#it was such a wasted opportunity that would have easily filled in so many gaps

[bensonstablers]

I still haven’t seen 23x22 yet but I finally watched episode 21 and honestly, one of the major things — if not, the biggest thing — I’ve realised was missing from this season is Olivia’s therapy sessions with Lindstrom.

She confesses to Fin in 23x03 that she’s been lying in therapy and that would have been the perfect chance to start showing those sessions every now and then. Even if those scenes were super short, it would have given us so much insight into Olivia’s thoughts and feelings in regards to not just Elliot’s return but also Burton Lowe, Noah’s bullying, Barba’s return/defending Wheatley, the change from Garland to McGrath, Kat leaving the team, and so on. 

Also, for all the flaws 23x21 might have, I do think that Olivia’s thoughts, feelings, actions, and reactions would have made more sense — read: not necessarily justifying those things but it would have added more explanation to them to make her feel a little less OOC at certain points — if we had a better grasp at where she’s at both mentally and emotionally which is something that could have been shown to us so easily through her therapy sessions. 

[sleephyjhs]

When You’re Expecting (Taehyung Headcanon)

pairing: taehyung x pregnant!reader

warnings: mention of fertility & pregnancy complications

note: i’ve been craving to write a bts x pregnancy series for a while so here we go !! if there’s a specific member you’d like to see next, shoot me an ask :)

m.list

FINDING OUT

even before finding out you were pregnant, you both had so much love for your child

there was nothing either of you could have wanted more than a baby

it was always at the forefront of your mind how much you wanted a little human of your own

it was approaching a year since you began trying seriously

a few false hopes and two miscarriages later, fertility drugs were looking to improve the chances of conceiving

the raging hormones which came with the drugs were all worth the positive test

early september - sickness had hung around your throat for days

headaches lasted longer than usual, and crying at the most mundane things had become an unwelcome habit

in the bathroom cabinet, you’d collected a small stockpile of electronic and stick pregnancy tests

one of them would eventually show positive, right?

taehyung sat on the bathroom tiles with you

waiting two minutes felt closer to waiting two months

he crossed his legs, bouncing his knees impatiently

your knees came to your chin; high hopes weighed heavily on your heart

the alarm set on his phone beeped quietly

your heartbeat rose suddenly to your throat

taehyung reached out for your hand as you turned to read the results

two blue lines - as clear as day

they became less clear as your eyes coated with thick, salty tears

he began to chuckle as his happiness trickled down his cheeks

“we did it baby! we’re gonna have a baby!” he whispered, choked up by his own anticipation

no words were left swirling in your mind

your jaw hung open as though the hinges were faulty

shakily, you lifted the electronic test to triple check

pregnant.

as you crashed into taehyung’s open arms, memories of the past loomed in your mind

it was only inevitable

a positive test was a familiar joy to you both

however this familiar joy had only ever been followed by crippling devastation

as much as you tried not to think about it, you couldn’t help but retain maternal caution

however, this time also felt different

taehyung’s spirit, your spirit - it was as though fate didn’t want to disappoint you any more

someone out there decided it was finally your time to grow a mini human to bring into the world

of course, no time was wasted in contacting the maternity clinic

seeing your baby on a screen was now a top priority

just to see their little head, maybe even hear their heartbeat

just to know they were okay

just to know you were keeping them cosy and safe, that’s all you needed

taehyung couldn’t hold his excitement

from leaving the house to reaching the hospital, his toothy grin never wiped from his cheeks

he never said anything at the time since his main focus was always on comforting you

but losing his babies near enough tore him apart

even when you tried to comfort him, taehyung restricted himself just to protect your wellbeing

of course, the worse had already crossed his mind

but it wouldn’t get the better of him

it couldn’t.

you soon learned you were already 6 weeks pregnant

the midwife had to point out where your little baby was hanging out; they were such a tiny thing after all

briefly, you took the opportunity to hear their heartbeat

it was faint over the machine, but fast

there really was a life within you.

“there’s something else, if you just look over here...” the midwife prompted, turning the monitor so you could grasp a better view

taehyung leaned slightly over your chest to peer closely at the smaller monochrome screen

with the mouse, she circled a second bean shaped figure

“the fertility drugs increase the chance of twins. looks like you guys got lucky!”

twins. you were having twins.

THE PREGNANCY

like with most pregnancies, you were advised to wait until the 12 week milestone to begin announcing your impending delivery

and even though he understood the importance of patience right now, taehyung could hardly contain his excitement

it didn’t help that a little bump had already begun to grow

keeping a secret was much more difficult when the evidence was near impossible to hide

already, taehyung spent early mornings talking to his little angels

telling them stories he seemingly made up on the spot

or even borrowing some from his own childhood

“you know they can’t hear you yet? it’s about 7 weeks until they’ll be able to, honey.”

“i know, i’m just practising for when they can.”

of course, you wouldn’t admit that you did the same when you were alone

you attended more midwife appointments than other expectant mothers might

the pair of you much preferred being on the safer side

in the car, when on a quieter, less congested road, taehyung often reached over to cradle your still-growing bump with a free hand

you slotted your fingertips between his for additional sappiness

“you two have so many people waiting for you here, hmm? many people are already so in love with you both. me and mummy included.”

on a sleepless night, you’d made a small pact with tae

it was a rash decision, but sincere nonetheless

“no matter what, they are always going to know how wanted they were. always.”

taehyung hardly needed reminding of this, but it was still a weight off your shoulders

as you tried to conceive, the pregnancy diet had already been implemented into your daily routines

however now that you were carrying two precious babies, there really would be no more ‘cheat’ days for you

no more extra half cups of coffee on slower mornings

although you usually took over the role of head chef in the house, taehyung dedicated extra effort into preparing you both healthy and yummy foods

sautéd rice with green vegetables and lean meat/tofu appeared to be his go-to

but you still opted to supervise just in case

finally being able to announce your pregnancy was another heavy weight lifted from your mind

the other members were over the moon for you both

particularly when they reminded themselves of the struggles you had experienced previously

and also remembering the utter devastation of their taehyung when he had to break it to them

all of them kept their eye out for little gifts and outfits

each week, taehyung came home with a new stack of pale rompers or neutral-tones teething toys

these babies would have the best uncles; at least that much you could be certain of

announcing your pregnancy on social media was a looming task, but one he was determined to pull off perfectly

for filler content between schedules, the members had been asked to film a 5 minute vlog of their daily life

well, what a perfect opportunity!

towards the end, taehyung made sure to include some shots of your now protruding bump overlaid with some more vintage camera settings

safe to say, that day you had broken the internet

love, congratulations and blessings poured in from every corner of the earth

a few comments complimenting how much pregnancy suited you touched you especially

self image is commonly effected by the progression of pregnancy, and you were no exception to that

although it was amazing how your body grew and made a little home for your tiny babies, it was still quite strange to see yourself changing so quickly

your favourite clothes didn’t fit around your doubled bump anymore

and your skin seemed to hate sharing nutrients with two extra people

but for the days where you struggled to love yourself, taehyung easily filled in the gaps for you

sneaking up behind you in the bathroom

(although the mirror kinda gave him away)

he’d wrap his arms around your just-moisturised bump and carefully rest his chin on your shoulder

“tell me all your worries honey.”

you gushed over how much you missed wearing your favourite jackets

and how strange it was to look at yourself in such a new and confusing way

“i know it’s normal, and i know i have to do it for them. but i guess it’s just weird - i don’t look like myself anymore”

he sighed and planted a kiss on a spot of bare skin

those small kisses still tickled you like they always had

“well, you definitely look different,”

you really hoped there was a second part to that sentence, mostly for tae’s own good

“but why does that have to be bad? not gonna lie, it actually kinda makes you hotter. maybe we should make babies more often!”

“make~?”

LABOUR AND DELIVERY

originally, you had wanted to try and stick to the natural route for as long as you could

but after a few contractions, that idea was immediately out of the window

to help steady yourself and wait out the pain, you held onto the kitchen island and swayed to your own pace

eventually, taehyung joined you

copying the same movements while timing your contractions

“they really must be desperate to come out, huh?”

“well do you think they could hurry it up a bit?!”

the pair of you had been prepared for this for over a month

the hospital bag was ready by the door with all of your essentials packed tightly inside

not forgetting the pots of instant ramen taehyung insisted he must bring in case of an emergency

just as he was readying to back out of the driveway, taehyung took a mental stock check of everything packed in the back

“do you think we have everything?”

“i love you but stop talking please.”

thankfully, he understood well that the sheer pain made you cranky

so long as he assured himself that it was ‘just the contractions’, he’d be just fine

as much as he couldn’t wait to announce he was about to become a father to everyone, he kept himself grounded when walking you to the maternity ward

one corridor in and you’d suggested that a wheelchair might be a better mode of transport

breathlessness and contractions didn’t sound like a favourable mix to you

the assessment of your fast dilation granted you an immediate spot in the labour ward

you’d picked this suite specially due to its expansive space

the option of a birthing pool was still available if you so needed it, but the mood lighting and access to aromatherapy was what attracted you to the room in the first place

a serene paradise for your angels to be born into

it was perfect

taehyung explored while you adjusted to your new surroundings

of course, it didn’t take him long to find the birthing ball

“what’s the difference between a yoga ball and a birthing ball?”

there obviously was none, but you took a few seconds to try and be smart with him

“well, sit on that and you might have a baby the size of a watermelon come out of you soon.”

taehyung cradled his torso and pulled a shocked expression, which was enough to make you giggle and cause another contraction

less than a few hours passed, and you had already attempted to scream the building down once or twice

“get these babies out of me. no i’m serious, i need them out.”

realising your deadpan expression, taehyung soon attended to you at the head of your bed

stroking your slightly sweaty head and patting a ice cold flannel on your clammy forehead

he braced himself for a crushing hand grip which came about sooner than he’d prepared for

you weren’t the biggest fan of commotion, and so being surrounded by nurses and doctors was close to being your worst nightmare

taehyung focused his voice into your ear, trying to minimise the tension coming from below your pelvis

his motivational words were broken up by short bursts of pushes

many of which were followed by a string of curse words which just slipped out

and then, there it was.

the first piercing cry belted across the room

a tear or two may have happened to slip from your eyes

finally the moment you’d waited for, nearly two years in the making, was here

the first of two, a little girl who already had a head full of the most luscious black hair

taehyung wanted to hold back his happy tears in order to show some kind of strength

but you and him both knew he’d never hold it back for long

within the space of 4 minutes, the second baby was born into the world.

but this time, there was no immediate cry

the whole world seemed to slow down in that moment as you waited

and waited

midwifes gathered around the new infant, looking for any kind of obstruction

but, soon enough, your son said his first hello to the world

[duskamethyst]

playing with fire.

a/n: sooo this is my take on the racer!AU. i’ve spent some time watching movies about car racing to get a grasp on the whole scene so i hope i executed this well enough. i also used some terms that are related to cars and wtv, so you can google if you're curious.

word count: 3.8k

genre: smut, nsfw, mature, quirkless AU

warnings: illegal street racing

pairing: racer!keigo x f!reader

summary: keigo is notorious for being the king of speed and drifting in car races and you’ve caught his attention since the first night you joined as a line girl. although keigo has his eyes on you for a while now, he realizes that he might’ve missed a few things about you. and well, surprises aren’t exactly bad.. right?

keigo loves speed. he loves the adrenaline pumping in his veins.

and what better way can he express his love for it?

cars. races. 

keigo is a force to be reckoned with. he grew to be infamous for his incredible skills and talent in the scene and because of that, he also became the main target for the cops.

however, he’s not aiming for anything in particular. yet he doesn’t mind the prizes that come with it either; recognition, money, women. 

and boy, how he can easily get anyone wrapped around his finger.

but one thing he’s irritated about is how you’ve never paid him any attention. he got some killer looks, has won so many races, fucking loaded with money and he’s pretty confident about his size too (you can ask the other girls if you need reference, by the way). 

what more does he need to entertain you?

keigo gets excited when you’re filling the role of the line girl for his races on certain nights. he knows that it’s the best opportunity to show you what he’s made of and he wants you to know that you shouldn’t be taking him so lightly. 

the starting line is crowded with car enthusiasts, boys and girls alike– gathered for their love towards expensive sport cars, the sound of roaring engines, the thrill of watching and betting between two racers. the roads on the city outskirts has been put into lockdown by the responsible crews to avoid disruptions from other vehicles or bystanders.

keigo pulls up to the arena with his red nissan a few minutes early, not wanting to be late especially because he's the main star for tonight. his avid followers would already be there before him and instantly swarm around his loud car to cheer him on, wish him luck and maybe give him some kisses on his cheeks too.

as he’s chatting with the people around him, his golden eyes wander around from time to time to catch a glimpse of you in the arena. his eyes narrow when he finally sees you standing and talking by the window of his rival’s car. 

he wishes he could hear what you’re talking about that makes you all smiles and giggles while all he has ever gotten is the cold shoulder. keigo leans on his car, arms folded across his chest as he watches you from afar. he can’t stop himself from rolling his eyes when he notices you kissing the guy’s cheek before you walk away and strut in his direction to get across the other end. 

a playful smirk tugs on the corners of his lips by reflex as he watches you come nearer, the noises of the engines and chatters around him are quick to become white noises. yet, you only spare him a glance.

“hey,” you stop in your tracks and turn once you realize that he’s trying to talk to you and his lips curl into a lopsided smile as he smizes you with his golden eyes. “i’m keigo.”

you look at his extended hand peculiarly before shaking it firmly. “yeah, don’t humble yourself. all people here know you.”

“oh?” he raises a brow in amusement. “i’m just saying because you’re kinda new here.”

you smile, “already keeping tabs on me, keigo?”

“how could i not?” he chuckles. “always gotta keep you in my sight.”

“right,” you scoff. “what if i say that i’m taken and he’s my boyfriend?” you tilt your head to the side to point at the guy you spoke to earlier. 

keigo inhales through gritted teeth, feigning a pained and offended expression on his face. “then you have a bad taste in men.” 

“ha-ha,” you roll your eyes, pretending not to be amused by him yet he can see the small smile on your lips. “race is starting soon, you should get in your car.”

“don’t you wanna kiss me good luck?” keigo stares at your ass as you turn to walk away but he quickly shifts his gaze to your face once you turn to look at him. 

“i don’t think you’re the type that believes in luck.” you flash a sarcastic smile before striding off towards the front center of the track.

two race cars come forward before the red line that was freshly sprayed just a few minutes prior. keigo watches you as he revs his engine, sending a flirtatious wink when your eyes meet.

ignoring him, you raise both arms in the air, glancing between the two males who now have intense glares on the road ahead as they grip their steering wheels and gears firmly. 

“ready! set!” you shout through the revving engines and the cheers from the mob. “go!”

the moment you draw your hands down, both vehicles instantly speed off and emit white smoke from the friction of tires on the asphalt. when you spin around, you can vividly see that keigo is the one eating dust. 

keigo is calm and focused. like a hawk soaring in the blue sky, he keeps his prey within his vicinity before he waits for the right moment to pounce. he loves to chase– purposely letting his opponent get swept by their own overconfidence before he severely crushes down their will by swiftly changing the lead. some wouldn’t take the risk, but keigo absolutely loves the devastated look on their faces when he veers beside them by surprise.

any regular racers would be familiar with the track by now. he presses the clutch as he changes necessary gears while the mph meter increases gradually as his right foot presses down the accelerator continuously. keigo skillfully speeds through tunnels and every sharp corner until his bumper eventually lightly hits the race car in front of him, making the two of them neck-to-neck.

however, the car in front of him keeps on shifting side by side in an attempt to stop him from getting the chance to overtake. despite the adrenaline pumping in his veins, keigo is patient. he’s aware of the corner ahead where people usually make the same mistake and that’s where he finds the opening to strike. 

approaching the said corner, keigo has expected that the other car would make a wide angled drift thus with his own dexterity, he maintains perfect control as he drifts through the entire corner. 

“hah, bastard.” he snickers, glancing at his side mirror to see the other car struggles to catch up from the poor oversteering. 

keigo steps on the gas harder before he activates the nitrous oxide and boosts his ride until the finish line; easily completing the whole lap with the other car just a decent gap behind.

his ears are ringing with cheers as steps out from the car as people instantly flock around him to express their praises for his victory. keigo notices you weaving your way through the crowd to reach him and a triumphant smirk curls on his lips.

“i’m not surprised.” you say, voice lacing in sheer amusement. 

“yeah, but you’re the big prize for me tonight.” he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer, ignoring the people around him.

“i wasn’t a part of the bet.” you chide. 

keigo smiles at you endearingly before he gaze trails far in the distance. “we gotta run.”

as if on cue, the most hated and startling siren echoes through the street. everyone quickly scatters to their cars and drives off while you get inside keigo’s car with him. he wastes no time and speeds off before one patrol car chases after him.

“hold on, baby.” he swerves through corners, changing gears as he presses the gas harder to try and get the police off his tail. “one more corner will shake him off.”

keigo expects you to be frantic but he is caught off guard when he realizes that you’ve opened the window and stuck your upper body out of the car window. 

“what are you–”

you lift up your shirt and flash your tits at the cops behind you, “fuck you!”

a look of shock is apparent on his face but then he laughs to himself, thinking that he’s seeing you as you actually are, even for a brief second, and not the cold façade you’ve always shown him.

you get back in and sink in your seat just before keigo makes it to the last corner, giving him a chance to widen the gap between him and the car behind him before he quickly brakes at a dark, quiet alley.

“think we lost them.” he peeks through the rear view mirror to see the patrol car passing and missing the alley you both are hiding. “let's wait for a few minutes before i take you home.”

the both of you stay in the car for a few moments, making sure that there are no more cops patrolling the roads before he starts to drive off to your house. keigo doesn’t know why but he suddenly finds himself to be rather nervous now that you’re alone with him. he chooses not to make you uncomfortable so he geeks about his car instead and talks about which car he’d like to own next and gives his own elaboration why he adores it in the form of horsepower, engine and all the shit that you’re probably not too familiar with. 

now he feels like an idiot.

keigo hits the brake once you tell him to stop in front of your apartment and he’s a bit upset that the journey ended quicker than he thought. 

“thanks for the ride, keigo.” you say before opening the door and step out. 

“sure thing. sorry if i talked too much.” he scratches the back of his neck in embarrassment. 

but he feels relieved and his confidence flows within him when he hears you laugh. “it’s fine. you did rather.. well.”

“you’re not too bad yourself,” he grins, knowing that you’re not talking about the race he won. “flashing your tits like that. you’re full of surprises.”

you close the door and lean down to the open window, “and i assume you’d like to know what i have up my sleeves?” 

“i’m taking you out after my next win.” he snickers, honey orbs glinting with overflown confidence and mischief. 

“only if i get to drive.” you smile cheekily, leaving him stunned before a cocky smirk etches on his lips. 

“bet.”

it has been two weeks since keigo last saw you and tonight is another night that you’re filling in as the flagger. he’s uncharacteristically super pumped for his race tonight, coming with extra determination to absolutely annihilate the race since he can’t wait for the biggest prize that awaits him. 

he watches as you stand in the middle of the starting line, not missing the wink you give him before you glance at the other male to see if both contenders are ready. both cars rev their engines as they wait for your signal. this time, keigo immediately accelerates with incredible speed and smokes the other, not offering the slightest chance for his opponent to take the lead.

the battle takes place in the parking lot tonight– from the basement until the rooftop. keigo is notorious for his drifting skills so he’s able to ascend to each floor without breaking a sweat, oversteering through every spiral ramp that eventually leads to the rooftop. 

sounds of screeching tires can be heard from the wire. the winner is already expected by the crowd, yet they all stay and wait at the finish line to welcome the first car to arrive. sooner than later, keigo’s car is the first one to appear and the mob instantly runs over to him while the other arrives seconds later with some ugly dents and scratches on their car. 

“you really didn’t hold back, huh?” you chaff, resting your arms on top of his shoulders before he pulls you into an embrace. 

“i just couldn’t wait to take my prize back home.” he whispers in your ear, just audible for the two of you but before he can take the chance to kiss you, you pull away.

“come on, playboy. let’s take a drive.” you quickly jump into the driver’s seat and rev his engine. as he’s about to open the other door, you intentionally step on the gas to make the car move forward. 

“you can do it.” you laugh, moving the car forward again when he tries to open the door.

“not funny, kid.” keigo looks at you in annoyance before quickly opening the door and sitting beside you. 

“i’m just teasing you.”

keigo rolls his eyes and sighs, “okay, go slowly when we’re going down the ramps.”

he guides you the whole way down, reminding you to be careful of the corners and to keep watch on both side mirrors as you drive down until you’ve successfully reached the exit of the building and onto the main road. 

“that’s good. i guess you know how the clutches work now. so when you want to drive faster, you should– holy shit!” 

you immediately accelerate and skillfully shift gears as you drive through town. keigo on the other hand, quickly wears his seatbelt and holds onto his seat in fear for the whole ride. it must be the terrified look on his face because he can hear you laugh like a maniac as you drive even faster.

“fuck! slow it down, kid!” he yells, staring widely at the road in front him to make sure you’re not crashing his car to any poles or other vehicles. 

keigo swears that his soul has already flown out of his body but luckily you both have made it in front of your apartment unscathed. he has no idea how, but he’s fucking glad the car has stopped.  

“that was fun!” you chirp and turn off the engine. 

“n-never again.” he stammers and quickly finds solace by stepping on the ground, thanking the lords that he still has the chance to see another day.

“get a grip, keigo. you’re lucky i didn’t use nos.”

you get out of the car and hand him his keys before leading him inside your complex. 

“i wanted to drive to your place but you were busy screaming when i asked you where you live.” you purposely pick on him, remembering how he couldn’t utter cohesive words except for ‘watch out!’, ‘holy shit!’ and some other things of those sorts.

“shut up.” he pinches your arm. 

“but my place is okay too, right?” you smile sweetly as you open your door and pull him inside. you both quickly take off your shoes and keigo’s arms easily wrap around your waist to pull you close.

“if here’s where you want to show me the tricks you have up your sleeves, why not?” 

“but you didn’t seem too entertained with my surprise earlier.” you pout innocently, leading him towards your bedroom.

“i appreciate it.” 

keigo crashes his lips onto yours and pushes both bodies back down on your bed. he quickly takes off his leather jacket along with his shirt and throws it to the floor before his hands roam around your body while your hands run through his fluffy blonde hair. 

you moan into the kiss when you feel his erection grinding against your pussy and he breaks away to pepper kisses down your neck. keigo takes off your shirt and unclasps your bra before he latches his mouth on one of your hardened nipples and tweaks the other between his fingers. 

“you’re so impatient,” he mumbles, pressing down your clit through the damped panties. “you’re so wet and i barely touched you.”

“stop it, keigo.” you whine breathlessly, rubbing the bud against his finger shamelessly to relief the dull ache. 

“hm? i’m just teasing you.” he mocks. “can’t take it?”

“you’re an ass.” you bite back playfully, making the male chuckle with mirth. 

keigo takes off your skirt and pulls down your panties, smearing his thumb with your slick through your puffy folds and revels over how warm and drenched you are. 

“fuck.” he hisses as he watches you squirm from his touch. “what do you want me to do to you, babe?”

you nibble your lips anticipatingly, “hmm, show me how fast you are in bed.”

his eyes twinkle with pleasure and his lips twist into a sardonic smile, “oh? that sounds more like a challenge to me.” 

keigo bends your knees up, holding your ankles as he dives down to lick a fat strip of your essence. you shudder from the feeling of his wet muscle lapping the slick up and down while he gazes at your blissful expression through half-lidded eyes. he intentionally circles your throbbing clit with the tip of his tongue and gives a harsh suck that causes your legs to tremble. 

“mmph– keigo!” you whimper, trying to close your legs together but he only pushes your legs up even more until your ass is lifted from the bed. 

he drags his tongue down slowly then prods it inside your dripping hole. he wiggles his tongue all around your walls, shoving it as deep as he can until most of his face is buried against your cunny. your cheeks heat up in embarrassment when you make eye contact with the male– his gaze is predatory and intense, his expression inexplicit as he continues to fuck you with his tongue.

the warm muscle brushing rapidly against your walls feels so lewd yet arousing. keigo can see that your tummy begins to twitch as your breath comes shorter while your legs shakes uncontrollably. keigo pulls away, licking his lips t0 clean off your juices yet you can still see some leftovers glimmering on the tip of his nose and his chin. 

“shit,” he slides in a finger inside your quivering hole and groans over the feeling of your walls clenching around it. “you’re ready to take a cock, aren’t you?”

“mmhmm, please.” you whimper, grinding your hips to match his pace after he fits in another finger. 

“i like you begging like this. not very cocky now, huh?” he curls his digits inside you, dragging it against the spongy part that bounds to tip you off the edge soon. 

“oh, fuck–” you gasp as the muscles in your lower stomach continues to tighten vigorously. “keigo– wanna cum–”

“then cum.” he snickers, pushing his fingers back and forth at a ruthless pace while his thumb ghosts over your neglected clit. “come on. you can do it.”

keigo mocks again, not minding how he comes off quite petty since he’s the one who has the upper hand now. so he uses that opportunity to make you beg and given the fact that you’ve grown more desperate, you let it slide.

“p-please–” your hips are shaking, begging for one final push before you can completely reach your orgasm.

“you need me to touch this clit, don’t you?” he coos, grazing his thumb teasingly. 

“pleaseplease. need you, keigo. make me cum–” 

keigo generously rubs tight circles on your clit, causing your body to spasm violently as you’re pushed over the edge and cream all over his fingers. keigo crawls on top of you, drowning your moans with a fervour kiss and the saltiness that has enveloped his tongue embeds with your taste buds.

“but that wasn’t enough to show you how fast i can be, right?” he chuckles, freeing his throbbing cock from its confinement, tip already flushed with a bead of precum before he shifts back down and lines with your quivering hole. 

you gasp when you feel his cock stretches your sopping cunny, each bulging vein brushes against your walls as he fills you to the brim. 

“shit. i– ‘m so full.” you sob, clenching your sheets firmly before he takes out his cock halfway and pushes back inside you steadily. 

“f-fucking tight. your pussy’s sucking me so well.” he props on his hands so he can look into your eyes while he pounds inside your pussy. reflexively, your legs are wrapped around his waist and allows keigo to ram deeper and concurrently kissing your cervix with his tip. 

“hah– feels good–” you moan. “choke me.”

your request took him by surprise and it’s clear from the way his cock suddenly twitches inside you. nonetheless, he complies; circling his palm around your throat and pressing carefully. 

