#kind of in Vengeful he is the first to admit something about his connection with Victor (free for interpretation)

[vesperpharsalius]

Hello! I hope you’re doing well.

I was re-reading Red Rising and I got to the part where Cassius teaches Darrow to fight and Darrow says he doesn’t like Kravat because it’s too much about interior peace. Then in Light Bringer when Darrow has his zen conversion he’s still training with Cassius.

I just wanted to share with you since you’re the dassius leader imo

!!!

I’m doing well now. The Dassius... leader?! I could only dream of occupying such an illustrious status and station in this fandom. And on the freaky gay sex site, no less? Anon, you are too kind.

Naturally, I have many thoughts on this subject but, first, I have to admit—I’m not the biggest fan of Breath of Stone. The idea itself is contrary to what I envisioned would happen in Light Bringer; I was hoping Cassius would emerge as the peak razormaster of their generation and create his own fusion–style. Coming from me, that probably sounds ludicrously biased in favor of my fave and y’all looking at me like this now, but hear me out.

I think it would’ve made more sense for Cassius, the lifelong duelist who is extremely passionate about dueling, to the extent that it’s an honest–to–god hyperfixation as well as his literal profession, who has done little of consequence in his entire life that was not directly or indirectly related to dueling to… Well. Have something to show for it? And something unique to contribute to the Republic.

In other words, it would’ve given Cassius something meaningful to do that wasn’t in furtherance of another character’s development or a rehash of tension already resolved in Morning Star and Iron Gold. (More on that thought here.)

That said, Light Bringer makes itself very clear that Cassius is not permitted to exist in an independent way unless it’s as comic relief, so I’m not surprised he takes L after L when it comes to his competency, but there’s still something bizarre to me about Darrow inventing his own style because… honestly, he’s always been ambivalent about dueling, at best.

Sure, he enjoys a vengeful comeuppance���don’t we all?—but the point is made again and again that he abhors violence. He appreciates a good flow and enjoys dueling insofar as it resembles dance (more on that later), but it’s so often stressed that Darrow does not enjoy combat. And this is often done in juxtapose to Cassius, who literally lives for battle and subsisted on a diet of ultraviolence and sadomasochism and insatiable homosexual lust for like... almost two years.

Don’t get me wrong—it’s not that I think Darrow is incapable of becoming the peak razormaster of his generation, that he lacked the competence or skill. And he’s klicks more creative and ingenious than Cassius; it’s truest to their personalities if he’s the innovator of the two.

It’s that he was never interested in fighting before. He was never a proper duelist—a passionate fighter that competes and practices endlessly for fun, like Cassius or Lorn or Diomedes—and never cared about dueling beyond the practical application. He was compelled to become as razormaster as a matter of survival; that’s all.

He mastered the Willow Way because it was useful and because it was his connection to Lorn, full stop. And he’s not a perfectionist or a flaunter or even an improver; it’s not until Cassius forces him that he even considers deviating from Lorn’s style. Part of that was about honoring Lorn, but it also speaks about just how little Darrow cares about this.

If it was up to him, he never would’ve taken up a razor and he’s aching for the day that he can put it down forever. His dream is to never fight again. This is literally the crux of his character.

So, I’m disappointed by the direction Light Bringer took this; as always, mourning what I could’ve had. But Breath of Stone does makes sense in the context of Light Bringer, as the culmination of Darrow’s reconciliation with violence. A massive part of Darrow’s journey is relinquishing the rage that’s always fueled him and supplanting it with hope, of course—and Breath of Stone is the spoil of that victory.

But I don’t think it’ll ever sit comfortably with me that Pierce Brown took the one thing that Cassius had, the one thing of objective value that he could contribute to the Republic, the one thing that made him objectively valuable as an ally to Darrow, the one thing he truly enjoys and excels at, the one thing that distinguishes and defines him, his only W… and gave it to Darrow. And made Darrow better at it. 

And people really think Pierce Brown rides Cassius’ dick.

😒

Anyways! Back to the matter at hand.

You’ve got your finger on a very interesting nerve here, anon—the link between Kravat and Breath of Stone. I’m naturally crushed that we didn’t witness the formation of the latter—that is, the three months that Cassius and Darrow spent training together on the Archi. There were countless narrative opportunities that sprung from this subplot and Pierce Brown decided to ignore… all of them, really. For reasons I’ll never understand.

But one thing Light Bringer does give us, very early, is that choice comment where Cassius says the Willow Way doesn’t play to Darrow’s strengths, which is something that’s been implied before but never outright stated; obviously, it’s a crucial observation. 

From the very beginning, it’s said that Darrow’s greatest advantage in a fight is his momentum; he’s a ‘powerful being with no manners, no airs, no grace, only a direction—one that ran straight through me [Mustang]’ and ‘rage that makes all else inconsequential.’ He’s functionally a juggernaut, an unstoppable force that’s yet to encounter an immovable object, and not just physically. 

Cassius says as much during their initial fight on Orientation Day; some relevant quotes from Ch. 9 of my longfic, Ice and Fire: 

It’s true that he always cuts a striking figure, but in action? Gods. Electrified by kinetic energy, empowered by the strength of his stride, he looks inexorable, propelled by an unearthly momentum, like a glorious creature torn from a Greek ἀριστεία, from which even gods would wisely flee and even rivers should rightfully cower.

Darrow sprints away with surprising urgency, his rush mad, like a Crow on their gory bread—and his rashness infects me. With a frenzied laugh, I follow him directly into a trap. We are outnumbered, two to their five. But they are stunned by our aggression and clearly outmatched; even the highDrafts of Ceres are not typically prime fighters and these boys are midDrafts, at best. Still, even I’m surprised by how swiftly we trounce them, as easily as carving knives slice through tenderised meat. Our blows are flurries; a tempest of complementary forces that achieve equilibrium—that achieve apotheosis—united.  His, a passionate ire—igneous, indefatigable, inexorable; mine, a dispassionate finesse—flawless and fastidious and fluid. Formidable in our own right, we are invincible, indivisible, indomitable. He is refined by me; I am the whetstone where he sharpens. And I am emboldened by him; he is the ember where I spark.

When he twirls a strange sickle–like weapon, one he stole from some hapless Ceres boy, he does so with an inconceivable dexterity that surely rivals mine with a razor. He may as well have brought a scorcher to a duel [irony intended] for the way our assailants shrink from him—and I can’t fault them for it, because his technique with that blade is unlike any I’ve ever seen and honestly terrifying. I don’t even know where I’d start to combat it. 

At first glance, he might seem like an optimal candidate for the Willow Way, but the strength of that style is exploiting weaknesses in your opponent and seizing the opportunities they provide; it’s about patience and focus and redirecting momentum; destabilizing your opponent, waiting for them to overextend themselves and immediately capitalizing on the mistake when they do. You’re prowling and waiting for an opening to lunge at their jugular. 

And Lorn mentions that Darrow isn’t particularly good at this; that he could’ve beaten Cassius much sooner, at the Gala, if he’d paid closer attention and hadn’t gotten lost in his own spectacle. But Darrow is easily distracted by both his surroundings and his inner–musings; he overheats and gnaws at the bit for release. Patience is not his virtue.

That said, he’d might actually be, funnily enough, better served by Kravat—and it’s Kravat that ultimately serves as the foundation of Breath of Stone, imo. Although it’s obviously a fusion of several styles and, where technique is concerned, it’s not suggestive of anything Gold, the genesis is Kravat. In this essay, I will—

First, though, I have to address the fact that Kravat is something of a contradiction. Pierce Brown has said that it was conceived as a mix of Jujitsu and Krav Maga and you can see characteristics of both in the descriptions, if you squint—but it’s mostly just a vexing little paradox.

In Red Rising, Kravat is described as artistic, more dance than technique; inefficient, in the sense that it prizes style over substance and involves elaborate moves and convoluted sets that showcase finesse; unnatural, as it’s an inorganic way of fighting that has to be learnt; and fundamentally defensive, as the basic stance focuses on deflecting blows and redirecting momentum.

It also stresses the importance of equilibrium, which implies it requires a certain mindset to perform well. This sounds like a performative art with a martial application that’s, at best, an afterthought. The basic stance is suggestive of Jujitsu, but it’s otherwise alien and antithetical to the tenets of Krav Maga.

However, in Golden Son, the pattern (attack, retreat, assess, engage) is described as proactive, if not outright aggressive; intensely practical, prizing agility and anatomical precision without a hint of flair; fundamentally scientific in thesis, targeting physical weaknesses, aiming for paralyzation and quick pacification; and evasive, critically dependent on speed and maneuverability.

Also, gone are the philosophical dimensions, the implication that equanimity is even relevant beyond the importance of razorsharp focus; it’s stripped down completely to technique. This is basically a pretentious form of Krav Maga—if Krav Maga was fundamentally offensive rather than defensive, as it is today—with Jujitsu’s emphasis on timing. 

I sense a course–correct. Because Red Rising implies the standard form of Gold wardance, known by everyone who wields razors, is called ‘Polemides’ and that’s what Matteo teaches Darrow—or, at least, he was going to teach Darrow and then freaks when Darrow already knows it, because it’s basically the Reaping Dance. 

Given Cassius’ comments on him and Julian having an advantage in the Passage just because they know Kravat—he’s clearly boasting and thinks it’s significant—and the general reception of Kravat in the Institute by other students, who are alternately amazed or terrified by it, it seems exclusive and possible even gatekept, like the Willow Way. 

And, at the beginning of Golden Son, when Karnus and Co. beat on Darrow using hand–to–hand Kravat (in the ‘scientific’ style I mentioned above, so there’s no stylistic distinction between hand–to-hand and razor combat; no vestige of the old artistry), it’s still described as a Bellona thing.

But, come the Gala, Darrow says that all of Cassius’ previous opponents have fought exactly like him (read: in the style of Bellona!Kravat) but slower, and that’s why Cassius always wins. Inferring that Kravat is formulaic and pedestrian; that Cassius’ only advantage is speed, not experience or technique.

Even though, in Red Rising, the opposite is implied: that Cassius always wins because he’s fighting masterfully in a foreign way that nobody understands and therefore cannot properly counter, similar to the advantage Darrow later experiences with the Willow Way. And Polemides, ostensibly the default style for razorwielding in Red Rising, is never mentioned again. Ever.

I don’t really care for the leveling/powering–up mentality, btw, here or elsewhere, and it’s perhaps the aspect I dislike most of Breath of Stone. I’ve always interpreted Cassius’ loss at the Gala as more due to his being blindsided by a foreign technique, among others things, than the Willow Way possessing an innate advantage over Kravat—and I don’t really think the Willow Way builds on Kravat, either. Aspects of RR!Kravat, maybe, but not GS!Kravat.

Because they’re fundamentally different, GS!Kravat and the Willow Way, if you think about it. Kravat is blitzkrieg; it’s aggressive and assertive, an execution of premeditated and fixed moves—attack, retreat, assess, engage (or, perhaps more accurately, repeat)—that are designed to overwhelm an opponent before they can even formulate an offensive strategy, let alone successfully counter yours. It doesn’t appear to encourage spontaneity, opportunism, or diversion from the set. 

In this sense, it’s almost a solo performance for the wielder, because you’re performing a series of moves so quickly that… are you even acknowledging your opponent until you’ve finished? Do they even matter? You’re so focused on your form that you may as well be practicing in the open air.

In other words, in Kravat, your opponent is a sandbag; an obstacle, an afterthought. It’s both a strength and a shortcoming, because if you’re dealing with an opponent that disrupts your flow—say, they panic completely or act unpredictably—or you miscalculate even minutely or get distracted for even a second, you’re fucked. 

Admittedly, I haven’t contemplated the Willow Way half as well (as I haven’t reached the point in my story yet that it’s relevant and I only have so much bandwidth, tbh), but, as I’ve already mentioned, it seems to be the opposite.

It’s fundamentally reactive and responsive, spontaneous and unpredictable, adaptable and versatile; nothing is fixed or forced and a wielder’s strategy is supposed to shift, exploiting the weaknesses of their opponent and seizing the opportunities they haplessly or carelessly provide. 

So, to say the Willow Way is an ‘elevated’ or ‘perfected’ form of Kravat is a touch disingenuous because it seems like what actually happened was Lorn took one look at Kravat and Polemides and whatever else the Golds use and said: Hell naw, that shit’s wack. Because they are one–size–fits–all strategies that place too much emphasis on the wielder and fail to exploit the weaknesses of the opponent.

He’s right, but his own strategy has no use for momentum—why should it, when he had so little? Lorn wasn’t a large man and he wasn’t a particularly passionate man, either; his style is especially effective when wielded against such men, which is why it’s so often victorious against the bombastic beefcakes of the Core—and Darrow.

We only see Darrow in 1v1 combat a handful of times, but each time the Willow Way is used expertly against him—by Cassius and Aja in MS, by Ajax in DA, by Apollonius in LB—he either loses or comes damn close to it.

That said, it doesn’t really seem like Darrow is an optimal candidate for either style, does it? Well...

(Vesper’s on the case—cue Bellona propaganda; 🫡)

In Ch. 12 of I&F, Cassius describes Kravat as a dance and Darrow mocks him, to which he gives this incredibly horny response:

I chuckle. “That so? Muscles contracting from a surge of adrenaline, sinews burning as they stretch beyond their due, nerves firing faster than you can even register, heat blossoming like you’ve been set alight, heart racing like a Sunblood on sol–dust, bursting from the thrill, the exhilaration of inertia—of an unbroken set, performed to perfection.”   I breathe deep and close my eyes, lost in the memory, itching for the reality. “Leaves me flushed and frenzied like a gorydamn bacchant every time, liable to bite through my own tongue in the rush, like I’ve been ravished by Venus herself, purged of—of weakness, softness, frailty. Power of kinetic catharsis, they say. It’s satisfaction the likes of pissdrunk Pixies’ll never know.  “The blade—” I make a sudden slashing gesture and he gasps under his breath. “—singing like the rhapsodes wax poetic in the air, carving through flesh and bone like they’re little more than melted butter, shrill as a thunderclap whenever you clash—and that momentum’s such that your bones rattle, that your teeth’ll chatter like you’ve got frostbite, that your ears’ll be ringing for hours with the sound of steel sharpening steel.” Restlessly, I run my fingers through my hair, savouring the tug, and I know he watches with keener interest than he should. “Wind carding through your hair like a lover as you manoeuvre, brazen as a bird just fled from a cage, drunk on that zephyr you live to taste, on audacity and verve. Ground pulsing, trembling from the force of each step—like an instrument, really, thrumming from your touch as surely as if you’ve plucked at bowstring.”  I allow myself a proper shudder—for once, the melodrama of full convulsion seems appropriate—at the ecstasy of the thought. “There’s music in your cadence, your… crescendo. You lose yourself in that: the melody, echoing, quickening, drowning out all the noise in the worlds, building to climax, to… oblivion. Hurtling, over the edge and over again like you’re buried in the tightest gorydamn cunt this side of Ceres. Not fair to count the Raa, you know, when they’re frigid as the Ice itself.”  I laugh. “Father bade us practise blindfolded in pulseBubbles, deaf and dumb to what’s what in the rest of the worlds—alone in your sacrosanct silence. Hence, the name. But silence—true silence, when you’re locked inside your head, inside your body, with naught but thought and sensation for company—is anything but. It’s a… maelstrom of feeling. Tempest that puts hypercanes to shame. Overwhelming. Fills every bit of you to the brim.”  I moan. “And I love it! More than anything in these worlds.” Once, that would’ve been untrue—but he is not in these worlds anymore. “I’ll never have my fill; not if I lived for a thousand years.” I meet his eyes again, mine hooded, darkened by yearning that must look akin to lust. As it is, my trousers do feel tighter. “What d’you reckon? Sound like dance to you?”

At which point, Darrow barely resists the urge to fuck him right on the floor.

Kravat—from Cassius’ perspective in I&F, at least—is very much a dance that’s not dissimilar from something Darrow would know from the mines; he likens it, in fact, to the boast dancing of young Reds. This style—as I’ve imagined it, at least—is much more complementary to Darrow’s preternatural momentum than the restrained Willow Way. And you can see hints of Breath of Stone here already, if you squint. 

