage girl, her hands in the air and a gentle tone to her voice. Running towards him with desperate determination, Allie's full weight on her shoulders, leaving herself vulnerable to gunfire to save lives that were vitally important to him. Staggering away from him with a fresh bullet wound in her side, getting behind the wheel of a car when she needed a damn hospital, all to sell her cover story to Sandstorm.

He recalled the resignation on her face when she'd been summoned back by Roman, unsure whether or not her cover was blown. I could be walking into my own execution. Yet when he'd tried to offer her an out, she'd refused it. Since she'd learned her true identity, she'd faced her responsibilities head on, and he had to give her credit for that.

She did everything he asked of her, endured the team's verbal jabs with little resistance, threw herself into the line of fire time and again.

Now, out of nowhere, her first words to him after her statement under the polygraph came back to him. I thought I was protecting you.

She'd screwed up, but so had he, letting his hopes and biases lead him, when he should have investigated more thoroughly. And even though she'd been misguided and a little selfish, she wasn't psychic. She'd done what she thought was best—and it had blown up in all of their faces.

He shrugged off the uneasy thought that Nas had told him that exact same thing about her bad choices at the NSA. That was a whole different issue.

If Jane had died before this case, she would have died believing she wouldn't be mourned.

This morning, she had fought to keep the pain from her face as she'd realised he was having a party, and everyone was invited except for her. It wasn't that he'd explicitly told anyone to exclude her—more that his anger and hurt wouldn't let him extend the invitation, even though it seemed petty now. When Zapata had asked if Jane was coming, with Reade silently looking on, Kurt had hesitated, then shaken his head. Even though she'd put her life at risk to save his baby's, he'd been repelled by the idea.

He'd last let her into his home under such different circumstances. She'd sat at his dinner table, conversed with his sister and played board games with his nephew, been welcomed into his family as Taylor Shaw. No one else would ever have gotten so close to him. But all the while, Taylor had been nothing but neglected bones and decay, denied a proper burial not once, but twice, because he couldn't bring himself to let the world know she was dead. That he'd failed. That he'd been deceived by his father, by Sandstorm, and by the woman he couldn't get out of his mind.

It all just hurt too much to untangle, so when Tasha had asked, he'd said no. And that had led to Jane believing she didn't matter to any of them. Yet after this morning's fresh rejection, she'd tried to throw herself into danger so that he wouldn't have to, because she perceived his life as being worth more than hers.

He owed her an apology.

He owed her so much more than that.

And she was still the same person she'd always been, the person he'd—

Muffled footsteps drew closer, and both he and Chen stiffened, exchanging alarmed glances.

Pulling apart his feelings about Jane could wait. If they got out of here alive, he'd tell her she still mattered to him, that he still considered her a friend. But for now, he had to focus, and hope that help was on the way.

[darter-blue]

tfw you wake up accidentally married to a superhero

stucky - shrunkyclunks - total fluff...

Read it here on ao3

Or part one, two, three, four and five on tumblr

Part 6:

Steve...

Steve can’t quite believe that this is real. There’s something magical about the way Bucky is looking up at him. There’s something overwhelmingly honest in his affection. Steve wants to kiss him again. But the music has stopped and the confetti is no longer falling and Scott is clearing his throat and, well, this is probably not the time or place for Steve to lose the last shred of his control.

‘Boys, boys, boys!’ Mavis is cooing, clapping her hands, ‘You did it!’

‘We did it,’ Bucky says softly, smiling quietly, eyes shining up at Steve.

‘We did,’ Steve says. Totally unnecessarily. But words have never been his forte. Steve’s life is always about action. He got so used to people not listening to him. Before the serum, after the serum… nobody listens to Steve’s words.

But they pay attention to his actions.

Bucky has done nothing but listen to him tonight. Everything Steve said Bucky has heard. Bucky has answered Steve’s words with actions, had pulled him forwards into activity after activity. Has interpreted all of Steve’s clumsy musings with a perception that almost defies logic.

Steve so rarely gets to let anyone else take the helm. Very rarely would ever trust anyone to do so.

But he trusts Bucky.

His stormy blue eyes and the warmth of his touch and the way his voice wraps around Steve like a blanket to keep him safe. Familiar. Beautiful.

And now...

Now he’s family.

‘Scott, kiddo, we need you to sign this for us,’ Mavis says, pulling Scott away from where he’s awkwardly standing behind Bucky and Steve at the altar. ‘You boys too, we need signatures and then you can run away to your room for the real celebration!’

Mavis’s glee is exuberant and seemingly infinite. But she makes an interesting point.

No they have the rest of the night to themselves. As a newly married couple. Which he guesses makes this the honeymoon…

He’s certainly no expert on marriage or relationships of any kind… but that's typically a pretty exciting period of time…

Steve may or may not be panicking about the ramifications of what that means for both of them.

He doesn’t have that much experience doing this since he’s had the serum… Fumbling around in a tent with a sergeant after a long day tracking through enemy territory… maybe getting hands on each other, mouths at most…

He hasn’t done that for a while. And he’s never had time, or even the inclination, to worship someone, to take his time, to discover enough about someone to give them everything they want.

He’s not even sure he knows how to do that.

‘You’re thinking too hard,’ Bucky says, placing a gentle finger between Steve’s eyebrows, ‘Come sign the papers Stevie, and then we can talk about what’s worrying you.’

Steve is hit again by how much he can’t believe this is real, that Bucky can see his hesitation, knows him already.

Too much of that disbelief must be evident in his expression though, because Bucky takes his finger away and stands up straight, taking his weight off Steve’s arms, ‘Unless you're freaking out? Are you freaking out?’ Bucky’s hand slides down Steve’s arm and slows as it reaches his forearm, grips it with comfort. ‘We haven’t signed anything yet Steve, it’s not too late to change your mind.’

‘I haven’t,’ Steve says, sharp, shaking his head hard and fast, ‘I would never.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.’

Bucky reaches up to kiss him again, fiercely, pushing up into Steve’s chest and gripping his arms. Steve kisses back like a desperate man, forgetting again that they have people waiting on them, that they need to be getting out of the way.