“mmph– yesyesyes!” your eyes roll back as your mind slowly becomes cloudy from the lack of oxygen while the male growls above you, sheathing his thick cock in and out as your walls clench around him.

“goddamn, you’re clamping down on me.” he says through gritted teeth, applying more pressure around your neck as he thrusts harder. 

the air in the room is filled with the sounds of his balls smacking your skin and lewd squelching noises. the pressure inside your tummy builds up drastically and your toes are curling as you chase for another orgasm while you submissively let keigo milk his cock with your sloppy cunt. 

“come on, baby. cum on this fat cock.”

you’re unsure whether your mind is playing tricks on you or whether keigo’s pace has become more relentless and incredibly fast but you couldn’t bring yourself to care when it feels so good, the pressure inside your stomach is threatening to snap.

“keigo–!” with a loud cry of his name, you finally come undone– pussy fluttering around his cock and he finally lets go of his hold from your neck to let you breathe. 

“fuck yeah. good girl.” keigo nibbles on your neck, marking you with purple bruises as he rides through your high. his sporadic thrusts soon starts to falter and you know he’s just close when you feel his cock twitching inside. 

“fuck– baby– i’m gonna cum.” he says through grunts, brows furrowing as he desperately reaches for his climax. his hips stop moving abruptly, groaning in your ear as he fills you up with his load. 

the two of you stay in trance for a moment, regaining your composure before keigo pulls out his spent cock and lies next to you. while keigo is still in a daze, you get up and reach for the drawer beside you and get on top of him. keigo snaps back to reality when he hears the clank of a metal sound above his head. by tugging his wrists, he can figure that it’s a metal handcuff. once again, keigo is astonished. it’s confounding and thrilling; how many more surprises do you have in store for him? all underneath that cold guise, he has never expected you to be such a fun person to be with.

“round two? so soon.” he smirks conceitedly, golden eyes shining brightly with eagerness. “i must’ve been that good, huh?”

but you only chuckle and shake your head before looking at him dead in the eyes. he’s slightly perplexed, but his blood run cold once you show him a shiny badge in your hand.

upon his obvious dismay, you return his smirk. “keigo takami, you’re under arrest for participating in illegal street racing.”

duskamethyst © 2020 • do not modify, translate or repost anywhere.

[tracybirds]

Paper Dreams

John receives a prestigious invite and he’s not sure how to respond.

Many thanks to @gumnut-logic for the encouragement because I am nerves!!

*                      *                      *

The crisp white envelope was heavy in his hands as he hurried from the room. Paper was a formality, a mark of distinction that would surely draw his brothers’ unwanted attention. Letters didn’t just arrive unannounced in this era of high-speed data connections and quantum supercomputers. In fact, they didn’t arrive at all.

So, John was more than a little apprehensive when Grandma Tracy silently handed him the sealed envelope and walked away.

It took only a few short minutes to read through the contents and he sat back against the window in his room, the words whirling in his mind.

Mars Colonisation Project. Distinguished candidate. Invited to apply.

An opportunity of a lifetime.

A way to prove for once and for all that he was more than his father’s famous name.

John clutched at the letter, the paper crinkling in his grasp. He mouthed the words as he read them, over and over.

He looked up at the sound of a loud yell calling his name, hurriedly shoving the letter into the envelope and dropping it at his side. Snatching up a nearby tablet, his flushed ears were the only hint of the letter that remained when Gordon shoved open the door.

“John, dinner, hurry up.”

His brother tore out of the room before he could respond.

*                      *                      *

John slipped into his seat, mouthing an apology to Grandma Tracy as he did.

“Finally!” cried Alan. He wriggled back in his seat, staring hopefully at the food. “Grandma said we had to wait for you, you took forever!”

“Is Dad not eating?” asked Virgil. “I heard him come in.”

“He’s taking it in the study tonight,” said Grandma Tracy, shaking her head slightly. “Brains dropped by and they’re holing up together on that project of theirs.”

John glanced over at the conspicuously empty seat at the head of table. They all knew what ‘that project’ meant.

In the heady rush of excitement, he’d all but forgotten the silent expectation that accompanied his studies and extra-curriculars for the past five years. A pet project alone wouldn’t have been enough to deter him from his own ambitions, but the Thunderbirds, they offered something different, something more than the office politics of academia, squabbling over research grants.

He’d never known anything that could compete.

Until now.

“Hey,” said Virgil in a low tone, nudging him from his thoughts. “You okay?”

John pulled himself back into the present with a slight grimace.

“Fine. Just thinking about an assignment.”

Virgil nodded slowly, looking him up and down with a critical eye.

“Are you going to eat anything, or just push it around?”

John automatically lifted his fork, blinking as the peas fell back to the plate and landed in a pile of mushy, grey potatoes.

“Actually, I’m not that hungry.”

“Can I have yours?” asked Alan, already reaching over to grab at his plate.

“Not hungry, John?” asked Grandma Tracy. “You’re not coming down with something, are you?”

She examined the pinched look in his face and the nervous twist of one hand inside the other.

“No,” said John, wishing he hadn’t said anything. The last thing he wanted was any level of scrutiny. “I’m fine, Grandma, honest.”

He let Alan scrape his leftovers from his plate, realising with a pang than he’d had another growth spurt over the previous semester at his boarding school.

If he left for Mars, he’d return to a brother he’d hardly recognise.

Colonisation was a long-term project, the result of years in planning and decades of dreams. Countless people would put their life’s work into its development and they had every right to expect the same of their astronauts. The application process alone was heavily involved and would severely limit time with his family, to say nothing of the many years ahead for him on Mars if he made it all the way into space. He’d be travelling millions of miles from home, only to find himself living with a group of strangers that he couldn’t escape without logging an external environment report.

He didn’t even like sharing a bathroom at the university housing that much.

Still the piece of paper called to him.

“Can I be excused?”

Grandma Tracy nodded and he hurried from the room, not noticing her troubled look.

The warmth of the room followed him into the hallway and he shut the door firmly behind him. He thrust his hand into his pocket, searching for the reassuring touch of cool paper.

It was real.

It was real and if he let the opportunity pass by, he might regret it for the rest of his life.

Or he might be wasting his time, pinning his hopes on something that would only serve to distract him in the long run. He could only imagine what Scott would say, who’d never once taken his eye off a prize once he’d decided to aim for it.

He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what he wanted, and found himself climbing into the cramped space under the roof that had generously called a playroom, then a study, then an attic.

He blinked as the bare bulb overhead lit the small room, filling it with old memories and dust.

His first telescope was still standing in the corner, pointing high in the sky and he lifted the edge of his T-shirt to wipe the dust away. Surrounding it, lay stacks of books that his mom had picked up from the local thrift store, that Mrs Delaney, the owner, put them aside just for him.

John walked carefully among them, tugging the small window open and staring out into the night. The stars shone bright in the clear, crisp air.

Crouching down, he peered through the eye piece, adjusting the focus with a practiced hand. The little reflector was nothing like the giant telescopes available at the college department, and he had to hold his breath to stop the stand from wobbling. But the universe was still out there, the same as it was when he was a kid, still holding an infinite number of mysteries despite the years he had spent uncovering the rules that held it together.

He looked up, eyes darting through the familiar patterns, searching for the anomaly he knew was wandering between Gemini and Taurus.

And there it was.

Mars.

A planet with so much to offer the world they lived on. Where he could work with a team of people who loved space just like him, where he could devote his life to researching astronomy from a new perspective and developing technology for interplanetary life for generations to come.

Where he could leave his mark alongside all the heroes of his childhood. Alongside his dad.

“After all, why shouldn’t I go?” he said, scowling up at Mars.

“Go where?”

John spun around with a start.

“Kayo! When did you get in?”

She shrugged, propping up her head with her hand.

“Long enough to see you come up here,” she said. “I waited for you, but then Mrs Tracy said you hadn’t eaten. Figured something was wrong.”

She looked him up and down with a piercing eye. John tried not to squirm. He’d always felt Kayo had something of a sixth sense when it came to knowing things that should have been a secret.

“Seems like I was right,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Everything’s fine.”

“Then where are you planning on going?”

“Nowhere. I don’t think, that is…”

He flopped down and tilted his head back with a huff.

“Not right now, at any rate.”

Kayo pulled herself up onto the floor and drew the ladder upwards.

Neither spoke as the trapdoor shut with a small ‘click’.

The dust swirled in the air, dancing in the shafts of light above them.

“Is it a graduate program?”

“No.”

“An international program?”

“No.”

“A long-term space colonisation program for specially selected candidates who have already proven themselves in the fields of communications, astrophysics and astrotechnology?”

John stared at her.

She shrugged.

“It’s my job to know.”

“So, why even ask?”

“I’m trying to get you to lower your guard.”

She smiled at the dumbfounded look on his face.

“You’ve met Brains, right? He’s got some server tracker that flags your name. They asked your advisor for academic and personal references months ago.”

“Oh God,” said John, dropping his head in his ands and staring wildly at the floor. “Does Dad already know?”

Kayo shook her head.

“Dad and I do. Security details and all. But we don’t tell him that kind of stuff, you know, he’s not spying on you.”

“You’re right, that’s a real comfort,” said John, drily.

Kayo tossed her head.

“I’m just saying.”

Her eyes softened as she watched him draw his knees close to his chest.

“He doesn’t know.” She hesitated, still watching him. “Would it be all that bad if he did though?”

John huffed a little, still staring at his knees.

“International Rescue’s all we’ve ever talked about,” he said. “I didn’t think there’d be anything else I wanted. What if I let him down?”

“He’s already proud of you, John.”

“But we’ve been working towards it for so long now. This would change everything. Delay the full scope of the project for months, or years even.”

Kayo snorted.

“You really think Jeff Tracy, resident billionaire and with access to the best tech in the world, wouldn’t be able to find another genius astrotechnician and communication expert?”

John shot her a withering look.

“Okay, so maybe he’d have to find two super geniuses.”

She easily dodged the picture book he threw in her direction.

“Leave off,” he said, rolling his eyes.

Kayo spotted the slight smile though, and grinned broadly in return.

“Can I?” she asked, nodding at the space between him and the wall.

John nodded and shuffled over as best he could, trying not to topple the book stacks around them.

Kayo wriggled into the gap, and John paid her no mind.

He hadn’t thought of who would take his place because, of course, someone must. He’d been preparing for an International Rescue without him, one where his family diverted communications for a few years and focused their efforts on establishing themselves on land and sea until Alan stepped into his role on Thunderbird Five.

He hadn’t imagined an International Rescue where he wasn’t even needed.

Kayo seemed to sense the turn in his thoughts, nudging him gently to pull him from them.

“He wouldn’t trust them half as much as you, you know.”

John shrugged.

“I don’t want to disappoint him,” he said slowly, choosing his words carefully. “But I don’t want that to be the only reason I don’t go.”

He took a deep breath, and glanced back up at the slowly setting planet.

“And I want to go,” he admitted. “I do. I need to tell him.”

Kayo nodded, a sad look in her eyes. They sat in silence together, lost in their own thoughts. The bustle of the house downstairs filtered upwards. Muffled bangs and indistinct shouts of Gordon and Alan playing some ridiculous game, loud music from Virgil’s room – the kind he put on to drown out any interruption to his painting. Grandma Tracy seemed to be having some kind of one-sided conversation with herself, until John remembered, with a pang, that it was Saturday morning out in Guam and she was likely speaking to Scott at that very moment.

Kayo sighed and dropped her head on John’s shoulder.

“I’d miss you though.”

John swallowed carefully past the sudden lump in his throat.

“I’d miss you too.”

*                      *                      *

John was too old to be summoned to his father’s study, but somehow deliberately interrupting him felt worse. Nausea sat like a rock in his stomach, his voice box left in tatters as he knocked on the solid oak door.

“Who is it?”

He couldn’t reply.

His eyes flitted across the family photos that littered the hallway, landing finally on the image of his father and crewmates waving to the masses as they entered the Herschel-VI.

The photograph didn’t show the way his father was blind to the crowd, his farewell only for the woman who stood half a mile from the launchpad, proud, so proud, and sick with worry too. She held tight to her eldest son with one hand, and rested her other on the stroller she was rocking back and forth. She didn’t see the way he had wriggled out of his restraints nor how he was preparing to drop to the ground and run away, already intent on chasing after his father at three years old.

Jeff Tracy, first man on Mars, opened the door with a frown and a touch of impatience, and John knew there would be no escape this time.

“John.”

“Dad.”

His throat closed around his words and his hand closed around the letter in a fist.

Jeff looked down at the sound, and looked back at John, an assessing look in his eye. He stepped back wordlessly and John entered the severe room.

“What’s happened, son?” he asked, holding his hand out for the letter.

He smoothed down the crumpled edges as he read, his eyes leaping from phrase to phrase on the page.

“Well, it seems congratulations are in order. I assume you intend to accept?”

The knot in John’s chest loosened and he collapsed into the chair opposite Jeff.

“I intend to apply,” he corrected, staring down at the desk between them.

“John, they don’t reach out like this unless they want you onboard. They intend you to be on that shuttle, regardless of the formalities the bureaucrats put in place.”

“Yeah.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the blueprints, Brains’ small, neat handwriting annotating each design and his father’s looping comments scrawled liberally across them.

Jeff followed his line of sight and smiled.

“Five won’t be operational for a few more years, you know that. Don’t let her be what holds you back.”

“But this was always it, this is why I’m getting space rated. And the satellite network still needs to be launched, and the orbital mechanics calculated.”

“An opportunity like this doesn’t come your way twice, son.”

John stopped.

“You think I should accept. If they say yes.”

“Don’t you?”

There it was. His father’s blessing laid out in front of him, just waiting to be taken up like a pennant.

Everything they’d worked for, everything they’d sacrificed, gone. In its place, a single shining achievement, a global community on their sister planet. The first of its kind.

It had been a long time since John had allowed himself to dream his own dreams.

“Alright,” he said, a giddy rush spinning his head so that he hardly knew what he was saying. “I’m gonna do it.”

[abluescarfonwaston]

Shapeshifter Au - 14

“So. You’re a shapeshifter huh?” Eskel asked taking a drink from his water skin. Leaning performativity casual against the stone. The mangled side of his face hidden from view.

“Yep.” He tugged the wool cap over his ears to cover against the biting cold of the courtyard. Ciri’s power sung out in frustration as she repeated the training drills over and over again. As she had been for days.

Hopefully they’d call a break soon or he would have to before she bubbled over.

His skin prickled with discomfort. Eskel hummed so quietly he’d only noticed it when Lambert had taken Ciri out hunting and they’d run into each other in the library. The tiny thrum of his magic.

“Bloody well glad for it too. I’ve no idea how you all stand winters up here as people.” He tucked his glove under the sleeve of his jacket before returning them to their spot under his armpits. “Half tempted to spend the winter as a polar bear so I don’t freeze to death.”

“You could. Lambert would be very jealous.”

“Ah but I’ve seen your very impressive bear skin rug and I’d hate to give you any ideas.”

“I wouldn’t-“

“I know.” He bumped their shoulders together. “I’m messing with you.”

A few beats pasted before Eskel burst out with a forced ease, “Lambert caught a buck last year and Geralt wouldn’t let us eat it because it looked too much like you apparently.” Eskel’s nerves made him want to fidget. But it was really far too cold to move his hands from their warm spot.

“You did eat it though right? Because otherwise that’s a huge waste.” He smiled crookedly, watching him from the corner of his eye.

“Course. He didn’t talk to us for a week.”

“And you noticed?” Eskel smirked back at him. Easily in spite of his discomfort. He smiled so easily. Eskel's amusement tickling his skin.

“It took a few days.”

Ciri’s frustration grew several decibels and he pushed off the wall. “You are far too attractive for any of our good.” He told him before he leapt from the staircase they’d rested against, soaring the space between them.

He cawed out his approach as she swung at the training dummy and-

Suddenly he was flying in the other direction.

He shifted before he smashed into the ground and rolled with the force of her shock wave.

“Ow.” He protested when he finally came to a stop in a snowbank.

After one too many moments of silence he looked up. To all the wolves gapping at Ciri and her frozen in place. Training sword held in place where the dummy had once been, now it's straw was scattered across the yard.

“I’m fine thank you for asking.” He called out. Unsticking them all as they looked to him. “Just got thrown across the courtyard. Totally fine. No need to worry about the poor bard.”

“Jaskier?” She turned, far too much concern in her eyes.

“No I am actually fine.” He assured standing and brushing snow off. Tugging the cap down to insure it stayed in place. He frowned. “Better than fine actually.” His skin was warm and his ache that had settled into his bones disappeared without a trace. The bruises he felt should have been forming didn’t. “No harm done. But I do think it’s time for a break yes?”

They nodded. “Early lunch.” Eskel agreed. As they stalked down into the hall.

They set the table as the witchers finished the meal prep and he curled up on the arm of Ciri’s chair and began finger brushing her hair so he could braid it.

“You’re not scared?” She asked as he worked free a knot.

“Of what? Cause I’m scared of a lot of things- spiders. Frogs. Wasps. Cages. A string breaking while I preform at competition-“

“Me.”

His heart broke for her and he continued his work without pause. “No. Don’t see the point in that.”

“You’re afraid of frogs but you don’t see the point in being scared of someone who threw you across the courtyard?”

“Someone has never tried to eat a frog before and nearly died from the hallucinogenic affects I see. It was not a pleasant afternoon and I feel completely justified.” He ran his fingers threw her hair once more to check before starting his braid. “You accidentally threw me across the courtyard, which Geralt has also done and most of them weren’t accidents, and I feel better than I have in years so no. I’m definitely not.”

She was quiet as he worked so he hummed a song to fill the space.

“You’re really not hurt?”

“Really not hurt.” He promised. “Haven’t felt this alive since- oh.”

“Oh?”

“Since your mother tossed the entire banquet hall away to protect your father.”

She spun her head to him and he barely managed to hold onto the braid. “You were there?”

“Front row to the whole debacle. Would you like to hear about it?”

She nodded as they heard the other’s voices down the hall. They both glanced to the door. Unable to not listen.

“Wasn’t just some sign shit Geralt- that was fucking magic. Real chaos. We don’t know shit about real magic! You can’t expect us to-“

“I know you think human hearing is terrible but it’s not that terrible boys!” He called out to them finishing the braid. “How about I tell you that story after dinner? Hm?”

She nodded. He kissed her crown and he watched her sit up. Regally. Preparing for the conversation ahead.

“Ah to suffer another meal with the witcher’s terrible table manners.” He sighed as they dropped the food on the table. “The things we must bare.”

She shot him a small smile.

“How come you didn’t tell us she had magic!” Lambert snapped at- at him?

He blinked at him. “What?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be able to tell shit like that- why didn’t you tell us!”

“Huh?” He glanced at the others at the table. Irritation or concern or confusion on their faces as they studied him. Including Geralt’s. Which was the real shocker. He looked between Geralt and Ciri; who appeared just as flummoxed by the situation as he was, as he gapped.

When it became clear that no one else was going to answer his very obvious question he forced the words out in a voice that was, perhaps, slightly higher than intended. “I thought you knew.” He told Geralt with a wave of his arms.

“How would I know?”

The incredulity in Geralt’s voice was just insulting frankly. He waved between them. Noises floundering out of him. “I- what- its- what.” He forced himself to take a deep breath. “What other blatantly obvious things am I supposed to tell you now? The sky is blue. The keep is made of stone. Ciri has magic. I thought you knew!”

Geralt sighed into his hands. Lambert speared a hunk of lunch.

“Can you tell how strong she is?” Vesemir asked pragmatically as he grabbed his own food. “If we can train her-“

“Oh you definitely can’t.” They glared at him. “What? The only one here with anything even approaching magic is Eskel and no offense but you’re nowhere near her level.”

Eskel sat up a little straighter in his seat as he devoured his lunch.

“Who is?” Geralt asked. “Near her level.”

He leaned back in his chair and thought about it. He didn’t grab any food. He wasn’t hungry and probably wouldn’t be until the magic wore off.

He’d eaten as a griffin though. His mouth tasted like blood- but he hadn’t needed to had he? He’d just wanted to. Wanted to eat and sleep and kill.

Show me what you are.

“Jaskier?” He jolted and looked over at Ciri.

“Ah. Well. You know Yennefer?” Geralt shot him a dirty look. “Just checking, you’ve had issues with amnesia before! Anyway.” He continued with a wave of his hand. “If Yennefer is lightning then Ciri is the sun.”

They all stopped. Actually that bread didn’t look half bad. He ripped a chunk off and chewed on it.

“So.” He mouthed around the bread. “She’s going to need an actual teacher.”

“Could you do it?” She asked.

“No.” He laughed around the bread crumbs. “I am magic. That doesn’t mean I can do magic.”

“Marigold?” Lambert suggested. Triss- he supplied after a moment.

“Sure.” He agreed. “After Yennefer turns us down.”

The room dropped several degrees as he chewed.

“Why would we ask Yennefer first?” Eskel growled.

Geralt sighed. “Because if we don’t she’ll never let the slight go.”

“Is” Ciri hesitated, taking in the faces around the room. “She that bad?”

He wobbled his head. “Well.” He drew out the word. Thinking of all the times she’d treated him like nothing- like less than nothing. Like something that had once had great value but was now irrevocably broken.

And then he thought of the other mage. So much weaker and yet able to dominate him completely.

How Yennefer had never done that. Had never wanted that. Even though it would have been so easy.

And then he thought of Ciri and how much she needed Yennefer. How her chaos swelled and terrified her. How Yennefer was lighting in a bottle and might be the only one who could teach her to control the sun.

And then. Then he followed the djinn’s magic in Geralt’s chest to the lightning in her veins. To the longing in her chest.

She wanted something real.

“No.” He said at last. “We all just took Geralt in the breakup.” He grinned easily.

There were several snorts and Geralt glared fiercely at him.

“You.” Ciri glanced between him and Geralt. Trying to judge the situation. “Dated her?”

“That’s a word for it.” Lambert grinned nastily into his ale. “I’d call it-“

Geralt smacked him.

“Why’d they break up- I hear you asking.”

“She didn’t!” Geralt growled.

“But she would given the opportunity.” He smirked as Lambert shoved him in retaliation. Distracting him. “And the answer is Geralt makes terrible life choices.”

She softly laughed and he counted it amongst his greatest victories.

“What can you shift into?” Vesemir asked, pointedly not looking up from his book, where they all gathered around the fire before bed. A storm howled outside. He suspected if not for the warmth of Ciri’s magic he’d be frozen from the draft alone. The impressive amount of furs Lambert was wrapped in strengthened his conclusion. He adjusted the cap over his ears anyway. “Geralt’s only mentioned beasts before but when you meet back up he said you were a griffin.”

Geralt tensed against his back and Ciri glanced back at him from where she was propped against his legs. He turned the page, even though he hadn’t finished reading it, to show how nonplussed he was by the question.

Over the years he’d only ever explained what he could do, what it meant, his limitations perhaps a handful of times. There were so few people in the world he’d trust with this.

His life he trusted to a great many friends. But this. This was his freedom.

“Suppose I’ve never felt like a griffin before.” He didn’t intend to feel like one ever again. “Or had the magic needed to follow through on such an impulse.”

“So if you had the magic,” Vesemir glanced at Ciri, “And felt like it you could be anything?”

“Well I think you’re underestimating the importance of feeling like it but I suppose that’s the general stroke of it.”

“Have you been a bed? A chair? That’d be real helpful I bet. Hide in a broom closet and just. Be a broom til the mob passes.”

“Have you ever really felt like an inanimate object Lambert?” He shrugged. “Shifting into a mouse usually accomplishes the same goal anyway.”

“If you shifted into the monsters in the bestiary Ciri could safely apply the skills she learns on how to identify and best the different creatures.” Vesemir stated.

Ah. Now he knew why Vesemir had brought this up when Geralt had clearly told them not to, based on the way they’d all danced around their questions since he’d arrived. Well. Except Lambert, but he'd only arrived a few days passed.

“The day I turn into a necrophage is the day I die. Seen more than enough of their innards over the years to know that’s never going to be in the cards thank you very much.”

“Alright no necrophages. But anything you could shift into we could add a far more detailed description of to the bestiary. Updated drawings. Behavioral notes-“ Eskel seemed remarkably enthused about the idea.

He thought about how empty the library was. Figured there was probably a reason for that.

“He’s not a party trick.” Geralt snapped, very valiantly.

“No, no it’s fine.” They all looked so excited by the prospect. Ciri’s eyes were gleaming. He itched under the cap. Hats were really not his look. But it was better than his hair. “Requests? I make no promises about being able to do it but I can certainly try.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt warned.

“I’ve got energy to burn after this morning.” He reassured waving his hand in Geralt’s face behind him. “Which you should know given the bonfire you made when you used igni to light the fireplace.”

“That was cause of you?”

“Pretty sure.” He nodded to Eskel. “Requests? Or shall I go back to my book?”

“A unicorn?” Ciri asked.

Simple enough in theory but, “They’re extinct.” A sad truth Geralt had confirmed years ago. “I’d rather not be the last of my kind.”

Are you the last unclaimed familiar? There are so few of you in this world. The mage had said. Had he ever met any? Where their thousands of people like him who hid in small mage-less towns or wild unkempt forests. Who didn’t shift and stayed safe in a single form their whole lives?

Maybe there were countless people like him and he’d just never recognized them- how would he recognize them? Maybe there were loads of them and he just didn’t know where to look.

Or maybe he was one of the last. One of the last whose mind wasn’t held under chaotic waters to drown until he forgot everything he was.

Maybe he was one of the last.

Then where had they gone? There were days long past where every sorcerer, mage and druid had a familiar. Someone like him.

He’d never met any who did. Not that he'd met many.

“You could do the griffin again. Since we know you can shift into that.” Eskel suggested.

Geralt’s arm squeezed at his bicep. Like he suspected what a bad idea that was.

Or maybe he just didn’t want to see the form that hadn’t recognized him even a little.

“You could always try a dragon.” Geralt teased before leaning in and whispering right into his ear. “You don’t have to. We can just leave.”

The sparkle in Ciri’s eye grew.

“The only issue there- since I now know they’re real- is that I’ve never seen a living one. That egg does not count!”

“Borch wasn’t dead?”

“What?” He snapped around blazing fury. “Borch was a dragon?”

“You. Missed that part?”

“I am now Extra mad you didn’t wake me up. I could have seen a living dragon? You ass!”

“Not my fault you slept in!”