But, still—it’s an imperfect fit. And not just because RR!Darrow is a bullheaded and despondent ragebeast who loathes anything that makes him feel Gold.

The problem with both Cassius and Lorn’s initial instruction of Darrow is that they were trying to mold him into the perfect shape for their styles, as if he was wet unformed clay—and he wasn’t. They were, when they started; Cassius learned Kravat before he learned how to read and he’s pliable by nature; Lorn created his style from scratch and only taught pupils like Cassius, blank slates awaiting his indelible ink on their minds and muscle–memories.

But Darrow already had a style—the dances of Lykos—and his adherence was rigid. What he needed was a razormaster who could help him refine it. 

To be clear, I don’t think this could’ve happened earlier in the series. Cassius and Lorn’s tutelage of Darrow wasn’t doomed purely by their dogmatism; they genuinely didn’t know how to reach him, how to communicate with him in a language they could both understand, because Darrow was determined not to be reached and not to listen; he does, in fact, stubbornly ignore both of them throughout Red Rising and Golden Son, respectively. 

As you mentioned, anon, he never even tries to learn Kravat properly (not even in I&F, when he and Cassius are 💕exploring each other’s bodies💕) and indulges Cassius insofar as he might gain enough knowledge to survive a duel with him someday. Arguably, this is the primary reason that he masters the Willow Way, too. It’s not until Light Bringer that Darrow starts to genuinely listen to Cassius—and Lorn, for that matter—or find any enthusiasm within himself for dueling.

There’s something to be said about how Darrow resembles Lysander in this regard; from Cassius’ perspective, in his role as a mentor. I’m alluding, of course, to the sole reprise of IG!Cassius in Light Bringer that’s salt in my wounds, at this point, because I miss the Shakespearean drama that was Iron Gold so fucking much: his conversation with Lysander on the Lightbringer.

If you squint, you can see parallels between Cassius’ relationships with Darrow and Lysander in more of this, but I’m specifically referring to:

“If I could do it all again, I wouldn’t try to shape you. I’d try to let you shape me into what you needed. I think we’d both have been better off for it.”

And that’s arguably what Cassius does during those training sessions with Darrow on the Archi. Rather than persuading or manipulating Darrow into imitating his style, as he did in Red Rising, Cassius encourages him to form his own—something that likely never would’ve occurred without his urging and no small amount of lended passion—and think critically about his own movement, his strengths and weaknesses, the advantages of his unique history.

He’s more of a guide than a teacher, refining rather than crafting, listening and learning from Darrow rather than the inverse, and it’s in this vein that Cassius can finally reconcile Darrow with Kravat—because Kravat was never really about peace. 

Frankly, it can’t be. Because if there is any family in the world of Red Rising that reeks of maladjustment and melodrama and volatility, that’s defined predominately by impulsivity and hot–bloodedness and insecurity, it is the Family Bellona, my goodman. The B and C gang are clustering hard at Eagle Rest.

So, for their characteristic art to demand tranquility as a prerequisite for mastery is... Yeah. And they all excel at this? Karnus au Bellona? Cagney au Bellona? Cassius au Bellona, Thee beautiful princess with several disorders, has inner peace? 

🤨

Pierce Brown is a deeply unserious man, I fear.

No, I reckon it’s more... meditative? To the point of dissociation, of derealization. The practice of conjuring an impenetrable veil between yourself and physical stimuli, between the force that is you and the resistance that is your opponent. It’s about sinking into a deeper level of your consciousness and suppressing your sensation of the external world. 

(And Cassius’s failure to do this at the Gala is another one of the reasons I mentioned—why Darrow bests him so easily.)

This is how Cassius describes Kravat in Ch. 9 of I&F; what it should be, what is was to Julian, and what it is for him: 

It’s as familiar to me as my own name. Muscles and sinews burning in their steady expansion and constriction, tension ebbing away with every masterful motion, every measured breath. Bones aching as I coax them into contortions beyond their comfort, protesting under the pressure of my concentrated mass, even in the merciful MartianGrav. My pulse thrums as it slows, a lulling and rhythmic melody in my head, and fills me with power—untapped strength found in equilibrium, born of dispassion and razorsharp clarity, the simplification of one’s existence in their reduction to a sole objective, profane yet rendered sacred when pursued without hesitation or pause: perfect form.  Your opponent is beneath your concern. All that matters is the dance. There is you and there is it and that is all. I have never been prime at that. Julian was. No, I take things too personally. That is, perhaps, a consequence of my upbringing, as I was always taught to take offence at every insult and make it known; otherwise, people will think me too simple to notice an underhanded slight or my House too weak to answer disrespect. But I’ve never needed encouragement to feel things too strongly. And that’s why, in this, Julian was always my better.  Because, for Julian, this was liberating. Cathartic, even, as it should be. Kravat was his release—his refuge from the storm, shelter from the cold, sanctuary from persecution. It was the one vice he truly indulged—because none of our lot have ever thought it a vice, but they were unaware, beyond a superficial understanding, of his obsession that bordered on monasticism. Of how little else in the worlds brought him deepspine comfort or brought us closer, how nothing else earned him Father’s eye or esteem.  Julian practised until his hands bled—and then some. He skipped meals. He skipped sleep. He skipped life.  Kravat locks me. And, although I feel more and more attuned with my wounded body, acutely aware of every aching vulnerability, skin taut as bowstring over muscles swollen from heat and sinews tightened by exertion, senses awoken and sharpened like polyenne, I feel less and less like myself; less like the hedonist who lives to indulge every passion under the sun that I am, more like the stoic who disdains comfort and relishes being sharpened on the whetstone of life that I’m supposed to be.  That is often a prime thing. It is today. 

(Continued, because Tumblr has character limits for quotations.)

I cannot separate Kravat from home. From the ludi above Eagle Rest that rib the mountainside of the Mons, christened with the blood and sweat and the bloodstained and sweatdrenched tears of fourteen generations of my kin. Chilled by the rarified air of punishing altitude and lack of an easterly breeze from the sultry Thermic, each draft brisk, misty with dew, and akin to a reinvigorating kiss—or, rather, a slap to the face that you welcome, that you’ve begged to receive. Illuminated by kaleidoscopic rays of light that dance across the weathered squares and, on days when Uncle Gaius is not supervising us and insisting our bones are sufficiently reinforced to taste the stone, their silver crashMats with cerulean trim; squares that rise ever higher, disappearing into the dense cloudcover that veils the sky beyond.  Yet there the wind and light have rivals for their ethereal grace. Ours is a practised ease, masterful by virtue of musclememories that stretch back to our cradles themselves; we learn to dance before we learn to run. And dance, we do—curls unbound, faces flushed, eyes wild as if descended into frenzy for the amusement of Bacchus himself, lost in our art. And it is our art, because who else can move like us? Who would try?  Who would dare?  I am lost in the act, as ever. There, in all but body. There, swirling through Ariadne’s fragranced air as we dance together; faultless set after faultless set, she returns to my embrace, where she prefers to be and where I prefer to have her. There, under the watchful eyes of Father, performing as I only can for him, swift as a hare, artful as a bird, brazen as a bull—yet he is never astounded or amazed, never moved to applause; greatness constitutes merely an expectation met, not exceeded.  There, trying to discern if Valerius laughs from scorn or sympathy when I stumble from hubris; thinking that I, with my mass, can master those acrobatics that come so effortlessly to Selwyn or Julian.  There, performing a set to what I perceive as perfection—only for Karnus to castigate some glaring error or misstep that would’ve cost me the duel, if not a limb or life, had he been my mark.  There, with Julian’s hand in mine. 

(For people that haven’t read I&F, Valerius and Ariadne are two of Cassius’ older siblings, Selwyn is his cousin, and Gaius is Julia’s younger brother; Julia is the Bellona [that is, she was born Bellona and Tiberius became a Bellona through marrying her] in my series. I go into my reasoning here.)

There’s way more to unpack here than I sensibly can and I’m sure that I’m already testing your patience, lol, but you can clearly see that I’ve taken inspiration, in this passage and above, from how Darrow describes Breath of Stone for my characterization of Kravat.

Obviously, this is retrospective. Kravat has no canon characterization beyond those shallow sketches I’ve mentioned above. But I find that it’s both illuminating and compelling to infuse Kravat with Breath of Stone, if only because it infuses Cassius with Breath of Stone, something that Pierce Brown neglected to do, and I think that he deserves that. 

Darrow’s description of Breath of Stone rightfully focuses on the reconciliation of his dualism, his reconnection to the mines and his resurrection of Eo, his recovery of joy in what previously only brought him pain—all critical for him, as well as genuinely beautiful sentiments, and I’ve no wish to undermine them. They are what Breath of Stone invokes.

But it’s Cassius who taught Darrow the incantation to invoke them. It’s a nod to him and Kravat and the Bellona family, generally, who are dead and forgotten by everyone in the canon (and, more often than not, everyone in the fandom) if they live in this. And, as I’m sure is quite obvious by now, I’m unhealthily invested in their legacy.

Kravat is the last piece that Cassius has of home; of his family, of Eagle Rest, of Olympia, of himself as he once was. And that’s what Breath of Stone is for Darrow, too—his last piece of home—although there are fundamental differences between their understanding of ‘home.’

Hitherto, Cassius and Darrow have had a similar inclination to use their memories as a penitential scourge with which to flagellate themselves. While they both want to escape their agony, a larger part of them doesn’t think they’ll ever deserve it and, as such, they won’t permit themselves to heal and actively undermines their progress in doing so.

Because healing necessarily ameliorates the intensity of one’s grief, which they consider a betrayal of the love they felt for the people they lost and a dishonor to their memory—memory itself being the only form of afterlife, if you believe in the Void, as Cassius certainly does.

Cassius’ tether to the past is just as strong as Darrow’s but, unlike him, he never reaches a place where he can feel anything but pain—and this is intentional. He’s both a sadomasochist and a perfectionist, unforgiving of himself and self–destructive as a consequence of crushing guilt that has worsened with every traumatic loss he’s experienced. 

Sure, he’s also hedonistic, but there’s a difference between substance use and abuse and Cassius crossed that line long ago; also, a point at which belligerence and daredevilry become indicative of a deathwish, which he passed long ago. And he clearly craves the catharsis of physical punishment, something I mention in Ch. 9, set right after the Passage, when his grief over Julian is rawest:

Harm, because naught can banish pain but pain itself. And wouldn’t you trade anguish for agony, for the sweet sensation of pain, pain that crests over you like a wave, pain that liberates, pain that purges, pain that cleanses, pain that blinds you to all else?

In the context of I&F, this is an intrusive thought, but it’s indicative of a subconscious yearning for self–destruction and death. So, when Cassius is evoking these memories, when he’s reliving them and recapturing these sensations, as Darrow does in the flow of Breath of Stone, he’s not seeking joy. He is functionally reaching into his chest and ripping his heart out—or, rather, they are the knife he twists inside himself.

There was a time when Eo was the knife Darrow twisted inside himself. He had an entire wall of christened knives, in fact—Julian, Cassius, Titus, Mustang, Tactus, Victra, Ragnar, Roque, Dancer, Pax, Orion, etc. (Curiously, his Alexandar and Rhonna knives never came.) But he’s beyond that now.

As is so often the case, Cassius is a vehicle for healing and transformation—forever guiding other characters to a treasure he isn’t permitted, by the laws of this land (characterization and plot), to possess. 

🙂

Wow. That was. Longer than I thought it’d be! Have a 🍓, on Darrow.

[sonicasura]

The Inertia Faction couldn’t remain hidden forever. (Though the connection to Dart was much less obvious, the Vehicons were heavily inspired by all their actions.)

Triage especially took to the hodgepodge medical knowledge of Cybertronians they gained. Having a willing healthy model to study the biology of was very helpful when it came to establishing a baseline. He couldn’t resist paying Dart’s original kindness forward of helping survivors of a battlefield. A real shame his first real outside patient ended up being Arcee. You know… one of the most vengeful Autobots when it came to “Decepticons”.

—————————————

The two-wheeler could admit she had relaxed somewhat with the arrival of Dart—who if Jack’s words were to be believed—who regularly sowed chaos within the Decepticons.

Her own feelings toward the shapeshifter were mixed at best and confrontational at worst. It ground her spark to know that someone as young as Jack risked their life so often. But, the way Optimus phrased it after the Omnitrix removal fiasco helped ease the worst of her fears. “Young Dart could have reacted a number of ways after obtaining that device. Some worse than others given the things they have left unsaid, Arcee. Instead of using the Omnitrix for selfish reasons, the human uses it to save others and even clean up their home.”

“They do not see the transformations as weapons, merely a reflection of another species who most likely had their own culture. A User over a wielder. The Omnitrix concerns itself with humans because it’s user cares.”

In her slightly relaxed state, she hardly could have anticipated running into Soundwave of all enemies. The mech had disorientated her yet didn’t finish her off for whatever reason.

(‘Soundwave inferior. >:)’ The gall of the unknown jammer kept outpacing Soundwave’s attempts to trace it was getting to him.)

She had a near spark-attack when coming back online to a Vehicon messing around her internals. It backed off when she got up and a groundbridge whisked the cloned grunt away.

—————————————

Ratchet was rather mystified to realize the Decepticon communication officer knocked something vital out of place, then the Vehicon attempted to put it back in place—in Arcee’s internals. There were even a few spots where ruptures caused by Soundwave were partially sealed with solvent to allow her to last until receiving medical treatment.

—ROB’d Anon.

Arcee and Ratchet are so confused about the whole thing. The encounter is brought up to Optimus since he might have more insight. It takes awhile before Dart crossed their minds.

[chrisevansstitties]

Oh, I would never try to reply to this thread on my phone. I wait until I'm on pc, I have one tab of the post, and the other tab is the reblog where I write my replied & switch between the tabs as needed. I know better than to try mobile. 😂

Okay if we miss anything at this point it's okay. But, I'm also not letting you off the hook on my request for you to make that edit of the dance scene to This Is What You Came For. Pleeeeeease. 🥺❤️

No doubt Wednesday would take pride in being Tyler's master. She won't admit it at first, but she likes the thought of Tyler being hers. Not for any fucked up torture kind of way just in the fact that her belongs to her & she belongs to him romantic thing. But, she'll lie to herself in the beginning and chalk it up to some kind of revenge thing. She's not going to do too many vengeful actions to back it up, it'll just be her little thing she tells herself to push the narrative to herself that she doesn't want Tyler anymore. Slowly, that will chip away until it all come tumbling down & she admits to herself that that's not the case. Her and Tyler will work on finding away to liberate him & all hydes from the slave & master curse/dynamic.

The group would definitely turn into a pack. And Enid would find some kind of semblance in that. Hopefully her brothers will follow suit & join the pack. No doubt her mother will be just as overbearing even now that she can turn. Enid will make her exit from her family's pack. She'll realize she doesn't deserve her mother's treatment & be fine with being a lonewolf. Slowly the Jericho gang will start to feel like a pack for their own & Enid will realizes she stumbled into what she's always been searching for. Later on, her dad and brothers will contact Enid again, and tell her the family fell apart without her because they all defended her while she was gone. Turns out the all walked out on the mom after she left & they all get in contact with her. I don't know if they'll be regulars or recurring characters.

Gomez & Pugsley would be so proud that Tyler pulled one over on Wednesday. Gomez will say something like he knew he'd be a good one for his little Viper from the very beginning. And the whole family will think of what he did as some kind of love proclamation. Donovan would probably feel the need to apologize to Gomez after it's all said and done. While Gomez having no idea what he's talking about because he had taken all Donovan's comments towards Wednesday as a compliment towards his daughter's mischievous behavior.

Seriously, I never in thought about Joel join the show until you brought it to my attention. Now, I'm actually kind of curious if they did what role he would play. Just not the stalker though.

Of course Donovan isn't going to turn his son in. That wasn't even a question in my mind. It wasn't even in the realm of possiblities for me. 😆

I'd love to see some kind of scene of Fran & Tyler roaming together after their newfound freedom. Hugging each other in their hyde forms, then a scene transition to them still hugging in human form then Donovan comes in and joins the hug & they continue whatever they were doing in that scene.