Forgetting about anything and everything but the taste of Bucky, the sweetness, the hint of sugar on his tongue, the saltiness of the sweat on his lips. He’s lost in the sensation.

‘You two lovebirds better get up here and sign this so it's official!’ Mavis is laughing at them, Steve can hear it.

Bucky pulls back and almost falls, Steve has to grab him to stop him from falling backwards. ‘Oops,’ Bucky says with a grin, ‘We better get up there.’

‘Gotta make it official,’ Steve says. He can feel the answering grin on his own face.

‘Good, good,’ Mavis says as Steve and Bucky make their way up to sign the paperwork, ‘let me get this all officiated for you and you can come and pick them up with your album in the morning,’ Mavis takes the signed papers from them and shuffles them into a folder, ‘Take your rings, take this,’ she gives them each a glass of champagne Steve didn’t even see her pour, ‘go thank your witness and get out of my chapel, I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Thank you so much, Mavis,’ Bucky says, pulling away from Steve to wrap Mavis in a hug, very nearly spilling his champagne down her back. ‘You’re wonderful.’

‘Oh, well,’ Mavis says as Bucky lets her go, a pretty pink blush creeping into her peach cheeks, ‘you two have been an absolute delight.’

‘Thanks Mavis,’ Steve says, reaching out to shake her hand, ‘we’ll see you in the morning.’

‘You better!’ Mavis turns away, waving over her head at them and heading out to the office at the back with their paperwork.

Bucky tips his head back and drinks the entire glass of alcohol in one pull, gesturing for Steve to do the same, ‘We’ll leave the glasses here,’ he says, setting his down on a console near the doors, ‘down the hatch, Stevie.’

Steve looks down at his glass and shrugs, tips it back and drinks it down in three mouthfuls. He looks back at Bucky, rosy cheeked and laughing and has the overwhelming desire to kiss him again, slower, and longer and without the audience.

‘I ah,’ Scott says, clearing his throat again as he sidles up to them, ‘I should get your number, you know, so I can send you the video.’

‘Oh, good idea!’ Bucky says, and they set their heads together while Steve stands back and watches.

Once they have their numbers exchanged and Bucky has laughed at the pictures, he pulls Steve in closer, sets Scott in the middle of them, their arms around him.

‘Quick selfie,’ Bucky says, holding his phone out and snapping a photo, the three of them in their matching t-shirts and matching grins.

‘Thank you, Scott.’ Steve says, clapping him on the back.

‘Anytime, Cap, anytime. Literally. Call me and I’ll be there. Whatever you need.’

‘Yep, yes,’ Steve says, shaking Scott’s outstretched hand and then stepping back, ‘I’ll ah, I’ll be in touch.’

‘You were wonderful too, Scott,’ Bucky says, pulling a happy Scott into a hug, ‘thank you so much.’

‘You’re welcome, Bucky. It was my pleasure.’

‘We should get going though,’ Steve says, wrapping a hand around Bucky’s, ‘It was lovely to meet you Scott.’

‘Right, yes, big night for you!’ Scott puts his arms out as he takes a step back, ‘You know, wedding night, ah…’ he trips on a fold in the carpet and does a little backwards hop, ‘epic romance and ah… you know,’ he goes to make a gesture with his hands but stops mid way, ‘yeah I better,’ he sticks his thumb over his shoulder, ‘leave you to it.’

‘Thank you, Scott,’ Steve says again, his voice probably coming off a little more authoritative than he intended.

Bucky is laughing into Steve’s shoulder, and the feel of his warm breath on the thin material of his T-shirt is very distracting. He hardly notices that Scott is gone, or that they’ve reached the open doors and are now back into the hustle and bustle of the Casino.

‘So um,’ Bucky pulls away from him enough to look up into Steve’s face, ‘I may or may not be sharing a room with my best friend, who may or may not have someone up there with her right now…’

‘Oh, I have a room all to myself,’ Steve says quickly grabbing Bucky by the hand, ‘would you… I mean, if that’s okay?’

‘Sounds great,’

‘Okay it’s this way,’ Steve pulls Bucky towards the elevators, ‘Do you need anything?’

‘I have everything I need,’ Bucky says with a smile, looking Steve up and down and biting his lip. ‘Maybe more than I know what to do with, to be honest.’

Steve has to huff a laugh at that. And the idea that Bucky might also be feeling a little overwhelmed by the physical connotations of the decision they’ve just made eases a tightness in Steve’s chest.

‘We can take it as slow as you like, Buck.’

And Bucky is nodding his head. ‘Slow is good, I can do slow.’

There seem to be even more people out on the casino floor than earlier, and Steve is careful to pull Bucky through them gently, not bumping or knocking or accidentally treading on anyone, ever conscious of how much heavier his step is than it used to be, how much damage he could cause with a moment of carelessness.

It’s enough to pull all of his focus, and they’re at the elevators before he has a chance to think to panic about anything else.

Bucky leans forward and pushes the button to go up.

When the doors open, at least five other people shuffle into the elevator with them. Too drunk or too wrapped up in their own conversations to pay much attention to Bucky and Steve as they move all the way to the back and lean against the railing. Hands held gently between them.

‘What floor?’ someone asks over their shoulder as the doors close, and then balks as he catches Steve’s eye. ‘Ah… Sir.’

Steve looks down at Bucky as he answers, ‘Ten.’ and squeezes his hand.

Bucky squeezes back.

‘Ten. Ten. Sure.’ The guy presses ten and then looks back over his shoulder at Steve and nods his head, eyes wide. ‘You’re ah… you seem bigger in real life, you know.’

‘I have heard that,’ Steve says, smiling tightly at the guy and then looking back at Bucky to gauge his reaction.

Bucky is looking between him and the passenger with a raised eyebrow, his brow furrowed, but he doesn't say anything. Just squeezes Steve’s hand again, and Steve lets out his held breath, squeezing Bucky back.

The last of the other passengers shuffle out at the fifth floor, glancing curious looks back at Steve, and the doors close behind them, leaving Bucky and Steve alone. Bucky stretches forward, pulling Steve’s hand with him, and pulls the emergency stop on the elevator.

‘Okay,’ he says, turning back to Steve, ‘what was that?’