“Do you want to play the blame game about that day- because I definitely think missing seeing a living dragon is one of the lesser issues I could choose to be angry about.” He collapsed into Geralt’s lap and glared up at him. “Hm? Hmmmm?”

Geralt looked away but nodded.

“Glad we agree. Alrighty let’s see what I can do.” He climbed off the back of the couch. He was irritated and wanted to impress his cub. His mate’s family. That would help. Probably.

He shifted up into a bear. Because it was easier to feel big when one was big.

Lambert whistled.

What had he grabbed onto to become a griffin anyway?

He’d been caged. He was cold. He was alone and unwanted but not powerless.

He wasn’t powerless now. He could protect-

His mouth was full of blood.

The form snapped under him. Dropping him down until his heart raced and his incisors grated against each other and his ears were tight against his back and-

“Jaskier?” Geralt’s hand reached down to hold him and he shifted up to meet it. Tail wagging slowly even as his ears stayed folded back. “That’s enough.”

But it wasn’t. It wasn’t enough.

They liked his songs well enough but that was all he had. He wasn’t pretty or handsome with his terrible hair shoved into an ugly winter toque and Geralt's ill fitting clothing and he wasn’t strong or helpful or a good cook. He couldn’t teach Ciri magic. Couldn’t hunt them more food even as he ate theirs.

No wonder your mate’s dead.

No wonder your mate didn’t want you.

Maybe she’ll make a better travel companion then.

They’d asked one thing of him and he couldn’t even do it.

It was easy to be a form he loved.

He didn’t love the griffin.

He didn’t love what it had done. Even if it had saved him.

He was scooped into strong arms and there was a dismissal of “Bedtime,” and he tried to swallow the sounds escaping his throat. Tried to stop the way his paws shifted to claws shifted to wings.

He couldn’t even do this. Couldn’t even be something useful.

Sure he could be a horse and carry them when Roach got tired. Could scout as a raven or pull buckthorn from a river without risk of drowning. But all the wolves and all the cats and Witchers knew he wasn’t useful. He didn’t want to be.

And when he wanted to be he couldn’t.

“Jaskier.” Geralt repeated under the blankets in their bed. “Talk to me.”

There was a request there- what shape do you want me to be- I’ll stay that way forever if it means you’ll keep me. Please.

“Thank you. Can you tell me what’s wrong? You haven’t done,” He grit his teeth as he pulled him in closer to his chest. “That in a long time.”

“Sorry.”

“That’s not.” Geralt squeezed the back of his neck. Tension leached from him. Geralt nuzzled at the toque pushing it up with his nose.

He grabbed it. Pulling it down firmly. “Don’t.”

“Jaskier.” He plead.

He curled tighter in on himself and pulled the hat over his eyes. “Just couldn’t find a form that fit. Hope you got me out of there before it got too repulsive- although maybe Ciri will appreciate knowing she’s not the only one who can’t control her magic right? Gotta find the little victories.”

“Jaskier what’s this really about?”

“Nothing.”

Geralt grumbled his frustration.

It wasn’t. It wasn’t about anything.

It was about how maybe he was the last of his people- his family- and it was about how his form wasn’t what he needed it to be and it was about the things he’d done that he couldn’t remember and didn’t want to and the blood in his mouth and it wasn’t about any of that.

He was scared and frustrated and alone and not good enough and-

“Is Jaskier okay?” Ciri called from the crack in the door.

He shifted out of the bed to her despite Geralt’s protests.

“I’m alright.” He leaned against the door frame. “I’m sorry for scaring you- I know its very upsetting looking when I shift like that.” He didn't know but the way Geralt paled after an attack like that was proof enough.

“Was that because I asked you to shift? Or because of this morning?”

“No.” He crooned. “No. I-“ He paused. Took her hands in his. “It was like this morning. You got frustrated and your magic responded. My shifting responds to my emotions too so when I got overwhelmed that happened. But it doesn’t hurt.” The emotions that caused it hurt. But the shifting didn’t at least. “Promise I’m okay.”

She watched him sternly.

“Fine.” He rolled his eyes and rolled back on his heels. Sweeping a hand in front of his face dramatically. “I’m very worried Yennefer responds quickly to our message because she always looks immaculate and I am really not a hat person.”

“Really?” Her lips curved upward just a twitch.

“Ciri dear I am wearing Geralt’s clothing! I haven’t worn a color in months. Months!” He slid down the door frame and pressed a hand to his forehead. “I’m dying. Melitele forbid Yennefer see me like this. My reputation will be ruined. Ruined!”

Ciri huffed out a laugh. “Oh no. How terrible.”

“It is! I could hear the sarcasm in your tone but I am ignoring it for the sake of our friendship!” Geralt picked him up and threw him over his shoulder. “The audacity! The horror!” He continued to lament as they bid good night.

Geralt dumped him in the bed. “Gonna tell me what it was actually about now?”

“I am genuinely concerned about meeting Yennefer looking like this.” Geralt scowled down at him. “Would you feel confident and prepared if you had to face a monster without your armor?”

“Yennefer isn’t a monster.”

“You’re missing the point. I like how I look. I know it’s just hair and I know it’s just clothing but I don’t look like me. I don’t feel like me. I’m wandering the woods without armor and even when I’m not being attacked it’s still scary because I know how easy it would be to bleed me out.”

Geralt considered that and slowly sat down next to him. “Okay. I don’t know how to fix that.”

“Time will fix it. I’ll visit a proper barber and my tailor in the spring and all will be well again.” He knew that. He did. It just didn't make it easier.

He nodded. Tilted his head and looked at his face. Then dragged his gaze lower to the way his body did and didn’t fill out Geralt’s clothing. “I like how you look.”

“Sure you do.”

Geralt pushed him back in the bed. Leaning over him. “I do.” A hand came up to his head and pushed under the hat. He tensed but Geralt made no move to pull it off. “You’re not a hat person. I don’t mind that your hair’s not perfect cause it’s still soft and smells like you.”

His other hand and down the fabric of his shirt. “I like you in my clothing because it makes you smell like me. Like you’re mine. Even if it’s not what you’d normally wear.”

He hummed. “You want to show me just how much you like it?”

“I do.” He laced his fingers behind Geralt’s neck and tried to pull him down for a kiss. He didn’t move. “Was that really all that was?”

He closed his eyes. “No. But I don’t really want to get into all of it tonight.”

“Okay.” He said. But didn’t move closer.

He sighed. “What do you think it was? What’s worrying you?”

“You’re still angry about the mountain.”

“Hm. I did apparently miss a chance to see a living dragon so.”

“Mhm.”

He grabbed Geralt and rolled him to his side. “Geralt you’re a terrible liar. And if you hadn’t meant what you’d said, at least a little I’d never have believed you.”

“I was trying to break the bond. I thought I forced you into this life Jaskier.”

“Just like you forced Yennefer?”

He flinched.

“If you’d asked I’d have told you. That I was the one that bound you. That I hadn’t meant to do it and didn’t know what I was doing when I did but that I didn’t regret the time I spent with you. But you did. You regretted our time together.”

His gold eyes squeezed closed. He took several steadying breaths. His thumb stroking a strand of hair that had escaped the hat. “Not everything’s about you Jaskier.”

He frowned but resisted the urge to squawk about how it definitely seemed like it was about him.

“I was hurting from Yennefer and scared I had trapped you and terrified for the child of surprise I’d cursed just like you two. And I’m still terrified Jaskier. I don’t know how to be a father.”

“I’m not sure anyone does. I mean how many kids has Vesemir raised? And I’d be real surprised if he thought he knew how to do it proper.”

“Lambert’s good at keeping him humble.”

“That he is. It’s going to be okay. You’re not doing this alone.” He took Geralt’s face in his hands and traced the grain of his stubble. “Besides. I bet Yennefer’s going to roll up and out-parent both of us so hard that I can safely retire to my true calling of fun uncle.”

“Lambert’s teaching her how to make bombs. I think he’s got that position claimed.”

“Ah well I’ll figure out something.”

“Sure you will.” He smirked.

He propped himself up over Geralt, shoving him onto his back. “Alright I really need to kiss that damn look off your face. We good?”

Geralt smiled and pulled him down into a kiss. “We’re good.”

He walked the wall while the others trained in the courtyard. They couldn’t really expect him to work by himself.

They’d asked him if he wanted to join. Or less asked and more told him to when they'd arrived.

He thought he’d sent a fairly clear message when he flipped them the bird become becoming an actual bird and flying away. Spent the afternoon gathering dirt on all of them. Their horses were just so eager to share.

He’d spent a lot of time and energy not learning how to fight and he wasn’t going to change now just because he was living with witchers.

In a big crumbling keep.

It kind of looked like a fortress. A castle. Like something out of a storybook.

They did already have a princess.

How hard would it be to have a dragon?

He fluttered over a broken section of wall.

His keep shouldn’t have broken sections of wall. How was he supposed to keep his hoard safe?

Cause dragons had hoards. And were fiercely protective of them. He assumed.

What would he hoard? Instruments maybe. Admirers. Books.

Laughter roared in the courtyard. He looked down at them. At his family.

His.

Care for. Love. Protect.

He leapt between the stone’s crenellations.

What else made dragons dragons?

Old. Wise. Powerful.

Well there had to young stupid dragons. He could fill that niche. At least he was powerful. He had the sun warming his bones.

Prideful.

They were beautiful.

He wasn’t right now.

But he could be. He could be whatever he wanted.

The edge of the crenellation crumbled under his feet and he began tumbling down the steep walls to the cliffs below.

“What else can he turn into? Can he turn into a shrieker? A unicorn? A dragon?”

He spread his wings and twisted into the sky.

Freedom. It felt like freedom.

He loved to shift.

He loved this form.

He circled his home. His nest. His hoard, gathered in the courtyard as he landed.

“Fucking hell.”

He settled on the steps into the courtyard and tucked his chin over the edge to watch them back.

“That one’s new.” Geralt told them unhelpfully.

Rude. He huffed at Geralt. All hot air. The snow that had collected on his armor and hair melted.

“You’re a dragon!” Ciri marveled as she slowly reached out to touch him. Her small hand roving over the scales of his face. He rumbled his approval.

“Show off.” He smacked Geralt with the tip of his tail without looking away from Ciri.

“You’re so fucking warm!” Lambert was plastered over his flank. “I’m stealing your bard for the rest of the winter.”

“No you’re not.”

“It’s too damn cold in the keep. He’s mine now. Jaskier you’re mine now. I claim dibs.”

He’s got dibs Geralt. Guess I’m his now.

“That is not how this works.”

“It definitely is.” He’s right. It definitely is.

Geralt turned and started to walk away. He hauled him back by the scruff of his shirt.

Eskel leaned against him. “Not that I’ve seen a lot of dragons but-“

Creative liberties.

“Not going to be terribly educational then.” Vesemir sighed pretending not to be leaning into his warmth as much as he was.

I’m very educational. I’ve taught her what a red dragon might look like.

“Ciri this isn’t what red dragons look like.”

“It’s what a red dragon looks like.” He nuzzled her in approval.

It’s what your red dragon looks like. He pointed out.

“I suppose it is.” Lambert and Eskel made retching noises at Geralt. "What our red dragon looks like."

Ours. His chest broke out in a mighty purr. His hoard.

His family.

[anon-e-miss]

Dryadprowl? But I wanna see cute baby bluestreak😘😘

“Y’re full o’ knots,” Jazz said as he lay his servo flat between Prowl’s shoulders. Prowl knew it to be true. He could feel all of them but he still flinched at the glyphs.

“I suppose,” Prowl replied, not knowing where this was heading.

“I wish I could offer ya an oil bath but we don’t even got private washracks. Gotta share it wit the entire floor.”

“I am fine.”

“Mhm,” Jazz hummed. “Hang tight. I got an idea.”

Where was he supposed to go? Prowl watched Jazz retreat to the berthroom he shared with his twins. Where it was the nanite gel or the massage, Prowl’s shoulder felt significantly better. He wondered if it was only temporary, but even if it was, if Jazz was willing to assist him again, perhaps he might be able to heal without significant complications. Jazz returned carrying a basket filled with odds and ends. As he sat down next to Prowl, he offered him a big smile. Even though Prowl could not see his optics through the visor he wore, Prowl was certain that smile reached his optics.

“Just gimme a couple o’ kliks. See if I remember how to put this thing together.”

Prowl only nodded, and he watched with both anticipation and curiosity as Jazz screwed long poles into curved pieces of metal and then screw the poles to a long, horizontal piece. It was a frame, of course, that was what it was. Jazz tested it and it rocked from side to side. The smile on Jazz’s face fascinated Prowl. There was a warmth and a wistfulness to it that Prowl could not quite understand. As he watched his captor/savour work, the thing came together. Jazz flipped the basket upside down and screwed the frame into place. When Jazz righted it Prowl felt foolish that he had not recognized the thing for what it was. This was a bassinet, a beautifully crafted one, with etchings along the trim and covering the canopy. The inside was lined with soft foam and a thick pad. It was by far the prettiest thing Prowl had ever seen.

“It is beautiful,” he said.

“My ‘genitor built it,” Jazz said with the sweetest smile. Prowl flinched internally. He could not let down his guard so easily. “He’s good with his servos. Ric’s practically his clone. But we both take after ‘m more in looks that Ori or Geni.”

“You miss them.”

“I do. Sunny ‘n Sides have only seen ‘em for a few kliks here ‘n there ‘n it’s not right. They should know their grandcreators.”

“Have you thought of slipping off with them?”

“O’er ‘n o’er. It would put the whole caravan in danger ‘n we’ve never quite made the leap. Y’re gonna be good for us, Prowl. Y’re gonna make us take the leap.”

“Oh...”

“Ori ain’t gonna just hand ya off to my genitors ‘n dust off his servos. He’s gonna wanna see ya home, whate’er ya decide home’s gonna be. I do to... Least I can do.”

“I think you have done the least already,” Prowl said. This was close to forgiveness as he was willing to offer at this point in time. His spark was still freshly wounded from having Bluestreak ripped away from him.

“Why don’t ya see how he likes it?” Jazz suggested when he finished hooking some pretty little crystal carved in the shapes of the stars and the moons to the canopy.

Prowl had hardly gone a moment without Bluestreak in his arms. The mega-cycle’s separation was the longest they had ever been apart. But they were not apart, Prowl was right here. Still, he hesitated, lightly stroking Bluestreak’s back as he considered the canopy. He did not believe Jazz was looking for an opportunity to take advantage of him, Jazz had already had every advantage. Gingerly, Prowl set Bluestreak into the bassinet and pet his chase, cooing softly. Bluestreak blinked up at him, then cocked his helm as he looked up at the mobile hanging just out of reach. Bluestreak reached for them, giggling and babbling, as he pulled his necklace to his mouth and sucked on one of the crystals. It dulled. Already he was coming into his own as a dryad, though his root crystal would not be mature enough to leave Prowl’s spark chamber for vorns yet. Out of curiosity, Prowl rocked the cradle every so gently, just to see what Bluestreak thought of it. He watched his creation’s optics dim.

“Ain’t that a pretty picture,” Jazz said. “It’s good to see it used again.”

“Have you been keeping it for your next creations?” Prowl asked

“Ain’t creatin’ again,” Jazz replied. “Ain’t right bringin’ anymore into this. I figured some mega-cycle they might have creations, so I’ve been savin’ it ‘n the one just like it for when they’re grown.”

“Thank you for lending it to him,” Prowl said.

“I thought ya could use a break,” Jazz declared. “Yer shoulders are outta alignment. Yer a bit twisted. Considerin’ the way ya were bein’ kept, it makes sense. If ya wanna lean back against the couch, I can see ‘bout maybe gettin’ ya sorted out.”

“Okay.”

Jazz was not going to hurt him. Prowl reminded himself of this fact as he hugged the pillow as he knelt backwards on the couch. His perception of Jazz behind him was fuzzy as he was standing between Prowl’s doorwings. He was close and it was intimidating, but Jazz would not hurt him. Before he began the massage, Jazz poured oil on Prowl’s back, intentionally tipping the nozzle into gaps within Prowl’s armour. It coated his protoform. When Jazz activated his magnets the oil immediately warmed and Prowl could not stop himself from sighing.

As Jazz smoothed his servos up Prowl’s back, his thumbs pressing firmly against his spinal struts, Prowl sighed. It sounded more like a moan. He was afraid Jazz would get the wrong idea but there was no sign of arousal in the Polihexian’s frame. Jazz worked his digits and the oil into Prowl’s back until the tension bled away completely. Prowl’s optics dimmed to black as Jazz massaged his shoulders and neck. While Jazz carefully worked the knots and kinks from Prowl’s cables and slowly drew his spinal struts back into line, he hummed, and Prowl found himself drifting, not into recharge but something blissfully close. His battle computer hissed caution, but Prowl’s spike of awareness faded as Jazz’s clever servos massaged oil into his poor doorwing joints.

When Jazz drew his servos back, Prowl was almost disappointed. But the massage had done exactly as Jazz had intended and Prowl felt loose-limbed and relaxed in a way he never had before. Bluestreak whimpered and Prowl scooped him out of the bassinet and cradled him in the crook of his arm. His creation started fuelling as soon as Prowl dropped him a line. He had never been so relaxed holding Bluestreak. There was no terror of dropping him. Punch and the Twins returned with a large blue quartzite shrub they had planted in a heavy tub. When Jazz’s originator saw the bassinet he smiled.

“Now that was a brilliant idea, Love.”

“Rocky bye bitty,” Sideswipe cooed.

“He is fuelling right now, but you can help me rock him a little later if you can be gentle,” Prowl offered. The mechling beamed. More surprising was the way Punch and Jazz beamed.

“This outta do ya for a few mega-cycles,” Punch said and he set the shrub down next to what had become Prowl’s corner of the couch. “Y’re lookin’ better, dearspark.”

“Jazz helped me,” Prowl explained. “I forget when I last felt this... good.”

“He has a knack, don’t he?” Punch replied and he smiled at his creation. “I promised the mechlings goodied energon. I’ll make us up five mugs.”

“Sounds great, Ori,” Jazz replied. “Ori makes the best goodied energon.”

“I have never had it,” Prowl said.

“Y’ve never had goodied energon,” Sideswipe gasped.

“Different cultures got different fuels,” Jazz explained with a little chuckle. “If ya don’t end up likin’ it Prowl, Sideswipe’ll be happy to steal it from ya. He’s lil fiend for it.”

“You really do not need to waste all this fuel on me,” Prowl said.

“Ain’t a waste,” Jazz replied.

The Twins were fascinated by Bluestreak, Sunstreaker even more so than Sideswipe though he spoke considerably less. He watched Bluestreak fuel from his chosen perch at Prowl’s side. Prowl did not mind it. Sunstreaker was an innocent mechling, and he found his curiosity really so dear. Jazz told his mechlings to sit all the way back when their grandori brought out their treat. The mugs were steaming and Prowl wondered how he would be able to drink his when Jazz came around and tucked pillows around his lap. Bluestreak wiggled as he was lain onto the pillow, still tucked into his Prowl’s chassis, still firming latched on his fuel line. Punch set a mug the steaming fuel into Prowl’s good servo. He took a sip. It was creamy and sweet, and Prowl smiled.

“It’s good, right?” Sideswipe said. “It is,” Prowl agreed.

Maybe Prowl did not want to trust Jazz, but he did. Maybe he did not want to forgive Jazz, but he did. With forgiveness, begrudging or otherwise, came a need to make right, or to give thanks with more than glyphs. Though Prowl still did not know where he intended to lay down his roots. The more he considered it, the less he wanted to return to the Grove, and not only because he believed they would reject his creation, but because of all the ways, they had rejected him, even as they had used him. What Prowl did know, was where he could begin, and that was enough for now.

“I had a thought,” he said, savouring the sweet fuel. “I have an acquaintance out of the Crystal City who deals in rare plants. Mirage has purchased my offshoots regularly for many vorns. If you take me to the Crystal City, I will make an agreement with him to produce as many offshoots as he requires in exchange for the ransom you need.”

“It’s a hefty ransom,” Jazz said. “I can’t imagine he’d wanna buy that many plants. I can’t imagine it’d be safe for ya to produce that many.”

“I produce a particularly rare variant of nobile quartz,” Prowl revealed. “So long as I can connect to a sturdy host, I will be able to produce what is required without undue strain. As far as I understand it, I am the only producer of this quartz. Mirage would have no issue selling my offshoots to his collector friends at a tidy profit.”

“If y’re sure ya won’t hurt yerself,” Jazz said.

“I am sure,” Prowl replied. The fact that Jazz was so concerned about his health and safety, especially considering his own brother was on the line, made it impossible for Prowl to hate him anymore. It was kind of annoying.

[gotdreamsagain]

The Beast You've Made of Me

With the appearance of Alaric Saltzman and his gaggle of supernatural misfits, Kai Parker is given everything he needs to escape his prison world with an added bonus: no one remembers him. So, when he finds himself in 2031, the world is his oyster, but there’s only one thing on his mind: Bonnie Bennett.

Dedicated to @koiporker

note: self repost

Triggers: Death, Abandonment, Violence, Blood, Drug Mention, Gore

For all the years Malachai Parker had been seeking salvation from his prison, he’d never imagined it would come in the form of a magical mud pit of all things. It wasn’t much to look at, not nearly as pretty as first ticket out of a prison world, nor was it as entertaining, but he wasn’t going to complain. Whatever lied beyond it’s murky depths had to be better than this, if only for the sheer fact that he’d known he hadn’t let the witch win. So, after making his final phone call in dear old 2018, he tossed the phone he was using across the room, and prepared himself for the most anticipated swan dive of his life. With a sigh of relief, and a smile in his face, the heretic leaned back on his heels and let himself fall. As he was engulfed in the mud, the last clear thought he had was one name: Bonnie Bennett.

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

When he emerged from the pit, covered in sludge and muck, it wasn’t until he stepped food on solid ground that he let himself take a deep breath. It didn’t feel real until then, and then the realization truly struck him, and the gemini let out a laugh. He was out. He was really out.  All at once he felt his emotions hit him like a ton of bricks. Excitement. Fear. Anger. Despair. All of those emotions culminated in a wave of nausea that over took him, and as easy as it would have been to turn it all off, he didn’t. He needed that anger, and that fire, and most of all, he needed a clear head.

As the heretic’s laughter died down, he wiped his face, his eyes first, and then past lips that were silent but still bright with a smile. “ Son of a bitch, I made it. ” There was no one else to here his declaration, not a single soul, and yet, he found himself saying it again. “ I fucking made it. ” In the glow of the candlelight, he let himself enjoy it for just a few moments more before his thoughts turned back to those emotions, and why they were so very important.

First to come off were the gloves, the digit less fiends sliding off into a slimey mess of the ground. Next came the jacket, which lasted a few moments longer, but only long enough for Kai Parker to further wipe off his hands with the dryer bits on inside before it met the same fate of the gloves. With his hands as clean as they’d come for the moment, he reached into his pocket, and pulled out a mostly clean sandwich bag from his pocket, having been saved a muddy grave by the jacket. No, the thing was practically pristine, and he could even see the jam covered finger prints he’d left on it before Josette’s family had so rudely barged in. No matter, none of it mattered now, all  of it water under the bridge as he held up the bag to the light, smiling even wider at the sight of the contents: a button, the only thing a witch had left behind when she’d left him in that karaoke bar.

He’d thought he’d just been too lucky whenever he’d found the lone silver button lying over by the karaoke machine inside the bar years ago after Alaric’s rejects had set him free. It had reflected the red light up at him mockingly when he first saw it, and he wasn’t sure what had enticed him to pick it up, but when he did, he remembered where he’d seen it before. A witch had been wearing a jacket with the same button when she’d damned him to live out his worst fear, and made the soundtrack of his hell a song he hated.   In that moment he’d store the thing away, knowing when the time would come, it would be his ticket to finding her. Now the time had come, and he was only a shower and a locator spell away from returning the favor. ��Don’t worry Bon Bon, I’m on my way.

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

In all the times he’d pictured it, he’d try to imagine what the Bennett would look like after all the time they’d spent apart. Would she have smile lines burned into her face from years of gracing the world with its warmth, or crows feet around her eyes that came with time. A million questions had crossed his mind, and he’d imagined thousands of possibilities, but none of it was as satisfying as seeing all of those ideas proven wrong by the real thing. No, Bonnie Bennett didn’t have any laugh lines, or crows feet, no, she looked just like he remembered her. Smooth skin, green eyes filled with fire, and lips that could drip with honey or venom, if you asked nicely. The years had taken nothing from her but time, and that was exactly where he wanted her.

The heretic had expected to find the Bennett in Mystic Falls, playing the role of the martyr as she always did. The one who sacrificed so her friends didn’t have to, the witch stronger than any of them reduced to little more a pawn in their eyes, it would have even been comical if it wasn’t so sad. Instead, the locator spell had led him to small market in Georgia, admiring the witch as she looked over the produce. He hadn’t bothered with a cloaking spell, he didn’t need one, not when she wouldn’t remember her anyway. Toying with the apple in his hand to seem preoccupied, he couldn’t peel his eyes off of her as her focus stayed glued to the contents of the basket hanging on her arm as she moved down the aisle.

“ Are you looking for something or are you just going to keep staring? ”

The familiar voice caught him off guard, but it prompted a sly smile on the face of the heretic. It was only when the green eyes he knew so well met his own that he answered her query.

“ Oh, no, I found just what I was looking for. ”

With that, he wasted no time closing the gap between them, grabbing the item directly to her right with a smirk. Her own eyes looked at him accusingly, but she didn’t say a word as she went to step away and lowered her gaze from his own.

“ Where are my manners, Kai Parker. ”

There was no reason to lie, it’s not like the name would mean anything to her, or the rest of the Scooby Gang, or anyone else for that matter. He was a ghost, a phantom, and not even the brilliant witch before him could be able to put the pieces together.

“ Bonnie Bennett. ”

He noticed the slight inflection in her voice, it was the same way she’d talked to Damon about him before she’d learned of his sins. It was cute, damn near adorable actually, to see history repeating with the witch, unknown to her. The Bennett witch was suspicious of him. Clever girl, Bon Bon. Then again, she always had been. Always the clever one, the smart one who thought she could get away anything, but she wouldn’t get away from it this time. While Malivore had been his saving grace, he would be her own slice of hell. If he couldn’t send her there, he could give her just a taste, and she wouldn’t get away so easily this time.