Oh, yes! Fran Helping Tyler get through his difficulties of not being in control without a master somehow. Maybe, they both feel some sort of hyde connection throughout the season because of it. I don't know. Then, it all ends with her being able to witness the two people she loves the most rip her captor & his lil spawn minion apart. It's what she deserves. 🥲

Exactly, Enid & Wednesday gives off the vibes that they wouldn't have gone up & introduced themselves to each other had it not been for their forced proximity to one another. Like, some siblings are. I mean like sure they get along now, but they wouldn't have even thought to talk to each other had they not been living under the same roof. "And they were roommate." Literally, they're just that. And that's fine! There's nothing wrong with that.

I don't hear much from waviers, but when I do it's a headscratcher. I'm like, I guess you could read the scene that way if you want. But they've got to drop the whole she blinks around him thing. That's all I can say about them.

We need to delve into the world of the gorgons more. Their species are mostly reserved do to the fact that they don't want to accidentally stone someone. That's actually very considerate of them. I think they're pretty cool people in general. I just want to know more about them. Ajax seems like a total sweetheart. You could tell he liked Enid too he was more just doing as he was told by not interacting with her, so she wouldn't get hurt. 😍🥰 The siren world can be pretty cool. Bianca's mom better be a huge part of that plot. Then we'll get to see how Bianca, Divina, Count & the rest of them are facing a whole cult of siren's & their mind-controlled minions. I wonder what the show's take on vampires will be. And we need more Eugene. Don't forget Morticia is a psychic too. She's a dove I think is what she mentioned and Wednesday is a That's So Raven. She sees the trouble from the distance, but it's not that easy. She tries to see the situation, then she ends up misbehaving! Lmao! 🤣Okay, I'm done clowning around now. We got so much to explore in this series it's hard to keep up. Yes, let's get Lucas & Tyler to reconnect. They can bond now that they've both ditched that outcast hating friend group! The pack is coming together nicely. I'd love to see the rekindle their friendship. I wonder how that will play out. I forget what the faceless people are. I don't know. That's a whole other thing.

Don't even worry about that. If you want to see it that way that's all that matters. We're all different people we don't have to agree on everything.

That's where the problem starts. Once you start attacking people for headcanons you need to stop. And the whole thinking you're better than someone else for liking something, or seeing things one way is dumb. People get into whole arguments about this shit. It's not that serious. I've seen time and time again someone using the term, "braindead," as a way to insult/shame someone for interrupting a scene, or just plan disagreeing with them. First of all, if you gauging shipping on someone's intelligence level you've already gone too far. If you want to get deeper into & say what kind of intelligence we're measuring. Okay, so the person calling someone braindead for judging a complete stranger's intelligence based on shipping alone, and they trying to insulting them & belittle the other person for interpreting a scene "wrong" is not someone I would call emotionally intelligent in the slightest. I would say that person as the emotional intelligence of a toddler with only slightly better vocabulary. So, we've ruled out emotion intelligence at least. I'm not sure it's worth trying to go into the rest their emotions will have them dismiss any it away.

Yeah, fandom has gotten way out of control. It's time for celebrities to speak up about toxic fandom behavior. And people in the fandom who disagree to start pushing back more. This is supposed be a fun escape from reality. We're all supposed to be have a good time. But some people need to get over themselves first for that to happen.

It's fine. Both of us missed a few things here and there. This thread was so bad. I didn't need to flip through tabs so much. Most of the time I was just scrolling up.

Can we talk about how Wednesday was in the most none triangle love triangle ever? Like, Wednesday and Tyler were doing their own thing meanwhile Xavier was just kind of there. Now if Wednesday liked Xavier too that would be a proper triangle, but that’s not what played out. She was always upfront with him that she was there for Tyler. He was just guy on the side who had a thing for a girl who’s into someone else. It was never a triangle. It almost confuses why anyone calls it a triangle at all.

[alexiethymia]

Jeanne Theories (but more like questions)

A dump for all my questions and theories about Jeanne. In the manga, the third chapter is named after her (Chapter 1 is Vanitas, while Chapter 2 is Noe). Arguably, you could say she’s the third most important character. Among all of the main characters, her past seems to be the one we know least about. This actually ties to my questions relating to vampires and their ages. 

I am a bit confused about how aging works with vampires and how that reflects physically. We have Noe and Dominique who are chronologically the same age as Vanitas. Assuming nothing goes wrong, human Vanitas would die of old age (except we know that isn’t the case), while Noe and Dominique would look physically the same how many years later. Jeanne’s age wasn’t intentionally revealed because I think it ties in with the plot, but we know she’s centuries older than the main cast. She’s been with Ruthven since before the betrayal, and grew up with Chloe. This is where it gets confusing for me. Chloe became a vampire at four, but physically stopped aging at eleven years old. Jean Jaques was also a hidden vampire changed by Babel but he ended up growing and looking older than Chloe (at least physically). Same with Jeanne. She and Chloe met when Jeanne was younger than her, but Jeanne grew up to look like a young woman. I’m curious as to the difference as to why it was only Chloe who stopped growing physically at around eleven years old, although she’s older than Ruthven.

Jeanne’s link to Luna of the Blue Moon

I don’t think the line above is a throw-away line. Jeanne was of Ruthven’s time, and we find out that Luna had also seen her, specifically during the time of the Great War. She left that big of an impact on Luna that they would retell the story to Vanitas (and I presume Mikhail too), which had that much of impact on him as well.

They removed this context from the anime which makes it as if Vanitas heard of Jeanne through stories, except we know from the manga that it was more personal since he heard it from Luna. 

Why exactly did Luna have admiration towards Jeanne? Was it because she was slaughtering Vampires of the Red Moon? But contrary to the rumors, recent chapters would show us that Luna didn’t seem to be a vengeful entity or hold ill-will toward Vampires of the Red Moon. 

Luna was also probably the reason why Vanitas felt an initial connection with Jeanne. Like with his hourglass earring, the name, the book, the gloves, etc., despite their complicated past, Vanitas seems to be (consciously or unconsciously) maintaining a link with Luna. 

Jeanne’s Slumber (possible connections with Sleeping Beauty)

Why was it necessary for Jeanne to sleep all this time? And why did she have to wake up now, at this exact moment in time? What exact thing does Ruthven need to use her for, and for what purpose? Because let’s admit it, Lord Ruthven is shady af. 

It’s also ironic how Jeanne reads Sleeping Beauty and places Vanitas in the princess’ position, when she has more in common with the fairytale. Having to sleep for a hundred years, her mark is that of a rose with thorns evoking the imagery of ‘Briar Rose’ and the spindle, while her epithet ‘Hellfire Witch’ evokes imagery of the evil fairy who could turn into a dragon and breathe fire (admittedly I may be focusing on the Disney version too much). 

We know she’s named after Jeanne d’Arc, a martyr who was burnt at the stake (please, please, let this not be foreshadowing of how she dies) hence the connection to her epithet ‘Hellfire Witch’, but even disregarding how vampires (and perhaps humans as well?) have true names, Vanitas says she was ‘bestowed’ a saintly name. We know she was adopted, and we don’t know the circumstances of her birth which are shrouded in mystery, but could Ruthven have been the one to grant the name ‘Jeanne’ to her? 

If not for the fact that we already had Florifel and Eglantine in the first chapter, I would have thought Jeanne’s true name and malnomen if she gets one later would be connected to the fairy tale of Sleeping Beauty. 

Jeanne’s Malady

The vampires in Vanitas no Carte are different from the stereotypical portrayals of vampires, except for one - Jeanne. Jeanne has that uncontrollable desire to drink blood, and yet as of now, doesn’t appear to be a curse bearer. Based on her patchy memories, we can infer it was Ruthven who made her like this, is the one to supply her with her sketchy medicine, all the while forcing her to swear not to talk about it.

Is she in the same predicament as Loki, Luca’s older brother, forced to have the symptoms of a curse bearer and yet being prevented from being cured, by Ruthven? For what greater purpose? Why is it necessary for Loki to be a curse bearer? And more intriguing than that, why is he consenting to it? It all relates to the Queen somehow, something which no one is privy to except the Oriflamme Family. 

Sleeping Lions

Who could Marquis Machina be referring to? Everyone in the Oriflamme family, and by extension Jeanne, have connections with the imagery of lions and fire (they seem to have an elemental affinity like how Luca displayed, except that Ruthven’s is black fire, which makes me wonder what color Loki’s flames would be if ever). Jeanne can’t seem to manipulate the World Formula like Ruthven and Veronica though. The flames come out of her gauntlet, Carpe Diem. 

In relation to that, I think Misha’s patron is Marquis Machina. In the same way, Marquis Machina built Carpe Diem for Jeanne, I think he built Misha’s hand and dog for him. I mean Marquis Machina doesn’t seem to be working with Ruthven and Charlatan. His pieces seem to be the kin of the Blue Moon (Vanitas and Misha), the dhams, and the De Sade family. It could also be that the De Sade have their own agenda and are just using Marquis Machina or it’s just a mutual beneficial arrangement. If so, an eventually power struggle is bound to break out, possibly between the De Sade and the Oriflamme families, and poor Jeanne will be caught in the middle. Where then does the Shapeless One play into this? Perhaps a third faction? A silent observer? A loyalist to the queen? There’s still too little information to theorize. 

Who could the Sleeping Lion Marquis Machina wants to see wake up be? 

Jeanne, Faustina, Luna, and Naenia

It could just be a stylistic thing, but the long flowing light colored hair seem to be common among all of them. 

In relation to Pandora Hearts and its themes of will and what measure is a person, what if the Jeanne that we know now is just a consciousness inhabiting a body (kind of like Oz and Jack), specifically the queen’s body to be exact. It would certainly be foreshadowing to when she says ‘promise to kill me when I’m no longer myself anymore’.

Alternatively, the current Jeanne we know may just be a vessel or a golem to house the Queen whose body has deteriorated. It certainly would explain why she was treated as a doll even in her earliest memories. ‘Jeanne’ isn’t supposed to exist. 

Although it’s a long shot, since Ruthven has connections with Charlatan, and by extension Dr. Moreau, could ‘No. 70′ have been Jeanne? Again like I said, it’s a long shot. I think it’s likelier that No. 70 is a character we haven’t been introduced to yet. 

Jeanne’s Parents

This is a Mochizuki work. Of course, there’s got to be something to it. Why exactly did they side with the humans so suddenly in the war? What horrible thing did the vampires do to have over a thousand of their kind turn against them? And yet the way it reads, rather than betray Ruthven, I think Jeanne’s parents along with all of the vampires who were slaughtered were sacrificial pawns. Maybe I’m just really biased against Ruthven, but I think he was the one to lead the rebellion of his students, and like Chloe, although he presents himself to be an ally of the current Vampire Monarchy, perhaps he’s just biding his time to get revenge for his students. In working with Charlatan, it’s vampires who he’s harming.

What greater purpose could he have in wanting to assassinate his own nephew or ally himself with a known vampire extermination unit of the Chasseurs (Gano and his ilk) or in killing so many vampires by having their true names corrupted? 

Face to face with Noe, we see in their meeting that Noe says the exact same words Ruthven told Chloe when he was younger. Noe reminds Ruthven of his students, while Ruthven reminds Noe of his teacher. I’m not really sure where I’m going with this, but it seems like the Ruthven of now scorns his past self’s moderate and progressive ideals of vampires and humans living in harmony. He speaks of our side, your side, and Noe having to choose one or the other. And yet all of his collective actions at this point have served not to protect but rather harm vampire kind, which puts him in direct opposition to Vanitas who wants to save vampires. 

In relation to Jeanne, there will be a boiling point. She’s loyal to Luca and she’s loyal to Ruthven. She’s incredibly fond of Dominique. As of now, she also loves Vanitas. And yet down the line, inevitably Luca and Ruthven will be on opposing sides, so I am curious to see how the betrayals and conflicting loyalties will play out. 

[zeravmeta]

man ok since im fully back on my bullshit something that really gets my goat about people reducing souda to a cowardly simp is that he's actually so brave about interacting with the rest of the cast? By which i mean that in the first chapter of the game after trying to hide away because he's justifiably afraid that any of these people he's just met may murder him, we constantly see him in all following chapters try to not only interact with the cast at large but also be very proactive in trying to stop the killings. In ch2 he takes a stand against komaeda and post trial tries to save kuzuryuu despite everything he'd done, in ch3 he's at the forefront in their efforts to stop the despair disease, hell in ch4 it's his freakout about them waiting to simply die and refusal to accept it that actually drives both gundam and nidai to commit to their fight and free the rest, and in ch5 souda was inspired by both of them which is what makes him rally the group against komaeda. Even komaeda who doesn't actually see the ultimates as people but as "hope" actually does genuinely praise souda a few times throughout the game because even though he's kind of an idiot, souda is actually proactive about confronting the motives, something that komaeda criticizes hinata about multiple times through the game. EVEN in ch5 when komaeda was full on asshole, he calls out the rest of the ultimates for simply trying to ignore him and that they should listen to souda because he's actually trying to do something about their situation.

And all of this is from a character that we know is constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. Souda in his FTE's freely admits that he thinks the trust between people is fake and that he's basically waiting for when his friends will betray him, but at the same time he's a naturally trusting person, which is why he overhauled his own look. Souda thinks its better to be distrusted and keep others at arms length by keeping others thinking he's untrustworthy because it's his only defense against being betrayed, he'd rather be seen as an untrustworthy thug because he's afraid of connection and intimacy, which is why his final FTE (which canonically is story progression locked and can only be done in ch5 after they escape the funhouse and he suspected hinata may have been the traitor) he's completely honest and genuine with hinata about himself. Even though he was constantly afraid for his life, he was never truly vengeful against the murderers in each chapter and he openly mourns them just the same, including komaeda who had at multiple points been directly responsible for setting up events as they were.

Souda is honestly such a good character and to this day I dont get how people ignore all of it to make him a joke.

[cheelduh]

The Shackles of Duty

Pairing: Diluc x gn!reader

Synopsis: As a weapon of the Abyss, your obligation towards your Princess should be eternal.

Warnings: Unedited angst. Pls ignore any mistakes besties <3

Word count: 2k

You've never really given the weather any thought. It's not as if it matters to you. Stormy day or not, your responsibilities—no, your duty towards the Abyss will remain the same.

It's still raining. The mud thick underneath your boots, slippery against your heel, the putrid smell of grassy dew lingering miserably against the air.

"You know what you have to do." The Abyss Princess commands you, her loyal servant, hers to dispose if she so desires.

"The dragon...Stormterror." You explain, goosebumps forming on your skin as a result of the damp clothes that adorn your wet body. "Your brother, the honorary night, along with others, thwarted our plans by eliminating the fragments."

"Why?"

"You know why, your grace." Is all that you can give to her. "I shall follow him. Keep him away, from inciting another encounter—"

"No," Lumine declares, no room for argument. "Infiltrating their ranks is no easy task. You mustn't be relieved of your post, not yet at least. We need to extract as much information as possible to further avoid outcomes like these."

Exactly the answer you don't want to hear in the middle of this archon forsaken storm, all bruised and bumped up from Stormterror's confrontation.

Don't make me do this again. I don't know how much more I'll be able to take.

You bite your tongue, knowing full well the finality of her words. "As you wish, my princess."

The familiar redhead suddenly plagues your mind, stoic, and with years worth of anger at the world. The hero in the shadows, the man with an agonizing past, a sense of retribution albeit his severed connections with the knights of favonious.

Despite the obstacles of life and the intellect honed from his journey, he's reckless. Reckless enough to still believe that he can make a difference. That anyone can make a difference.

Diluc is reckless enough to love someone, reckless to think that his sworn brother would be the only one capable of betraying him.

—

"There's no point." Diluc whispers loud enough for you to hear him underneath the stars, adding onto the lull of night. "They all keep walking—no, running, aimlessly because of duty. They follow orders without knowing where they come from. It's utter chaos."

"But in all the chaos, there is calculation." You lean against the stone of the walls, and as always, you know how to speak to Diluc. How to open him up and read him like a book.

You're sure he can do the same with you, but he just isn't looking where he should be. You need him to look; to realize he's tangled up in your web of deceit and that there's no way out.

"How do you do that?" He says, aware all at once. "How do you give me so much yet so little?"