Steve shrinks into his shoulders as Bucky stalks towards him, leans back into the railing of the elevator until he hears it crack.

‘Shit.’

‘Steve!’ Bucky says, looking behind him at the cracked railing and then up at Steve’s no doubt very sheepish expression, ‘what’s going on?’

‘Okay, so, I can explain this,’ Steve starts, carefully moving away from the railing and towards Bucky, keeping their hands joined, not wanting to stop touching him, ‘I ah… when I said my name is Steve Rogers…’

‘It’s not?’

‘Oh, no, it definitely is. That’s the problem.’

‘What’s the problem?’ Bucky asks, frown deeply etching into his forehead.

‘That’s me, I’m Steve Rogers.’

‘Yes, you said that…’

‘Steve Rogers, like Captain America.’

‘Captain America's name is Steve Rogers too?’

Steve can’t help but laugh, Bucky looks so quizzical, so adorably confused.

‘Yes Buck, his name, my name… I’m Steve Rogers and Captain America.’

‘Oh,’ Bucky says, narrowing his eyes, ‘ohhh.’ His eyes widen and he looks Steve up and down again. ‘Huh.’ he says, nodding, ‘I mean yeah… that makes total sense. I can see that.’

‘Are you… okay? Are you mad?’ Steve asks, he can feel his shoulders up around his ears.

‘Mad? Why would I be mad?’ Bucky steps closer, peering up into Steve’s face, ‘Steve, why would I be mad?’

‘I lied to you?’

‘You didn’t,’ Bucky says, shaking his head, stepping even closer, lifting a hand up under Steve’s chin and lifting it from where it’s burrowing in between Steve’s collar bones, ‘You told me your name was Steve-Steve Rogers, was that a lie?’

Steve huffs a surprised laugh. ‘No.’

‘Then when did you lie?’

‘I didn’t tell you, I knew you didn’t recognise me, and I didn’t say anything.’

‘Listen, Stevie, if I went around telling everyone that didn’t recognise me, that I was a guest mechanic on that show one time where they custom build motorcycles for people who have too much money, I’d look nuts.’

‘Yeah but-’

‘No buts. It’s your job right?’

‘I mean, in a very simplified sense, yes.’

‘Uh huh, well, let's be real simple, you’re a superhero, I’m a mechanic,’ Bucky moves so close to Steve that his chest is pressed up against Steve’s. Steve can feel his heart beat through the point where their bodies meet, ‘we’re married, and we get to spend the rest of our lives figuring out if it's crazier to be married to a guy who gets emotional over a cracked magneto rotor or a guy who fights crime for a living.’

‘It’s not really crime-’

Bucky puts a palm over Steve’s mouth to muffle him. He’s looking at him with the sort of fondness that Steve has never known. Has only read about. And then his mouth quirks, and his eyebrow lifts and his gaze switches from warm to hot as he crowds into Steve’s space. ‘Steve, shut up and kiss me, okay?’

Steve doesn’t waste any time. He grabs Bucky by the thighs, flips them around and lifts him against the wall.

Bucky’s legs wrap around Steve like its instinct and his arms fly up to grip Steve by the back of the neck. ‘Oh wow,’ he reaches up to meet Steve’s mouth as Steve reaches down to kiss him. ‘You can’t be real.’

‘I’ve been thinking the same thing about you all night,’ Steve whispers, breathing the words into Bucky’s mouth between kisses.

Steve can feel that he’s hard, and that his dick is trapped between them as he presses Bucky further and further into the wall. ‘Oh wow,’ Bucky says with a sharp intake of breath.

‘Sorry,’ Steve says, not pulling back far enough from the kisses to give the word any real feeling.

‘I think you mispronounced, “you’re welcome”,’ Bucky laughs, rocking his hips up against Steve’s erection and ringing a gasp out of both of them.

‘I need to get you up to the room,’ Steve says, trying to grasp at his self control, ‘need to get this elevator going again before they send a search party up here.’

‘I guess we can’t have you turning up on TMZ wrecking your new husband in an elevator, huh?’

Steve has to close his eyes to that image, to the idea of just ripping Bucky open against the wall like this, of tearing into him, biting and licking and fucking and taking and Bucky giving himself over. It’s so much, it's too much, and Steve has to pull back, has to count down from five to get some of his control back.

‘Hey, hey, hey, you’re okay, we’re okay,’ Bucky is saying, not pressing into Steve’s space but keeping him grounded. Finding his feet and reaching out with one hand to Steve’s forearm, the other keeping him steady against the wall, ‘let's start it up again, get to the room.’

Steve keeps Bucky in his periphery as he leans over and depresses the emergency stop, starting the elevator up again with a lurch and a grind of gears.

He slides Bucky's palm down his forearm to lock their fingers together. ‘I’m good, sorry.’

He looks down at Bucky and Bucky is looking back at him. Not judging, not frowning. His face is soft and open, his smile small but real. The acceptance radiating off of him is tangible; Steve could run his fingers through the air and touch it.

He lets himself unclench, lets his body be at ease, leans into Bucky and rests his cheek on the top of Bucky’s head.

‘You know,’ Bucky says quietly, speaking the words into Steve’s shoulder again, ‘I’ve probably had too many cocktails for too much nonsense tonight anyway.’

And Steve hugs him tighter, wraps his arms around him to pull him impossibly closer.

‘Maybe we should do some investigating, once we get to your room, find out who gets which side of the bed, and which one of us is the blanket hog.’

‘It’s going to be you,’ Steve says, just as quietly, his words landing in Bucky’s hair.

‘Probably.’

‘I run pretty hot though, I should warn you.’

Bucky pushes up to tilt his head back, to reach up and press a soft kiss to Steve’s lips, ‘I bet you do.’ when the elevator slows to a stop and dings, the doors opening to the tenth floor.

It’s quiet, and the lights are low, and Steve feels calmer, his panic receding. He leads Bucky to the suite that Tony organised for him, too much for just Steve, but probably just right for the two of them. Just fancy enough for a wedding night.

‘Holy shit,’ Bucky says spinning around as he follows Steve inside, ‘this is some room!’