“ It’s nice to meet you, Bonnie Bennett. ”

He watched her hesitate as he offered his hand, the same skepticism in her eyes as always as she finally reached out and took his hand. Feeling her magic humming beneath his finger tips, it took everything he had not to drain her dry right there. It’d been so long since he’d had it, even a taste of her magic was enough to keep him running on a high for days, he was an addict, looking for a hit, and he had it right in his grubby hands. His eyes focused on her jugular vein, thinking about how easy it would be to tear it open with his teeth, how pretty she’d look in her own blood pool on the ground when he was done with her. One move, and that would be it. She could be dead before she hit the floor, the way she should have been eighteen years ago when he’d given Damon the ultimatum. But he’d waited this long, he could wait a longer. Just a little longer.

“ New to town, Kai Parker? I’ve never seen you here before... ”

He wasn’t surprised when she didn’t return his greeting, and the suspicion lingered, though he didn’t really care as the sound of his name on her lips sent a shiver down his spine, the way it always did, whether it was said in a scream or a whisper, it didn’t matter. It was almost like nothing had changed, well, almost nothing.

“Yes, actually. Just got done with a long and unexpected vacation, so I decided to drop by and visit an old friend, might stick around for awhile.”

Dropping her hand, he moved down the way, taking some time to look at the options presented to him, but none of them were what he wanted. It wasn’t the food he was hungry for. The witch could have turned away and walked away, but she didn’t, and he knew she wouldn’t. In some ways, Bonnie Bennett was too nosy for her own good, and that was exactly what he was counting on. As he browsed, he felt the familiar green eyes on him, examining him, trying to figure him out. If only you knew, he thought coyly to himself with a smile. He let it go one for a few moments, pretending not to notice, the same way she had, hand firmly wrapped around whatever had been in front of him on the shelf before he piped up.

“ Are you looking for something or are you just going to keep staring? ”

This time he caught her off guard, and he cocked his head to look at her just in time to see it in her eyes as she was caught red handed..

“ I - ”

There’s no time to let her make up an excuse, he’d done that way too many times to fall for that.

“ Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind gorgeous babes staring at me in grocery stores but .... ”

Ever more flustered, he could even tell her cheeks were starting to get warm as she tried to regain her composure. Bonster sure looked good, even when she was trying to dig herself out of a hole.

“ I wasn’t staring, I was just - “

Now he couldn’t help but chuckle, taking his opportunity to cut her off one more time.

“ Staring. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone, it can be our little secret Bon Bon ”

The only saying rang in his ears as he made her his promise. Two can keep a secret if one of them is dead. Oh well, he wouldn’t have to wait long for that, and he was sure one more secret wouldn’t drown him in guilt. At that, the Bennett witch managed a small smile, and her signature eye roll.

“ Okay .... thanks. ”

As the witch turned to walk away, he felt like he’d won this round, even if she hadn’t known she’d been playing. He could have stopped her, kept the conversation going, lulled her further into a sense of safety, or even just raised her suspicions for the hell of it, but instead he let her go, almost letting her out of ear shot before calling out to the witch.

“ Until next time, Bennett? ”

He was smug, confident and cocky with his question as he raised an eyebrow at the witch. Turning back to glance at the Parker, the Bennett offered him a small smirk.

“ Assuming there’s a next time, Parker. ”

“ Maybe there will be.”

“Or maybe there won’t. Goodbye, Kai.”

“Bye Bye, Bonnie.”

Thirteen years may have passed since the last time they’d spoken, and the world may have moved on without him, but Bonnie Bennett was the same as she always was: cocky, stubborn, sarcastic, fire still burning in those emerald eyes, exactly the way he wanted her. She could run, but she couldn’t hide, and it was only a matter of time until next time, and next time, she might not be so lucky. You can run, Bonnie Bennett, but you can’t hide. One way, or another, I’m going to find you, and I’m going to get you.

[contacttwo681]

Best Dating App For Professionals Over 40

Best Free Dating App For Over 40s

Best Dating Site For Professionals Over 40

Best Dating App For Professionals Over 40 2019

OkCupid's basic services are free to use, and upgraded features start at $4.95 per month. Tinder: One of the most popular dating apps, Tinder was once known as a hookup app for people not looking for long-term commitment. But for many people over 50 Tinder has become a more traditional way to meet and connect. Best dating sites and apps for people over 40 — and which ones to avoid. Find love again (or for the first time.). EliteSingles utilizes a bunch of algorithms to find you a professional match. After a lot of trail and error, here's my unfiltered take on the best dating apps for women over 40, from Bumble to Hinge to eHarmony. Since 2007, Zoosk has distinguished itself as a high-tech dating site and app for singles looking to socialize and pick up dates on the fly. It has over 40 million members and sees over 3 million messages exchanged per day.

It is impossible to stop time and go back to the past. It has turned out that older people mostly search via the internet “what are the best free online dating sites for over 40?” because they are still single. That happens due to one important factor.

Single Sites For Over 40

9.9

9.7

9.6

9.4

9.3

When you become older, it is much more difficult to meet new people, especially to marry. It is truly half of life. Many have managed to achieve something in their lives, maybe even several marriages and divorces. However, love is something eternal. That is why there are plenty of over 40 dating sites for singles over 40. They provide various opportunities for communication in order to find love. There a 40-year-old woman can easily start dating a man over forty that have never married. Everyone deserves to be loved, and you also will definitely find it: over 40 dating websites will help you with it.

Characteristics of Best Dating Sites for Over 40

The industry of online dating has developed tremendously, and now there even free dating services for over 40. All of them are different, with their strong and weak sides. It is necessary to define whether a over 40 website is good or not. That is why there are some common standards that the best dating websites for over 40 must match. Some features are very common, but they also must be implemented in a proper way. Here is their overview.

Easy to Use

An over 40 dating website should not be complicated. It must have a simple infrastructure that every new member will be able to easily use. With well-thought-out website design, even not tech-savvy users will be able to easily find future husbands and wives.

Free Registration Process

Registration should be free. It allows new members to try the service and decide if to continue or not. In addition, in enlarges the number of members, thus improves the chances of perfect matching. The sign-up process also should not be able to be done through social networks as it may lead to leakage of personal information. It is also should include verification by email to decrease the number of fake accounts. Most scammers do not want to waste much time, and email verification can be a small obstacle to a part of them.

Well-Thought-Out Questionnaire

It is common knowledge that it is difficult to write about yourself from scratch, and this can disinterest new members for further over 40 dating steps. As a solution, there are questionnaires. Most internet users like answering different questions about themselves instead of writing personal info. It allows to quickly fill in important information. Hence, over the forties dating sites develop their own questions to save users’ time and make it easier to find people with the same interests. They are not obligatory. You can skip this process and provide information about yourself later when you would like to.

Communication Tools

Probably, the most important thing in the over 40 dating process is communication. On the best over 40 dating sites, you should be able to express your emotions and feelings, which means that sending only emails is not a solution. There just must be tools for communication, such as:

Live Chat With Instant Messages

The possibility of chatting in real-time greatly improves the relationship between people.

Voice Calls

Talking is very important as you can hear most of the emotions and understand how a person reacts to what you say.

Video Calls

Real-time communication with video helps to see if all the photos are too altered and how a person looks like. It is recommended to have at least several video calls before meeting offline.

Translation Services

Mostly members communicate with someone from a foreign country. It means that they may not know some common language. Therefore, the translation service will help to erase this language gap between people.

24/7 Customer Support

In case of some troubles, a customer support team should be there. It must be available 24/7 due to the fact that members from different countries live in different time zones. You may contact them for sure if you have some concerns like:

Registration process;

Suspicious behavior of a member;

Search tools usage;

Payment issues;

How to start a conversation and you need some tips on how to do that;

Amount of profiles.

Speaking of singles over 40 dating sites, you must understand that they have a vast network that attracts new users from all over the world. You can find members from oversees countries like the US, Canada, Australia, and Europe. It has become a wonderful community of single men and women. On such over 40 dating platform, it is much easier to find a person due to your preferences and create a lovely couple.

Profiles Quality

Over 40 dating websites can be rated by the quality of users’ profiles. They must include:

Photos of a person that are not fake;

Initial user info: name, country, age, nationality etc;

Self-description of personality, hobbies, world view, and favorite things;

Expectations from a future partner.

Additionally, some members may upload short videos about themselves

Premium online dating platforms check if the provided information is up-to-date and is not going to mislead other members.

Safety

The most important thing while using any kind of over 40 dating platform is safety. There is a special management team that checks if the members are likely to be scammers. It has turned out that most female accounts are used to deceive people. Even after registration and member validation, checkups do not end. Security team continues to monitor these users, and if any of them will ask for money, send spam, or behave inappropriately, they will ban this account. It is necessary to mention that over 40 international dating websites cannot guarantee 100% safety. Hence, they inform their members with what to do in case of fraud and suspicious behavior of members according to security guidelines.

Pricing

You should know that for most of the features on over 40 dating websites you will have to pay. However, you may forget about subscriptions. They proved their inconvenience as users do not spend most of the time that they have paid for. There is a new tendency of credit system where you buy specific currency on to find single professionals over 40. The most pleasant side of this system is that you will spend credits only when you use something. It does not bind you to the time, and you can use free over forty dating services when you want. Moreover, there are discounts for loyal members. Speaking of payment methods, you will be definitely able to use:

Visa

MasterCard

Discover

Maestro credit, debit, prepaid or gift card

PayPal is also available for some countries

Additional Services

Dating websites for over 40 often provide additional services to improve communication and relationships between members. They help to erase the borders between people, and it can be done by using:

Present Delivery Service

It can help you to express your feelings by sending a present to a person you like. This delivery service can make it even in a different part of the world. It takes up to 8 working days, and in the end, you will receive a photo report. Among the gifts that you can send are:

Toys

Chocolate

Perfumes

Flowers

Jewelry

Smartphones

Offline Dating Service

Over 40 dating service can help you to organize an offline date if the person you like also agrees. It allows being sure that the date will definitely happen. However, bear in mind that you will have to pay for accommodation and flight by yourself.

Exchange of Personal Contacts

This service allows both people to receive phone numbers of each other, so they can continue to talk outside the over 40 dating platform. It can be used only if communication is going well and the two are not against of doing this.

Best Free Dating Sites for Over 40

On the internet, you can find different best places to meet women over 40. However, these definitely match the above-mentioned features that indicate their high quality. You will not regret using them.

VictoriaHearts.com

Amazing over 40 plus places that will surprise you with the simplicity of usage. With quick registration, the initial questionnaire, and a powerful search tool, new members easily find nice people to talk and date.

Valentime.com

Wonderful over 40 international dating platform that has a high rate of women from Eastern Europe. It has an excellent 24/7 customer support that helps not only with some problems but also can help in online dating.

MatchTruly.com

This over 40 website is considered to be one of the best in quality of member profiles and safety. It has a long history of successful matchings of people from different countries.

Conclusion

Best Free Dating App For Over 40s

While searching for the best dating websites for over 40, you should remember all important qualities that they must have. This is how over 40 dating platforms can prove their usefulness and safety. Age does not matter; everyone deserves to find love.

curlGET failed: Operation timed out after 5000 milliseconds with 0 bytes received

Looking for different dating sites?

Table of Contents

Best online dating apps and sites for over 40 singles

When it comes to dating men and women over 40, many middle-aged singles might be worried about getting back into a relationship. Whether they are recently divorced or single, professionals focusing on their careers, or looking after kids, there are many reasons over 40 singles wait to date.

Whether you are a professional who wants to start dating or a divorced, single parent looking to try dating, there are options. Many people are dating with kids as well. You can also find matches for friendship, but of course romance and love are the focus.

Hitting your mid-life period doesn’t mean that your dating is done. There are now plenty of over 40 dating apps and websites, allowing you to enjoy 40+ dating like never before! Here are some of the best over 40 dating app / sites today:

OkCupid

OkCupid is one of the leading dating websites and apps for helping you to match with new, like minded users who are also in their forties. They offer free registration and a way to link in through Facebook as well, making set up your profile easier than ever before.

Filter your searches for a partner based on a variety of topics, such as interests, physical appearance, location, and more! You can also take the time to make meaningful connections via their chat and messaging and arrange dates with people who are a perfect match for you.

To top it all off, they offer an excellent app for anyone who is on the go and looking for a new dating relationship while still maintaining a busy lifestyle.

Match.com

One of the largest and best apps for people looking to start a new relationship with men and women across the United States.

Match is especially great for people who are looking to utilize the full extent of an advanced matching service, including filtering out the types of single over 40 people who they may not want to date. This means you can be specific about dating people who are focused on their careers, have children, or are looking to meet someone that shares a specific hobby.

Sign up for free today with either email or your own Facebook account and enjoy their easy-to-use app and website!

EHarmony

Launched in 2000, Eharmony is one of the leading online dating services for serious relationships, especially with the over 40 crowd that wants to take the time to find true love with help from one of the best sites for dating.

Start a relationship on your own terms with the help of Eharmony, connecting people through the use of advanced filtering, profile creation, and some of best matching services on the market today.

They do offer free registration when you sign up, but you can only view your matches with this level of subscription. You will need a paying account to make use of all the features that Eharmony has to offer.

What to consider when you start dating in your forties

Dating in your forties means that you are bringing experience and baggage into a place where you may not be used to having both. Many things will be the same as when you were younger, but not everything.

For many, the big issue with dating in later life is that there may be children involved. While a partner having kids is a possibility, it shouldn’t put you off. If the family is welcoming, it can be a rewarding experience. Plus, children are especially good at giving you a signal if your match is truly good.

For people who are dealing with loss, there may be the issue of living in the shadow of the partner who’s passed on. Whether you do it to a date or they do it to you, the important thing is to remember that you should stop with this kind of comparison.

Ultimately, the relationship you share with someone will be different from the one they had. No better or worse, just different. And maybe even the best one.

Finally, you may also have financial concerns, particularly if you’ve been through a divorce. However, letting your money rule your love-life is a sure-fire way to scupper any future romance. Sometimes, you just have to roll the dice and see what happens.

What are Pros & Cons to middle-age dating?

Best Dating Site For Professionals Over 40

Pros

You’re far more likely to have similar interests and similar life experiences.

You won’t have to suffer never-ending conversations about the latest music, or which social media platforms are the best

You can concentrate on enjoying the important things in life for the two of you

Couples in their 40s tend to favor quality over quantity when it comes to sexual encounters

Cons

Odds are that you will have other obligations to look after, ranging from work to children

You may not always be your date’s priority, especially if they have kids

With Covid, traditional ways of meeting up and mingling are severely limited, so you both will have to adapt

People who date when they are older are likely to move things quickly, especially if there are kids involved. Sometimes this is okay, but it isn’t always the best way to move a relationship forward

What you can do to make over 40 dating successful

Making the world of dating work for you and being successful at it requires that you understand what you want and need out of a dating relationship from the start. If you are looking for love, then it will take time but be patient and with the right app you can make dating work.

Click here for more tips and guides on Over-40 Dating

You should understand that not every potential match you’re paired up with is going to be right for you. The best dating apps are a great way to get to know someone before you take the plunge and meet up, but there’s no need to compromise on what you want right from the start.

State your preferences from the outset. If you don’t want to date someone with children, then don’t beat about the bush: state it on your profile page. There’s no sense in being coy about what you want from your online experience and your honesty could well be seen as attractive.

Best Dating App For Professionals Over 40 2019

This will also help to make your dating experiences much better and far more successful.

Remember, if you’re convinced that you’re too old to start dating again, then you’ll likely self-sabotage your own efforts to find love. Avoid this. Other users looking at dating sites for over 40 singles are all at similar age to you and trying to enjoy dating. You can too.

Of course, be sure that you’re ready. If you’ve come out of a divorce, you might feel like diving back into the pool out of some sort of sense of injustice. Dating sites are there to help you find new love, not to try and exorcise the ghosts of a previous relationship.

Finally, be honest. Profile pictures can be misleading and if you manage to bag yourself a face-to-face date, you don’t want your match to find you unrecognizable. If you have wrinkles, have put on weight, or have gone bald, embrace it. There’s someone for everyone.

If you are unsure, you can also try to be friends with them over Facebook or try to reach them by email in a way that is outside of the dating site. This is good for confirmation that they are who they say they are, as well.

Why are dating services for the over 40 crowd working and on the rise?

You don’t need to see the popularity of dating for people over 40 on social media sites like Facebook to know that more people are enjoying online dating. Millennials in their forties have found sites and apps like OkCupid, Match.com, EHarmony, and even Tinder are the best way to date.

Of course, there are sites which help make these kinds of online dating service experiences more niche. For example, you could try Coffee Meets Bagel or Zoosk for niche dating opportunities with the 40+ crowd.

Part of what makes them so attractive is the fact that you can date online from the comfort of your own home. With Covid on the rise and such a threat, dating with a mobile app or on a website not only feels convenient, it’s safer too.

For anyone who is older, regardless of whether you want to find love, friendship, or a middle age romance that is flexible, online dating is the place to go. A good online dating service will help you to meet the person you can love.

You will meet a lot of millennials and people from all walks of life, including LGBT communities and others. These sites are great for making friends and finding out new things about yourself as well.

Thanks to advanced algorithms that pay attention to personality tests you fill out, as well as what you put into your user profile, finding a significant other to fall in love with has never been as exciting or as successful! Try the best over 40 dating sites and find true love!

Interested in Reviews for the following Dating Sites?

[basicsofislam]

ISLAM 101: 5 PILLARS OF ISLAM: ALMS AND CHARITY: VIRTUES OF ZAKAT: WHAT ARE THE BENEFITS OF ZAKAT ON SOCIETY? (PART 1)

Zakat, with its innumerable facets, is a bond between members of society, one wherein collective harmony is dependent on individual harmony. For zakat explicitly creates a virtuous setting that eliminates various social problems by establishing a harmonious atmosphere for both the rich and the poor. In a nutshell, zakat forestalls, reduces, or eliminates social conflicts, strengthens the growth of the middle class, and obviates all of the greatest social diseases pertaining to financial issues, especially interest and money-hoarding.

ZAKAT

REDUCES CLASS STRUGGLES

The establishment and maintenance of social solidarity is maximized when the gap between social classes is kept at a minimum and the voids likely to cause social conflicts are filled. In other terms, relations between the rich and the poor must not deteriorate if anarchy is to be avoided. Undoubtedly, the most important power that upholds these crucial relations between the rich and the poor is zakat and other principles of assistance. In societies where zakat ceases to exist, the precipice between the rich and the poor widens to the effect where abhorrence and hatred replace love and appreciation for the poor, and concomitantly, disdain and scorn replace compassion and charity for the rich.

Leaves of history attest to the gradual deterioration of civilizations that have opted to divide themselves into conflicting classes. Their initial happiness, a fruit of uncompromising discipline, has always been, more or less, short-lived, a prelude to their swift exit from the world stage, under the debris of their own civilization, as they have paid the ultimate price for their social injustices.

By pronouncing, “Zakat is the bridge of Islam”42, the Noble Messenger amplified the importance of zakat in abolishing economic gaps between members of society. Zakat is a bridge used for passing over economic strife and when the whole community makes use of this bridge, class conflicts have the potential to become part of history. This bridge also constructs a stable middle class through which increasingly more recipients of zakat can become its donors and a possible clash between the rich and the poor is prevented.

ZAKAT

STRENGTHENS THE MIDDLE CLASS

By the prevention of the polarization of society, Islam envisages the construction of a strong middle class. In providing an opportunity for the unemployed to embark on new business

ventures, zakat gains them back into society, stronger than ever, instead of deserting them to become burdens of the community. The strengthening of the middle class in Islam is not encouraged just through zakat and sadaqa; in actuality, there are more precepts pertaining to this issue. For instance, when dividing booty or the spoils of war among members of society, God declares:

That which God gives as spoil to His Messenger from the people of the townships, it is for God and His Messenger (for the State) and for the near of kin, orphans, the needy and the wayfarer so it will not become the property of the rich among you. (Hashr 59:7)

The circulation of capital solely in the hands of the rich inevitably leads to them becoming richer at the expense of the poor, who then become even more stricken. In actual fact, wealth has been created for the benefit of the whole of humanity, indiscriminately. In societies where individuals are deprived and usurped of the wealth bestowed by God, the existence of social classes is tolerated and the scorn of the rich towards the poor is sustained, riches never bring true happiness; on the contrary, financial resource easily becomes a profound source of conflict, even within families and close-knit groups. Additionally, in such societies, the poor remain in perennial anxiety in regards to attaining their sustenance whereas the rich foster a similar anxiety pertaining to the security of their wealth. The resort to dangerous alternatives can thus evolve into an option for the poor, a plight we have been so used to witnessing around the world. In contrast, zakat eliminates all of the illegitimate options, graciously providing the poor with an ethical way out of their strife—exhaling into the community a fresh breath of life.

ZAKAT

CURES SOCIAL DISEASES

The prime hindrance of the formation of a harmonious atmosphere within societies is the existence of social classes based on wealth. It is self-evident that it is an impossibility for the poor to nurture love for the rich in a society where they are turned a blind eye on. As prevalent experience has shown, such a society is destined to become a hotbed for social conflict. The following verse corroborates this proposition:

Spend generously for the cause of God, and do not cast yourselves into destruction by your own hands. And know that God loves the doers of good. (Baqara 2:195)

The embracement of self-centeredness, at the expense of abandoning an altruistic life with social awareness, would be tantamount to trotting dangerously, as brilliantly illustrated by the Qur’an. Throwing one’s self into danger is due to deserting infaq or spending in the way of God and its grave outcomes that immediately c o me to mind, including anarchy becoming the dominant force over society that further leads to inextricable national and international complications. This dissipative demeanor of the aristocratic class, indubitably, remains the prime cause underlying anarchy. It is this shockingly irresponsible attitude of the rich, who squander astronomical amounts of money to attain luxuries in an attempt to satiate their interminable carnal desires, which causes the insurgence of crude souls, leading to anarchy and eventually turning the social welfare system upside down.

Wasteful displays as such will, no doubt, wet the appetite of the poor, inculcating in them an insurmountable feeling of hatred for the rich and perhaps, an excuse to usurp their property upon the first chance given. Obstinately abiding by the notion that enormous financial gaps between individuals do not cause an implicit or explicit upheaval is simply ignoring the realities of life.

The inveterate enmity the poor have for the rich, through zakat, providentially evolves into love and respect, patching up the wounds initially caused by greed and selfishness.

By responding to hate with love, the rich will attain an immense respect, and consequently the

bond of fraternity throughout society will be reinforced. Those who do not spend in the way of God impede the rights of others by depriving them of what is theirs and simultaneously, wrong themselves by evading an obligation. God, indeed, dislikes wrongdoers and following such a line of action would ultimately attract the dislike of the Creator.

“Indeed God does not wrong humankind in any way; but humankind wrong themselves” (Yunus 10:44) underlines how human’s worst enemy is, ironically, himself. Those who indulge in “self-oppression” by avoiding zakat will suffer an assault of another form of oppression. “The oppressor is the sword of God; taken revenge with and then taken revenge of”43 is a vital principle of social life. Thus the wealthy that are in denial of their duty with regards to alms are prone to suffering onslaughts from the poor as immediate punishment for their ignorance. The poor, given they partake in such an upheaval, are also punished in turn, as the realization of the celestial cycle enunciated by the Prophet of God. God may delay a punishment, but when His verdict is decreed, there is no turning back.

Those who furtively stockpile wealth and withhold it in fear of zakat are bound to receive an uncalculated slap in the face as their insatiable greed generates unavoidable calamities from their wealth.

By fixing the problem before it spreads, zakat forestalls the potential complications of society, establishing a firm social structure. Looking from this perspective, many current issues could be avoided if zakat is effectively utilized.

[athenril-of-kirkwall]

Okay, how about this one for Casswall? :D Trapped together somewhere in the Winter Palace, against a wall while still clothed?

You got it! (and so did @rosered282 , same brain)

Blackwall/Cassandra, “Just You and I” (AO3) [Mature]

“Where are we going?”, Blackwall asked Cassandra as they broke off their dance, with the Lady Seeker leading him up the stairs to the Royal Wing where they had put the final pieces of Florianne’s plot together, defeating the Venatori agent’s henchmen just in time to make the dramatic entry of the century.

She turned to him with a glint in her eye, saying, “You’ll see soon enough.”

Blackwall scratched his head, hoping that all his talk of spontaneity and the half-dozen glasses of Antivan wine she’d been sipping between fights in the Winter Palace (not to mention the additional ones after they’d foiled the assassin) hadn’t gotten to her own. She certainly wasn’t behaving like she had been for the entirety of the night beforehand.

He ascended the stairs from the study into the hallways overlooking the atrium, noting the corridors leading to the courtyard in the far corner where Florianne had revealed herself to be the chief malefactor in the night’s intrigues, and the doors behind which the Empress and her relatives had been hiding their secrets—secrets which the Inquisitor had employed in her last-ditch efforts for peace, which thankfully had borne fruit.

For that matter, it was one of those very doors which Cassandra was opening, with the window still wide open from when Rivka had—

Letting his voice finish his thoughts, Blackwall asked, “Isn’t this the room where we found that harlequined assassin threatening…”

“Yes,” he heard Cassandra’s voice behind him say, along with the sound of the door closing, “This is the room which the former Grand Duchess used to live in.”

Turning around, he asked her, “Is there some reason you’ve brought me here?”

“Well,” she said, adjusting the top button on her uniform, “I knew full well that it would be the one room in the entire palace which would be unoccupied tonight.”

Looking at its four walls, he said, “That’s true enough. So, what is it that you had to show me which warranted us coming here?”

“Nothing that you haven’t seen already, to be honest,” Cassandra said, exposing her bra-bound bosom to him and letting the flaps of her uniform hang by her sides.

Blinking as he tried to keep his eyes focused upwards of her throat, Blackwall asked carefully, “Are you perhaps feeling feverish, Cassandra? I was getting concerned about all that Antivan wine you were—”

She crossed her still-sleeved arms under her breasts, interrupting him, “I am certainly not, and I don’t see a point to you being so obtuse, Blackwall. When are you ever going to get the chance to have a tryst in the Winter Palace?”

“Cassandra,” Blackwall began, “When I teased you about spontaneity, I didn’t quite have this in mind.”

“Did you not?”, she asked, closing the distance between them and turning him so his back faced the bed. “If you’ve truly been taking notes from Varric and his works, how else am I supposed to interpret you filling my ears with talk about romance late in the night, after a grand ball, in this setting of all places?”

Finding there to be no space left between the bed and his calves, he sat back and down upon it, Cassandra’s statuesque figure towering over him more so than she usually did.