I want to give you everything, the pretty and the ugly things alike. I want to give you my secrets, fold them up in a dirty, black, envelope, and have you turn it to ash with the violent flames of your heart.

It's a lot of work hiding under false pretences.

"It's a beautiful night, my love." You say instead.

Diluc's never gotten used to the term of endearment, still new to receiving affection. It warms him up differently to his vision, pleasant yet unfamiliar. It takes a moment for him to come back to himself.

You briefly jolt at the pleasant warmth of his hand atop yours, a silent reassurance, one that worsens your guilt, weaves it into something that pierces your rotten core.

—

You don't know what you're thinking when you stand in front of Jean's office, fist hovering.

Is forgiveness why you're here? No, because you would've went to Diluc first. You would've confessed to him right then and there about what a vengeful weapon you are, a mindless soldier that will do anything for their queen.

You don't even get a chance to think of the various ways he'd kill you when the door is open, and you're met with the view of the acting Grandmaster herself. Another dear friend that will come to despise you.

"Y/N! I'm glad you're here—"

"I'm a servant of the Abyss." You cut her off, and don't stop yourself, letting the words run freely against the fast pace of your heart. "I've infiltrated Mondstadt under the orders of the abyss princess and used what I've learned to conspire against the archons."

Everything's spinning, so fast you can barely breathe.

Jean doesn't move, doesn't even blink as the confusion dawns on her face. You aren't looking for confusion.

"Don't pretend you're blindsided completely," You give her a humourless chuckle, and by the hush of your tone it's as if you're telling her a secret to any spectators. "You've known for a while now that there's been a traitor within your ranks. Every single attack from the Abyss—too clean, too unpredictable, one could say with coincidence."

"But the universe is rarely so lazy." Your voice is smooth, calm, the complete opposite to the flurries of emotions that bloom your being. "Varka knew that. And so do you."

"No," Jean finally speaks up, denying your claim incandescently. "We've fought together for years. You're one of our best, our most dependable. Everything we've done—everything you've done has been for Mondstadt. As always."

If only that were the truth.

You wave a hand over your right eye, releasing the magical bind to reveal the intricate marker. Jean's eyes widen, and she's far from her usual composed self.

"Still don't believe me?" You ask, knowing full well she's still in denial. It's not everyday your best mate, the one that fights alongside you, admits to being a traitorous scum of the abyss drenched in years worth of lies.

Ah the trials and tribulations of friendship.

"Fine then," With the flick of your wrist, it doesn't take much effort for the main doors to open up with a bang.

The acting grand master draws back at the shrill sound, teeth gritting.

She isn't the only one that's provoked. Wood and Wyratt, the only two guards on duty at this time let out shouts of surprise, reaching for their swords on instinct.

You summon your abysmal magic, which shapes into deep blue, if not black, appendages. They glitter, hiding the entire galaxy in them, with stars that burst into life. Breathtaking if not used on the battlefield.

In mere seconds, one latches on to Wyratt's leg, while the other takes Wood by his arm. All it takes is a jerk of your index finger, and they're sent flying outside the doors, which unceremoniously slam shut behind them. The lock clicks into place, cherry on top.

Jean materializes her sword, taking on a defensive position. You don't think you've ever seen the woman irritated, let alone as livid as she is right now.

That's more like it.

"Go on. Arrest me." You bring your wrists up, casual as ever. "We'd better hurry. They'll come after me soon enough, it's in your best interest to listen to everything I have to say if I'm willing to die over it." There's a tightness in your chest that you can't explain.

Jean hardens her gaze, not allowing herself to relax. You know what she's going to say. You've been her friend, her advisor, long enough to understand where most of her actions and decision stem from.

She says—well she says nothing, because she doesn't get a chance to when an abrupt screech erupts from her office, causing your ears to perk up and your blood to run cold. A series of heavy footsteps, footsteps you're all too familiar with follow.

Although you're fairly certain you know who it is, you glance over her shoulder anyways to meet the fiery red eyes that have reserved a place in your heart. The sole reason you're blowing the whistle.

You feel a sharp pang in your heart.

The pure, authentic, hurt in Diluc's hardened features are enough to have you gutted completely. Mouth dry with a rock in your throat, you don't so much as allow yourself to exhale.

You finally understand why you didn't go to him first. You were sure he'd be able to survive the betrayal, but you weren't sure you'd be able to survive it yourself.

Diluc. You want to tell him, tell him how sorry you are. Tell him how much of a piece of shit you are. Tell him that he doesn't deserve this, that he deserves so much better. Tell him that you love him, devastatingly so.

It isn't supposed to end this way. Things never go as planned.

You avert your gaze, clench your jaw shut, and wait.

"Jean." Diluc says, and there's grim finality in his voice. "We need a moment." His words send small pricks throughout your spine.

Jean regains her composure, mulling over his request, but any resistance is placated by a simple look from the redhead.

When she reluctantly leaves, the quiet is near unendurable.

"Why?" If the way Diluc's fixed gaze could set anything on fire, you would've been burned to the stake by now.

You'd calculated this moment countless of times, predicted exactly how this would go, lived through every outturn in the dead of the night as you struggled to find sleep in his arms.

Living through it is far more dreadful than you could've ever imagined it to be.

His body closes in at your lack of reply, hands gripping your forearm to pull you in and kick the door shut. "Why?" This time it's more firm.

You open your mouth to speak, like a fish out of water, and out comes nothing.

"I trusted you," Diluc says weakly, in a way that has your heart shattering a million times a second. Tightening his hold on your arm, he continues "You were the only one I...I should've known. I was foolish to think I could believe in you." a sharp exhale, and he pushes you back against the door, but it's not harsh at all. He's gentle, and somehow that makes everything so much more worse.

Your inability to reply sparks a different kind of rage in his heart.

"It must have been quite the show, watching everyone run in circles." He seethes, furious, wounded. "Was it all just a lie? Were my feelings ever returned? Or was I just another one of your fair games?"

You wrench away from his hold as if it's burning you. The words are like needles, pinning into you with so much force it has you lurching in place, and then they twist deep within your blackened veins.

"Stop it." You should've just left. Should've just pushed back the nagging in your brain and jumped off a cliff or a something. Surely the unexpected death of a royal guard—no, the death of a fundamental piece in their plan would surely be enough to cripple them for at least a few days, if not weeks.

Anything but this.

You meet his gaze. "I do love you Diluc, that I am sure of. You don't have to believe me. I know I wouldn't."

"Is that all you have to say?" He all but hisses, gloved fingers closing in to form a fist. "You've betrayed everyone. Your friends, your family...me."

"You think I don't know that?" Your voice breaks when you look away. "I don't know what's right anymore, what's wrong. I don't even know what I've been fighting for this entire time." A sharp, mirthless laugh escapes your lips, "To allow myself to carry out orders I do not believe in is too much to bear. How long do I delude myself into thinking that this is all for Khaenri'ah? That this is all for a reason that is beyond me?"

There's a sliver of softness that shows in his features, but you're too busy calming the waves crashing in your head.

"Whatever it is, it doesn't matter anymore." You say, the sinking of your chest only expanding. "I've already contravened against the abyss, and for that they will come for me. The only thing I regret is that they couldn't get to me before you did."

A stricken look passes across his face, brows furrowed and desperation as clear as day when he reaches for you.

This time, you let his arms curl around your shaking figure, welcoming the comfort that you're undeserving of. "I won't let them."

"I'm sorry." You whisper shakily, fisting the fronts of his coat. "I'm so sorry Diluc."

Diluc hums as he strokes your hair soothingly, with the utmost of care. Although his trust in you has shattered, like irreplaceable fragments of glass, his love for you will remain constant.

Even with the storm that is fated to come.

[captaincoffeegirl515]

What the hell was that last act???

So first of all I want to say that I did enjoy most of the movie. It was okay. The sex scenes didn’t do anything for me though since I’m just not interested in sex at all. But while I more-or-less liked the movie, I felt that the big plot twists in the last act and the ending were badly done because… how the fuck did ANY of them manage to get away with ANY OF THAT??? Like from a legal standpoint it’s just ???

This got so much longer than I anticipated, so the rest is under the read more. And yes, there are so many spoilers. So if you haven't seen The Voyeurs yet and don't want spoilers, please avoid this.

Seb and Julia literally confess to selling their old apartment in order to spy on the people who live there and use them for their art show. Like, yes, they put that clause in the Terms of Agreement for the apartment (which literally no one ever reads) but there is still the matter of Informed Consent. Informed Consent is usually in the form of a contract Pippa and Thomas both need to read and sign, or via verbal questions and answers which is filmed so Seb and Julia would have physical proof of an agreement. This is basically telling them what footage was taken, how it will be used, and if Seb and Julia have permission to share the footage publicly. In Thomas’ case, since he’s dead, his next-of-kin will be asked. Only then are Seb and Julia legally allowed to publicly share and showcase the Pippa and Thomas’ pictures. And Seb is a professional photographer! He should know that!

Have you ever seen prank shows? Like even the ones on YouTube. Have you noticed at the end of some videos, there would be a part where the filmers would approach the person who was pranked and ask if they could use their footage in the video. That’s Informed Consent. They need to ask permission to use a person’s footage in a video or if they need to blur out the person’s face for privacy. Seb and Julia even showed a picture of a dead man for chrissakes! Remember the outcry when that YouTuber posted a video of a suicide victim in Japan???

The Japanese interviewer was right to disapprove of their methods because even though there was a clause in the Terms of Agreement, the prank (because isn’t that what that whole show they did was?) or experiment still resulted with someone killing themself (yes I know it was murder, but the world doesn't know it). They can possibly still be held liable for causing Thomas to kill himself the same way a prankster can be held liable if their victim dies from a prank because of this thing in Law called the Eggshell Rule or Eggshell Plaintiff.

What this means is that a defendant is liable for any injuries caused by the defendant’s actions, regardless of how unforeseeable or uncommon the plaintiff’s reactions to the defendant’s actions are. So for example, there is a scary prank where the prankster jumps out of the bushes and terrifies people. One of them turns out to have a heart condition, suffers a heart attack, and dies. Regardless of the victim’s frailty, the prankster can be held liable for exacerbating the condition and causing the victim’s death. Likewise in the movie, they can say that Seb and Julia, by orchestrating the whole thing and making Thomas see his girlfriend cheating on him, could have caused him to become broken-hearted and kill himself. Therefore, Seb and Julia can be liable for Thomas’ death.

And then here’s the kicker! The famous photographer and his wife, a famous model, both suddenly end up blind AFTER their big art show where they displayed Pippa’s scandal. And not by accident. No. This was obviously surgically done. And NOBODY suspected foul play?? Nobody thought about revenge?? Nobody thought it strange how their blindness was clearly done with a surgical/medical precision nor suspected the couple’s subject, Pippa, who they thoroughly humiliated, who also worked as an optometrist technician at a lab that has the machines that could cause that kind of blindness??? And they're both still alive! They can easily tell the police who did it!

It should have been way too easy for the police to know that it was foul play. Blood tests can tell that Seb and Julia had been drugged. How they were blinded can be traced to the optometry lab. Pippa would be the easiest main suspect due to her connection to them with revenge as the main motivation after they humiliated her in that art show.

And yes, I agree that what Seb and Julia did was wrong. They used Pippa and Thomas, and then murdered Thomas so they can have some juicy story to tell!

Even so, what happened to Ethical Codes in the medical field? What happened to the Hippocratic Oath? Non-maleficience rule? “Do No Harm”? Pippa should have been slammed with, idk, medical malpractice or something, after using her knowledge of the LASIK machine and using it to permanently blind people (which is an actual fear real people have about LASIK surgery), have her license revoked, be fired from her job, and possibly serve jail time. Why is she walking free all willy-nilly and still being allowed to continue stalking Seb and Julia?

I’ll admit though that maybe I’m being more harsh towards Pippa because I myself used to be a Board Certified medical professional (my license expired last year because I hadn't been working in that field for a while) and because of that, her actions angered and horrified me more.

Normally, we as an audience are made to root for the main character or hero, but I found it difficult to do so because Pippa herself is a terrible person. She's a pervert and a creep. She was obsessed with the lives of other people, stalked them, and even went as far as committing crimes in order to fuel her obsession - trespassing, breaking and entering, destruction of private property.

And my goodness this actually makes me think of a few Ben Hardy stans who are like this. Well, idk if going to Ben's school so that she can get a copy of a school film he was in can be considered a crime, but it's still fucking creepy.

Pippa’s got that Savior Complex where she tries to rescue this poor neglected wife from her horrible cheating husband (the same one she herself wants to fuck because she’s obsessed with him). And then when it all goes south, she immediately turns around and blames THOMAS of all people because “he started it”. Like, so what if he did?? He still had enough maturity to realize when they were taking it too far, and decided to stop with the stalking. He told her to stop multiple times but she was too blinded by her obsession and lust for a man that she doesn’t even know.

AND THEN!! She stalked a grieving husband (I know we know that was a lie but Pippa didn't know that) and proceeded to cheat on her boyfriend with said grieving husband. And frankly, I don’t understand why she’s so vengeful about Thomas’ death considering how easily she forgot him so that she could cheat on him. Like. Who knows, maybe he still would’ve killed himself regardless of the poisoned drink because the last thing he saw was his girlfriend cheating on him with the man she’d been obsessed with for the past idk how long. Even in the scene after Thomas died, there was a momentary grief where Pippa was all “it’s my fault Thomas died” but it was all too brief and immediately after she went back to obsessing and asking about Seb. And they want me to believe that she’d want to avenge Thomas’ death? No. I think she blinded Seb and Julia because she was angry at being called out for her obsession. For being told that she was wrong to go that far. It wasn’t about her “love” for Thomas. It was about how humiliated she was about being wrong.

Can you believe that Pippa gave this whole speech with the fable about being content with what you have and not to try to be greedy by wanting more and then she just immediately DOES THE OPPOSITE OF THE MORAL by cheating on her boyfriend because she wanted more aka Seb???

The more that I think about it, I feel like the true villain of the movie is Pippa herself. Her obsession with Seb is what started the whole thing. If she had been able to keep a healthy distance, none of that would’ve happened to begin with. There would be no fights over how far things were going. Seb would have no scandal to tell. She worsened Thomas’ insecurities of not being enough for her, making him go to great lengths just to try to please her. Poor Thomas. He truly deserved better.

Pippa also has awful friends. Instead of stamping down the creepy behavior, they’re giving tips on how to listen in on other people’s private conversations! And then later try to excuse her cheating on Thomas. And then help with her obsession AGAIN.

Acting-wise, I felt that Natasha, Ben, and Justice were incredible and I loved them. I love how conflicted Ben played Seb and how you can see it in his eyes. My favorite scene was the one where Seb and Julia had that confrontation over the wine where Seb asks if she ever felt guilty and Julia just stares right back and stares him down. Natasha was brilliant as Julie pretending to be all friendly and vulnerable with Pippa. Justice was very emotional and I love the scenes where he was horrified at how far Pippa was taking everything. For me, Sydney was the weakest one at acting. While there were some okay parts, her face can be really stiff at some points, like during the sex scenes.

Overall, I thought the movie to be quite thought-provoking especially in this day and age where people can find the most intimate details of another person’s life so easily, be that through Carrd, Instagram stories, Facebook feeds, and other social media sites. It makes you think about parasocial relationships, how people can be so obsessed about people that they’ve never even met, and how that obsession can easily grow into something dangerous that can ruin lives. Good movie, terrible last act. Too much sex for my taste, but then it wouldn’t be called an erotic movie.

Outside of the movie, I really love the chemistry between the four of them. I love watching their interviews and seeing how they interact with each other.

Last but not the least, I know this may be random but my brain likes to zoom in on the weirdest things. How on earth did Pippa manage to get Seb on top of that operating table?? No offense but Pippa is fucking tiny. Seb’s like twice her size and mostly muscle AND unconscious. Like ??? Sorry but that threw me off so much it’s ridiculous.

[lessonsfrommadamexmas]

EREN JAEGER AND THE ENNEAGRAM TYPE 6

First of all, to my followers, please excuse me. This account isn’t for SNK but it’s the one I have and I wanted to write this. 

Secondly, I hope this post finds the fandom lol. But if you’re expecting this to be another meta to judge Eren’s actions, don’t waste your time. The enneagram is a tool of understanding, not judgement, and I just wanted to share one thing I appreciate immensely about Eren’s characterization.