‘It’s a bit much’

‘It’s amazing!’ Bucky is busy walking around and looking into the corners, poking his head into the bathroom, ‘Fuck a duck,’ he looks back out at Steve, ‘your shower is bigger than my apartment!’

‘Can I get you anything?’ Steve asks, in lieu of finding a non awkward way to discuss the size of his ridiculously ostentatious hotel room. There are a million tiny bottles of alcohol in the minibar, though Bucky’s probably had enough (the implications of that are for Steve to worry about tomorrow). All sorts of food and snacks that he’s been too scared to open, lest they cost Tony a small fortune, but he’d be happy to open them for Bucky.

Bucky comes back over from his tour of the room to stand by the kitchenette with Steve. ‘Um water?’

‘Sure.’ He pulls a bottle from the mini fridge and opens it, hands it to Bucky who drinks it down and sits the empty bottle on the counter. ‘Hungry?’

Bucky peers up at him and shakes his head. He looks over at the giant bed, back to Steve, and then to the remote on the nightstand.

‘Okay. Idea.’ He grabs Steve by the hand and pulls him over to the bed. ‘We pick the cheesiest movie we can find, get under the covers, and order ice cream.’

Steve could cry, it's everything he needs (not what he wants, but he doesn’t trust himself, his body, his control right now). Honestly. ‘Okay.’ He crawls onto the bed next to Bucky and shows him which button elevates the TV up out of the bench at the foot of the bed.

‘Whoa.’

Steve has to admit that it’s pretty cool.

And it's much nicer when he has someone to share it with.

Bucky fluffs a bunch of pillows and places them against the bed head, sits himself up against them and burrows down into them. ‘You coming?’

Steve nods his head. He pulls off his shirt and folds it up, places it on the armchair next to the bed, holds his hand out to take Bucky’s as well. ‘Pants too,’ Steve says with a smile. Only half wanting to get to snuggle up to all that soft smooth olive skin, and half wanting to make sure Bucky is comfortable.

Bucky rolls his eyes with a smile and shuffles around until he has his clothes off, passes them over to Steve who folds them and puts them with his own. Matching t-shirts folded together.

He looks down at his ring and feels that now familiar skip of his heart.

It's real.

He could have this every day.

Someone to snuggle up to. Someone to fall asleep with. Wake-up to.

He takes his own pants off and places them on top of the pile, sliding in under the covers next to Bucky and reaching an arm around to pull him close.

‘What are we watching?’

‘Alright, don’t be mad, but there’s a Murder She Wrote marathon…’

‘And you like this show?’

Bucky nods.

‘Then it’s perfect,‘ Steve says. Leaning back into the pillows. ‘Tell me everything I need to know.’

He doesn’t mean to, but the sound of Bucky’s voice, the lull of the soft light and the background noise, the warmth of Bucky’s body pressed against him… it's like the ultimate comfort. For the first time in as long as Steve can remember, he feels his eyes closing, he feels his mind quietening, he feels his body settle into rest.

If Bucky regrets this, if he wakes up and realises this was a drunken mistake, if he changes his mind for whatever reason, Steve will have still had this night. He will have had this peace.

He’s going to steal it now. Not borrow trouble. He’s going to lie back and let this be his. Even if it’s just for one night.

And Bucky’s voice, his warmth. They have him believing that it might be forever. Something about Bucky just makes Steve believe.

In love at first sight. In soulmates.

In Happiness.

He tightens his hand around his husband. His husband.

And he sleeps.

No dreams. No nightmares.

He sleeps.

[mybg3notebook]

Gale: Manipulation, Lies, and Trust

Disclaimer Game Version: All these analyses were written up to the game version v4.1.104.3536 (Early access). As long as new content is added, and as long as I have free time for that, I will try to keep updating this information. Written in June 2021.

Additional disclaimers about meta-knowledge and interpretations in this (post) while disclaimers about Context in this (one).

Before anything I strongly suggest reading this post about "Context, persuasion, and manipulation" to understand in a simplified way the meaning of the words we use, so despite not being related to bg3, it's related to communication and social issues. Since fandom loves to misuse them, I think it requires a proper explanation so we all know in which frame we are analysing these scenes. 

Due to the fact that this post ended up turning into a much longer one than I wanted to, I split it into four posts, each of them showing how many sides Gale has in those scenes, how much his actions are "manipulative", how many details related to lore he shares, and possible interpretations of his behaviour, since it's rather easy to lose his scenes because they have the lowest priority. In this post I will only make a summary and a compilation of the broad details explained in those posts, so pick what you want to read since all these posts may have overlap of information and repetitive concepts (they were written to be self-contained as much as possible).

'Stew'Scene

"Loss Scene"

"Party Scene" (with Revelation scene)

"Extra Scenes": Death Protocol and Comments on Dreams

I'm analysing these scenes in detail because I noticed that many players incorrectly paraphrase Gale's words, putting in his mouth words he never said, so for the sake of transparency, I transcribed many fragments of his dialogues, making these posts more lengthy than they should be.

The stew scene

The details are shown in the post of the "'Stew'Scene". In this scene, Gale shares a friendly introduction with the stew and with a list of good deeds done by Tav. This shows that he has begun to trust Tav so he can talk about this issue earlier than he wanted to (he will wait much longer in the neutral version). As a gesture of honesty, Gale sets an explicit boundary by telling Tav to refrain their curiosity and do not ask about the 'why' of the issue he is about to talk about (under no circumstance he is forcing Tav to agree with the delivery of artefacts before telling them 'what' he needs). He acknowledges that it may be unfair not to give the whole context, but he still can't speak in detail about this very personal issue. As an interesting detail, his trust in Tav at this moment of the conversation is so honest that he has not shielded his mind, so Tav can intrude with the tadpole without Gale knowing it—if Tav succeeds— . If Gale doesn't trust Tav even successful intrusions of the tadpole can be perceived by Gale's trained and cautious mind. For more detail read the post of "The Tadpole".

I personally interpret the stew scene as one of those moments in which one is developing a friendship with a stranger, and at some point, someone has to trust first. It's a rare occasion in which the act of trust is shared in equal measure by both members in a new relationship. Usually, one of them offers a bigger portion of trust, testing the other, seeing if it was not misplaced or if it will be honoured later. It's a normal asymmetry, and in this case, Gale is only explicitly asking for that asymmetry in his favour. 