Looking down on him as though a mile away, she continued, “For so long after I dared to love once again, I’d read such things, dreaming of someone to enter my life and sweep me off my feet. We have come too close to danger, separately or together, for me to leave such affairs to chance anymore.”

“I…” Blackwall stammered, “I…don’t know what to say.”

“Then stop thinking,” Cassandra responded, ordering, “And just kiss me.”

She leant in and he tilted his head up, and the familiar feeling of her lips on his filled him with a sudden warmth and passion. He eagerly nipped at her lip as her tongue danced upon his, the two of them breaking away and coming back together once, twice, then too many times to count easily.

He felt her weight lean into his as he came to lay on the Grand Duchess’ bed, their lips still locked together as he sank backwards. Cassandra came up for air for a moment. Spotting the long scar upon her cheek, Blackwall set several kisses upon it, causing her to tremble just a touch.

“You know me, and what I enjoy so well,” she said between hoarse breaths. “I couldn’t very well let this opportunity go to waste, could I?”

“No,” he answered, “Not at all.”

She smiled, cupping his face with her hands as she stroked the sides of his beard with her thumbs, then planting them on either side of him as she leant forward, drawing her knee up between his legs.

“I seem to recall that you liked this very much,” she said, gently rolling her knee towards his groin and feeling him get harder with each stroke.

Any answer was lost as his breath caught in his throat, Cassandra wantonly stroking him through her trouser leg and his, kissing him again then diving further forward and filling his view with her bosom.

“Your hands are free, are they not, Blackwall?”, she gasped, glancing at the bra still restraining her breasts. “Use that clever tongue of yours as well.”

Blackwall practically ripped the gloves off his hands, casting them into the far corners of the room as he slid his fingertips along the curves of Cassandra’s ribs, causing her to shudder momentarily, tracing them to the clasps that held her bra together. He got them to separate with some little fiddling, and he slipped the whole thing off her chest, discarding it to the side where it joined one of his gloves.

Taking her command, he lapped at her pert nipples gently at first, then again and again as his hands moved down her sides, snaking their way into the gap between her trousers and the seat of her smallclothes. Cassandra hurriedly got up to undo her belt and the button at her waistline, giving his hands just enough purchase to grasp a cheek each, groaning his name as he did so and feverishly massaging him with her knee.

His breath ragged, Blackwall gasped, “Wait. If you keep this up…”

Cassandra looked down and below at him, a smirk on her face. “Oh. I see the fabled Grey Warden stamina is rather over-vaunted?”

Shaking a drop of sweat off his brow, Blackwall said, “Something like that. Besides, you’ve barely given me the opportunity to undress myself.”

“It’s hardly my fault,” Cassandra retorted, “but very well. I might perhaps do without this jacket as well since we’ve come this far.”

She released him, standing up to let the sleeves of her top slide off her arms, the jacket landing on the floor with a gentle flumph as Blackwall sat up, removing his own and leaving himself wearing only his trousers—much the same as when they’d run into each other in the corridors of the villa where they’d freshened up prior to this very ball, on reflection.

And much like then, she was now as bare as the day she was born, albeit with no towel in sight this time. Her boots and pants, too, had been discarded, and she was now slipping her smalls down one of her long legs.

Blackwall gazed upwards at Cassandra, taking in the sight of her figure as though he’d never see it again, not like this anyway. Internally he gave thanks to the Maker for bringing this woman into her life, and for her to consider him worthy despite…well, time enough for that later. He was sure that he was mirroring the desire which filled her eyes as she gazed at him whilst unhooking her panties from around her toes, carelessly throwing them away.

Realising that he’d only gotten half the job completed, Blackwall reached for his belt before he felt her hands on his wrists.

“Wait,” he heard her say. “Let me.”

Idly thinking that this was going beyond his wildest dreams now, he released his grip and placed his hands on the edge of the bed. The tongue of the belt slipped ring by ring past the clasp, and soon he felt it loosen from around his waist, the only thing keeping his trousers on being the buttons running down the front of them.

She reached for them, saying, “Imagine this, Blackwall. If we could be like this forever…”

Asking through ragged breaths, his pulse hammering in his chest, he said, “What do you mean?”

Looking up at him, she said, “Just the two of us alone, ignoring the rest of world, making this instance last for eternity, without a care at all, of course. Is it not tempting, even momentarily?”

Letting silence descend after the question, Blackwall perked his hearing, realising that it was total silence—not even the ambient noise of the partiers or minstrels who had been providing the music for the drunken revellers after the successful conclusion of the peace forged at the Winter Ball sounded anywhere around where they were.

Sensing his discord, she asked, “Is something the matter?”

“Nothing, I…”, Blackwall trailed off, unable to put words to his uneasiness.

Smiling, she continued her work working off button after button, saying, “I don’t think we need worry. We aren’t liable to missed, not for now. Perhaps for a while yet, even?”

A deep chill running through him, Blackwall reached for her wrist, firmly guiding her hand away from the fly of his trousers. Surprised, she glanced up at him again.

“Is something truly wrong?”, she asked.

Thinking for long seconds and praying to the Maker he was wrong, mouthing for Him to forgive him should he simply be asking this question misguidedly, he eventually forced it out, feeling his eyes water at the implications of what he was about to discover.

“Who are you, and what do you want?”

The woman bearing Cassandra’s likeness stood above him, hurt. “What do you mean?”

Rebuttoning his trousers and keeping his gaze fixed on the face of the stranger before him, Blackwall said, “No matter how besotted she was with someone, there’s no chance that Cassandra would ever consider a dereliction of her duty like this—certainly not whilst playing the part of a coquettish Chantry sister. And finally, we never…consummated…until after this night. Maker knows why I even went along with this charade in the first place. I’m going to ask you again, woman. Why are you pretending to be the Lady Seeker?”

“I don’t know,” she asked. “Why are you pretending to be the Warden-Constable, Thom Rainier?”

He stood up to confront her, his boots letting him reach her eye level—the real Cassandra otherwise stood a good inch taller than him—explaining, “Warden Blackwall dies two days from now, as does Thom Rainier. Once again.”

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” the woman said, her eyes briefly flashing a demoniac purple.

“What do you mean?”, Blackwall demanded, adding, “And for the Maker’s sake, put some clothes on. I don’t need you wearing her skin so vulgarly.”

She conceded by simply wrapping the jacket around herself, exposing the rest of said skin to the rest of the world—which seemed to solely comprise of Blackwall at the moment.

“It’s hardly so complicated, Rainier,” she said. “All you have to do is sleep in too long and you’ll simply never make it to Val Royeaux on time the day after. Your secret dies with Mornay, and you can just lie when the Inquisition catches up with you here.”

Anger rising within him, Blackwall spat, “That’s all this is? Your great temptation is just the truth never coming to light?”

“No,” she said, “I had simply been offering you one final chance to experience a night with your love, without her suspecting you or your identity in the least. She certainly will be turning the meaning of that note again over and over in her head every night from now till when…when your lives go the way all things go. Why ruin this, Rainier? You seemed perfectly eager minutes ago after all, Blackwall.”

“But it’s a lie!”, he protested.

“So too has your life in all of its aspects for nearly half a decade,” the apparent demon with Cassandra’s face retorted. “What does it matter?”

“It matters. Maker forgive me for taking so long to realise this, but the truth matters. It matters to the men I’ve left to hang for my cowardice, but it matters because…because the woman you’re masquerading as deserves the truth,” he said. Bitterly laughing, he added, “It’s in her job title, after all.”

Realising he couldn’t control his laughter, and realising it wasn’t laughter at all, but the grief of years finally erupting in terrible sobs, he collapsed back onto the very bed where, if his imagination and this woman had reigned supreme, would’ve been witness to the multitude of pleasures the flesh was heir to, but now just seated a miserable shell of a man.

“Maker, forgive me,” he begged, “Cassandra, forgive me. Not for what I’ve done but for…not even then. Forget me, Cassandra.”

The spirit with her visage, now fully dressed in the same armour he’d seen the Lady Seeker wearing when they had first met on the shores of Lake Luthias, stepped forward, gently grasping his temples and planting a kiss on his forehead.

“Only the Maker knows how His children will decide to act, but I think I understand something now that I didn’t before, Thom Rainier,” she said gently. “You know your purpose, and I now know mine.”

“Purpose?”, he asked blandly.

“I…now remember a time before this,” she said, continuing, “Your fitful sleep practically screamed out to me, and I thought you to simply be easy prey at first. But this…is different.”

“I don’t understand.”

Shaking her head, she said, “I don’t either, and we may never truly do so. But I’ll see to it you have a full night’s rest and see to your own purpose, Blackwall, or Rainier. You’ve a long ride ahead from here to the capital, after all.”

With that, she stepped out of the door, the walls of the palace, along with the floor under Blackwall, breaking apart and floating through the ether as he felt himself falling, falling and falling…

=

…and waking up in cold sweat on the hard bed in the tavern. Refusing to let himself piece together the strange and disturbing dream which he’d just experienced, Blackwall threw his clothes onto himself, vaguely remembering tossing a sovereign to the innkeeper and saddling Princess Mairyn after doing so, half-dazed and half-aware as he went through the motions of leaving the place.

On the road leading out of Halamshiral he stopped at the crest of a nearby bund, turning back to look at the horizon and the dim outline of the Winter Palace for some long moments, before galloping at full speed towards Val Royeaux, where his destiny lay.

@dadrunkwriting

[bonniobonnotta]

The Beast You've Made of Me

With the appearance of Alaric Saltzman and his gaggle of supernatural misfits, Kai Parker is given everything he needs to escape his prison world with an added bonus: no one remembers him. So, when he finds himself in 2031, the world is his oyster, but there’s only one thing on his mind: Bonnie Bennett. 

Dedicated to @koiporker

Triggers: Death, Abandonment, Violence, Blood, Drug Mention, Gore

For all the years Malachai Parker had been seeking salvation from his prison, he’d never imagined it would come in the form of a magical mud pit of all things. It wasn’t much to look at, not nearly as pretty as first ticket out of a prison world, nor was it as entertaining, but he wasn’t going to complain. Whatever lied beyond it’s murky depths had to be better than this, if only for the sheer fact that he’d known he hadn’t let the witch win. So, after making his final phone call in dear old 2018, he tossed the phone he was using across the room, and prepared himself for the most anticipated swan dive of his life. With a sigh of relief, and a smile in his face, the heretic leaned back on his heels and let himself fall. As he was engulfed in the mud, the last clear thought he had was one name: Bonnie Bennett.

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

When he emerged from the pit, covered in sludge and muck, it wasn’t until he stepped food on solid ground that he let himself take a deep breath. It didn’t feel real until then, and then the realization truly struck him, and the gemini let out a laugh. He was out. He was really out.  All at once he felt his emotions hit him like a ton of bricks. Excitement. Fear. Anger. Despair. All of those emotions culminated in a wave of nausea that over took him, and as easy as it would have been to turn it all off, he didn’t. He needed that anger, and that fire, and most of all, he needed a clear head.

As the heretic’s laughter died down, he wiped his face, his eyes first, and then past lips that were silent but still bright with a smile. “ Son of a bitch, I made it. ” There was no one else to here his declaration, not a single soul, and yet, he found himself saying it again. “ I fucking made it. ” In the glow of the candlelight, he let himself enjoy it for just a few moments more before his thoughts turned back to those emotions, and why they were so very important. 

First to come off were the gloves, the digit less fiends sliding off into a slimey mess of the ground. Next came the jacket, which lasted a few moments longer, but only long enough for Kai Parker to further wipe off his hands with the dryer bits on inside before it met the same fate of the gloves. With his hands as clean as they’d come for the moment, he reached into his pocket, and pulled out a mostly clean sandwich bag from his pocket, having been saved a muddy grave by the jacket. No, the thing was practically pristine, and he could even see the jam covered finger prints he’d left on it before Josette’s family had so rudely barged in. No matter, none of it mattered now, all  of it water under the bridge as he held up the bag to the light, smiling even wider at the sight of the contents: a button, the only thing a witch had left behind when she’d left him in that karaoke bar. 

He’d thought he’d just been too lucky whenever he’d found the lone silver button lying over by the karaoke machine inside the bar years ago after Alaric’s rejects had set him free. It had reflected the red light up at him mockingly when he first saw it, and he wasn’t sure what had enticed him to pick it up, but when he did, he remembered where he’d seen it before. A witch had been wearing a jacket with the same button when she’d damned him to live out his worst fear, and made the soundtrack of his hell a song he hated.   In that moment he’d store the thing away, knowing when the time would come, it would be his ticket to finding her. Now the time had come, and he was only a shower and a locator spell away from returning the favor.  Don’t worry Bon Bon, I’m on my way.

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

In all the times he’d pictured it, he’d try to imagine what the Bennett would look like after all the time they’d spent apart. Would she have smile lines burned into her face from years of gracing the world with its warmth, or crows feet around her eyes that came with time. A million questions had crossed his mind, and he’d imagined thousands of possibilities, but none of it was as satisfying as seeing all of those ideas proven wrong by the real thing. No, Bonnie Bennett didn’t have any laugh lines, or crows feet, no, she looked just like he remembered her. Smooth skin, green eyes filled with fire, and lips that could drip with honey or venom, if you asked nicely. The years had taken nothing from her but time, and that was exactly where he wanted her.

The heretic had expected to find the Bennett in Mystic Falls, playing the role of the martyr as she always did. The one who sacrificed so her friends didn’t have to, the witch stronger than any of them reduced to little more a pawn in their eyes, it would have even been comical if it wasn’t so sad. Instead, the locator spell had led him to small market in Georgia, admiring the witch as she looked over the produce. He hadn’t bothered with a cloaking spell, he didn’t need one, not when she wouldn’t remember her anyway. Toying with the apple in his hand to seem preoccupied, he couldn’t peel his eyes off of her as her focus stayed glued to the contents of the basket hanging on her arm as she moved down the aisle. 

“ Are you looking for something or are you just going to keep staring? ”

The familiar voice caught him off guard, but it prompted a sly smile on the face of the heretic. It was only when the green eyes he knew so well met his own that he answered her query. 

“ Oh, no, I found just what I was looking for. ”

With that, he wasted no time closing the gap between them, grabbing the item directly to her right with a smirk. Her own eyes looked at him accusingly, but she didn’t say a word as she went to step away and lowered her gaze from his own. 

“ Where are my manners, Kai Parker. ” 

There was no reason to lie, it’s not like the name would mean anything to her, or the rest of the Scooby Gang, or anyone else for that matter. He was a ghost, a phantom, and not even the brilliant witch before him could be able to put the pieces together.

“ Bonnie Bennett. ”

He noticed the slight inflection in her voice, it was the same way she’d talked to Damon about him before she’d learned of his sins. It was cute, damn near adorable actually, to see history repeating with the witch, unknown to her. The Bennett witch was suspicious of him. Clever girl, Bon Bon. Then again, she always had been. Always the clever one, the smart one who thought she could get away anything, but she wouldn’t get away from it this time. While Malivore had been his saving grace, he would be her own slice of hell. If he couldn’t send her there, he could give her just a taste, and she wouldn’t get away so easily this time.

“ It’s nice to meet you, Bonnie Bennett. ”

He watched her hesitate as he offered his hand, the same skepticism in her eyes as always as she finally reached out and took his hand. Feeling her magic humming beneath his finger tips, it took everything he had not to drain her dry right there. It’d been so long since he’d had it, even a taste of her magic was enough to keep him running on a high for days, he was an addict, looking for a hit, and he had it right in his grubby hands. His eyes focused on her jugular vein, thinking about how easy it would be to tear it open with his teeth, how pretty she’d look in her own blood pool on the ground when he was done with her. One move, and that would be it. She could be dead before she hit the floor, the way she should have been eighteen years ago when he’d given Damon the ultimatum. But he’d waited this long, he could wait a longer. Just a little longer.

“ New to town, Kai Parker? I’ve never seen you here before... ” 

He wasn’t surprised when she didn’t return his greeting, and the suspicion lingered, though he didn’t really care as the sound of his name on her lips sent a shiver down his spine, the way it always did, whether it was said in a scream or a whisper, it didn’t matter. It was almost like nothing had changed, well, almost nothing. 

“Yes, actually. Just got done with a long and unexpected vacation, so I decided to drop by and visit an old friend, might stick around for awhile.”

Dropping her hand, he moved down the way, taking some time to look at the options presented to him, but none of them were what he wanted. It wasn’t the food he was hungry for. The witch could have turned away and walked away, but she didn’t, and he knew she wouldn’t. In some ways, Bonnie Bennett was too nosy for her own good, and that was exactly what he was counting on. As he browsed, he felt the familiar green eyes on him, examining him, trying to figure him out. If only you knew, he thought coyly to himself with a smile. He let it go one for a few moments, pretending not to notice, the same way she had, hand firmly wrapped around whatever had been in front of him on the shelf before he piped up.

“ Are you looking for something or are you just going to keep staring? ”

This time he caught her off guard, and he cocked his head to look at her just in time to see it in her eyes as she was caught red handed..

“ I - ” 

There’s no time to let her make up an excuse, he’d done that way too many times to fall for that.

“ Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind gorgeous babes staring at me in grocery stores but .... ”

Ever more flustered, he could even tell her cheeks were starting to get warm as she tried to regain her composure. Bonster sure looked good, even when she was trying to dig herself out of a hole.

“ I wasn’t staring, I was just - “

Now he couldn’t help but chuckle, taking his opportunity to cut her off one more time.

“ Staring. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone, it can be our little secret Bon Bon ”

The only saying rang in his ears as he made her his promise. Two can keep a secret if one of them is dead. Oh well, he wouldn’t have to wait long for that, and he was sure one more secret wouldn’t drown him in guilt. At that, the Bennett witch managed a small smile, and her signature eye roll.

“ Okay .... thanks. ”

As the witch turned to walk away, he felt like he’d won this round, even if she hadn’t known she’d been playing. He could have stopped her, kept the conversation going, lulled her further into a sense of safety, or even just raised her suspicions for the hell of it, but instead he let her go, almost letting her out of ear shot before calling out to the witch. 

“ Until next time, Bennett? ” 

He was smug, confident and cocky with his question as he raised an eyebrow at the witch. Turning back to glance at the Parker, the Bennett offered him a small smirk. 

“ Assuming there’s a next time, Parker. ”

“ Maybe there will be.” 

“Or maybe there won’t. Goodbye, Kai.”

“Bye Bye, Bonnie.”

Thirteen years may have passed since the last time they’d spoken, and the world may have moved on without him, but Bonnie Bennett was the same as she always was: cocky, stubborn, sarcastic, fire still burning in those emerald eyes, exactly the way he wanted her. She could run, but she couldn’t hide, and it was only a matter of time until next time, and next time, she might not be so lucky. You can run, Bonnie Bennett, but you can’t hide. One way, or another, I’m going to find you, and I’m going to get you.

[englass]

Threadbare

Pairing(s): John Seed x F! Reader/Deputy

Warning(s): A little bit of Possessive Behaviour near the end (when isn’t there in my fics haha)

Word Count: 9,101

A/N: Gonna use this opportunity to apologise to @starsandskies @softseeds and @seedlingsinner for not getting back to you on your ‘Last Line Meme’ tags, I’ve been working on this and didn’t want to risk spoiling anymore of it than I have 😅 Apologies again, lovelies! ❤️ Now, I hope you all enjoy this inconsistent mess;  I’m just glad that it’s finally over!

Also, side note: this is the final/original version of ‘A Moment In Time’ that I never thought that I’d finish, so... yeah, I actually finished it; oops? 😅

- - -

The room is quiet, save for the gentle rustle of fabric and your calm breathing, only ever holding when your concentration tightens or a loud sound catches your ear. It’s a risky move you’re making, being here of all places. All it would take is one slip up and any patrolling Peggies would come running. In your current position, rifle resting just out of comfortable reach against a nearby night stand and hand gun securely holstered to your thigh, the potential outcome could be precarious.

Still, such thoughts are far out of mind. If anything, for once, your mind is not plagued by the worries, fears and demands of the people. It is quiet, tranquil, filled with an occupied motion that lulls and eases. It is the most peace you have had since this whole debacle began; and secretly, unknowingly even to yourself, you take your sweet time and milk it for all it’s worth. An unconscious action deeply needed.

Every so often you take stock, pausing to look, only to end up staring at nothing in particular, around the room you hold court in. It’s a surprisingly large room and it is as gorgeous and telling as the man it belongs to: all high-class with expensive taste, yet subtly simple – modest in design and openly exquisite in every minute detail. Almost everything, save for the immaculate wooden furniture and feather-soft carpet, falls within the spectrum of blue. It creates an oceanic space filled with a deep and enriching sense of stillness and liberation, emulating the ebb and rise of a tempered wave.

It’s an absent wonder why sloth is visualised as the coercing colour.

You shift slightly, readjusting your position as you turn back to the article of clothing in your lap, eyes layered with an embedded fatigue not aimed at anything in particular. The glaze is misleading, your movements speaking not of a tired body. Instead, they are easily measured with a humble confidence, working at a steady pace with a precise and focused concentration, all benign.

There is an edge of paranoia, sharp and teetering like the point of a knife. It fuels the anvil-heavy weight on your shoulders, makes it hard to breathe even the shallowest of breaths. Worry gnaws at your edges alongside its cutting twin. ‘What ifs’ are a dangerous line of thought, yet even with an empty mind it turns in the background, twisting and coiling like a viper as worry and paranoia feed and pamper it.

The stress of the situation – the position you’ve been made to hold, a final bastion in a red-dyed field – has left a very real and scarring impression upon you. A bitter taste you can’t wash out.

It’s why you draw out your time with a self-imposed task that could be over within a matter of seconds. You drown yourself in an old action and memory, away from the war you have been made charge of.

It actually makes for quite an interesting scene.

Away from the tragedy of a civil war and the reluctant role you play in it, in the confines of a grand modern home, one would see the image of domesticity. A young woman sat on a satin quilted bed, expression relaxed and eyes tinged with oblivion as they lose themselves in a rhythmic motion, effortlessly mending a piece of male attire with a needle and thread in hand. A simple kit that the young lady wields with a conviction that rivals that of a knight and his sword.

Yes, quite a scene it makes.

Admittedly breaking into the infamous Seed Ranch wasn’t the best place to host such an image, despite how well you fit into the frame (obscenely so), but it wasn’t your idea to come here in the first place. No, the Resistance has a way of... puppeteering you. Not that you would ever openly admit to such a thing.

Thankfully you have it on good authority – ‘it better be on good authority’, you had snarled, before stalking out of the door of the outpost you had been visiting – that the youngest Seed would be away for the day. Overseeing another load of confessions and such, you had no doubt. It would be the perfect opportunity to take the ranch for the Resistance; loot the cave while the dragon is away, so to speak. Perhaps that’s why, along with the decrease in guard numbers, you had somewhat made yourself at home, taking your time to slowly wander the grand ranch and really take it all in; all in its full and undisturbed splendour.

Arguably you could do so once it was under the Resistance’s control, it would be a lot easier and less stressful to do so then, but you are not naive enough to believe that they won’t change anything once it’s theirs. No, it’s better to see it as it’s intended to be, before that travesty occurs.

Yet, despite your initial wanderings into the many, many rooms around the ranch, it was John Seed’s bedroom – of all places – that had caught your eye. It is why you are currently perched contently on the man’s king sized bed as you tend absently to one of his shirts.

It’s truly silly when you think about it, it’s just a shirt after all, but it turns out that sewing your younger sibling’s toys and clothing growing up has ultimately left a very lasting impression upon you. You had found solace in the action growing up and you still felt it now, more so than ever with the violent turn your life has taken, and you wanted nothing more than a brief moment to try and capture that same tranquility once again.

Although, in all honesty, even you know that you’re not potentially endangering yourself like this for a reason so small and seemingly petty.

With your modest sewing kit on the night-table next to you, and the faintest whisper of the birds songs outside, you pause to look over your work. It’s not turned out too bad, it won’t be the worst you’ve ever done, but not the best either. Not that you believe for a second that John would actually appreciate the gesture, no matter how perfect it turned out.

John Seed, though mainly known for his slippery lawyer ways and role within the infamous Eden’s Gate, was a very rich man. His life before Eden’s Gate, before being reunited with his lost siblings, had him as a rather successful property attorney from what you’ve heard, and it’s from that life and accumulated wealth that’s allowed the project to get as large and domineering as it has done.

It’s also allowed him to lavish himself in some of the most luxurious, and most audaciously expensive, brands that you’ve never heard off. Not only was he good looking, tall and slim with a lean frame painted with tattoos and gifted with a pretty face home to a devilish smile, but he dressed impeccably well.

It was near impossible to not initially swoon at such a charming character, but sadly he was a bit of an open book. The exterior may be exquisite, utterly unique and persuasive in how it draws you in, but it’s too easy to read and you find it’s pages to be littered with an underlying venom and rage; a bitterness that may be understandable, but hardly justifiable.

It was actually quite sad when you chose to sit down and actually think about the man and his siblings, to sit down and try to read them as best as you could. Each of them were broken in their own ways, left in disrepair, from the lives they had lived. You had even gone so far as to read Joseph’s physical book, the bible by which Eden’s Gate knelt before, to see if it could tell you more. The question of how they became – how you know them to be – a guiding hand as you flicked through the yellowing pages and over painful words.

Theirs was truly a sad story.

Still, you know it is no excuse for what they have done, or what they continue to do; and yet there is a part of you that, secretly, knows that you do this simple gesture for more of a reason than out of habit or past influence. It’s a simple but nice gesture and, although you don’t feel like it’ll be appreciated, you’re sure it’s something that they – John in-particular and especially so – have never been given before. At least not willingly.

If anything, with how rich John is, you wouldn’t be surprised if he just brought a new shirt from an equally fancy, if not tear-inducingly expensive, brand without even batting an eye. That’s if he didn’t get it custom made. You’re pretty sure your average store doesn’t sell plane printed jackets and Eden’s Gate belt buckles after all.

Even so there’s no need to waste money, even if he can burn it and still be well off, when you can just as easily fix it. Besides, it’s actually a really nice shirt. Even with its predictable colouring.

Despite all the terrible things the man has done, and will no doubt continue to do, you can’t help the small smile that blooms across your lips. The knowledge that the Baptist, the dreaded Reaper, of Eden’s Gate has a favourite colour and is so shameless in embracing it is strangely humanising to you; and also surprisingly sobering.