Well, why don’t we start with chapter 137? There, Zeke states that life’s purpose is to propagate and it’s core fear is to be extinguished. In other words, from the moment we are born, our organisms need to survive. As humans, we are on our own: suddenly, you gotta breathe on your own; the food is no longer provided. Everything is scary. A baby cries because everything is hard and far away and something in their biology tells them to keep fighting to survive. 

Now, onto a more spiritual approach. In El Eneagrama de la Sociedad, Claudio Naranjo says that several cultures have their own ideas and tales regarding a disconnection from a primordial state of wholeness. Once born, we become individuals and are separated from the Universe, as if we’re no longer in sync, and something is lost in the process. How can we survive? Our defense mechanisms start with that question. We need love, we need resources and we need to stand our ground in this cruel, but beautiful world. This, on the enneagram, is called “childhood trauma”. 

What I want to do in this post is to break down Eren’s character development through the lens of the enneagram, but for that, I need to give you an overview of the system. It is cruel and beautiful, just like the SNK world. It sees us with care and understanding but it also exposes the harsh truths we don’t want to see. 

The enneagram, first and foremost, is an ancient symbol, a figure of nine points connected within a circle. There’s a lot of fascinating history to it, but I’m gonna focus on what matters to this post. The enneagram is a personality system that encompasses nine essences of the Universe, and once our childhood trauma sinks in, we attach to one type which defines our worldview. Here’s how each enneatype manifests itself:

Type 1, the reformer: this person seeks to not make mistakes. They are principled and meticulous in everything they do but highly critical of themselves and others. 

Type 2, the helper: this person seeks to be needed. They are proud of their independence and helpfulness but believe they can only receive love if they give first. 

Type 3, the achiever: this person seeks to be worthy. They are motivated and ambitious but shape themselves around what is expected of them. 

Type 4, the individualist: this person seeks to build their identity. They are sensitive and creative but reject the ordinary and focus on what is harder to reach. 

Type 5, the investigator: this person seeks to be a specialist. They are perceptive and curious but withhold themselves and their resources and worry they’re never prepared. 

Type 6, the loyalist: we’ll talk about it in a moment.  

Type 7, the enthusiast: this person seeks to avoid pain. They are joyful and spontaneous but afraid of facing hardships and being swallowed by negativity and sadness. 

Type 8, the leader: this person seeks to be strong. They are fierce and protective but don’t allow themselves any vulnerability and need to be on top. 

Type 9, the peacemaker: this person seeks to be in peace. They’re kind and their inner stability is unshakable, but have a hard time asserting themselves.

So what does it mean to be a type 6?

Some of you might not believe if I told you that Eren is moved by fear. But that’s what it is. The type 6 represents fear itself. It’s our search for safety and support. The person who is a type 6 has disconnected from their inner guide and they don’t believe they have the same capability to make decisions as everyone else. That is more of an unconscious state, which manifests through an overly alert stance. Sixes are always on the lookout for threats and danger, their minds work predicting things that can go wrong, so they can be prepared. In other words, the type 6 fears how imprevisible life is, because they truly don’t find in themselves the compass to the answers they need “in this very moment”. They have to be one step ahead and they have to find outside structures for support, people in whom to trust and who’ll give them the guidelines and sense of balance. Fellowship and loyalty are essential to the type 6 as they look for reassurance in their concerns. 

In Personality Types: Using the Enneagram for Self-Discovery (1996), Don Richard Riso has described nine levels of development for the enneatypes. They are the path from our healthy, healed state where we’re closer to wholeness again (Level 1) down to our most broken state where we’ve abandoned ourselves (Level 9). 

When we start Attack on Titan, Eren is on Level 6. Here’s what Riso says:

“In its innocent forms, counterphobia is well employed by people to master their fears — for example, children who are afraid of the dark might purposefully go to a dark room to overcome their fear.”

Eren, too, wanted to overcome his fear since he was a kid. He wanted to go outside and face those faceless titans. He wanted people around him to be prepared, but since the Garrison was incompetent and lazy, he needed to be prepared. Grisha seems to be Eren’s first authority figure. From what we know, Grisha allowed Eren to have his own thoughts and didn’t impose anything on him, which is a kind of reassurance. Thus, with his father, Eren felt more understood. 

Carla, on the other hand, wished for Eren’s immediate safety and cared about him living a quiet life. But that also means she couldn’t understand his concerns, and the type 6 interprets that demeanor as vulnerability — his mother is more exposed to the threat. If the type 6 is a room where nobody is vigilant, the only option they see is to step up and become hypervigilant.

This relation to an authority is very specific for the type 6 as they search for people and systems in whom to rely on. Since the Garrison aren’t the most reliable soldiers around, Eren turns to the Survey Corps. That section of the military consists of the rebels, those who want to explore the unknown, understand the titans and figure out the best way to fight the enemy. The SC wants to be free, so they become Eren’s next “authority figure”. 

Riso also says that the type 6 in Level 6 has a more aggressive stance and wants to prove to others that he isn’t indecisive and can’t be pushed around. 

“They blame and berate whatever threatens them. They become rebellious… and are desperate to latch onto a position or stance that will make them feel stronger and dispel their feelings of inferiority.”

The type 6 feels inferior because they feel lost inside. Eren, too, knows that the threat lurking behind those walls is much bigger than him and a single human doesn’t stand a chance. And he berates people around him for not seeing what he sees, or for disrespecting his “heroes”.

Eren will be back to Level 6 later, embodying other aspects of it, but let’s talk about the moment he joins the army. 

At this point, Eren reaches the stable position he has been eager for. He is part of a group and working towards his goals, he feels more confident because he’s preparing for the next attack. He has climbed to Level 4:

“The security which groups and institutions provide far exceeds the strength of any individual members...”

As we know, Eren sees his mission to eradicate all titans also as a social responsibility. The type 6 can easily fall into “us versus them” mentality where they are putting effort into something and will trust only the people who understand the importance of it. Eren’s bickering with Jean, as well as his admiration for Reiner starts from there. 

“And even within their own group, average Sixes make it their business to find out who is pulling the weight and who is not... If others are not loyal or committed, it not only makes them angry, it threatens them.”

Eren talks over and over about how he’s going to join the suicide squad, to the point people start making fun of him. But he is testing everyone’s commitment to the cause of “fighting titans” and he finds people like Jean, who only really want their safe life, as well as Reiner, who is dedicated and understands him immediately. Reiner becomes his new “authority figure”: whenever Eren’s failing, Reiner is there to understand him, to offer help and to remind him of why he’s there.

“The loyalty of average Sixes for the people with whom they have identified is almost without bounds. They find it extremely difficult to break their emotional bonds, even should they desire to do so… Their love may, in time, turn to hatred but never to indifference.”

That one speaks for itself. It’s exactly how Eren felt upon RBA’s betrayal. He’s in total denial about Annie, while for Reiner/Berthold all he has left is rage. 

Choosing who to trust is part of the type 6 identity. All of their beliefs, all their inner world is shaken if they are betrayed, because the network they build is how they find a safe space for themselves in the world and how they orient themselves. Annie was Eren’s parameter of fighter, Reiner was Eren’s parameter of leadership. The first backstab is too hard for him to process, we see it all unfold. He can’t admit she’s a traitor, and he doesn’t even have the will to transform and fight her. 

The second one, however, is embraced somewhat faster and he’s even able to contain himself and play along. But it doesn’t change how deeply it affected him and how vengeful he gets. Years later, that hatred would dissipate, but never to indifference — Eren still feels a need for some closure between them. 

I got ahead of myself on the timeline, so I’m going to rewind to the moment Eren joins the Survey Corps, which is his childhood dream. Erwin is his main authority figure now and you see that, even though Erwin locked him up, he trusts the guy. As Don Riso explains, the type 6 on Level 4 plays by the rules of his group because he strongly believes in those rules and they bring comfort to their minds. In reality, the SC doesn’t really know what they’re doing. Erwin himself doesn’t know how he’s gonna cross the walls and find out the truth. But Eren is devoted to them. Their cause is his cause and he knows how hard it is but what matters is they’re trying. Besides, they embrace him. They want to reach the basement and want to defend him on the court and want to investigate/use his titan power. Thus, for Eren, the SC is the most solid and welcoming place to be. He’ll do whatever they want from him. 

However, Eren was about to find out that things were far from glorious out there. Although the Survey Corps work under strict “plans” that soldiers are supposed to follow blindly, Eren can’t just watch people being sacrificed to protect him. Especially when he has enough power to act in a more significant way than those individual humans. But how much control does he have over his own power? Eren can’t answer that, and he feels immensely conflicted as soldiers continue to drop dead. 

In that moment, Levi could’ve forced him to follow his orders, and perhaps that would’ve eased his mind when he chose not to transform. But the captain is a different kind of leader than Erwin, and he challenges Eren instead:

And I really appreciate how fitting that is to the type 6 conflit. It’s very difficult for them to accept it, sometimes there simply isn’t a clear path, sometimes it is okay to trust yourself and act on your own. But this is what Eren’s thinking:

That didn’t turn out very well, did it? At the end of the expedition, Eren is forced to admit that the SC don’t have all the answers and that all his power and training can’t always keep everyone safe. He’s once again reminded of that after activating the Coordinate — not even the power to control titans can avoid sacrifices.

Ideally, the type 6 can only reach the safety they seek once they allow themselves to move in the chaos with the courage to face it step by step, instead of predicting it. This may sound easy for others but not for them, especially if they are inserted in a reality where the cost of a mistake is lives.  

So we get to the Uprising arc. It starts with the Survey Corps planning the retake of Wall Maria while they put Eren through hardening experiments. Time is not on their side and Eren’s determined to go beyond his limits during the tests. 

“They consequently try to further strengthen their ‘social security’ systems by working harder to be accepted and approved by their allies and authorities… Others wonder if they resent the workloads and pressures they seem to be under, yet Sixes seem eager to fulfill their obligations and duties...”

Eren’s entire world would fall apart again once he’s kidnapped by Rod Reiss and discovers the truth of his father’s sin. Like I said earlier, Grisha was one of Eren’s authority figures, and even though he was absent, the basement key and the promised truth kept son and father connected. Wherever Grisha was, Eren could still count on the answers he’d left behind. 

That is, until he is hit by a trainwreck of a revelation that his father killed an entire family and sacrificed himself to pass on the titans to him. Eren’s left completely lost, he no longer knows what to think of himself, of the world, of his father.

He falls from Level 4 to Level 7:

“Sixes become trapped in an unhealthy pattern of self-disparagement and massive insecurity which reinforces feelings of inferiority and worthlessness, a marked deterioration from the indecision and evasiveness we saw [before].”

This shift to a much more confused and self-loathing state doesn’t last long because Eren has his friend’s support for now. Historia chooses to see his worth and let him live. Levi once again challenges him to make his own decision, and Eren manages to save the day.

As Eren becomes aware of those destructive feelings, he tries to get rid of them by “fighting” himself, in an attempt to put himself back up.

He realizes he isn’t alone and he doesn’t have to do everything on his own, people around him are also strong enough to stand up for themselves. That helps him return to a more average stage and it could have been the beginning of his growth... 

Well, if only life wouldn’t have a surprise waiting for him at every corner. 

I hope you’re being able to follow and understand that we all have ups and downs in life. The levels of development represent exactly that, so it is common to find yourself in the same stage in different periods of your life. Nevertheless, after Eren learns the truth about the world and sees his future memories, it all goes downhill for him, no turning back anymore.  

Here is what Riso comments on the ambivalence of the type 6 on Level 5:

“Sixes begin to follow the narrow path between the expectations of their allies and authorities and their need to resist having any further demands placed on them.”

Eren is overwhelmed by the view of the outside world. He has experienced his father’s memories first hand and it’s nothing like what he expected. No one around him has the same perspective. A lot of self-awareness and self-doubt emerge from the future memories he saw through Historia. Riso explains that on Level 5 the person starts to become more worried about how their allies feel about them. 

“They become skeptical of new views and ideas, feeling that they have already put a lot of effort into understanding the perspectives and approaches they already know.”

Eren went from “I HATE TITANS ALL TITANS ARE MY ENEMIES DESTROY ‘EM ALL” to “titans are my people and they haven’t chosen this horrible outcome”. And that’s A LOT to process when you wrapped your life around that initial idea. But things are changing even faster, and his friends are talking about how the enemy could be reached out too. This thought needs to coexist in Eren with the clear image he has of the enemy, one that only he has accessed. Add to that how Eren was kept away from the Marleyan prisoners as Paradis also feared some kind of betrayal. As long as there’s people out there against them, he can’t so easily rest. 

Who knows at what point Eren returns to Level 6. The time skip is covered very loosely. But probably when he is feeling so lost that he actually comes to Historia to vent. 

“As in other types, to be functioning in this Level or lower usually indicates that there were extremely dysfunctional elements in the child’s environment.”

Self-explanatory. It’s even hard to talk about Level 6 because it is a point where Sixes start to overthink threats that aren’t that big, but in Eren’s case, the threat is 100% REAL and there’s a world isolating them and wishing for his people to die and throwing gigantic creatures at them. No big deal at all.

Eren turns to the people who actually understand the urgency he feels. Floch is eager to follow him, while Zeke and Yelena have an actual plan. Eren says he’s acting out of his own decisions, and he sure is, but he has also left it in Zeke’s hands to set the course. At this point, it no longer is a positive thing for the type 6 to have reassurance instead of a grounding support, it’ll only leave them trapped in the current mentality. 

What would be more appropriate would be a balance between rejection…

…and full acceptance.  

(By the way, I can’t even know where Historia stands, since she let him do his thing, but I’m still using her here because of how immediate her reaction was, which could lead Eren to think he can’t risk telling anyone else. Unhealthy Sixes are just that paranoid.)

Zeke could have been Eren’s new “authority figure“ if their goals were the same. But more and more the only thing Eren is starting to rely on are the future memories.

Riso talks about how a violent environment would lead to violent actions and “they end up using the same aggressive tactics on others”. And I can draw a parallel with how Eren has been facing titans for so long and watched them take people from him, that he just feels aggression arise whenever he thinks of all the injustice he has witnessed. Same would happen later on, when he sees Ymir’s memories and finally decides to unleash this pain on the world.

“It’s hard for Sixes to work for something. Instead, their energies are galvanized by being against people and things.”

Despite being highly conflicted and problematic, Eren so far has waited. It’s too hard at this point to fully engage with those dreams, but he has watched things unfold and allowed the Survey Corps to do their stuff and try to contact the outside world. On Level 7, the type 6 is just going through the day with little hope. When the SC reaches Marley and Eren meets the boy of his memories, he can no longer escape from facing himself.

“Tearful and obsequious, they are disgusted with themselves for not having been tough enough to stand on their own two feet, to defend themselves, to be independent.”

Not only Eren, but Paradis as a whole, have been unable to be independent in a much bigger world, or this is how he sees it after Kyiomi monopolizes the resources and the pro-Eldians group rejects the island. Finally, Eren recognizes in himself the person who would be capable of trampling the kid he currently wants to save, and that leaves him disgusted.   

“They do not necessarily deceive others maliciously, but to escape punishment or abandonment. They believe they may be able to repair the damage they have caused...”

What Riso is saying here is that the type 6 feel the need to hide (themselves) so their loved ones won’t abandon them. And again, in Eren’s case, he has a damn good reason to think his loved ones might not be super happy if he said he was going to destroy the whole world. Let’s not forget they are the people who counted on him to save the world this whole time, and he is the person several people have been sacrificed for. 

All this pressure has brought him this low, but Eren reaches rock bottom when he allows himself to admit he wished for it all to be destroyed. Now, he can no longer face his family (as he would tell Falco) and he has little faith in himself. 

Again, Eren’s paranoias aren’t so far from reality because there is, indeed, a world against them, and that keeps feeding into his anxiety. Paradis’s progress is little and the future is uncertain. When the type 6 reaches Level 9, they can no longer get out of this spiral. They know it’s only a matter of time until the threat comes to them. So they call the threat upon themselves.

Eren allowed himself to go as far as understanding his enemies and accepting that they’re the same, but with the declaration of war, he can’t wait anymore.