Considering how Gale opens up later, Tav passed the test in his eyes. Helping him during his direst moment and accepting that temporal trust asymmetry made Tav “earn the respect of years” despite being a stranger he met a couple of days or weeks ago. But Gale will not be blind to that gesture. He will progressively honour that trust in the Weave, the Loss, and the Revelation scenes. And by the end of EA, if it is not bugged as usual, Gale's approval status can change to “best friend” (an information given as meta-knowledge, therefore very unlikely to be "a trap set by Gale". For more details read the post about "meta-knowledge").

It's pretty common for manipulative characters (whose trait of manipulation belongs to their personality, not characters who may have circumstantial manipulative actions) to expose their pain too soon with strangers as a tool to force empathy on the listener and "catch" them. Gale does exactly the opposite: he won't open up until having a solid ground where to place his trust. Nobody wants to share their pain in unsafe places, after all. 

Helping him with artefacts is deeply appreciated by him and a great boost of his approval for obvious reasons: people tend to place their trust on persons who helped them in their most desperate situations or in their survival. It has to do with the unique connection that often happens between survivors of extreme situations (war-like) who helped each other in surviving. The shared link is deep. One could expect this link to be built with any of Tav's companions since the Tadpole experience is traumatising and extreme. I think this has higher chances of happening with neutral and good aligned companions, since evil ones may have little scruples to not honour the trust received. 

Gale could have avoided Tav's questions and mistrust for this secrecy by just lying. However, Gale opts for an explicit enunciation of his limits and boundaries. And Tav is completely free to agree or not since Gale won't abandon the party if not. We know that, in that case, he will try to find another solution that he may find in Raphael's deal. Some players consider this situation of mutual agreement in the terms and conditions that the conversation will happen as a coercive one. What I see is diplomacy and negotiation rather than manipulation.

Gale's need for secrecy is related to two factors: 

Survival: He needs to be sure that Tav won't kill him out of fear (which we saw during the scene with Nettie; it's a common procedure in Faerûn: exterminate what's dangerous). Gale's case is even worse because killing him will only activate the devastation he is desperate to avoid: Gale wants to survive but also wants to avoid the massacre that the “orb” can cause.

Personal reasons: Which is the main reason at this point: Gale is unable to speak about the "why" of this condition because it's originated in Mystra's abandonment and the horror of the “orb”: such traumatising experience that turns the Tadpole experience into an inconvenience (this is why his attitude with the tadpole is more relaxed too, he has already passed through a much worse, terrifying situation). 

The Loss scene reinforces this concept when we see Gale—usually so verbose and impossible to shut up— can't speak or find the words to say what he lost and why. And only by the end of the scene, if Tav insisted with many checks, he managed to say something. It's worth noting that these checks tend to be strangely low for a character who is struggling with a personal secret. This is usually understood in DM-code as Gale wanting to share this info (setting a lower DC than the average). Gale is not finding the way to do it, and a Tav gently pushing him will do the trick. 

It is for this reason I personally think that Gale's secretive attitude is more like a series of obvious clues he purposely leaves in his conversations for Tav to draw their own conclusions before he could finally open up. If all Gale's scenes are triggered (which at this moment is very hard to do with his priority being always the lowest) and Tav pushes him to speak more than he is willing to, the player obtains a decent amount of information to conclude that Mystra and Gale had a deeper relationship, and that the “orb” is something dangerous not only for Gale. To be honest, the death protocol is a gigantic red flag pointing out that Gale's primary condition is not to be taken lightly and “many innocents” can die because of it. 

With a neutral or lower approval, Gale will not ask Tav to trust in him. He doesn't trust Tav either, and there is no promise to speak and disclose his condition later. Gale clearly is more mindful and caring with a medium or higher approval Tav who he is starting to see as a good companion/friend, while with a neutral or lower approval Tav he cares little about keeping the contact beyond what diplomacy demands.

It's not by chance that this Stew scene is meant to happen before the Weave scene. From a narrative, contextual point of view, the trust that Tav gave Gale during the Stew scene is afterwards paid with the Weave and the Loss scene. Let's remember that Gale would only ask for that trust if Tav is of medium or higher approval, so the Weave scene comes naturally (when not bugged). The neutral and low approval Tav is never asked for that trust and therefore the Weave scene never happens (if their approval keeps going down). In fact, Gale can leave permanently without any chance of convincing him to stay if he reaches very low approval. What I mean is that, from a narrative point of view, the Weave and the Loss scenes are Gale's way to return that trust that Tav gave him first during the stew scene and the first artefact consumption.

The Weave was not a premeditated scene. It happened by surprise, triggered by Gale's deep loneliness: Tav startled him when he was longing for Mystra while seeing her image in his incantation. He shares in that moment how important and vital magic is in his life, and only then, the previous actions done by Tav encourage him to share this experience. It's important to highlight that this is too personal for Gale, too important, and a bit painful too, since we know later (second dream) that every time he connects with the Weave, he meets with Mystra's disappointment: "What magic I can still weave is met only with undercurrents of disappointing silence." 

After a moment of rambling, Gale invites Tav to share this experience. Here is where all the branches about explicitly displaying Tav's romantic interests can be developed; a neutral option for a friendship path, or very aggressive and violent reactions can be picked as well. More details about this scene can be read in the post of "Gale Hypotheses- Part 2", section: "Proposition to Cheat". And again, for a char so guarded of his own privacy and personal issues, sharing the Weave can be clearly seen as the repayment of the trust that Gale received from Tav during the stew scene.

The Loss scene 

The Loss is a scene that starts with a mystery about Gale's incapacity to cast a spell. He keeps pushing Tav away, claiming that night to be of personal regrets. Tav knows already that something is dangerous in Gale's consumption of artefacts that can cause a catastrophe, so in this scene some links can be made between the two conditions.