At a leisurely pace, mind now hollow with an echoing sorrow, you pierce the fabric and loop the needle through the gap between the strand of thread and pull, creating a knot. You do this a second time, creating another knot to make sure it stays, before you reach for the small scissors in the kit beside you, cutting the remaining thread loose.

With a soft touch you run your finger over the fabric, silently marvelling at its heavenly texture as you thoughtfully look over your finished work. The thread you’ve used isn’t as high quality as the shirt itself is made out of, a fact that actually irritates you, but it’s the best that you own and you find yourself sighing in resignation; leaving it be.

Yes, it’ll have to do.

With a lingering gaze you start to slowly turn the shirt back to being inside-in, taking your time to enjoy the quiet that’s fallen over you. It’s only as you go to straighten the shirt, holding it out in front of you and giving it a final, critical look-over, that the silence breaks and you’re startled out of your revere.

Looking toward the bedroom’s door with wide doe-eyes you are shocked to see none other than the Baptist, John Seed, himself standing at the threshold. Eyes equally as wide, but much more bemused than your own, staring at you as you internally curse your luck with a tensing jaw.

He isn’t supposed to be here...

“You know, I must admit, Deputy,” he drawls with an intriguing lilt, ocean eyes dragging over you as he leans his lithe form against the door frame with crossed arms, completely at ease despite the situation, “I never pegged you for a housewife. It makes for quite an... interesting image. Did you also happen to cook me a meal and do the laundry by chance, darling?”

His smile is mocking, sharp and cruelly delighted, and it has you flushing in a mixture of shame and restrained anger. The fact that you’ve been caught in such a position puts a nasty dent in your pride. You know how this looks: the fearsome Deputy, poster child and head of the rising Resistance, sewing; and not just sewing, but sewing the damned enemy’s – a man on your given blacklist – shirt of all things.

It’s a colossal embarrassment.

You’re also aware of what this could do to your reputation if this got out and you don’t need John Seed, the smuggest bastard around, to gloat over that. Nor do you want him making smart quips that you know he’s more than likely going to constantly torment you with now over the radio for everyone else to hear.

Life’s a living hell at the moment as it, and you don’t need something like that being added to the proverbial pile. The humiliation would kill you quicker than a piece of shrapnel from a plane crash.

“Oh shut up,” you snip, “like I’d do you the honour; and if anyone makes for an interesting image around here it’s you, unexpected as you are,” you sass lowly. “Honestly, when are you going to do us all a favour and just fuck off. Maybe you should go and play with that little toy collection of yours like a good little brother instead of harassing all of us, now that would be an interesting image.”

It’s hardly even a half-baked comeback you give him, your bite a mere brush of teeth, yet it’s still enough for his expression to turn into something testing. A tick in his jaw as his icy eyes pierce you like a needle, pinching and uncomfortable; attention grabbing in the worst way possible.

The look is near enough water off a duck’s back. If you’ve come to learn anything from your few, but nonetheless taxing interactions with the man, it's that he won’t take the risk of action unless he’s a hundred percent certain that he has you right where he wants you; where you can’t or won’t fight back.

He wants things, people and confessions alike, handed to him on a gem encrusted platter. Given to him so he can play his twisted little games and break all his new and precious little toys. Always pushing past limits and breaking you down until you can do anything else, but give him exactly what he wants. Spoiled brat.

Perhaps John isn’t as absolved of his sin, carved into his chest like a fatal warning, as he thinks he is.

Closing his eyes John kisses his teeth with a restrained annoyance that is difficult to miss. For all his talk of wrath, and how well you embody it, he puts you to shame in how well it suits him, wearing it like a second skin and parading it like a model wrapped in Prada.

“As much as I’d love to spend my free time doing things that don’t concern you or your petty Resistance, it’s a bit too late for that now, isn’t it dearest,” he hits back with a chilled, but airy quality. “After all, you’ve made yourself quite a fixture in my life as it is, and I don’t believe for a second that you’d actually want out of that.” There’s a hint of something knowing in his words that doesn’t sit right with you. “And in case you haven’t noticed, but this is my home that you’re trespassing in. I’m pretty sure you’re breaking the law actually; you hardly have a warrant after all, Deputy,” he bites, cruel and vile and so self-satisfied.

For a brief moment the twins of worry and paranoia raise their heads with salivating jaws, itching like an infection to tear into you as you suddenly start to fret over John’s motives for this back and forth; along with the simmering anger that lurks beneath the water.

The anticipation of what his next rage fuelled actions could be is rattling. You can’t tell if he’s going to laugh this all off like some sort of bad joke or straight up lunge at you with the likes of a wild animal by the end of this. He can be rather unpredictable, and it’s that unpredictability that makes him so feared throughout the Valley. It’s what makes him so dangerous.

Yet it seems you can do nothing but poke the bear lately, your own frustrations and stresses giving you a false and reckless bravado. Albeit with a soft and unthreatening tone.

“And do I look like I care? We’re at war John, I’m pretty sure anything goes; your methods have already proven that. Now, are there any other normal past-times that you want to mock me for while I’m here, or am I free to go?”

Internally you wince. That came out a lot more defeated than you intended it to be. Still, you hope he at least concedes on this petty back and forth of yours and actually lets you leave–

“I’d hardly call your level of wanton wrath ‘normal’, Deputy. Tell me, what is your total body count at the moment? How many innocent lives have you gorged yourself on in order to fuel that gluttonous soul of yours, until it’s satisfied with the carnage you leave in your wake? Don’t worry though, you’re in safe hands. I’ll be sure to give your soul a good scrubbing once I get you in my chair. Starve it out of you until you bleed across my floor...”

You don’t say anything, merely roll your eyes and gently shake your head at the flip in attitude, continuing to look and touch up the shirt in your tender hold. He’s likely lost in his own warped thoughts if the way he stares through you for moment is any consolation. However, even lost in thought, you’ve found that John is not one to keep quiet for long, and he quickly proves that notion right.

“You know,” he says suddenly, conversationally; tip of his tongue wetting his lips as he looks for all the world like he just discovered the weight of gold, “if you wanted to confess to me you could of just called. Really, you needn’t go through all this trouble just to make my life easier, darling. I could have set up a welcome party and everything for you. Pulled out the red carpet, set it all up and made it all nice and perfect, for you... just for you, Deputy.”

It doesn’t make sense to you how he can warp what strangely sounds like the most sweetest and innocent of words into something so filthy, sinful and ultimately twisted; as if whispered around a forked tongue made of false promises and sugared venom. He’s an expert at his craft, you’d give him that. Sadly though you can’t help but skim over your absent companions playful jabs and blasé observations with a newfound air of caution.

The beast of worry looks at you with a telling, razored grin.

“... Flattered,” you drawl warily.

For such a simple and plain response you don’t feel that his boyish grin – filled with an emotion that is so foreign on the sadistic and calculating man that you feel the lazy shift of fear beside the intent prickle of paranoia and worry; something self satisfying and grateful and speckled with awe – is justified.

Like the flippancy of the wind John’s expression shifts, fluidly, into an emotion akin to a played up indignation. He sharply huffs through his nose.

“You should be. I make so many exceptions for you my dear and you do nothing but repay my kindness with more bloodshed. It’s rather rude of you in fact.”

“To be fair,” you cut in with a tired glower, careful with were you step in this game of twister, “your kindness leaves much to be desired. It’s not like anything I’ve ever seen, so forgive me for misconstruing your intentions.” It’s said with the most blatant sarcasm, dripping thickly like molten tar, and yet John lights up like a town on the eve of Christmas. The remains of his coiled agitation shifting into an unwarranted giddiness.

Good Lord, you’ve not even spent five minutes with this man and already you’ve got a killer headache.

“Oh? Should I learn by your example then, my dear Deputy? From this... quaint little gesture of yours, hmm?” He’s eyes hungrily roam over your lap, no doubt acutely aware of the way your thumb has comfortingly been brushing over the silken fabric of his shirt. “Not to say I don’t appreciate it mind you.”

You can’t stop the roll of your eyes nor  the huff that accompanies it. “Trust me, John, there’s no gesture here.”

He makes a sound in his throat, chimed with a badly contained mirth. Slightly, barely visible from your perch on his bed, he leans forward with something almost predatory in those sea-deep eyes of his. “Then what’s that in your lap?”

You turn to hold his gaze, icy and sharp with a smugness that screams of a known victory. He’s got you there. Your teeth grind into each other as you will for a retort to come to mind, but nothing does. With a heavy exhale through your nose you turn to the ceiling and pray for the strength to survive this ordeal.

Not that you’re completely confident that you will. With a swift flare of frustration one of your hands shoots up, palm facing skyward, in a half-arsed admission. “I don’t know. I don’t know, okay, I was just trying to be nice I guess.”

“Nice? You?” John barks mockingly, “Oh don’t make me laugh, Deputy. You’re a killer; there’s not an ounce of mercy in that tainted soul of yours. After all,” There’s a humourless chuckle, a glint of something vicious in his sea-deep eyes, “what ever happened to serve and protect?”

The look you throw him is completely disbelieving, practically aghast from insult, but there’s also a familiar rage resting within the glaring pools of your eyes that John knows rather well. Truthfully, it’s not something he’s ever seen in you before, more a muted irritation than straight up fury, and it thrills him something fierce to see it threatening to come into full bloom.

Conflict has never been in your veins. You came from a quiet and career driven family, to the point where your parents were hardly ever around. Arguments were rare, and if they did happen they never lasted long. You didn’t have the courage, nor stomach, for such things; and despite how much this County has twisted your placid instincts into something sharper, more aggressive and impatient, some things will just never change.

Lips in a tight line, brow furrowed and eyes ablaze in a dirty glare, you look away from him; down to your lap then across to your resting rifle. He’s not wrong, and ultimately that hurts worse than anything physical that he could very well do to you. The battle of your morals – your conscious – against your duty, against the pedestal that everyone has hoisted you up onto like some sort of savour – another Joseph almost – , is a constant one.

“Then what does that make you?” You ask quietly, something cruel lurking beneath the surface of your own waters. “What makes what you do so good, so much better and different than everyone else? Because you believe your brother, because he believes he talks to God?” There’s a huff of a laugh, a mocking condescension hissing with fangs bared, “don’t make me laugh, Inquisitor.”

John’s away from the door frame before you can even blink, a warning shift that tells you that this is no longer a strained, but casual banter between enemies. There’s a familiar glare in his eyes, dark and treacherous like the deepest waters and daring you to get a little closer, to swim a little deeper; to say another word against his brother.

Despite your writhing worry at the sudden tension in the air, twisting and flailing and coiling, you take a deep breath, let it suffocate you a moment too long, and then let it go. Tracing the lines and scratches on your rifle as your shaking anger lessens into a quiet ache. You’ve never been able to maintain it for long; you’re just glad that it no longer makes you break down crying anymore.

John on the other hand...

“Joseph,” he starts, voice so tight that it trembles, “wants to save people.”

“And you don’t?”

There’s a pause; a subtle shift.

You watch as John’s jaw gets tight, his head tilting the slightest amount to look down his nose at you; arms crossing over his chest in a defensive gesture as he leans back against the door frame again; a faux display of casualness.

It’s all the answer you need.

Slowly you nod your head, an acknowledgment even though you needn’t give one. A murmured ‘right’ scoffed under your breath. In all honesty you didn’t expect him to be so (indirectly) honest with you. In a way you can very much respect that, appreciate it even, but in another it only has the beast of worry grinning hauntingly at you; a new dread crawling up from the deep. It’s twin sewn from paranoia slinking up beside it with an equally telling flash of teeth.

Surely he can’t be doing this just for Joseph, just for the Project; there has to be something more that he’s gaining out of this. There has to be.

“Atonement,” the word is drawn out, a slow and delicate dissection, “is the absolution of sin… without it we are left to fester in the disease of our past transgressions. If we are not absolved of sin then we can never even begin to hope to be allowed entrance into Eden. However,” the baptist gives you a pointed look, head ducked and eyes alight but shaded, a stray strand of hair falling loose, “that decision must be genuine. They must want to atone, otherwise what would be the point?”

There’s a bitten laugh that scraps between his teeth; bared in a feral frustration that speaks of long talks and discussions that lead to nowhere but dead-ended roads. A hand claws through his hair, putting that stray strand back in place as he looks to bite at the inside of his mouth; eyes briefly cast to the side.

The afternoon sun, gradually turning richer as time goes on, catches against the satin blue of his vest, making it shimmer like the clearest of Caribbean seas. With his gaze turned away from you for the moment you can see the way the light glazes them, can see the hellfire for all it’s worth beneath those choppy waters; the rage given a flare of new life with the setting sun as the shadows stretch and consume, turning the once clear and shallow waters of his eyes deep and foreboding.

You think you may actually be starting to see some of the truths that lie within the Book of Joseph.

There’s a hesitant inhale; a steadying breath.

“But, it is the will of The Father to save everyone, regardless of if they are worthy of it or not.”

Looking away from the shirt still in your lap you turn to John, many questions on the brain, but only one that gets voiced.

“So you don’t think I’m worthy?”

John blinks. A moment of consideration before he meets your curious gaze; stars glinting against a multitude of emotions, all buried and unspoken, but telling all the same.

“I don’t think you believe yourself to be worthy.”

The bluntness of his response catches you off guard, eyebrows jumping high in surprise. It’s straight to the point in a way that you never imagined him to be, and you can’t help the interested ‘oh’ that melts on your tongue in response, lilts in newfound curiosity as your head tips to the side ever so slightly. “What makes you say that?”

You half expect a smile and some sort of jab, another dig to attempt to provoke you and prove a point that only he is fighting to prove. Yet, he does nothing of the sort. He’s quiet, simply watching you, and it’s with a strange type of realisation that you realise that, not only is he back to looking relaxed and at ease, but so are you; the tension lost and in its place lies a peculiar air, a feeling of contented melancholy almost; an accepting moment of reprieve within the wheel of fate.

“You’re still here,” he answers simply, an airy awe cushioning his tone, “if you didn’t want to be convinced then you would have left a while ago. You wouldn’t be asking me in the first place.”

There’s a tightening anxiety in your chest, a truth struck too close. Are you really that easy to read? Is your dissatisfaction and growing suspicion of the Resistance –  coupled with your thirst to learn more about the local cult and its founders – really that obvious? You should hope not, such things will get you into trouble if you’re not careful. Satisfaction over discovering such things would certainly not bring you back if that were the case.

“Tell me, Deputy,” there’s a new glint in John’s eye, a new interest piqued, “what is it that you’re looking for exactly? Because whatever it is apparently can’t be found within your little Resistance, otherwise you wouldn’t be entertaining me like you are, nor would you be concerning yourself over such a touching gesture.” Surprisingly there’s a lack of sarcasm to his tone this time around as he loosely gestures toward your lap, where his shirt still lies under your gentle touch.

You suck on your tooth for second, petulantly glancing away with a quick, but weak rebuttal of, “It’s not a gesture.”

A familiar, if not slightly fonder and more teasing, lopsided smile lights up across John’s face. This strange companionship of yours back on steady waters. “If you say so, my dear.”

The warmth of the gradually setting sun is a welcome blanket at your back, the stillness between you both comfortable despite the different lines you draw and stand on in this war. Faintly you can hear the chatter and motions of the guards outside, the rumble of distant engines, but they quickly fade into the background as you genuinely consider John’s words.

Just what are you looking for?

You’re not too sure, and you don’t suppose John would appreciate such a response no matter how honest it may be. Really, if you were to be insanely honest with yourself, you would guess you are looking for a reason to stop; a reason to turn your back on those you are fighting for and not those who you are fighting against.

No matter how many times you humanise the Seeds, excuse their actions on past situations, you can’t justify what they’ve done. You may one day forgive them, when all is said and done and this whole sorry war is nothing more than a story for the grandchildren; but you could never forget the horrors they have put people through, the uncountable and unimaginable things they have done to get to where they are now; to both you and the residents of the County.

Yet, does that justify what the residents of the County have done? Does that excuse the crimes and damages conceived by the Resistance? No, no if things were even a sliver close to normal, if you were actually a proper deputy and not so damn green, then maybe everyone would of been locked behind bars by now; and you would be no exception, right beside them with blood covered hands.

The world has never looked so grey to you as it does now; and that honestly scares you worse than any cult.

“But please,” John continues after a beat, breaking the silence, “indulge me; what is it you’re after, my dear? What is it that you are really searching for?”

Absently your thumb brushes over the fabric in your lap, a heavy hesitancy causing you to take your lip between your teeth, biting at the skin there until the taste of copper hits your tongue. Eyes downcast as you debate with yourself over how honest you can be with John, how raw you’re willing to let yourself became in front of someone like him; as an enemy, as an ex-lawyer and – maybe, just maybe – as a friend.

You look up at him, see the interest and something else that you can’t quite name dancing like fireflies over a lake’s still surface. Watch as he patiently waits for you, for what you think and have to say… It’s a nice change, if not a little strange.

Without a thought you smile at him, a beam too tight that it doesn’t quite reach your eyes, a huffed laugh under your breath. “Nothing much,” you squeak, “although a decent meal would be a start.” The laugh lingers on your breath, eyebrow cocked and lips tilting into lopsided smile; an intended joke.

John looks wholly unimpressed at your bid at humour, his own eyebrow raising casually in a silent question. Surprisingly though he doesn’t say anything in response, doesn’t call you out or outright accuse you of lying, even though you both know that you just did.

Ultimately, it leaves you with a new type of uncertainty, anxiety rising once again as the smile slowly falls from your face. Still, you push past it as best you can, clearing your throat awkwardly as you decide to stand from your seat on the bed, looking and then making your way toward the set of draws on the left where you had found his discarded shirt.

You feel, but still try to ignore John’s eyes on you as you place the shirt back in (what you hope is) its original resting place, neatly folding and fitting it between others not unlike itself. Briefly you brush your fingers over the collar, savouring the uniquely expensive feel of the shirt before closing the open draw. No doubt you’ll never get an opportunity like this again. It’s a little sad in a way.

With a quiet hum you turn – back facing John – toward the bed, and with a casualness as if you own the place you start brushing down and straightening where you’d been perched on the edge of the bed, smoothing out the creases.

Admittedly, with the sudden lack of conversation, John’s silence is really starting to get to you, a familiar edge of paranoia creeping into the forefront of your mind like scavenging rodents. You listen with a keen interest as you finish your work, the rustling of fabric and your own soft breaths the only sounds that really catch your ear.

With your back facing the infamous Baptist you would have thought this would be a great opportunity for him, your more laidback and docile nature on full display for him to take advantage of if he so wished to. It really would be a perfect opportunity.

Yet, as you turn around, once more with a hum at your work, you find that John hasn’t moved from his spot in the doorway. If anything he still looks very much at ease there, completely comfortable and unconcerned as he rests his lean frame against the door, arms and legs casually crossed as he simply watches you with soft eyes; reflective pools that refuse to hide even the tiniest of emotions. Yet, strangely enough, you suddenly feel as if time is impervious to the both of you. As if there is no one else in the world, but you and John.

The sparkling sapphire of his eyes, deep and as unfathomable as the ocean, whisper in dulcet tones the promise of a loving caress within the safe haven of his gaze. An unexpected gentleness in the sorrow of a buried plea, a want for something never owned, but always craved. Such a display of tenderness, from a man that you know to be cruel and volatile at times, is so far removed from the usual turbulent seas in his eyes that it makes you feel breathless.

His face – strong defined jaw, coupled with an immaculately trimmed beard, and skin a naturally tanned hue that looks as smooth as the silk of his shirts – is not masked by barely contained snarls of rage like it often can be, nor the sharp displays of malicious mockery and petulant pleasantries that hiss between his fangs when bared. Instead he bears a freedom and fondness that has your heart racing, a strange vulnerability on his suddenly boyish features; an unfamiliar, yet not unpleasant, warmth stroking over something deep within your chest that you had feared you were starting to lose.

A thought skims across your mind, and is banished just as swiftly as it had appeared; but even so it leaves an impression that you can’t help but entertain. No matter how futile and unachievable it may be; a hopeless romantic forever at heart.

Lost in fanciful scenarios that will never come to be you don’t notice the way that John also takes you in, cataloguing every minuscule detail and committing it to memory with a keenness that rivals the amount of silver on his tongue.

With where you stand, still and serene in the heart of enemy territory, the large window of his bedroom holds proudly behind you. The fading afternoon sun casting a light pastel orange across the earth and room, beaming through the glass and haloing you in a warm and intimate glow, your form mesmerising and ethereal with how at peace you look when held within such a divinely born light.

Your eyes, typically brimming with a wrathful defiance and a gluttonous need for misguided justice, are a demure beacon that glitters like the limitless galaxies within the cosmos. A flare of hope and unconditional love, soft and reassuring, for all of those that catch a glimpse of your guiding starlight. And although he feels unworthy, tainted and irrefutably damaged as he is, John also feels unbelievably blessed to bare witness to such an otherworldly sight; to be gifted with the absolute vision that is you.

And, for a moment that never quite ends, John can’t help but question how you could be hell-incarnate when heaven touches you oh so sweetly.

There are many words John Seed would have used to describe you, none of them necessarily complimentary or flattering, yet in this shared time between the two of you – just the two of you – only one word comes to mind as he unknowingly, longingly gazes at you.

Angelic. Yes, angelic you truly are. Stunningly and perfectly angelic.

John can’t remember the last time he felt this way about anyone, if he has ever felt like this at all even, but suddenly he finds that nothing else matters to him. Not the Project, not his brothers, and not even the work that he should be doing but that he had slipped away early from, because – frankly put – he was tired. He was as fed-up with this war and the responsibilities placed upon him as he suspected his dear Deputy to be. Both falling foul to your shared sin of sloth in regards to the duties you uphold.

Yet, John at least holds direction and dedication to the work divinely placed upon him. Knows what the end game is and strives to achieve it to its fullest potential, but you? You’re wavering; you’re doubting. Straying away from the path you are on, looking into the distance for something else, all the while refusing to even acknowledge the right one. The one alongside him.

You may not say it, nor ever even admit it, but John knows exactly what it is you are looking for. Knows the evidence that you’re desperately trying to compile in order to build a strong case in favour of yourself and the choices that you’ve been making, wanting to justify yourself and the many actions that you’ve made until this point between you both in the name of your feeble Resistance. And John also knows that he and his siblings are partially to blame for that.

If it wasn’t for them, you wouldn’t have to try and stand alone for yourself in your own self made courtroom. Wouldn’t have to stand before your self-conscious as you pleaded your guiltlessness before your own guilt. But, really, that’s why you needed a lawyer; that’s why you needed him. John could help you with that, could show you a better path where you could be free of such shackles. He would stand and defend you where no one else would; he would protect you when no else could.

He just wished that you’d let him. Wished that you would just sign the contract laid out before you so he could aid you, so he could fight for you. Yet, you still refuse to bless him with the payment of his favoured word. You still refuse to acknowledge just how in debt this battle will leave you without his help. It’s a small ask, a tiny payment, for a lifetime of rightful assurance.

Yet, John wonders if maybe it’s not just the courtroom that he wants to defend you in.

In his previous life, before the Project and his reunion with Joseph, John likely wouldn’t have even paid you a second glance. You’re a bit of a Plain Jane, have a very girl-next-door sort of look about you. Yet, in the wake of this interaction, bathed in the golden hue of the setting sun, John can’t think of anyone more beautiful. So human and down to earth; lost and conflicted, yet certain and firm. You really are an oddity, and one that John finds himself genuinely wanting to learn more about.

True, he had always had an interest in you, especially when this war between you first began, but it had always been a professional interest (despite what many thought or claimed). You needed to join the Project, Joseph decreed it so, and although his interest had risen to a slightly more personal level it was still business; without you he wouldn’t be able to reach Eden. His fate was in your hands.

Yet, fate seems to want to play you both into each other’s arms, for if it didn’t then surely this sacred moment between you both wouldn’t be happening. Surely, if this wasn’t meant to happen, John wouldn’t be longing for the love that Joseph promised him – the love that only you could give him – like he suddenly and hopelessly is.

John knows where he stands in this war, it’s a fixed point that he can’t move away from even if he eventually decided that he wanted to, but really his dear Deputy is still undecided. You still have a choice to make in this divine plan; you still have time to choose. And, funnily enough, it looks as if you’ve already started to make that choice. That curiosity of yours, you being in his home – on his bed – looking so domestic, like a wife waiting for her husband… to John this is a sign, a hint, a mere taste of the future that he’s always secretly hoped and longed for. A prophecy in its own right.

Yet, as much as he wants to fight for you, to defend and cherish you, he regrettably knows that the time for such things isn’t quite here yet. It’s close, certainly within his reach, but you need to meet him the rest of the way. You need those final damning pieces of evidence before you’ll come to him. You’ll want every piece of evidence available before you’ll walk your chosen path; and although he shouldn’t interfere, John could very easily acquire such evidence for you. He could very easily make such evidence for you. A little more time, a few strings pulled and a couple of sins stripped, and he could give you everything you need and so, so much more.

The temptations of the promised future are a fruit too sweet not to savour.

Eden’s Baptist watches with a fresh interest as you sigh heavily, chest rising and falling with the action, as you start to walk towards him. John’s chest tightens, flutters under the way your sparkling eyes meet and hold his own, only a hint of uncertainty, a fleeting touch of something questioning – do you feel it too? Do you feel this like he does? – on your face before you look away, glance down like a bashful bride, and come to stand next to him.

He doesn’t move from where he’s been leaning against the door, doesn’t even dare to breathe in case this moment is blown away like ash on the wind. Yet, when nothing happens and all he can focus on is his and your own gentle breathing, he takes a gamble and swallows thickly, slowly turning his head so he can look down at you next to him, naturally pretty despite the odd scratch and speck of dried blood on your well worn clothes.

The tension is palpable between you both, not so tight that’s it choking you, but tight enough that you can certainly feel it; hear it moan like a bow dragging steadily over a cello’s strings. Although, not as ominous as one would first suspect, but more melancholy; a rich sadness. As though despite how much you might want and wish for something, it will never come to pass; a sad inevitability that you can do nothing but walk past, never to stop and consider. Or at least you shouldn’t, for only heartbreak lies down those withered and desolate roads.

Which is why you shouldn’t stop, why you shouldn’t be wanting to reach out with a tender touch, a reassurance to this greedy want of yours for something more out of this moment, for more out of this strange connection and unlikely companionship you have discovered between the two of you. You shouldn’t feel this safe when standing next to the man that wants to starve this Valley into submission. You shouldn’t feel so at ease around a man that derives a sick thrill out of torture and the power it gives him. You shouldn’t feel like you’ve finally found a home when you’re sitting on his bed with his shirt in your arms.