I already told you the reason: the type 6 needs to be able to predict. That’s the very core of their beings, their minds seek to control events. Striking first is their final attempt to make sure they won’t be taken by surprise. Ultimately, they are lost and desperate to find support again. Here’s what Riso says about the type 6 on Level 9:

“They may drop out, abasing themselves as vagrants and living in skid row conditions, thus allowing their health and minds to deteriorate to the point of no return.”

It almost feels like Isayama has read this book, I swear to God. Yeah, that’s word by word what Eren does. He goes to enemy territory, injures himself and throws himself in war. Despite resisting for so long to a new perspective of his enemies, Eren allows himself to see them with his own eyes. All because he’s desperate to understand his enemy, desperate to understand himself (and what would lead to his decision) and desperate to run away from his friends. He is ashamed of choosing those future memories as his new authority figure, get it? They are the most certain thing in his life now. As much as he waited and as much as the SC tried, they don’t have any guaranteed future and it’s just too hard for the type 6, especially unhealthy Sixes, to wait. It’s impossible. 

Remember I said that Sixes want to feel understood? Well, I think Eren feels understood, to some degree, when he’s among those broken soldiers. They are relatable, more than anyone else. 

“Neurotic Sixes bring disaster of some sort upon themselves not to end their relationship with authority figures, but to reestablish a protective one. [...] It is also important to notice that neurotic Sixes are masochist not because they take pleasure in suffering as such, but because they hope their suffering will bring someone to their side who’ll save them… as if to say, ‘Punish me, because I’ve been bad. Then you can love me again.’”

In the mind of the unhealthy type 6, if he can’t find the answers, he can’t be there for his allies. If he fails his allies, he doesn’t deserve their support. But even when he feels he doesn’t deserve it and feels they won’t forgive him, he desperately needs it — the type 6 doesn’t know how to live without support. He is completely aware of his cowardice, he may unleash his despair in innocent people, he seeks punishment for his behavior and hopes for someone to end his pain.

“Unhealthy Sixes are self-defeating persons who are their worst enemies. If they persist in their masochist behavior, neurotic Sixes will drive away everyone on whom they depend. They will be abandoned and alone, the very things they most fear.”

Eren pushed everyone away, but deep down he waited for them to come to his rescue. He knew he was a lost cause, but still couldn’t let go of what he saw as a compromise, a duty to them. His completely cruel and extreme actions are, in enneagram terms, his way to not leave his allies adrift. But aren’t all his actions for his own freedom? I don’t think so, not entirely. There’s a reason the type 6 has been named “the loyalist” — they always, always see themselves as part of a group. And in the end, he saw himself in Ymir, someone who was trapped and waiting to be rescued, understood. Don Riso says the worst part of coming this low is how much Sixes hurt others while they hurt themselves, both because they want to harm everyone who doesn’t understand and to show people the worst in themselves; they want to punish and be punished at same the time.

That is what I wanted to break down — Eren’s inner process. Yes, the type 6 is an ambivalent, contradicting personality type, precisely because that’s how they feel inside. Other enneagram types don’t escape from their own personal conflicts, that’s also important to point out. The enneagram does not define integrity, people capable of causing great harm exist in all types and no one from type 6 is fated to destroying the world — just in case that isn’t obvious. 

This post is heavy, I know. One of the things I love about SNK are the emotions it evokes and how human characters are. I’m so thankful to have followed Eren’s fascinating journey. He has never hit me as a one-dimensional character as some people claim. To me, Eren is not a chad, he’s not a monster, either. He’s just human. 

I’m thankful for this fandom as well. We’re a total mess but the monthly wait would’ve killed me without the crazy theories and the heated discussions.  

[bellsyafterdark]

Okay, so, while I am in love with all the iterations the AU has taken on, the one I had actually been referencing was the seemingly most recent one? With Fennec involved and the miscommunication of Din coming to the "realization" that he's nothing but a toy for them. Sorry, I wasn't at all specific, and I'd been tired when I sent that in 😂

Awww I love that one! Thank you for the clarification, if I had also been more awake I might have connected the dots. I'm glad you've enjoyed that diversion, too. I adore Fennec too much to keep her on the side and it's interesting to think about what her addition would bring to the dynamic.

I'm still gauging her character, but I think she's snarky and her humour is dry. She's no more comfortable about showing emotion than the men but she's far more intelligent.

My fundamental idea is that Din is the only one any of them are vaguely honest with on an emotional level. He's also their conduit to each other. If things are not well with Din, the whole tribe is off.

When Din took shelter with Boba, it was because Boba gave him permission to heal and be taken care of, but he never stopped being a deadly and capable Mandalorian. It's one thing to be "kept" as part of his reduced duties: Din still gets to wander, train and take work when he wants. That has been happening less and less as Boba's influence spread and Boba's tribe have increasingly become targets.

But now Din isn't even kept in the loop. He consented to the fantasy they've all woven together, he could finally admit to himself he wanted to be taken care of. He needed it. His mates would not allow him to feel guilty for it. But they seem to have forgotten he's just as capable as them.

At first, it's frustrating. He's not helpless. But he thinks, maybe they don't have the same confidence in him because something has changed. Din begins to doubt himself. As it keeps happening, it starts to hurt.

And then, one day, his mates depart for another mission, tight-lipped. But this time when they come back, they don't even come looking for him. They don't acknowledge him in court. They make room for an entire host of strangers in the palace-- the home-- they built for themselves, a stranger sits at Boba's side, and Din realises the cold fear he has been clutching to his chest, curled around it in the dark of night when his mates rested, finally has a name.

Din wasn't what Grogu needed and he had to let him go.

Din isn't what his tribe needs and they've found a replacement. The visiting Lord is younger, taller, and his eyes shine with such interest when he smiles at Boba beside him that Din wants to bloody his teeth.

The reward for his courage in insisting on his mutual claim is a savage public rejection. He doesn't warrant a word. After all their time together, after everything Din gave them, not even a kind touch of dismissal. Did all Din gave them mean so little?

So, he spites them. And he pays for it.

you're only angry because he touched your property

What hurts more than Boba's vengeful reprimand is how his other mates don't stop their king, how Boba hesitates before remembering-- yes, Din did come to him for refuge once upon a time and he stayed because he was cared for, not because he was seeking to be owned.

On that table among the remnants of a feast, Din crumbles.

He shrinks from the many hands that try to draw him in as he puts the table between them, deaf to the voices that coax him as he backs toward the private exit, blood pounding in his ears. He feels his way, mind reeling, his vision a hot blur of tears. The chain clinks, dragging at his feet, and it feels heavier than ever before, his cheeks blazing with shame for such a public symbol of submission-- of devotion-- to someone who didn't--someone who doesn't-- and they don't need Din the way he needs--

By the Manda, what has he become.

"Din... wait, I'm--"

"Boba, let him go," Fennec's cool command interjects.

It's only Paz's solid arm that stops the local king in his tracks, beskar clanging when it swings out. The door across the hall hisses shut behind Din. Boba looks up at the heavy Mandalorian and the sheer presence of the threat he projects is unmistakable despite layers of scent-cloaking armour and technology.

Paz grips Boba by the throat of his flight suit. "You're a dead man."

[korgidorgi]

OUAT Regina Mills x Reader

Word count: 1637

Warnings: Like, one curse word

Summary: Takes place around S3 Ep13. Reader just arrived back in Storybrooke the previous day. They are chilling in Granny’s Diner, looking through some writings when Regina joins them. They have a chat about something strange that reader (you) had experienced in the past year. It had happened before, but when they were a kid, and it felt so real.

Gender is not specified.

Sitting in Granny’s Diner, you take a sip of your drink while flipping through the pages of two notebooks. One notebook has pages upon pages of storyline and sketches of characters. The other notebook contains notes about the first one, and this little town called Storybrooke, mostly about the people you’ve met in your short amount of time of being in this town since you arrived yesterday. Apparently, Emma, your childhood friend, is in the town too, and her son, Henry, who you haven’t seen in a year.

Emma had invited you for dinner with her, Henry, and a few friends last night, which you politely declined, but ended up going anyway. That’s where you met Mary Margaret and David. You’ve previously met Regina staring at your vehicle when you stopped in one of the stores yesterday when you first arrived; she was at the dinner too. Everyone was very nice, but something was bothering you, you didn’t know what it was at the time, but you’ve figured it out now, you think.

There’s something awfully familiar about the town and it’s people. Flipping through your journals, you finally connect the dots. Sitting in the booth behind you-

“Hey, do you mind if I sit with you?” A tentative voice brings you back to earth.

You look up, finding the dark haired woman from last night, and the same one you asked Mary Margaret about earlier this morning when you went to pick something up from her apartment that you’d left the previous night.

“No, not at all. Here-” you scramble your notes together to clear the table at least a bit from your spiraling ideas.

Regina takes a seat across from you as you try to organize your belongings, a little embarrassed about the mess.

“Sorry it's such a mess.” You apologize, throwing the loose papers and notes into your bag.

“It’s quite alright.” She responds, flashing you a small smile. “What are you writing?”

“Oh, I uh, I’ve been writing a story. Inspired from my dreams.” You nervously answer, not knowing where to look. “It sounds weird, right?”

“No, not at all.” She reassures, hesitantly placing a hand on top of yours briefly. “May I ask what your dreams are inspiring?”

“I’ve actually been writing in these journals for years, since I was a kid. I’ve always had really vivid dreams, and it was like they’d go in order, like episodes for a tv show.” You begin. “I got so into them, I started writing them down, and sometimes I’d draw some of the people as best I could from memory, but I was a kid, so they didn’t turn out very great. I’m currently looking back into it because I’ve had them again this past year, but they’ve suddenly stopped now. At least my sketches are better.” You chuckle.

“Well, they say follow your dreams.” She smiles over at you, pulling some hair from in front of her eyes. “What were they about?”

“I’m a pirate, I think, and during this past year I met a supposed “Evil Queen”, who I had met in my childhood dreams before.” You begin. “The first major scene I had was following her into a castle and trying to talk some sense into her before she tried to put a sleeping curse on herself. She told me she really missed her son, that there’s no reason for her to continue with her life. I felt bad for her and she poofed me away with some magic and I couldn’t find her again.” You tell her one of the major scenes in your dream, flipping through the pages of the first notebook you used at the re-beginning of the dreams and stopping on a certain page.

Flipping the notebook around for her to see, you let her take in the pencil sketch in front of her. The graphite etched into the paper depicts a mourning Queen sitting in a stone bench of a large room, her hair tied up and her body adorned by an intricately patterned dress, a dark cloak draped over her shoulders. In her hand, she holds a long needle, the tip coated with some dark substance; a potion or curse of some sort. Her features are soft but full of anguish, her eyes holding the most dejected look one could ever see as she looks down at the needle in her fingers.

You watch Regina take in the drawing for a moment before she finally speaks. “That’s very well drawn. And that’s from memory.” She comments, raising her eyebrows as if she’s impressed.

“Thank you, Regina.” You bashfully accept her compliment. “That’s how vivid these dreams are.” You add. “They feel like I’m actually experiencing them. Like I’m traveling to another world and living it.”

She nods at your statement, eyes fixed on the sketch again.

You speak up again, “Can I tell you something? It’s going to sound crazy, but I need to get this out of my head.”

“Of course.” She returns her gaze to you, awaiting what you have to say.

You think for a moment what you want to say first before finally saying one of your thoughts that’s been bugging you ever since you first saw her. “Have we met before?” You blurt out the question, not able to keep your words in check. “I just can’t shake the feeling that I’ve seen you somewhere, that I’ve known you from somewhere.”

“I don’t think we have.” Regina answers. “I think I’d remember someone as-” She cuts herself off, pausing for a moment to look for the right words. “Someone as adventurous as you.”

“Oh. Okay.” You look down, “Sorry, that was a weird question.”

“No, not at all, Dear.” Regina reassures you.

You flash her a small smile, catching something out of the corner of your eye. A man passes your booth, not noticing your glance at him and leading Henry out of the Diner, to watch over him, you suspect. Regina notices your look, but before she can say anything, you’re flipping through the pages of your journal, muttering to yourself about “where is it”. Regina watches you as you finally stop on a certain page, completely confused and utterly shocked.

“I’ve seen him before…” You gape at your journal.

A sketch of a pirate’s portrait takes up the upper half of the page, as if drawn for a character profile in a novel with a description underneath the sketch. The man has short but well kept hair, one of his eyebrows raised slightly as if to taunt whomever it is he was interacting with at the time of the sketch. His stubble beard brings out some of his more attractive features and he sports a small black earring, almost covered by his black coat’s collar.

“Somehow, my subconscious knew him, and here he is.” You marvel.

“It might just be a coincidence.” Regina suggests. “Your brain doesn't forget faces, maybe you’ve seen someone like him somewhere and your mind just put him in there.”

“Maybe. But how weird is this?”

“I’ll admit, it is pretty weird.” Regina says. “Hey, I’m gonna go grab a drink from the counter, I’ll be right back.” Regina gets up to make her way to the counter of the Diner.

You flip through your journals, looking at all the characters you had sketched from your dream. You notice Regina saying hi to Emma and continue trying to think through what you had just confessed to Regina. Is it weird you told her something so bizarre even though you’ve only just met her yesterday?

Suddenly, the door bursts open and Mary Margaret’s friend, who was going to help her with the baby, walks into the diner. The aura around the woman wasn’t like anything you’d felt. She looks to be intimidating everyone in the diner, yet Regina doesn’t seem to flinch at the sudden entrance like everyone else. The woman waltzes right up to Regina, vengeful determination written all over her features. You watch as she gets up in Regina's face, trying so hard to intimidate her, but failing. You stand to go join Regina at the counter and try to see if you can get another drink.

“Oh, she never told you?” You hear the strange woman say, as she goes on about her being Regina’s sister.

“Of course she didn’t tell me, otherwise I’d know I have a sister.” Regina snaps back, holding her ground.

You interject before the energy in the room gets even more uncomfortable. “Ok, you’re making kind of a scene and people are staring. So, whatever sibling rivalries you have, can you put them on hold and sort them out somewhere else so you don’t cause a scene?”

“Who do you think you are?” The woman sneers. “Do you even know who you’re talking to?”

“Don’t know, don’t care.” You simply state, before trying to shoo the Karen out. “But if you’re going to bring drama in here and bother everyone in the Diner, Karen, you can leave, please and thank you.”

You guide her out the door and watch her huff as she turns to walk away. “Regina, meet me tonight, we’ll settle our differences then. You all haven’t heard of the last of me!”

You turn back to Regina to find the whole diner looking at you. “What? Did I do something wrong?”

Regina approaches you, placing her hands on your upper arms in an attempt to comfort you. “No, you’ve done nothing wrong.” She reassures, looking out the door to watch the woman disappear from view. “Thank you for kicking her out.”

“You’re welcome.” You respond, still slightly nervous. “She was being a bitch to you.” You mutter.

Your response causes Regina to release a small chuckle. “I have a protector now?”

“I guess…” You mumble.