If Tav gently pushes Gale to speak, we will notice that most DCs are rather low, meaning that Gale is not putting a strong resistance for the pushing: a friendly Tav pushing him can be interpreted as Gale wanting extra help to open up and speak (in the end he approves the caring despite his reserved persona). Gale gives many hints in this scene that suggest he was a Chosen of Mystra. The most relevant one is the Silver Fire reference. For more details about the Chosen's powers read the post about "Mystra and her Chosen ones".

We also see a reinforcement of Gale's pattern behaviour: He prefers to speak in this poetic way when he has to talk about painful topics (we see it after killing the druids that triggers “the barren oak” scene or during the goblin party scene). Talking in third person puts distance, but also the embellishment of his narration makes it easier for him to speak, after all he is a poet/storyteller as well. 

What's clear is that the verbose companion, who always has a lot to talk about, is basically speechless in this scene, stuck in his "loss" (literally, metaphorically, and psychologically speaking). Part of this behaviour can be understood a bit more in the post about "Gale Hypotheses- Part 1", section: "Grooming". Besides being a private person, Gale also has a perspective that talking about things that can't be changed is useless. He is so stuck in the loss, that talking about it means nothing to him, "the outcome" is always the same. 

After pushing Gale to share his burden, the presence of Mystra in Gale's life is undeniable for Tav. Gale sounds like a strong devotee that somehow lost Mystra. We know in this short description that he “did something” to impress his Goddess and earn her favour back, and in doing it, he failed, invoking death upon him. If Tav is sharp enough, knowing that Gale's consumption of artefacts is related to a “catastrophe” and a certain death of himself... maybe they can start connecting some dots and suspect that Gale's primary condition may be related to the loss of Mystra. My point is, even Tav has been informed quite a lot about Gale's “truth”. As we can see, the “Revelation” scene should not be such a shocking “revelation” as it was written, but more a “detailed description” of the situation.

The context seems clear so far: Gale knows he hides the details of his condition (which are not so hidden anymore), and knows that it's information that can cause a second abandonment (whether as a friend or a lover). Gale is at this point in his life very tired and lonely of struggling with the “orb” inside him too. He could use some emotional support, and this is why I believe he has less tough DCs that one should expect from a character who is actively holding information he doesn't want to share. We need to remember that Gale lives in a permanent anxiety mind-state, too focused on Artefacts and the disaster he can cause, increased with the dreadful, hungry feelings that the “orb” inspires with each passing day. He is getting fond of Tav at this point, and their abandonment would mean too much, even though he knows that he may deserve it. 

We know that Mystra abandoned him, but did not ban him from using the Weave. I personally speculate that maybe Gale's point of view of the situation of the “orb” and the following abandonment of Mystra is partial: Mystra may have abandoned him not on purpose but as a consequence of having that Weave-sucking power in his chest. As it was explained in the post of "Mystra and her Chosen ones", Chosen ones have a deeper connection with her, and they are able to use raw magic in the form of Silver Fire. This means that Chosen are part of Mystra herself (in Dead Masks, it's stated that Mystra leaves a bit of her own divinity in each of her Chosen), so Chosen ones are also part of the Weave, always connected to Mystra who is the Weave. If the “orb” inside Gale consumes Weave, and we all know that Weave IS Mystra, it's not too far to conclude that Mystra may have abandoned him as a safety measure since, if Gale remained as Chosen, his contact with her would be deeper and would expose her to the “orb”, destroying her eventually. But this, again, it's a mere personal speculation.

The party scene

Gale has finally reached a degree of trust in Tav that gives him enough courage to finally speak about the details of the "orb" (and I emphasise details because in broad aspects, he already shared what's most important: the “orb” in his chest is a dangerous thing. If Tav assisted in his death protocol, this is undeniable by now, unless Tav did not pushed him and respected his privacy).

If he is romanced, he promises much more: confessions in the art of conversation, pleasures in the art of the body, and, hopefully, acceptance. For Gale, acceptance is a big deal: I personally believe he shows a fair level of naivety on this matter. It seems (especially later, with his arguments in the morning) he thought he needed this level of intimacy to reach acceptance first (a process that this book guarantees to happen), so he could speak openly. He wants to have this night before any confession because he wants to acquire acceptance which, in his mind, would prevent the abandonment he viscerally fears.

Gale is so eager to spend the night with Tav first and confess later that the only way of not doing it is not romancing him at all or telling him that Tav is not in the mood. It's not clear in EA if this ends the romance; I think it doesn't since the disapproval is not big (there is no change in the approval status).

 Gale wants to be with Tav intimately so badly that he doesn't mind Tav having casual sex with other companions first as long as the "commitment" part would be established with him. This is reinforced by the fact that, if Tav never shared the Weave with Gale, there is no way to sleep with him: Gale is not a character for one-stand nights. He craves for deep connection, for commitment, in whatever fashion he can get it. Mystra taught him not to ask about exclusivity after all, and because of the ephemeral nature of his relationship with her, he craves for something meaningful and more committed.

Mystra was his first love. After her abandonment, he made the mistake of the “orb” that dragged all his energy into studying Netherese magic and possible solutions. I consider it fair to think that maybe Gale never had a relationship beyond the Goddess, and all what he learnt about romantic relationships was through books like the one he mentions or, as a poet, through novels or romantic poetry. He must have an idealisation of love (also proper of a poet) that made him believe that through sex “intimacy” there is a guarantee of acceptance. 

His pattern, in my opinion, says that he tends to make mistakes in his emotional state, which is mostly triggered by the “orb” and the potential of “abandonment”. Not so much with Mystra herself. He seems to be nostalgic, but more aware of what loving a God causes (his regret is explicit during the conversation about Karsus). He seems to be quite done with "her romantic love", but that doesn't mean he doesn't want to be forgiven nor he doesn't love her as the essence of Magic itself. More details in the post of "Mystra and her Chosen ones". 