You can’t deny that you’re attracted to him, that there clearly is some sort of unexplainable connection between the both of you, but whatever this connection may be… it can never be explored. It can never happen. You will never side with Eden’s Gate, and even if you decide that you can no longer be with the Resistance, it’ll be for the same reason why you can’t join Joseph’s cult. Ultimately, your decision, whatever it may be, will change nothing. Just like nothing will change John’s decision.

Ruled by the cry of your heart and the attachments it’s quick to make you hesitantly lay your greedy hand upon him, turning slightly as your right hand crosses you in order to gently grip his toned arm; the familiar feel of uniquely expensive silk sliding pleasantly

against your skin.

You feel him tense under your hand, arms tightening from where they are still crossed across his chest, but you don’t blame him. Really you’re not even too sure what it is you’re doing, this will only hurt you more when you walk away from whatever this could’ve been if things were different, but you always have had a bit of a penchant for torturing yourself with things like this.

So no matter how much the ‘what if’s’ will wound you in the future you still immerse yourself in the feel of him, of the way he relaxes as your thumb brushes back and forth in a comforting gesture against his arm, the smell of his cologne naturally intermingling with his natural scent… it’s a bitter torture that already has the tears coming to your eyes, but still you stay a little longer; heart hopefully romantic even though you know better.

This – the two of you – could never work.

“Deputy…”

“You know,” you cut him off, the slightest fracture in your softened tone, “I didn’t mean what I said earlier, about your planes. They’re not toys; they’re really cool actually,” there’s a buried laugh under your breath, a small smile that speaks of a brief reminiscion, “the way you have them all set up, cataloged with their little name plates… it’s really cute. It would be super cool if you had them hanging down from the ceiling though; like, having them act out dog fights and things almost. Can you imagine it?”

You giggle there, head ducking as you get lost in thoughts and bitter imagines – helping to set them up, walking in and seeing them like that, being lifted and twirled under them like stars in the sky – that will never be.

This war has taken everything from you, has made you doubt and lose sight of who you were before. Even your dreams for the future, regardless of who they may be with, have been tarnished by the stains on your hands and the things you have been pushed into doing. How could you ever have a normal life after this? Who would want a life with you after all of this? It all seems so impossible and far too far out of reach for you now.

Although it may be cruel, your wandering thoughts and the reminder they bring is a good grounder, and in turn your smile sours; even as one blooms sweetly across John’s face, a light dusting of pink across his cheeks.

For the better, you don’t see it.

“Anyway, I better go; got a County to save and all that after all. I’ll see you around though, John,” you pause, hesitate, desperately cling to this fleeting moment that’s finally reached its end, “take care of yourself now, sweetheart. Lord knows we need to...”

With nothing else to say, that quiet piece of compassion laid out before him like a final offering, you leave; letting go of his arm with a parting squeeze and a faint caress as you pull away, walk past him and out the door until you’re eventually lost to him yet again. A weary ghost bound to forever wander the lonely battlefield.

John doesn’t follow you, doesn’t even reach out to stop you like a part of him begs him to do, and instead merely turns to watch you leave. Head down and arms wrapped comfortingly around your waist. He really should stop you, force this moment to last for as long as he can get it to, but he doesn’t; and that surprisingly hurts him, letting you go. Yet, the pain it brings only hardens him, makes his thoughts straighten and become resolute in the face of the same realisation that had dawned on him only moments before hand.

And as the sun sets over the horizon, the sky streaked in sunburnt northern lights, colours shifting like water with the flowing of time, John finally moves to sit in the same place you had been on his bed; alone and lost in thought. Reaching out to pick something up off his nightstand as he draws his elbows to rest on his spread knees. His hands cupped against his mouth and securely around your forgotten sewing kit, as he stares blankly at your abandoned rifle.

Another sign in and of itself.

Although you hadn’t been looking at him when you had left John had certainly been watching you. He had seen the way that your eyes had glistened like unsteady waters as the courtroom erupted into a debate that you felt that you couldn’t win; the choice taken from you as your morals and exploited loyalty raged and dictated the sentence you should face.

He knows you felt it, knows that there is something special between the two of you, and that it’s taken this moment between you – this one act of rebellion stemmed from your curiosity – for him to see it; for him to finally grasp the meaning behind his brother’s plea.

You were right when you had questioned him on his lack of care regarding the Atonement; how he doesn’t care to save those that don’t believe, how he doesn’t want to put in the effort for those that will only put it to waste. If their motives are not genuine then the process is entirely pointless. Although, John won’t deny that there is a certain gratification in having such control over someone. Forcing them to say yes, purely for their own survival, is not the intention, but it certainly works all the same. After all, Joseph hasn’t exactly scolded him for his methods; especially if he gets a little therapy and self management out of it.

But what of you? What do you have as an outlet, as a way to cope and make the prize all the more sweeter? Better yet, what is the prize that you’re working towards, because John certainly has his in mind, and it won’t just be the end of a cruel and uncaring society.

You’re a puppet, both in terms of your occupation and the leading role you’re now being made to fill, dancing on fraying strings. Strings that John could fully free you from, help to cut you loose, if only you would just say ‘yes’. He’d be able to properly protect and defend you then, reassure you in your choices and how the things you’ve done were never truly your own; your caring nature merely exploited by those that you were forced to associate with while under the influence of shock. The trauma brought on by that helicopter crash disorientating you and leaving you vulnerable toward their manipulative and pressurising ways.

At least if you were to say ‘yes’, John would be able to safely guard you and your surprisingly tentative character. He would be able to love and cherish you, hold you close like no other, and make it so that you would want for nothing while in his arms. He could actually keep you in his bed, smother you in the pleasure that he would gladly give you as his beloved; chain you there as he ravished you and the softness that you would offer him, that you allowed him a tantalising glimpse of.

If you said ‘yes’, then John would finally be able to secure you and your loose strings, worn and threadbare under the continued pressure of your wailing guilt, to his own tangled ones; knotting them together until they have been sewn into something new, becoming one and the same. And when that finally happens, you will be entwined around a silk too rich and blissful to be so easily frayed.

[kusunogatari]

[ ObiRyū October | Day Thirteen | Nuclear ] [ @abyssaldespair ] [ Uchiha Obito, Suigin Ryū, Hatake Kakashi ] [ Verse: In the Fallout ] [ Vulgarity, gun, gore ]

[ Previous ] [ Next ]

“Hey!”

Glancing up from his cards, Obito scowls. “Kinda in the middle of something here.” And by ‘something’, he means a game of poker. He’s in a good position, and he really doesn’t want to be interrupted. If he can win the pot, he’ll get away with far more than he first put in.

“Fine, just...hurry up, will you? I’ve got news.”

“Yeah yeah” Obito replies blithely, adjusting his hand. “It can wait.”

Rolling his remaining eye, Kakashi turns to the barkeeper. “Whiskey.” Might as well do something in the interim. He sits backward on his stool, watching the game. Obito bets the rest of his cash, earning uncertain glances from the other three players. And then one by one, they all fold.

Grinning and deepening the scars on his face, Obito slaps down his cards. “Straight flush, bitches! Fork it over!”

Kakashi gives a slow shake of his head.

With a great deal of grumbling, they all shove the pot to Obito, who rakes it in greedily. “Pleasure, gentlemen. Until next time.” Pocketing his winnings, he sits beside Kakashi just as the bottle is delivered. “Guess this is on me!”

“Wonderful. Now can you give me five minutes to explain something to you?”

“Depends on if I get drunk in five minutes,” is Obito’s counter, knocking back a shot.

“Just...don’t get too hasty. All right?”

The Uchiha gives his friend a look. “The hell’s got you so worked up?”

“A new place to plunder, that’s what. Word is, it hasn’t been touched yet. And you know what that means.”

Pouring another shot, Obito slows. “...what is it?”

“Some old lab. Pre-war. Supposedly a lot of good tech certain folks would be more than happy to get their hands on. There’s a building on the surface that’s been hit, but some old wanderer I met tells me the real load is underneath, in the actual lab no one’s bothered to look for.”

“And if it’s some well-kept secret, how’d this old geezer know about it?” Obito counters, looking skeptical as he knocks back another shot.

“He’s a loner. Found it by accident, but there’s...complications. He couldn’t do much with it, so he sold me the info.”

Immediately, Obito deadpans. “...so you took the word of some crackpot old man about a secret lab and paid him for it? Kakashi, that is the stupidest fucking -!”

“Keep your voice down!” the Hatake hisses, shoving Obito’s head toward the counter and earning a grunt. “I already scoped it out before I came here. Seems pretty damn legit to me. If we can find even a few pieces of tech -?”

“I don’t want tech,” Obito spits. “I want cash, Kakashi!”

“Then you sell the tech for it, you dumbass! Not everything is a quick cash grab! Sometimes you have to work for it, huh? Think about it. This stuff is pre-war - undamaged by any nuclear fallout or blasts. Just sitting there. There are plenty of people who would die to have it.”

“Which means finding them, first! You wanna haul all that junk around before you have a buyer?”

“The hell do you think caches are for, huh? Why is every conversation I have with you an argument...why are we even partners?”

“I ask myself the same thing!”

The pair reach a deadlock, glowering at each other.

“...let’s just check it out. If you’re not happy with it, fine. But I want to at least see if we can turn a profit on anything. Because your gambling isn’t always so fruitful.”

“And neither is your spending money on supposed tips. But yeah, sure, let’s go.” Obito slaps the money for the whiskey on the table, taking the rest of the bottle with him.

He might need it.

Outside the dusty bar in the remnants of a town, they start walking, Kakashi pulling out a worn map. “It’s right out here, a few miles out.”

“Won’t it be dark by the time we get there?”

“We’ll just camp in what’s left of the building. Then we’ll have a full day to check things out.”

“More like a full day to waste…”

“I heard that.”

“Good!”

The rest of the walk is done in a stony silence, neither of them willing to concede any ground. And as the sun sets, the lab looms up atop a hill. All of the windows are smashed, part of the right side collapsed.

“Looks like a shitshow,” Obito remarks, earning a sigh from his companion. “Something this obvious has surely been picked clean.”

“On the surface, sure. But it seems no one ever realized there was more underground.”

“And how did some random old man figure this out?”

“Because he actually sat and read the documents in this place. Realized there was more to it. You think anyone else is going to care about that kind of thing?”

“I know I wouldn’t.”

Kakashi gives a brief lift of his arms in defeat. “...yeah well, exactly.”

“So he didn’t have the physical means to take advantage, or…?”

“According to him, it was ‘too stressful’. Which, to be fair, could mean...a number of things. There might be lingering security down there. Structure might be faulty. Flooded. No idea until we look.”

Obito grumbles. “When are you gonna learn that people being vague rarely means good things?”

“Well after last week, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

“Hey, I’m making up for last week!”

“And until you do, we’re giving this a shot.”

Heaving a sigh, the Uchiha decides to just play along, moving to gather some broken wood to get a fire going. The sooner he lets Kakashi play this out, the sooner they can get moving again. The wasteland is vast, and opportunities can easily pass one by. And he’d prefer something a bit more exciting than rummaging around some old science junk.

Once they cook some of their rations and find dry, level places to unfurl their bedrolls, the pair of them hunker down for the night.

And like every day since the bombs fell, the sun rises again, scorching the Earth’s devastated surface.

By the time Obito rises, Kakashi’s already been up, examining some documents with his one remaining eye. “You’re up early. Now I know you’re serious.”

“No day like the present,” Kakashi rebukes. “Seems they were working on some kind of DNA...stuff. I dunno, I’m not a scientist.”

“Obviously. Which is why this stuff is just money to you, not of actual interest.”

“And which is why you shouldn’t complain, because money is money. Now help me find the way down.”

“You haven’t found it yet?!”

“No! I found the documents. Which confirm there’s something under this building. The only question is where, specifically.”

“...I’m gonna punch you,” Obito mutters. “Can’t we just take a sledgehammer to the floor?”

“Do you have a sledgehammer?”

“...no.”

“Then the answer is no. Come on, it can’t be that hard.”

They spread out, looking for any manner of descent. Obito checks doors in search of an elevator shaft, Kakashi attempting to find stairs.

In the end, it’s Kakashi who’s successful.

“Over here!”

Obito closes the gap, revealing Kakashi pointing to a button. “...and? This place obviously doesn’t have any pow-”

With a bop of the end of his closed fist, Kakashi pushes the button.

A grating whine sounds, and the floor before them quivers. Then slowly, it slides back beneath the floor beyond it, revealing...stairs.

“...what the hell…?”

“Weird lab, weird stairs, weird power,” Kakashi replies with a shrug. “Look, there’s even lights. How convenient.”

“And you wanna go down there?!”

“Yes, yes I do. Stay up here if you want, you big baby. We’ve been in shadier places before and you’ve been fine.”

“Shady people I can handle,” Obito retorts, following as Kakashi begins to descend. “It’s shady stuff that weirds me out. You can’t just kill shady stuff.”

“You can break it. Same difference.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it!”

Down and down they descend, the staircase having switchbacks every ten feet down or so. Obito watches their surroundings suspiciously. The air is cool and pleasant, which...is odd. No dust, no smoke, and perhaps even slightly humid. Nothing like the stale, dry air above.

After who knows how many flights...they reach a door.

Kakashi presses an ear to it, listening. “...don’t hear anything.”

“It better not be locked.”

Testing the knob, Kakashi feels it turn in his grip. “...seems not.” Just in case, he draws a pistol from his hip. Obito, in tandem, takes out his trusted machete.

Inside...it’s like another world. Clean, immaculate, and almost entirely made of metal. Desks are neatly arranged, with all manners of equipment seemingly left just as they were before the war.

“...wow,” Obito has to offer, tone breathy in amazement. “This is…”

“Yeah. Never seen anything like it.” Approaching one of the desks, Kakashi finds more documents. “...‘genetic enhancement and manipulation’. That sounds...ominous.”

Obito, in the meantime, works his way further in. Computers, diagnostic equipment, and who knows what else is everywhere, pristine and spotless. It almost freaks him out. Opening another door, his face pales.

“...uh...Kakashi…?”

“Hm?”

“...you need to see this.”

Gun still drawn, Kakashi approaches, trying to look over Obito’s shoulder. “What?”

Wordlessly, Obito steps inside, pushing the door open further and letting his partner past him.

It’s a long, narrow room. In the middle is more tech neither of them could begin to name, but...it looks serious. A few metal tables the length of a person stand nearby. And along the other three walls are a series of glass tubes filled with an off-green liquid. Within them...are rotting bodies.

“...Christ,” Kakashi can’t help but mutter. “Looks like these all got left behind.”

Obito, only half listening, works his way in. “...is it just me, or...does it get less bad the further you go…?”

“What?”

“Look.” He points. While the first few tubes are nothing but cloudy liquid with skeletons and deteriorated flesh, he’s right. The decomposition seems less and less the more they circle around. At the top of the tubes, screens are empty of power, clearly drained over time. Until -

“Oh shit!”

The very. Last. Tube. Above it, the panel flashes red in warning. Power is almost completely drained. But within the tank, seemingly in some kind of suspended animation...is a person.

Slightly curled into a fetal position the body - seemingly female - floats weightlessly in the fluid. A series of wires are strung into their flesh, and a mask with a tube provides oxygen. And bubbles occasionally release as she exhales.

“...holy fuck.”

“How can this be possible? The bombs dropped over a hundred years ago. And whoever this is, they look no older than us!”

“Maybe some kind of...delayed development?” Kakashi muses, still staring. “I have no idea. But you know what this means…? This is probably the only living person from before the war. Untouched by radiation. You know how valuable that would be to the right people? People trying to find ways to -?”

“What?! You wanna turn her over to a bunch of freaks in lab coats? Kakashi, she’s never even been outside this tube. You really think she should just be shuffled off to another one to be studied? That’s fucked up!”

“You’re the one who wanted this whole thing to be worthwhile and make us some cash!”

“Yeah, with tech. Not with people! We might as well be like the slavers at that point, and fuck that.”

Sighing, Kakashi runs a hand back through the mess of his hair. “So, what...you wanna just let her out and wish her luck on her way? You think taking someone like this and just...turning them loose in this world is fair, either?”

“I dunno! But I’m not gonna sell her as a lab rat, Kakashi. No fucking way.”

“Then what, leave her here? Seems she’s got a few days left of power. Less now that we’ve sucked some up with the lights and the stairs.”

“And let her turn into goop like the rest of these poor bastards?”

“There really doesn’t seem to be any fair option here, Obito. So make up your mind. You found her, you decide.”

Obito balks, heart leaping to his throat. He didn’t ask for this…!

“You better hurry because we’re running out of lights down here the longer we dawdle. I’m gonna go pack up what I can. You figure this out.”

“But -?!” Reaching out, he’s denied as Kakashi heads back into the other room. “...ugh, damn it!” Huffing a breath, he turns back to the tube.

Given she’s likely never had any light, the woman is pale as milk. And...maybe for the same reason, so is the rest of her: long, wavy hair almost seems to glow in the strange fluid. It’s a bit hard to tell given how much she’s floating, but it almost seems to be as long as she is tall.

...then again, he figures she’s never had a haircut.

...he can’t leave her here. And he won’t let her get snapped up by some freak wanting to study her like a bug in a jar. So, that leaves one option. Looking at the right side of the tank, Obito finds a kind of keypad: maybe a mechanism for opening the door? Cuz something tells him just...smashing the glass isn’t smart. “Uh…”

He needs a password.

Moving to the equipment, he shuffles through a bunch of papers, opening a filing cabinet and finding folders for the specimens. Glancing to her tube, he finds the number, a finger tracing down the paper until -

“Two four seven three,” he murmurs, repeating it under his breath until he’s back at the keypad, pressing the keys in sequence.

A loud beep sounds, and he startles as massive bubbles flood up from the floor of the tube. The liquid, it’s...it’s draining! She slowly sinks to a tangle of limbs at the bottom.

And then, with a pressurized hiss, the glass swings open, and she nearly tumbles out.

“Oh, shit -!” Kneeling, he manages to catch her, nose wrinkling at the smell of...whatever she was in. And she’s wet. Eugh.

Carefully, he starts taking out the wires, wincing as the sites bleed. And off comes the mask, letting her breathe air on her own for the first time.

“What the hell is -?”

“Kakashi! Find a rag or something, she’s bleeding wherever I take the wires out.”

Seeing that Obito apparently made up his mind, Kakashi sighs and finds a dispenser of paper towels. Handing those over, he then grabs one of the abandoned lab coats.

Since she is, after all, completely nude.

Obito mops her off, trying to wipe both blood and mystery liquid off her skin, going pink as he nears anything intimate. Once she’s a bit cleaner, he lifts her up and lets Kakashi help him get her as dressed as they can manage. A spare bit of cable ties it shut around her waist.

“...why isn’t she waking up?” the Uchiha then asks.

“No idea. Maybe she’s dead?”

“No, no - she’s breathing.”

“Try slapping her.”

Obito shoots him a look. “...hey, miss? Uh...hello?”

No response, her head lolling around on her neck.

“...well, let's - let’s get her back upstairs. Then we can come back down for any stuff you wanna haul out.”

“I’ve got a few bags full. And you’re gonna have to keep an eye on her. I’ll make a few trips in the meantime.”

“...all right.” Hefting her up on his back, Obito begins the ascent back to the surface, admittedly sad to leave the clean air behind.

Well...he has a person. Now what?

Back in their camp, he lays her on his bedroll. Her hair is still wet, and he mulls it over before turning her on her side. Deft fingers then start braiding. Once she has a long tail of plait, he ties it off with some wire. There...that’ll keep it from getting too out of hand.

“...mn…”

He stiffens. Is...is she waking up? “H-hello?”

Her eyelids twitch, leading him to notice her white lashes. Then they open to reveal a soft pair of grey eyes.

...Obito then realizes that she’s likely got no memories, no language...nothing.

Oh boy.

“...uh...hi?” he greets sheepishly, lips briefly flickering up into a smile. “...I’m Obito.”

Completely blank, she stares at him.

“...you, uh…” He sighs, rubbing his neck. “...can you...understand me?”

More unaware staring.

“Aw, crap. Well, uh…” Adjusting to sit cross-legged, he puts a hand to his chest. “...Obito.”

Her eyes drop to his hand, then back to his face.

“Obito.”

“...O...bito…”

He perks up. “Yeah!”

“...yeah.”

...okay, maybe she’s just copying him. Thinking it over for a moment, he recalls a book he got to read a while back, stolen from a camp they’d stayed at. It had a heroine, and her name was…

He then (very shyly) puts a hand to her chest. “...Ryū.”

Again, she looks to the hand, then back to him. “...R...Ryū…?”

A nod. “Ryū.” Hand back to his own chest. “Obito.”

“Okay, I’ve got the first -”

Obito points. “Kakashi.”

Following the gesture, Ryū sees Kakashi freeze. She also points. “...Kakashi!”

Amused, Obito bursts out laughing, clapping his hands and making her startle. “Hahaha! You got it!”

“Well this is going to be fun,” Kakashi mutters. “You’ve got an adult with the mental awareness of a baby.”

“She’ll learn!”

“With you as her teacher, that scares me.”

“Then you’ll just have to help, Kakashi.”

Sighing, he approaches and sits nearby. He points to Obito. “Idiot.”

“Hey -!”

“I...diot?”

“No!” Obito cuts in, waving his hands.

“Yes, idiot,” is Kakashi’s reply, laughing as Obito shoves him.

“...Obito.”

The pair pause, looking to her. By now, she’s more bright-eyed, clearly curious. She points. “Obito.” Her hand moves. “...Kakashi.”

Obito then points to her. “Ryū!”

“What kind of a name is -?”

“It’s her name! I got it from a book, okay?”

“All right, all right...guess you get the right. But we need to get her some supplies. And we better keep her out of the sun for too long for a while, let her get used to it.”

“Yeah…” There’s a lot to think about.

“...well, welcome to the nuclear waste dump that is Earth,” Kakashi offers. “You’ll learn to love it. Or hate it. Likely both. But at least you won’t turn into soup like your friends.”

Obito’s nose wrinkles. “...okay, but...let’s never tell her about that part once she understands, okay? It’ll only upset her.”

“Fine. Now, I’m gonna haul up some more stuff. Be on your best behavior.” Kakashi points warningly to the two of them.

“Kakashi!” Ryū replies, watching him go.

“Don’t worry, he’ll be back. Sadly,” Obito notes with a snort. Elbow on his knee and chin in his palm, he watches as Ryū takes in her surroundings, and then starts fiddling with anything within reach: debris, his bag...and then him.

He stiffens, but lets her curiously prod at him. She pulls at his clothes, seemingly understanding it’s separate from him. Then he takes his hand in her hands, turning it over and back before comparing it to her own.

...then she moves to his face.

Unlike the rest of her touches, these are more...hesitant. Careful. She seems to know it’s a bit more fragile. Eyes roam over it, drinking in his image.

“...ugly, huh?” he murmurs, knowing she can’t understand.

But she doesn’t flinch, a hand tracing along the ridges of his scars.

“Got those from a mutant. Plus a lot more you can’t see. It’s how Kakashi lost his eye, too. But he can tell you about that.”

She pauses to listen, but doesn’t comprehend. “...Obito.”

“...mhm. That’s me.”

More touches to his face, and then, tone softer, “...Obito…”

Blinking, he feels his face get warm. “...uh…?”

The phenomenon surprises her, jolting before pressing her palms to his cheeks, squishing them slightly to feel the heat.

And then she giggles.

It’s a sweet, chime-like sound. And Obito immediately adores it. “...you’re so cute,” he mumbles.

“...cute?”

“...uh -?”

“All right, I think that’s all we can reasonably carry. Especially since she can’t really...uh…” Kakashi perks a brow. “...am I interrupting something?”

Flustered, Obito leans back from her grip. “No!”

“...then let’s get ready to go.”

By the time they finish packing up, the afternoon is fading into evening. Obito draws a spare cloak over Ryū to keep her out of the sun. “There we go.”

“Ready?” his partner asks.

“I guess so.” The pair start walking, and...Obito realizes she’s not following. “Aw, jeez...uh…” Heading back, he holds out a hand.

After a pause, she does the same.

“Come on,” he mumbles, taking her grip and urging her to keep up.

“Obito!”

“...yup.”

     Okay not gonna lie, I...did not have high hopes for this prompt, but by the end I really enjoyed it xD I don’t, uh...participate much in the apocalypse genre (besides watching my brother play Fallout 4 lmao) so I don’t have much imagery to go off of. So I gave it my best shot .w.      While kinda gross in the middle there, it turned out cute by the end xD Obito’s got his work cut out for him, bahaha! But that’s all for today - thanks for reading!

[malarkiness]

Finished Nier Automata, and I have many.... many thoughts.

I just want to start by saying that this game is aggressively bleak once you hit Routes C/D. Endings A/B are really the last bright spots in the story, and then it's just tragedy after tragedy from that point forward, and the worst part of it is that none of these tragedies result in anything good or even decent or even narratively satisfying. They just happen, and you're left thinking "wow, that fucking sucks" before you shake it off and proceed with the game.

Despite that, I kept playing because I thought all these tragedies would eventually result in something that would've made the characters' suffering worth it because that's just how a good story works, right? But that never really happens (at least, not within the context of the story itself), so when I finally got to Endings C/D, I honestly felt like I'd spent ~27 hours playing a game just to watch the leads die terrible deaths. It just felt really hollow and pointless.

But then I got Ending E, and that kind of changed my entire way of looking at this game.

So this ending shows the PODs deciding to try salvaging the androids' data rather than deleting it all as ordered. The game warns you that saving the data is risky and unlikely to work, then says "Knowing that, do you still wish for them to survive?" Choosing yes turns the credits scroll into a hacking minigame that is UNFORGIVABLY!!!!! difficult, but each game over screen reels you back in with something like "IS IT ALL POINTLESS?"/"DO YOU WANT TO GIVE UP?"/etc.

Now if you're connected to PSN, you'll also get little encouraging messages from players all over the world on each game over screen, but I wasn't connected for my first playthrough lmfao, so I just suffered through it for like 20 minutes and was starting to think the whole thing was deliberately impossible just to give the player one last kick in the teeth and show that yes, it really was pointless and that they're wasting their time trying to fix something that can't be changed. With the way this game's storyline played out, that really wouldn't have surprised me.