[witchofrvnswood]

agatha’s character development and her role in the story

i personally feel like, for a main character, agatha isn’t actually an essential part of the storyline?

hear me out: in books 1-3, the story revolved around sophie’s decisions: is she evil or not, who will she hurt, who’s her true love, how her choices affect everyone else, and the story is only resolved when sophie chooses to betray rafal. it’s hard to believe the fairytale is called the tale of sophie and agatha when it’s really sophie who the story is centered around and sophie who keeps the story going and finally, sophie who decides when the story ends.

same for books 4-6, except this time it’s tedros who the story is about. now, soman did not do a very good job giving tedros the narrative and attention he needed as this part of the series was about him, but again - the whole story revolves around tedros, his inner conflict, his choices, whether he does or does not become king and the rest of the characters are just in for the ride.

i have many qualms with centering stories around only one character especially with such a diverse cast, but my main question is: what about agatha?

character development

for the entirety of the story, agatha’s only role has been in supporting sophie and tedros. she’s there to help them along the way in their personal journeys, to solve problems for them with her intellect, to be a source of comfort or an enemy. she’s basically living her life for them. and i understand, this is the way her mind works, she’s extremely selfless and would only ever live for someone else. there’s one part in book three, the last ever after, where she says she can’t live for herself or fix her own problems and insecurities, and she only feels like herself if she’s living for someone else.

this is a very interesting and very concerning attribute of hers that i wish had been explored more deeply. her mirror scene was a perfect opening to character development, to learn how to take care of and value herself, but the best we got was her learning she didn’t need to use sophie as an emotional crutch because... well.... there’s tedros, her new emotional crutch, except he’s not toxic or selfish unlike how it was with sophie. leaving a toxic relationship for a healthier one is never a bad thing, in fact, it’s the first step towards loving yourself. of course, there are hurdles at first, and we agatha falling into the same toxic patterns she was in before: focusing her entire energy and purpose for life on him even when he doesn’t need it or asks her not to. of course, this is a very realistic portrayal of her actions.

but why did it remain this why? why did we never get to see agatha learn to lose these toxic habits and love herself? i’m sure she does at one point but her first realization of this is near the end of one true king. the entire storyline didn’t give her any space to learn and grow and we the readers ultimately don’t get to see this and instead only see sophie and tedros grow as characters, but not agatha? agatha who seems to have the majority of the narrative? agatha who is literally the main character?

role in the story

another point i want to bring up is, besides her internal growth, why did the story not revolve around her at least once? the entirety of the books is based on how sophie and tedros’ character arcs create the story.

but what about agatha? what are her goals outside of being a friend to sophie and a partner to tedros? what does she want out of life?

is she not bitter from being treated as less than a human in her town? does she not have trust issues? isn’t she vengeful towards the elders for killing her mother and maybe despises authority and dictatorship for it?

what was the actual point of her going to the school? all she did there was help sophie get a boy, have said boy to herself, have to choose between sophie and tedros, and for what? what does this do for her character?

i wish we could have seen her explore magic even more even after she stopped helping sophie with her homework. i wish she had taken an interest in magic and used that as her strength and learned many powerful spells and be known for that. i wish we could have seen her earn her right to be queen and the respect of many instead of just attaining the role because of marrying into the family.

i wish that instead of the darn tournament of kings trial we could’ve seen her going to summits and making connections with other kingdoms, get that court intrigue we were promised, and see agatha grow and become stronger as she proves herself as queen

i wish we could actually get to know her instead of who she is to others.

heck, i was even happy learning she likes salted peanut crunch in one true king, as small as that is, at least that’s something about her that doesn’t revolve around sophie and tedros. i feel like soman just doesn’t know how to write her (which he did admit) and after book 1, she just kind of fell flat. 

personality (additional category because the salt never ends)

her rude and antisocial behavior was made to be a complete mask formed by her insecurities only to reveal a princess-like character inside. i wish she still kept her attributes in book 1 and struggled with opening up to other people and bonding with them after being secluded her entire life, but slowly making progress. i’ll be honest, some of the sappy stuff she says to people just doesn’t sound like her. i really don’t think she would be good with words as she is with actions, and would maybe even struggle to say i love you. her character just completely changed to fit the plot and she just became BLAND

overall, i wish the story gave her equal attention as sophie and tedros and had her make her own decisions that had nothing to do with helping sophie and tedros in their own character arcs and affect the story. i wish that while sophie was fighting for love, agatha too was fighting for something she wanted instead of cleaning up sophie’s messes and trying to keep her as a good person. i wish agatha was her own person and had her own goals and own story and own life apart from the other characters.

[downwiththeficness]

In the Bond-Chapter 19

Summary: Lilah often wished she’d never said yes to working with the Gecko brothers—usually while dodging gunfire. At no time was she regretting that decision more than when she’s hanging upside down from the ceiling, staring down a group of hungry culebras and one (1) extremely powerful sun god.

Word Count: ~6,300

Warnings: Smut

A/N: This is an AU of my Story In the Blood, which can be read here. Basically, this fic explores what would have happened if Lilah had met up with Geckos before she met Brasa.

Taglist: @symbiont13

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She’d made the call not really knowing how it was going to go. Lilah had an address, a plane, a packed weekender bag, and not much else. Sitting at the airport bar was the extent of her plan. She tipped back the last of her beer, eyeing the mirror that reflected the entrance.

Kate was early. Lilah checked the digital clock next to the wall of liquor. She’d asked her to be there at one. It was barely twelve thirty. There was something to be said for punctuality, a quality she had found strangely lacking in most criminals—go figure. Lilah signaled for another round, two fingers in the air, her free hand gesturing at the approaching woman.

Dressed in a long sleeved shirt and jeans, her hair tumbling in soft waves around her face, Kate looked barely old enough to even be in the bar. Lilah supposed that was true, though she’d never bothered to ask Kate’s age. She fixed the bartender with a soft, sweet smile and didn’t even get carded.

Sliding onto the stool next to her, Kate rested both arms on the bar top, “He doesn’t know I’m here, by the way.”

There was no need to expound on who Kate meant. Lilah doubted that Seth could have stopped Kate, even if he wanted to. And yet, a small part of her appreciated the discretion. An angry, possibly vengeful, Seth was one variable she didn’t have the energy to contend with on this particular trip. And still, it chafed that he hadn’t reached out. Lilah hadn’t received a single text message or call. It hurt her more than she cared to admit.

Not bothering to spare Kate a glance, Lilah shrugged, “Wouldn’t matter if he did.”

“It might.”

“Doubtful.”

Lilah knew she sounded petulant, but she couldn’t quite make herself care. She sipped at the too expensive beer and leaned lazily back in her seat. Kate fiddled with the bottle, thumb rubbing at the label.

“So, Iceland?”

Smiling, Lilah nodded, “Reykjavik, actually. There’s a huge church there, and the knife is in, like, a reliquary.”

She’d had to look up the definition of reliquary when Brasa told her about it, tablet in hand, finger swiping from one picture to the next. When Lilah had commented that they were lucky it was in a church and not in another private collection, he’d sighed and said he’d rather deal with the private collector. The capital “C”, Church, could be a harrowing enemy.

Lilah disagreed. A church of this size and age was unlikely to have up to date security systems. And, to be fair, a lot of churches were underfunded, which left little to know staff to wander the halls in search of delinquent women looking to pocket ancient relics.

“Uh huh,” Kate drawled, taking a swig, “How do you expect us to get in?”

Lilah shrugged, “I hadn’t gotten quite that far.”

“Uh huh,” then, “How far have you gotten?”

Hands giving a sweep around her, Lilah pronounced, “This is about it.”

“Uh huh.”

With an expression that was nearly a glare, Lilah groaned, “Stop saying that.”

Kate shrugged, “Its just that you usually have a plan. Way before we get to the airport.”

She was right, Lilah usually had a solid plan before they even left for the job, before they even bought the plane tickets or booked the motel. She didn’t like being rushed, but the reality was that they needed to get the job done and get back as fast as humanly possible. For this job, Lilah was willing to wing it just a little.

“I know,” Lilah sighed, taking a deep pull, “This was sort of last minute. There was...an attack.”

She didn’t think it would be wise to hide what had happened from Kate. Context and background information usually sat well with her. Like Lilah, Kate liked to know what, exactly, she was dealing with. And, there was part of her that just needed to tell someone.

Beside her, Kate stiffened, “What kind of attack?”

“Benny tried to open the portal,” Lilah explained, waving away the bartender’s offer of another round.  While they waited for the check, she continued, “A lot of the people he was with died. Some of them were injured—horrifically. The knife is all we need to close the portal for good.”

That, and a shit ton of Brasa’s blood. He’d told her over and over again that he’d put in safety measures, that there was nothing to worry about. Lilah was dubious, at best.

Nodding, Kate slipped off the stool and looked at Lilah expectantly, “When’s the flight?”

Lilah glanced again at the clock, “About an hour from now.”

Kate frowned, “We’re not going to get through security in that time. Why didn’t you tell me to be here sooner?”

Smiling coyly, Lilah lifted a shoulder, “Probably because we’re flying private. We’ve got plenty of time.”

Head cocking to the side, Kate regarded her closely, her mouth parted in something near enough to a smile, “I guess you’d better show me your plane.”

Leaning down, Lilah grabbed her weekender and slung it over her shoulder, “Boarding is that way.”

The plane was exactly as she remembered it, right down to the stewardess offering them a glass of champagne for the flight. Lilah settled into the plush seat and sent off a text to Brasa to let him know they were on the tarmac.

When she looked up from her phone, she noticed Kate tossing hers back into her bag, likely doing the same thing.

“So, you do any research on this church?”

Lilah’s head ticked to the side, “A little. Its huge. Big ol’ pipe organ that’s pretty famous.”

Kate sipped her champagne, “You read that off Wikipedia?”

That was exactly what she’d done, right after Brasa spelled out the name for her.

Laughing, Lilah confirmed, “Pretty much.”

“You got a way in?”

“There’s services a couple days a week,” Lilah said, resting her head in her palm, “I figure, we go in with the church crowd, sneak away, hit up the reliquary, walk out with the church crowd.”

Kate blinked, “You said its a big church. Do you know your way around?”

“Javier got me some maps,” then, “I told Brasa we’d have a seventy two hour turnaround.”

Brows coming together, Kate shook her head, “It might not be that simple.”

“You and the boys do it all the time.”

Lilah and the boys had done it many times over.

“Yeah,” Kate shot back, “In banks, in museums, jacking cars. We’re stealing from a church.”

Lilah rolled her eyes, “What’s the difference?”

Her expression closed tightly, and Kate took a beat too long to respond, “Its the church. Its...God.”

Ah. Touchy subject.

Taking a deep breath, Lilah chose her words carefully, “Technically, they stole it first. The knife is Xibalban, it belongs to Brasa’s people. We’re not stealing it. We’re just..playing a bit of Robin Hood.”

Kate glared at her, “You can’t be Robin Hood when you’re sitting on a private jet, Lilah.”

That was fair.

“Point. Then, we’re reverse Indiana Jones-ing it.”

Laughing, Kate shook her head again, “I don’t think that fits, either.”

“Well, we can’t all be Richie with the pop culture references, can we?” Lilah retorted, half amused, half annoyed.

“No,” Kate murmured, “He really does have a connection for everything.”

“Oh, my god, he does,” Lilah agreed, one hand covering her eyes, “The first day I met him, he called me Scully. And then he proceeded to show me that there are, in fact, things that go bump in the night.”

He’d actually flashed his fangs at her, his eyes glowing behind his glasses. Lilah had scrambled back from him, too scared to even scream. It had been Seth that had calmed her down, had told her what they were doing, what their mission was. It had been Seth that set her on the path she was on now.

“That sounds like Richie,” Kate said with a small smile, “He likes to go ahead and rip the band aid off.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

It had taken about two days before Lilah could bring herself to sit within ten feet of Richie, and even longer before they had a conversation over three sentences long. Once she’d gotten over the initial shock, Lilah had grown to really like Richie. Despite the constant one upping and the long tangential digressions on canon, he could be sweet. He could also rip a person in half. Pros and cons being what they were, Lilah had eventually put him on the (extremely) short list of her friends.

They stopped for fuel in New York, and then they were taking the last leg of the trip. Landing went smoothly, and a car was waiting to take them to the hotel Brasa had booked. It hadn’t occurred to Lilah to ask him to book something low key and under the radar. When they pulled up to a swanky awning with gilt embellishments, she cringed internally.

Lilah appreciated a good hotel like most any other person. When she was on a job, though, it was always better to stay at a highway motel. Less surveillance, and if the police showed up, there were usually more concerned about the drugs in the room three doors down than a single woman drawing as little attention as possible. This was...ostentacious.

“I bet the beds in there are phenomenal,” Kate said as she walked ahead.

As she took in the extravagant lobby, Lilah couldn’t help but agree, but they would pale in comparison to the bed she shared with Brasa. Nothing could or would match those mattresses—which she still hadn’t asked Javier about. She resisted the urge to check her phone for the thousandth time, looking for a message from Brasa. He’d been busy dealing with the wounded, dealing with increasing calls for violence, dealing with all the things that came with governing a growing mass of people. She didn’t want to add to that.

As Kate predicted, the beds were pretty fucking good. Soft as clouds. Silky sheets. Very nice, but empty. Lilah would have slept on a futon to have Brasa here with her. She missed his presence, missed his touch. Since she’d left Jackknife Jed’s, Lilah hadn’t spent more than a few hours without him.

Spoiled. Lilah was fucking spoiled, now.

Shaking herself from her thoughts, Lilah focused on unpacking her pajamas for the night. First thing in the morning, they would scout the church, find their entrance and their exit. Maybe come up with a few back up plans. She was pretty sure that the base plan she’d spouted off on the plane was their best option. But, she liked to have some alternatives.

As she crawled into bed, Lilah reached out and touched the bond. He was tired, she could tell. Gently, she suggested that he sleep. Lilah was met with a wall of stubborn willpower that had her physically rolling her eyes. Turning to her side, she reached up and turned off the bedside light. If he wasn’t going to get some rest, she definitely would.

Lilah slept hard. It was the kind of sleep that could make someone wake up and not know what year it was, the kind of sleep that stole the freshness of the morning. On her back, hands near her face, she blinked up at the ceiling as she tried to get her bearings in the unfamiliar room.

The shower was on, water sloshing.

Kate.

Her bed was warm—hot, even. There was a weight on her legs and hips, hidden by the comforter. She shifted, surprised when the weight moved with her. It continued to move even when she’d settled, enveloping her from belly to knees.

Hands. There were hands trailing up her sides, sliding underneath her pajama top. She sucked in a breath, releasing it forcefully when they cupped her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples. The comforter shifted, rolling in a singular wave upwards until the fabric parted to reveal dark hair and brown skin.

Brasa.

He smiled at her as he climbed her body, his eyes reflecting darkly in the low ambient light of the room. She smiled back, hands resting on his shoulders as he settled over her.

“Hi,” she said lowly.

He echoed her, leaning down to kiss her sternum. His mouth was warm, his hands massaging along her waist and down over her hips. He nuzzled her skin, rubbing his cheek against her neck and collarbone.

Lilah relaxed into the pillows, let him do as he liked. Her fuzzy mind reveled in the feel of him, his tongue tracing patterns ahead of his fingers. He pushed her shirt up and over her breasts, palms cupping them together. When he drew a nipple into his mouth, her body arched up, knees clutching at his sides.

Her thighs rubbed sensuously against bare skin. She bit her lip as she realized that he was very clearly naked, and very clearly aroused.

The shower cut off, drawing her attention. She tensed beneath him, turning her head to look towards the closed bathroom door.

Undeterred, Brasa pulled at her top, trying to get her arms through it. Lilah pushed at his shoulders, jerking her head towards the bathroom.

“Kate is literally going to walk out any second.”

His jaw clenched unhappily, but he let go of her top. Lilah pulled it down over her chest with one hand, the other reaching up to touch his cheek.

“I’ll be home soon.”

Lips pouting, he nodded. In between one blink and the next he was gone, though Lilah was left with the distinct feeling of his mouth pressed firmly to hers.

She was right, though. The door to the bathroom opened and Kate wandered through it, towel drying her hair. Lilah sat up and flicked on the bedside light, rubbing at her eyes.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Lilah waved her off, “I needed to get up, anyways. You take all the hot water?”

Kate smirked, “For the price of these rooms, it should take at least three days to run out of hot water.”

“You can thank your resident sun god for that,” Lilah drawled as she rose from the bed, picking up her clothes for the day from where she’d set them the night before.

“You think he takes tithes?”

There was a strange kind of sarcasm in those words. No bite. Just barely touched with the dark amusement that came with doing the things that they’d had to do in the last year and a half. It peeked out periodically from behind all their lips, cut through tension, acknowledging the oddity that was their lives.

Lilah shrugged, “I can ask him next time we’re in the temple.”

Kate paused from where she was combing through her dark locks, “He has a temple?”

“Yeah,” Lilah answered from the bathroom door, “I mean that literally.”

“Weird.”

“You have no idea.”

After showering and getting ready for the day, they headed out into the city. Lilah managed to Google Translate her way through ordering the pair of them a coffee that they drank while they walked. The church was pretty big. Scoping out the entrances and exits took most of the morning. By the time the noon services started up, Lilah’s legs were demanding a break.