Some players see the “Revelation” scene as manipulative. Although that's personal interpretation, if we analyse the kind of information withheld by Gale we found little new: the dangerous nature of the “orb” had been indirectly disclosed in all the previous scenes. Tav being surprised about the “orb” seems strange. And Gale sleeping with Mystra has little relevance: in a game for adults, why are past partners such a big deal? The scene is so confusingly written to make it sound as if Gale is still in love with Mystra, but previous scenes showed he has been working on getting over it. Despite loving Mystra as the embodiment of Magic herself, Gale showed to be very aware that all that love belonged to the past (second dream), to a younger self, and even though he is not certain if he loves her still, he is clear that nothing good comes from relationships between mortals and gods (comments on Karsus). He is very explicit about desiring her forgiveness (second dream). So, there is little withholding information at this point for a Tav who pushed him to speak. Now, Gale's attitude certainly has been tactless. Not the best decision to disclose a past lover with such a degree of fascination just after sharing a night with Tav. But it's understandable since in order to “disclose” the “orb”, Gale needed to provide the context of his young love for the Goddess.

The whole scene of the Revelation seems very, very unpolished, mixing tones and confusing information that was given before and presenting it as if it were a revelation when it's not the case. It jumps from one drama concept to another, and never sticks to one, and Tav's options tend to be extreme: or the player calls this disclosure a “great betrayal”, or makes it seem as if nothing has happened, giving little options of what Tav already knows, or if they want to show a moderate annoyance since most of the information has been disclosed already, but still Gale's timing is annoying. Part of this can also be written on purpose to show what a disaster Gale is when it comes to the potential of “another abandonment” in his life. Hard to tell in EA.

Tav's romantic options react as if Gale confessed to have cheated on them, while what he explains has a different degree of conflict: he confesses he is not sure he still loves Mystra, but his lines in previous scenes show he wants to get over it, without losing his magic/relationship with Mystra, because magic is too important in Gale's life. At times, Tav's options are meant for them to react with jealousy, other times as if this were a big betrayal, or as if Gale's romantic past should have been disclosed before the night, and in the last part of the scene, Larian remembered that the “orb” could be considered a conflict too, so Tav has some occasional options to react to the “orb” as if it were a big revelation (when it's not, because we had 3 scenes, four if we include the death protocol, stating its dangerous nature). So, I personally understand why every person has a completely radical interpretation of the situation: it has been written in a rush, and I see it as very inconsistent in tone and context. This all makes sense when one remembers Kevin VanOrd stream where he explained that Gale was meant to be in the second wave of companions, and not in EA. Gale's writing was rushed and it shows in the last of his scenes and his meeting scene. 

Some people may argue that talking about a previous lover right after sharing the first night is, at the least, a very bad taste. However, the player (not Tav) can understand the reason behind it: Gale started the story in order to explain in detail the "why" that has been left up in the air since the stew scene. That "why" can only be explained if Gale discloses Mystra's relationship as the origin of his mistake. So... on one hand, this disclosure right after the shared night is unfortunate for Tav (especially by picking the long version of the explanation in which Gale shares too much unnecessary detail). On the other hand, if he omits this relationship, it's harder to explain the context of why he got the “orb” in his chest. 

In general I think this scene has been handled poorly. The whole “conflict” portrayed here implies two aspects: He slept with Mystra, and he has an explosive “orb” in his chest. Neither of them are truly big arguments for the drama degree that this scene seemed to have been written because we already know, to a certain degree, about them. 

The “orb” is not truly “such a revelation” at this point. The stew scene alone gave Tav and the player a clear idea that something in Gale could cause a catastrophe without consuming artefacts. After the death protocol that certainty is clearer. So, these “revelations” are more like “extra details” of problems we already know about. Which is what he exactly says when introducing this scene: “Those are but the broad strokes. The time has come to paint you the true picture”. 

Having past lovers seems also a strange concept for a “betrayal”. Adults carry pasts. It's true that maybe speaking of a past lover in the same moment he awoke with a recent one is in a pretty bad taste; it's a bit more understandable when you finish the scene: the origin of the “orb” problem was Gale's love for Mystra, so it makes sense to start from her. However, I see the conflict of the conversation switching constantly in three directions: the fact that Gale had a lover that didn’t talk about the previous day, that “Gale is still in love with Mystra”, and that he has an “orb” that Tav “never” knew about it. A very inconsistent conversation.

It's true that Mystra is not a standard lover—she is a goddess—but she is quite known to have these affairs (at least for the player), especially during her past when her direct contact with any human was not banned. It should be more surprising that Mystra seemed to have broken that ban for Gale's case (since she only kept in direct contact with her chosen ones: Ao's decree). And it's also clear the scene tries to show that Gale is still “in love” with her, which is very confusing with what he spoke during the Loss and mainly, during the second dream. Again, I personally feel the scenes of the party and the romance are a mess from a cohesive narrative point of view, and they are the result, alongside Gale's first meeting, of his rushed introduction into EA.

This post was written in June 2021. → For more Gale: Analysis Series Index

[softranswolves]

For It May Not Be My Time

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Rating: Teen

Ships: n/a

Characters: Derek Hale, Laura Hale, Lydia Martin, Stiles Stilinski, Deaton

Words: 1598

LAURA HALE APPRECIATION WEEK - DAY FOUR THEME: resurrection

When Lydia shows up at his door to tell him his name unlocked the last of the list, he doesn't react. He knows Braeden is watching him, gauging how he responds. He knows Lydia will slowly come down from her premonition and switch to fix-it mode. She came alone, not wanting him to feel subjected to the pack's stares, but he knows that Stiles knows, and the kid has never been great at keeping pertinent information quiet.

He insists that he's fine each time he's asked, Braeden deciding to let him stew in whatever he's feeling while Scott and Stiles try to get more out of him. The latter goes so far as to goad Derek, trying to taunt him into talking but that isn't something they've ever done and he doesn't plan on starting now. It's easy to push back when they ask, because he's being honest. He isn't looking forward to dying, but he's resigned to it, knowing he's made his mother proud, made his family proud. He's worked to right the wrongs Peter has done, making Hale a respectable name again. Maybe he'll get to be with them soon.

"She didn't show you the whole list, did she?" Stiles asks a few days later. The whole pack has been working overtime to protect their own and figure out who is behind the deadpool in the first place. Kira returned after staying in hospital with her mom, and Scott has taken some time away from everyone to be alone with her, leaving Stiles with nobody else to pester.

"Why does it matter, Stiles? I'm marked for death, I know that already." He's exasperated but tolerant, realizing he might actually end up missing the banter they have. His gaze doesn't leave the gun he's reassembling, a task Braeden gave him for when he needs something to fill the spare time.