But then I restarted the segment and connected to """The Network""" when prompted, then died a few more times before getting a screen asking me if I'd like help. And I really wish I'd screencapped that prompt because that was when I started noticing all the little messages that other players left. There was one from someone in China that really got to me for some reason, and I can't even remember what it was lol, but it made me tear up. Once you restart after that, a bunch of other players' cursors will join in the fight to help you and the solo singer turns into a chorus, and I just.

😭

Every time you lose a player, though, you're told that "[name]'s data has been lost," which I thought was kind of sad, but it wasn't until I finally beat that segment that I realized what they all had actually done. After the credits wrap up, you learn that all the players who helped you finish the game gave up their save data to do it, and then you're asked if you'd like to do the same to help someone else. And while I've since learned that all this actually does is let you leave an encouraging message for other players and have your username show up during the ending sequence for someone else (sort of like an arcade game's scoreboard), the game presents it as an opportunity to really help other players finish the story, so of course I said yes. It wasn't a hard decision at all, and making that choice after playing through the credits was easily the most rewarding part of the entire game, or really any game I've ever played.

And I know I've spent like... 75% of this post talking about a credits sequence lmfao, but that really did change how I look at this game. When you finish the storyline with Endings C/D, the answer to this game's whole thematic question of "What's the point of living?" seems to be "There ain't one, chief." But finishing with Ending E, the answer leans more toward "The point is hoping for and working toward something better because you believe it's there." Add in the fact that you're given the option to "sacrifice" yourself to help someone else continue, and that the game makes this such a painless decision despite what an actual pain in the ass it is for you as a Gamer™, and it actually makes for a more satisfying ending than the in-story ending.

SE could've just had that one sequel-hook scene play at the end of the credits without the minigame at all, or just gone the typical RPG route and made that scene unlockable if you got 100% or whatever. But instead, they took this really creative meta approach that not only pushes you to do a task that's seemingly impossible, but also asks you to sacrifice something you've worked hard for just to help someone else get through that same task. And the fact that so many other players made that choice is just really sweet and honestly kind of touching. Like I'm sure plenty of people just got around it by saving their data on a usb lmao, but still. It's a nice thought. And for the record, my username is Larkey, and my message was "I bet you're having a tough time right now. But we've got this!"

Anyway! Other things about this game:

2B's history of killing 9S over and over or A2's backstory with Anemone and the YoRHa troops definitely should've been given actual screentime, and not just stated in the last 2 minutes of the story or shoved into some optional text. Watching 9S's grief-turned-madness was fascinating, sure, but 2B and A2 deserved just as much focus on their grief (which would've been way more interesting, just for the record. 2B purposefully distancing herself emotionally from someone she has to repeatedly kill, and A2 feeling betrayed by her own creators after watching her friends die needlessly, are storylines that would likely have a lot more emotional weight than "angry teenage boy goes on murder spree before finally getting his revenge only to fall on his opponent's sword and die like a dumbass." I know the Nier franchise has approximately 93 trillion pieces of supplemental material that fill in the gaps from the games, so it's possible that some of those cover 2B and A2 more, but come on. These characters are just as important to the story as 9S; They should've gotten actual in-game screentime devoted to contemplating their existences/grief/etc.

I talked about how bleak this game's storyline is, but the real kicker for me was the scene where all the children in Pascal's village commit suicide. That just seemed so needlessly cruel, and the fact that it happens (depending on how you play) maybe an hour after A2's shown to have warmed up a bit towards the machines is just... cheap? It really did feel like emotional string-pulling just for the sake of it, like the kind of silly edgelord shit I wrote when I was 14. It's so over-the-top that I almost couldn't take it seriously. And if all that wasn't 3edgy5me enough, Pascal then asks you to either wipe his memory or kill him because he can't live with the heartbreak. Fuck's sake. I think what really annoys me about this whole scene is that... This game introduces us to A2 by having her kill a defenseless baby machine, right? So you'd think there'd be some kind of reflection from her after Pascal loses all the children in his village. She fought an insane battle to protect them, too, and she's clearly horrified when she finds out what happens to them, but... that's kind of it. This incident is never brought up again, despite the huge impact it should have on her character. The only thing this scene really does for the narrative, I think, is set up a parallel between Pascal and YoRHa troops like 2B and 9S. And in that way, it does fit into game's overall theme of finding meaning for your life, especially after you've lost what you were living for in the first place (so Pascal's community, and YoRHa's "god worth dying for"). But like I said, the game never really seems to resolve that thematic question within the context of the story itself. And even if that parallel was the point, you could've accomplished it by just having everyone in the village die during the cannibal machine attack and Pascal + A2 failing to save them, no baby suicide needed. I dunno, I've gone back and forth on how I feel about this scene, but honestly, more than anything, it just comes off as a try-hard, eyeroll-worthy way for this game to earn its M-rating. And the fact that A2 gets 0 character development out of it just makes it seem lazy.

Characterwise, I'd definitely say A2 is my favorite. Her ending on the C/D routes was probably the most satisfying just because she essentially gets the only thing she's really wanted ever since she lost her friends, and I thought her unusual relationship with 2B was interesting (and again, deserved more screentime). 2B's also great, especially on the second playthrough when you know why she purposefully tries to get 9S to shut up anytime he innocently wonders something out loud. And I like 9S too just because he's so endearing in Routes A/B, making his stark personality shift in C/D that much more jarring. I'm a little annoyed that he never finds out why A2 killed 2B, though by the end of C/D, he's probably too far gone to actually take that in. I liked most of the NPCs, too. Anemone and Jackass are my favs, but 6O and 21O have some good moments, too. And while a lot of the female YoRHa designs are just... embarrassingly male, there are some really creative character/boss designs here and there. Simone's corpse dress is probably something I'll never forget.

The soundtrack is incredible. "Weight of the World/End of YoRHa" is a standout track not just because of the ending it plays through, but also just because of how cleanly it blends together the 8-bit sound from the hacking minigames and the English and Japanese versions of the song, and how it ends with the game's fictional "Chaos" language (which is apparently meant to be a futuristic blend of English, Japanese, Gaelic, and a few others). I definitely want to check out more of Keiichi Okabe's work, and that of the singers for all three languages. Some other favs are "Vague Hope," "Wretched Weaponry," "Alien Manifestation," and "The Tower."

I enjoyed most of the gameplay. The hacking minigames could be a little tedious sometimes, but overall, I found myself enjoying 9S's gameplay more than the other leads' because of it. I also actually liked most of the sidequests, too, and I normally don't like those all that much in other games (well, okay, I mainly just hate them in FF7R). I think I liked the machine quests the most because so many of them were just silly and low stakes, which was a nice change of pace compared to the main story. I remember the Father Servo one making me laugh a few times. And as for the androids, I liked 11B's memento quest and the Amnesia one (partly because 2B and 9S bicker so much through it, and partly because it's the first we hear about execution models).

I loved the voicework in this game, especially A2 and Anemone's. And whoever voiced 9S did his job perfectly.

I was crying through that whole Ending E sequence, but the part where the POD asks you something like "You put all that work into unlocking Chapter Select. Are you SURE you want to delete all your save data?" made me crack up. I'm doing a replay now, and Chapter Select is probably what I miss most from my original save data lmfao.

So... yeah? Overall, I liked it. I really do think that credits sequence was what sold me on this game as a whole, as weird as that sounds. I'd say the game's biggest faults are the unbalanced focus on the leads and its tendency to throw in pointless angst here and there, and I really wish those two things could've been smoothed out to make a good story even better, but eh. I'm enjoying my replay now, and I'm taking my time doing more quests and exploring areas. I'm going to try to get more of the joke endings, too.

[lovvegood-a]

THE BASICS:

Full Name: Luna Lovegood

Label: The Dissonant Serenity ( x )

Nicknames: Looney, Luns

Birthday: February 13

Birth Place: Near Ottery St. Catchpole

Gender: Transwoman

Sexual Orientation: Pansexual

Occupation: Student

INTERIOR:

Blood status:  Halfblood ( Pureblood father, halfblood mother )

House: Ravenclaw While Luna does show qualities that belong to other houses ( she’s definitely courageous and noble, has a deeply proud streak that often brings her more bad than good, and is a loyal and kind person ), she fits best in Ravenclaw. It’s where she can flourish, where she can feed her endless intrigue with everything around her. I think Luna is a true Ravenclaw, as she uses her sharp mind in most situations she’s in --- I chose innovative as her defining positive trait for a reason; I think Luna is able to look at situations with an unique perspective and because of this, she often brings good solutions and/or insights. She’s an original, incredibly stubborn when it comes to her convictions, and always down to learn. 

Wand: Pine wood, unicorn hair core, 14 inches, inflexible. Pottermore on pine wood: “The straight-grained pine wand always chooses an independent, individual master who may be perceived as a loner, intriguing and perhaps mysterious. Pine wands enjoy being used creatively, and unlike some others, will adapt unprotestingly to new methods and spells.” /// This, I think, perfectly fits Luna --- she’s a strong individual, who is definitely an experimental and creative person, both when it comes to magic and other aspects of her life.  I chose an unicorn hair core, because wands with this core struggle to perform Dark Arts -- like Luna -- but are very faithful -- like Luna. Her wand is long, as she’s quite tall and has a strong sense of self, and is inflexible because she’s most often an incredibly stubborn person.

Boggart: Her mother’s death scene --- it’s what scarred Luna most, even if she doesn’t admit that to herself. It’s a memory that startles and shakes her, one that’s been buried down due to the trauma linked to it --- seeing it again, experiencing it again ( especially knowing what the outcome would be, what the long-term effects would be, how much the longing would ache ) would be one of the scariest things for Luna. It could also take the shape of that scene, but with her father in stead of her mother; losing her father is another great fear.

Patronus: The Hare

Pets: None, but then Luna doesn’t really believe in the idea of pets. Animals are their own, after all, and she feels connected to plenty of them. Cats from her housemates, the thestrals, mice running around the hallways; she loves all of them, but none of them are hers. At home, there are often stray animals hanging around --- she and her father tend to them, if they need help, and Luna does sometimes name them ( carefully, though, because what if these creatures have a name of their own already? ). 

Moral Alignment: True Neutral. Luna looks at the world with a bit of a distance, at time, and is able to look at situations with objectivity, when she wants to. She’s not apathetic, though, or coldly distant; she just acts without prejudice or compulsion. And more than often, she does do what is morally good ( and she does lean towards being neutral good very much ), but I think that the way she views the world and how she approaches things is more true neutral than anything.

Tarot Card: The Hermit

Goals / Desires: Luna wants to do what fills her heart. Make art. Discover the world. Research magical creatures. Those are all things she would like to do with her future life, but then there’s more --- she wants to do what is right. With a sense of justice -- or, well, more a deep hatred for injustice -- she is motivated to take strides to make the world a little brighter and better. 

PHYSICAL:

Height: 178cm / 5′10

Eye Color: Pale grey

Hair Color: Light blonde

Clothing style: Where can I begin? Luna’s style can only be defined by her own person --- I don’t think there’s anyone else who dresses similarly to her, haha. She makes plenty of her own clothes, likes accessories made of unconventional objects, adores a bit of magic in her clothing. She likes colours, especially pastels. When she wears shoes, she likes converse. Mismatched patterns are always good. Flowy dresses? Yes please! 

Left handed or Right handed: Left handed

Distinguishing Features: Her hair and eyes.

Tattoos or scars: Usually has some minor scars from animal or branch scratches, that fade easily.

FAMILY:

Parents:  Xenophilius Lovegood ( father ), Pandora Lovegood néé Henneberg ( mother, deceased ).

Siblings: None

Children: None

FAVORITE:

Book: Luna doesn’t like picking favourites, but she really loves her old picture books still, mostly for sentimental reasons & because she likes illustration. She mostly reads non-fiction these days, preferring her own fantasy over fiction. 

Movie: N/A -- Luna has never seen a movie, sadly. I think she would love studio Ghibli, though, as well as documentaries ( both nature and more conspiracy theory based ).

Food: Strawberry bavarois

Flower: Lily of the Valley

Season: Spring

Animal: This one is so hard, haha. Luna loves animals! I think she feels especially close to thestrals, but she’s also simple in the sense that she really likes cats and bunnies. 

Memory: The summer she and her parents went to Iceland.

THIS OR THAT:

Cats or Dogs: Cats

Mornings or Nights: Mornings

War or Love: Love

Smoke or Drink: Smoke, if it’s weed. Otherwise drink.

Coffee or tea? Tea

Writing or reading? Writing

THOUGHTS:

Death Eaters coming back Luna is rationally scared and quite frustrated. She also has her fair share of theories on Voldemort’s return ( none that conflict with Harry’s story, though, just ones that fill the gaps ), some more logical than the other. She and her father have had many discussions about these --- like the role Fudge played in it all ( bigger than in reality, of course ) and whether the Death Eaters are using midges to communicate.

Enemies coming back Luna doesn’t necessarily have enemies that are personal. I suppose she’s not looking forward to seeing her bullies again at Hogwarts, but she doesn’t consider them enemies. As for enemies that aren’t personal, those are mostly the Death Eaters ( as well as the Ministry and a few Quidditch teams ), and for that see above! 

Loved ones coming back Luna thinks she will see her mother again already, but if it were to happen now, she would be incredibly surprised and more than happy --- she’d be euphoric. And confused, and very lost, but mostly just incredibly happy. 

Love At First Sight Luna thinks that love exists in an infinite amount of ways, so love at first sight as well.

One True Love / Someone You Will Always Love She will always love her father --- it’s an unconditional love, and if we look at his canon future and how he ends up selling out her friends, that is something she will forgive him for. 

QUESTIONS:

What is their family history like? How does it affect them? How do they feel about their family? How does their family feel about them? Pandora was born to a muggle and a witch, and raised by her father alone. And, being able to see the magical world through her father’s muggle eyes, she grew interested in the limits of magic from a young age. She began experimenting with charms early on, and met Xenophilius at Hogwarts, where they bonded over their love for the unknown and their willingness. Xenophilius comes from the Lovegood family, of course, which has always been a tad eccentric, though never as eccentric as he himself.  Luna was born to this set of openminded parents, and it was exactly what she needed to flourish. Her own mind has always been open, but she was able to dream outside the lines with her parents. Growing up was a world of opportunity --- no questions unanswered, no desires unfulfilled. Luna got to paint and run and discover from a young age, and was a perfect mix of her two parents, with some of her own qualities mixed in.  Luna is extremely proud of her family. She sometimes pities others, for having parents that restrict them, keep them from all that she did get to do. When people speak ill of her father -- who is a somewhat public figure, and often painted as a crazy conspiracy theorist -- she gets uncharacteristically fiery and angry, and will lash out. Her mother, she is proud of as well, but it’s more complicated than that --- and luckily, people don’t bring her up as often as her father. Of course, a big part of her family history is her mother’s death --- it was a turning point in the way Luna’s homelife functioned. In the years after Pandora died, her father grew codependent on her ( which is not how it should be --- and Luna vaguely knows this, but doesn’t feel any anger over it ), but on the other hand the two grew incredibly close as well. But Luna worries about her father when she’s not near, as he’s of the opinion that tasks like eating, washing and sleeping are meaningless in the grand scheme of things, a waste of time when there’s so many more pressing and interesting things to do --- and it’s Luna who often was the one to remind him that, dad, you’re a human being despite it all.  And then her mother, her mother is just a massive gap. And yes, Luna believes that she will see her again, that she isn’t truly lost ------ but that doesn’t ease the waiting, the longing, the aching. Her mother’s death left her with mental scars and a hole in her soul and while there’s plenty of beautiful and comforting things she can say about death, it doesn’t change that. Her mother still died, and she’s not there --- and she will be there one day again, yes, but sometimes Luna just wants her mother now.

Who were their first love and do they feel the same now as they did then? Luna hasn’t really been in love yet, I think. She has had crushes, but she’s never been in love with someone, has never had a connection that deep --- it’s just flings and crushes, connections that lasted just a night, a week, a month at most. She doesn’t mind.

Do they believe that a person can redeem themselves from mistakes of the past? Yes, in most situations --- I think even Luna, an eternal optimist, draws a line here with people like Voldemort and the Lestranges, for example. She does believe in people’s strength to do good and does believe that there’s almost always a way to make up for ones mistakes --- but of course, there are things that are inexcusable. Luna is able to be very unforgiving, though, so sometimes it does take a lot for someone to redeem themselves in her head. 

What scares them? Losing her father. The war. Complete silence. 

How do they feel about death? Have they been significantly affected by it? On one hand, death is just another mystery --- and Luna does love mystery and life’s bigger ones. It’s a mystery she can’t solve, though, and sometimes she’s at peace with the fact that she can’t have all the answers. Other times, she’s just incredibly frustrated and angry, because death took her mother away from her and there’s nothing mysterious about that --- she’s just gone. One day she will see her again, that she is sure of, but right now she’s a young woman who grew up without a mother and that’s just painful. That just hurts. And that’s definitive.  Luna has seen death, and that has affected her deeply. Seeing her mother die at age nine was a traumatic experience that still haunts her -- despite her denial about this -- and it’s triggered her to dissociate from the world around her and herself quite a lot. On another hand, it has given her a bit of wisdom and insight, an ability to understand death perhaps a bit better than others do -- or at least give it her own interpretation. 

Pride, envy, gluttony, lust, anger, greed and sloth. If your character was a seven deadly sin, what would they be and why? Pride, with anger on the second place. Luna is incredibly proud and can be, because of this, very inflexible. Yes, she is openminded, but when it comes to her beliefs and convictions, she won’t change her mind unless there’s solid proof. When people question her, she doesn’t reflect on her beliefs, but rather thinks that they’re narrow minded and limited. When it comes to her father, she’s quite prideful as well --- she holds him and his work in high regard and if someone dares insult this, she will becoming steely and hard

Do they believe Voldemort is back ? Yes. Why shouldn’t she? When Harry came out of that maze and spoke those words, it was clear that he spoke nothing short of the truth, and you will never find Luna believing the Daily Prophet over someone like Harry Potter. It’s not a truth she likes, but it’s clear to her that it is the truth, and she won’t shy away from that.

PICK THREE:

Lyrics that describes your character best        -- Runaway by AURORA  ( the whole song, tbh ) ------  I was painting a picture / the picture was a painting of you and / for a moment I thought you were there / but again, it wasn't true / and all this time I have been lying / oh, lying in secret to myself / i've been putting sorrow on the forest plains        -- Rhiannon by Fleetwood Mac ------ she is like a cat in the dark and then / she is the darkness / she rules her life like a fine skylark and when / the sky is starless         -- The Wind by PJ Harvey ( I chose this song for her app more for atmosphere reasons than lyrics, but I wanted to add it still ) -----  Catherine liked high places / high up, high up on the hills / a place for making noises / like whales / noises like the whales / here she built a chapel / with her image / an image on the wall a place where she could rest and / and a place where she could wash / and listen to the wind blowing

Quotes that your character lives by        --  “The knowledge of all things is possible” --- Leonardo da Vinci        --  “There is no end. There is no beginning. There is only the passion of life.” --- Federico Fellini        -- “Dwell on the beauty of life. Watch the stars, and see yourself running with them.” --- Marcus Aurelius

Fictional characters that your character can relate to Allison Dufresnes from The Little Friend by Donna Tartt. --- All of the quotes on my blog are quotes about her --- she just really reminds me of Luna in a lot of ways. Both of them saw a family member die at a young age and both of them were damaged by it. Both of them deal with dissociation because of their trauma, have trouble with communicating with people at times and are described as a dreamy, soft, vague. They also both have a soft spot for animals.  Orla McCool from Derry Girls. --- Orla just ... screams Luna. Both have convictions that others think of as wacky, naive or just downright nonsensical, both make incredibly out-of-the-blue comments that do, somehow, make sense. They’re both a bit ignorant of social cues and don’t have much of a filter.  But they aren’t just similar in that sense, they’re also both very loyal friends. ALSO when Orla danced with her grandpa? That’s Luna and Xeno. Spot on. “Protestants hate ABBA.” -- Orla. “Purebloods hate ABBA.” -- Luna. I’m just SAYING.  Phoebe Buffay from FRIENDS. --- I feel less passionately about this one than the two above, but I just think that Phoebes role in the group of friends really mirrors that of Luna in the dynamic of her ( future ) group of friends. Phoebe’s optimism, creativity and straightforwardness are also things she has in common with Luna, and honestly? I could see Luna writing a song like smelly cat. 

People who have changed your character’s life immensely I think her parents have had a massive impact on Luna --- they allowed her to flourish, to grow, to develop her passions and beliefs and convictions. Because of the freedom she was given as a child, she’s been able to grow into who she is now. Her mother’s death, of course, has impacted her life greatly as well.  Ginny is also on this list, I think, as one of her first friends. :’)

[wehavethoughts]

Upcycle! Review!

Upcycle! Turn Everyday Objects into Home Decor: 50 Easy DIY Projects By Sonia Lucano English: Sarah Levin Photos by Fréderic Lucano Weldon Owen, 2016. Originally Détournez les Objets du Quotidien (Hachette Livre) Farrow & Ball thanked for the paints

RATING: 3 out of 6 sweet geese

What an attractive cover, especially for Millennials! Fruit crates are painted white and assembled like building blocks to form a unique, quirky bookshelf, housing books with aesthetic bindings and a random assortment of small house plants in a seemingly-found collection of pots. Peaking into the frame is a wooden chair. The two pieces of furniture have ‘vintage' patinas, not too crisp but not dusty and dank. For the eye that lingers long enough, a multi-wood shoe horn sits quietly on a low crate.

Upcycle! An exciting word for those committing themselves to a more sustainable lifestyle. Smaller but still centered are the famous letters, DIY, a huge keyword for young poor people today, although unfortunately mostly limited to young educated white women who seek the satisfaction of making something on their own (which is totally fine). I have many words regarding 'DIY' which-- to your luck-- I will save for another time. I bring up the loud and large Upcycle! because the word in particular excited me to select the book in the first place. That excitement grew as the subtitle informed me that I would learn how to turn “everyday objects into home decor.” I love home decor, but I also love using what I already have. For me personally, resourcefulness is a product of being conditioned to avoid waste, that is, to use or eat or do what you had paid for, because money was precious. 

Upcycling is a great 'movement' and concept: rather than produce more STUFF, we can use what we already have. It's different from simply thrifting because you often change the material object's intended function, though not necessarily. Thrifted objects are found; upcycling requires work. DIY projects similarly require work, but don't necessitate that the materials are all found (e.g. "just buy some twine and you're all set!").

The social momentum building up DIY and upcycling is positive in America because Americans really ought to have stopped consuming and producing STUFF yesterday. Additionally, there’s a widening class gap, and more people are having to 'make do' with what they have. I don't make this distinction lightly: there are founts of these same design practices that are wealthy and artisanal, whereas others are, simply put: provoked by poverty. The former isn't "wrong" or "bad," and I don't think it's helpful to make these kinds of value judgments. However, this discussion brings us to my most critical reaction to this book: nobody has this sh*t at home!

The book Détournez les Objets du Quotidien couldn’t have been published with the everyday person in mind, even though the subtitle (in English) informs the potential reader that they would learn how to transform 'everyday' objects. Many of the projects, as aesthetically pleasing as they are, require absurd supplies, including: bell-shaped metal lamp hanger, strips of natural leather, plaster, “black hanging-lamp light cord with socket and light bulb,” carbon paper, wax pellets, number stamps for leather, bags of cotton filling, an S-hook, “dusty-rose matte wood paint,” “11 mother of pearl buttons 11/16 inch diameter,” 80 x 40 inch quilt batting, canvas luggage straps, and porcelain light bulb socket with mounting bracket. Additionally absurd are some of the required tools: electric screwdriver, crowbar, jigsaw, an auger bit, an awl, a double boiler, a label-maker, 1-inch diameter drill bit, 1 1/8 inch crochet hook, plaster, leather-craft roller, sewing machine, and staple gun.

You might be saying to yourself: I have some of those, you're being too harsh, DesignMod. But I too have some of these objects. What you are noticing, though, is your privilege. (Don't be scared, just breathe.) You are in a position where you have things, things that arguably you would only need for the specific project at hand. That's all. But this is my problem with this book: the projects and designs require non-ordinary, non-everyday materials. The book in its mission is a) deceitful and b) not accessible to a large audience.

My frustration can be summed up looking at the preface:

"While recycling today is trendy, I want to take it even further...not by decorating our homes with second-hand objects, but by starting with everyday objects that we have at home or can find easily." 

Great, sounds good!

"I propose that you 'upcycle' or repurpose these objects, so common and ordinary that we lose sight of their decorative potential: crates, wood pallets, white cotton sheets, glass jars, wine bottles, tin cans, white dishes, lampshades, and more." 

Okay, I need to stop the author here. WOOD PALLETS?? I don't have bonus wood pallets laying around the house. I can understand empty wine bottles if someone in your household drinks. The first chapter starts off with wood pallets as the base material, suggesting that you go out asking grocery stores if you could take extras (definitively not at home). Other supplies come with recommended stores (e.g. white boxes from IKEA) which is also antithetical to using your own objects and inadvertently capitalist in it’s promotion of specific large retailers (as opposed to an individual artisans or ‘your local vendor’). 

"Here are fifty ideas for easily transforming these objects into budget-friendly design creations that will add a 'rustic chic' flair to any home's decor. No need to be an expert in do-it-yourself crafts. All that's needed is the desire to implement the projects in the book." 

This gets me to my final criticism: the book lacks creativity. Whereas the author or designer is creative (yet still adhering very much to trends), they do not encourage creativity whatsoever on the part of the reader. Materials are suggested with specific colors and dimensions. The back pages include any lettering printed out that you can tear and copy onto your project, exactly like what you see in the book. I don't see this as a positive: a) we all end up with the same stuff, b) the reader isn't learning anything in terms of lettering but also in terms of figuring out how they'd do a project, and c) the book subconsciously promotes consumerism by denying the reader the opportunity to determine their own project.

The book does offer a few guidelines for those attempting the projects, such as estimated duration, difficulty level, and technique applied. Ultimately, suggesting you add "since 1775" arbitrarily to a white plate implies a greater devotion to the superficial aesthetic of contemporary design, rather than actually considering where objects come from, how we engage with them, and our broader systems of production and consumption.

Overall, I did learn upcycling tips from this book, but in the end, I was profusely disappointed. If you really need very strict guidelines in your creative projects, as well as have the financial resources to gather all the required tools and materials, then you might like this book. I find it quite narrow, unoriginal, and inaccessible. I rate it 3/6 geese, because it is easy to read, the aesthetic is current, and there are lovely photos. 

With loving curiosity, 

DesignMod