"Because there's a name on it that might draw your attention, sour wolf." Stiles is serious, and while this has become the norm after his possession, it's still out of place.

"So? Who was it?" He can hear the uptick in Stiles' pulse, scents anxiety in the air, but maintains his focus. If he engages, Stiles may take it as invitation for another attempt at a heart-to-heart.

There's no response for a moment, just the sound of paper unfolding, before a crumpled sheet slides into Derek's line of sight. He looks up at Stiles, who crosses his arms and simply nods toward the paper to emphasize Derek should look at it. Obliging, he scans the sheet, landing on a name two-thirds down the list.

"That's not possible," he says, eyes stuck on the letters. He doesn't pay attention to the numbers, just that string of impossibility.

"Are you sure?" Stiles asks, voice tense but gentle.

"You saw her body, you know it's not possible."

"Also shouldn't be possible for Peter to be alive, what with his quasi-possession of Lydia a few months ago, yet here we are."

Silence blossoms between them, and Derek thanks the universe for Stiles letting him sit with the information.

"Could it be outdated? Maybe the list isn't live, maybe it was made years ago," Derek suggests. He looks up to Stiles, eyes wide in hopeful shock. The only response he gets is a shrug as Stiles considers and starts to pace, running a hand through his hair in contemplation.

"I mean, it could be. We still don't know anything about it besides where the money came from. Lydia says she can feel a tangible thread to Laura, but she never met her and couldn't say for sure what it means."

Derek nods, standing to look out the window in thought.

"Have you talked to Deaton? Maybe he knows something, being human like you."

"We were kind of waiting to see what you wanted us to do," Stiles says. "She was your sister, after all, and there's no way we're bringing it to Peter without you. Y'know, her literal murderer?" He's pushing at Derek's buttons again, but this time he doesn't mind quite as much. He just nods again before turning back to Stiles.

"We can take the Camaro," Derek says, walking toward the door after grabbing a jacket and his keys."Though we should stop to pick up Lydia."

"Why Lydia?" Stiles asks as he follows after Derek.

"She can explain to Deaton what feelings she's having about Laura. He may be able to interpret them better than you or I could."

"Makes sense." Stiles is quiet after that, not saying anything for so long that Derek thinks it may be the longest he's gone without talking.

While he may have preferred this conversation to happen between the veterinarian and himself privately, he knew Lydia and Stiles would be useful at asking questions he may not consider and keep Derek from going too far off the deep end. The last time he'd been in a room with him alone was the night he kidnapped Deaton, thinking him to be the Alpha at the time. Things may have changed but he still kept his distance.

The boys drive to the Martin house, texting Lydia to join them, and continue the last few minutes to the Vet Clinic. Lydia was unsurprised when she sat down in the car, but seems uneasy around Derek, as though his impending death prediction is making her uncomfortable. He doesn't let himself dwell on it, instead focusing on clearing up his confusion.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" Deaton asks when the trio arrives, motioning to the chairs in the back to sit in. Lydia takes a seat while Stiles continues the pacing he had started at the loft, and Derek simply hands Deaton the list of names.

"See anyone on there that shouldn't be? Any impossible names jumping out?" His voice is raised despite his efforts, and he clenches his fists to ground himself.

"I do," Deaton starts, his usual tone of knowing more than the rest of the room. "What do you think?" He directs the question at Lydia.

"I think... it's not an accident that her name is there," Lydia tries. "These lists, they don't feel arbitrary, as if everyone supernatural in Beacon Hills was added. Cora isn't on there, and as far as we know she's alive." She doesn't seem to want to meet Derek's eye, but he can understand it.

"So you think she's alive." It's a statement, not a question, but Derek' bluntness cuts through the room.

"I didn't say that," Lydia says quietly. "She doesn't feel dead, but she also doesn't feel alive either. It's not the same as when you were taken by Kate, but it's similar." She stands and puts her hand on top of Derek's, a similar motion to a few weeks ago when he'd been lying on the same table they're gathered around now, only a teenaged version of himself.

"So where does that leave us?" Stiles asks. He notes the way Derek has gone tense, and decides to push once more. "Derek, what's wrong? Isn't it a good thing if your sister is still with us?"

He's leaning over the table, arms holding his weight up at the edge, and he shakes his head, smiling to himself a little.

"I was so ready to die," he breathes out. "I'm just so... tired, and when Lydia told me my name was a key for the deadpool? I was relieved. I could stop fighting, stop pretending I know what the hell I'm doing, and be with her again."

Lydia reaches her arm up to rub circles against his back, feeling his sigh beneath her hand.

"The others, I miss them everyday. But for years it was just me and Laura against the world. I don't know what I'm supposed to do if she's alive somehow."

"You keep fighting," a voice chimes in, and it's familiar, too familiar. Derek spins around to see his older sister standing there, a sad smile on her face as she plays with the pendant hanging from her neck.

"Laura? Wha- how?" Derek is frozen in place, mouth hanging open as he stumbles over his words trying to speak properly.

"I'm sorry, Derek, I'm so sorry." She rushes forward to pull him into a hug before taking a step back, holding him at arm's length. "You've grown in just these past few months, Der. Look at you." She has tears in her eyes and laughs a little.

Derek still hasn't spoken, but Laura doesn't seem to mind.

"I haven't been back too long, I promise. I just needed to get my bearing before I came back into your life, especially considering how mine ended."

"How did you come back?" Stiles cuts in, curiosity getting the better of him. Laura turns to look at him but someone else answers first.

"Peter," Lydia says. "It happened when I brought back Peter, didn't it?" Her voice is small, shaking slightly as she recalls those traumatic months, only part of which she actually remembers.

"You're the smart one, aren't you?" Laura answers. "I still don't really know how, and Deaton hasn't been able to fully explain it either. But yes, when you resurrected him, it ended up like a package deal. Whether it was some karmic twist of fate or just Hale blood keeping us bound together, I'm back. And apparently being hunted despite only the people in this room knowing I'm alive." She scoffs at this last bit, turning her attention back to Derek.

"I'm back, baby brother. What do you say we figure this out together?"