The pews were filled with churchgoers as they took a spot near the back of the sanctuary. Lilah spent about ten minutes distracted by the artwork and the architecture before she realized that Kate was softly crying.

“What’s wrong?”

Sniffing, Kate shook her head, “I haven’t, you know, been in a church in a long time.”

“Oh.”

Lilah was not good with soothing crying people. She looked awkwardly around, grateful that most people were focused on the sermon ahead of them and not the weird American girls behind.

“You know my dad was a preacher, right?”

“I,” Lilah whispered, “Did not know that.”

To be fair, not a one of their crew delved too deeply into each other’s backgrounds. That was the trade off: they worked together as a team to hunt down rogue culebras, might even share a few stories of their more notorious exploits—no digging into old wounds.

“He was.”

“Oh.”

“After my mom died, he kind of...lost God. He drank a lot, and I had to take care of my brother and me.”

“That must have been hard.”

“Yeah,” Kate said, her voice cracking, “And then all of this shit with Richie and Seth started happening. And then Amaru. I thought I’d never feel right in church again.”

“Oh.”

Kate cut her a look, “Stop saying that.”

“Sorry,” Lilah said on reflex. “I don’t know what else to say.”

Shaking her head, Kate lifted a shoulder weakly, “Nothing to say, really.” Then, “I miss it. Miss the ritual of it—praise and worship, sermon, invitation, closing. You know exactly what to expect.”

Ah. Lilah lifted her toes in her winter boots, knowing what Kate meant, and not knowing how best to respond. She sat next to the woman throughout the sermon, not a word of it in English. Then, when the nonverbal cue for prayer sank into the crowd, she tapped Kate’s arm and jerked her head to the side.

“Now?” Kate asked.

Lilah smirked, “Why not?”

While the congregation’s heads were bowed, giving them an opening. while all eyes were closed and no one was looking about, Lilah and Kate disappeared into a back hallway and towards a series of meeting rooms. Lots of unlocked doors. They moved through the halls, ducking into a bathroom when steps sounded a little too close.

Eventually, they found the pastor’s chambers. Lilah was pretty fucking shocked when Kate pulled out Seth’s lock pick set and went to work. Impressed, she leaned against the wall opposite the door, keeping watch while the other woman worked.

It took several tries and one foul oath, but Kate got the door open. They slipped inside, and Lilah tapped her phone to pull up the picture Brasa had sent her. She showed it to Kate, her eyes scanning the shelves.

And there it was. Sitting unceremoniously on a low shelf, holding up a set of biblical commentaries. Lilah paused, thinking that this was deceptively easy. Gilt in gold, the reliquary was formed in Gothic angles and sharp spires. Serving as a stand for the knife, one could be forgiven for almost missing its significance.

With care, Lilah checked it for a pressure switch, then pulled the knife from the stand. As she stood, she held it out for Kate’s inspection.

She looked at it, looked at Lilah, and shrugged, “I guess that’s it.”

“I guess,” Lilah muttered, slipping it into her bag.

They tip toed back into the sanctuary, right as the invitation started. People were walking forward, taking the hands of church elders, making commitments to God. Lilah sat in the pew with her pilfered relic, feeling as if the room had tilted ever so slightly to the left. As soon as was socially acceptable, she rose and headed out towards the street.

On the walk back to the hotel, the sun beginning its descent towards the horizon, Lilah shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat, “You know, when I think of all the jobs we’ve pulled, this one was surprisingly anticlimactic.”

Kate nodded, pushing her hair out of her face, “After the year I’ve had, I could use a little anti-climactic.”

Lilah had to agree. After one too many high intensity situations, the ease of this theft was so very welcome. And strange.

When they reached the hotel, they took advantage of the little restaurant at the back of the building. Lilah ordered a nice wine and a pasta with a heavy cream sauce. Though it smelled amazing, she found that she could only pick at it, full after just a few bites. She wasn’t surprised. The adrenaline of having taken something that didn’t belong to her often suppressed her appetite.

Despite only eating a small portion from her plate, Lilah tipped the wait staff well. The meal was delicious, even if she wasn’t in the mood to eat. No need to take it out on anyone else.

When they returned to their room, Kate flung herself haphazardly on the bed, her boots hanging off the end. She flicked on the TV, saying, “You want to tell me about this knife ritual thing?”

Lilah opened her mouth to speak, and found that she didn’t have words. Brasa had been remarkably reticent to give her details about what they needed to do to close the portal.

“I honestly don’t know,” she answered, finally, “We use the staff, the cup, the knife, and some of Brasa’s blood—that’s as far as I’ve gotten.”

Lifting a brow, Kate regarded her steadily, “No magic incantation?”

Huffing, Lilah rolled her eyes, “I mean, probably. There’s always some sort of magic rhyme to shout into the abyss, right?”

“For sure.”

With Kate momentarily distracted by the television, Lilah pulled her phone out and tapped out a text.

L: Got it.

She set the phone down, intending to get comfortable on the bed. No sooner had she sat down to remove her boots did it vibrate twice, indicating a text. Lilah picked it up, tapping on the screen.

B: Excellent. ETA?

Smirking, Lilah pulled up the keyboard.

L: Tomorrow, late. Midnight, maybe?

His response was almost immediate.

B: You plan to leave in the afternoon?

L: Depends on when Kate wakes up.

There was no immediate answer, and Lilah set the phone aside. She tugged off her boots and socks, leaning back into the pillows.

“Have you noticed,” Kate started, her voice cutting through the noise of the television, “Changes?”

Lilah cast her a look of confusion, her brows coming together.

“Since you and Brasa got together. Like, physically?”

Thinking about it, Lilah pursed her lips, “I don’t think so?”

The sentence came out more like a question because she honestly didn’t really know. With everything that had been going on outside of her, it hadn’t occurred to Lilah to look inwardly.

“I mean,” Kate continued, one hand rotating, her palm pointed towards the ceiling, “Obviously, you know about the immortality.”

Lilah nodded, though the concept had been purposely set aside so that she could deal with the more pressing matters of the bond and her growing relationship. She figured that she had plenty of time to deal with it later.

With a ‘tsk’, Kate reached over and grabbed the remote. She shut off the TV and threw the control down. Then, she scooted over to the edge of the bed and pulled her legs up and underneath her.

“I knew it would be different...after. I knew things would change—more than they already had.”

Lilah nodded. Different was all that Lilah had known for so long that it had made the complete circle all the way around to perfectly normal. Looking into Kate’s face, though, Lilah could tell that their unique circumstances, the odd path of their lives, wasn’t all that the other woman meant.

Kate tucked her hair behind her ear, “I haven’t slept in two weeks.”

Spluttering, Lilah’s brows rose in surprise, one hand covering her mouth.

“I mean,” Kate continued, leaning forward in concern, “not really. Not like I used to.”

Hands up in question, Lilah asked, “What the fuck does that mean?”

Kate sat back, her shoulders dropping, “I,” she stopped and shook her head, “I sleep maybe a few hours a night, wake up, stay awake for a few hours, and then sleep another hour. That’s it.”

Looking around the room, Lilah found herself once again trying to find words of comfort. She was not good at this.

“That must suck.”

Kate, thankfully, laughed, “It does. I tried everything. Sleeping pills, weed, hot baths, I ordered a special tea from the internet. Do not recommend, by the way.”

Mouth in half a smile, Lilah rolled her neck, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“And that’s not all of it,” Kate went on, “I don’t get hungry, not really. I eat. I can eat. But, if I don’t think about it, I won’t.” She fixed Lilah with a hopeful look, “Is it like that with you?”

It took Lilah a moment to think of her answer, “No.”

All the air went out of Kate. She picked at the bedspread, “Oh.”

“Its still new,” Lilah said quickly, unable to take Kate’s down expression. “I’m just now learning how to use the bond.” Her eyes turned to the ceiling, “For the first, like, six months I didn’t even acknowledge that it existed, let alone participate.”

Kate huffed, “Oh, Richie wasn’t about to let that happen. He said he’d spent enough time knowing and not acting.”

Lilah frowned, “What does that mean?”

Expression indulgent, Kate said, “They know it immediately. They know it.”

Brasa had known, had said as much in the first minute of conversation. Lilah had been too intent on getting away to ask questions. Now, she wished she had. The book on bonds had been helpful for troubleshooting and basic knowledge. The way in which bonds worked, how they changed the bonded, was vague, at best.

“Does…” Kate trailed off, her eyes looking away, pink tinting her cheeks, “Does he, you know, feed you?”

She blinked, “I mean, yeah. Usually after he takes it from me.”

Nodding, Kate’s gaze seemed to lose focus, “For the first two months, Richie would insist on it, every day.  He said that it would make me stronger.”

“Brasa said that same thing.”

Another nod, “I do feel stronger. There are mornings where I wake up and I feel like I could run a hundred miles.”

Lilah barked out a laugh, “Maybe I need to insist a bit. Get me some of that energy. With everything that has been going on, I’m constantly tired.”

The treaty, the bond, Seth, Benny, learning a her new role, the injured, all of it was building up into one  big ball of awful. Lilah had to constantly remind herself that, as stressed as she was, her bondmate was likely infinitely more frustrated and exhausted. The thought made her reach out for him. He felt stable, but his side of the bond was pulled somewhat shut. Open enough that she could tell he was physically well, but closed to any detail as to his feelings. Lilah pulled back as gently as she could, not wanting to disturb his privacy.

They watched a few more episodes of really bad reality television while Lilah double checked their flight itinerary. She’d gotten a confirmation email to her inbox for a car service after lunch. Everything just sort of fell right into place. They’d gotten what they’d come there for, their exit was prepped, all they had to do was pack up and get in the car.

Lilah stared at the ceiling, half listening to the reunion episode of the show. Over the din of yelling voices and accusations, she began to feel...a little bit useless. The planning, the coordinating, the logistics of every job she’d ever done had been something she’d taken care of personally. In this case, all she’d had to manage was getting a partner that, in the end of it all, the job hadn’t required. And then, everything had gone so god damned smooth that is made Lilah suspicious.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Kate pushing from the bed and tugging on her boots, “I’m going to go to the evening service. You want to come?”

Eyes narrow, Lilah asked, “To the church we just robbed?”

“Yeah.”

“No thanks.”

Kate shrugged and grabbed her coat, slipping the hotel key into her back pocket, “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Have fun,” Lilah deadpanned, shaking her head.

She watched as Kate gave her a little wave and headed out, the door closing softly behind her. The room settled into relative silence, only the drone of the TV to keep her company. Rubbing at her eyes, Lilah rolled from the bed and grabbed her pajamas.

The shower was perfunctory, going through the motions to get the grime of the day off her skin. She toweled off and pulled on her clothes. Dirty laundry in hand, Lilah stepped out of the steam filled bathroom. She tossed her used clothes into her bag and stood near her bed, staring at nothing.

Annoyed with the newest episode of the show, Lilah grabbed the remote from Kate’s bed and shut it off, leaving the room completely silent. She continued to stand there, looking at nothing. Lilah stood there long enough for the heat to kick on, startling her. She glared at it and rolled her eyes, catching her reflection in the mirror.

There were smudges from the last of the day’s makeup underneath her eyes, but the shadows weren’t there. She leaned in, noting that the usual breakout along her chin had cleared up, the skin smooth. The whites of her eyes were stark and clear against her irises. Maybe there had been changes. Maybe Lilah had been too distracted to notice.

Her hair was still a bit thin along her temples, the permanent line between her brows still there from near constant frowning at a computer screen. The scar from when she’d fallen and cracked her chin open in that bathtub at age five remained, a thin line just beneath her bottom lip.

Maybe not too many changes.

The air in the room rippled. Gasping, Lilah braced herself with her hands out. Stillness. Feeling the air stutter in and out of her lungs, she glanced around, looking for danger. When nothing but the sound of the heater kicking off met her expectant gaze, she dropped her hands.

Another ripple, this time with the accompanying scent of coffee and caramel.

“Brasa?” she called out to the empty room.

Ripple.

“I am here, querida.”

Lilah spun in place, an aborted shout stuck to the back of her throat. She clocked the broad shoulders, the warm brown eyes, and sighed.

“I think I’ve asked you not to scare me like that.”

Ticking his head to the side, he offered her an unrepentant smile, “But then I wouldn’t get to hear your heart beat so beautifully in excitement.”

“There are other ways to achieve that, you know,” she said ruefully, one hand coming to rest where her heart was, indeed, beating a pounding rhythm.

Brows quirking, Brasa gathered her to his body, arms folding around her waist, “You have a point.”

“Of course I do,” she retorted, rising on her toes to kiss him briefly, “What brings you here?”

He pressed his forehead into the skin of her neck, breathing deep, “I missed you.”

Arms draped over his shoulders, Lilah laughed softly, “Its only been a day. We’ve been apart for much longer.”

Letting out a long breath, Brasa said, “I disliked it then as much then as I do now.”

Lilah tightened her grip on him, swaying a bit, “I’ll be home tomorrow.”

“Too long,” he groused with a shake of his head.

She pulled back, cupping his jaw with both hands, “Its faster than I anticipated. I could be gone another whole day.”

The hands on the small of her back clenched, and Lilah heard the fabric of her t shirt tear. Gasping in shock, she twisted her body and found that he ripped the shirt up to about the middle of her back.

Saying his name in censure, Lilah stepped back, holding the shirt away from her body and assessing the damage in the mirror. There was no saving that shirt, not without a sewing machine that she not only didn’t have, but definitely didn’t know how to use.

Firm hands turned her so that he could look at it, and Lilah caught the banked pride in his expression as he tugged, “Oops.”

“Oops?” Her voice was high and incredulous, “That’s all you have to say? ‘Oops’?”

He shrugged, his palms following the line of her spine until the fabric bunched around his wrists, “Perhaps it is an improvement.” When she fixed him with a doubtful look, he went on, “Perhaps I can make it up to you.”

Her brows lifted in interest, but she said nothing. He took that as a ‘yes’, his hands slowly rounding her waist to rest below her breasts. Watching in the mirror as his hands encircled them, gently rolling her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.

Humming against her skin, Brasa played with her lazily, the distinct lack of urgency lulling her into a low simmering arousal. Lilah leaned into him, her hands resting on the dresser to keep her balance. In the mirror, her reflection undulated. The long line of her throat exposed as she tipped her head back against his shoulder.

“Beautiful,” he groaned, teeth catching her ear.

Lilah focused on his face in the mirror, watched as his eyes devoured her image. His hand rucked up her shirt, squeezing her breasts together, their touch no longer teasing.

Mouth laying sloppy kisses wherever he could reach, Brasa leaned his weight into her. He pinned her to the dresser, shifting her to the side when one of the pulls dug into her belly. Lilah arched back, catching his mouth, the angle too acute for her to get anything more than the barest of kisses.

She whined, tugging on his arms so that he would let her turn around. He held her still, and she could feel the shape his mouth against her skin, spreading into a wide smile.

“Did you need something?”

Lilah grit her teeth against the honey of his words, the way they melted over her, the cajoling tone peeking out from underneath. After so long where he’d given in to her easily, after he’d offered no quarter in the building of her pleasure, the teasing chafed.

She writhed, shimmying her hips against the erection behind her, trying to get him to break. He took it, took every bit of her want, absorbing it so that she only got the tiniest ricochet in return. It left her wanting with such force that she could keep the needy moans inside.

It might have been his name she was chanting, might also have any one of the nonsense syllables that he had been known to pull out of her. All Lilah knew was that her core was clenching down on nothing when it could be fluttering around his hands, or better yet his cock.

Brasa repeated his question, his voice dropping down into his chest so that it came out in a harsh rasp. Lilah nodded, biting her lip. Through the bond, she felt his pleasure, felt how satisfied he was to watch her fall apart in his hands.

Teasing fingertips traced the waistband of her shorts, dipping just below, “Is this it?”

Again, she nodded, her eyes squeezing shut as he pushed down past the elastic to rest all four fingers against her mound. She widened her stance and rocked forward into them, getting a little bit of needed friction.

“Fucking wet,” he groaned, one arm wrapping around her middle and pulling her up and into his body, “You’re ready for me?”

For the third time, she nodded, relieved when he pulled down her shorts just below the crease of her ass, his other hand pressing her forward so that she was leaned over the top of the dresser. She heard the sound of shifting fabric, and then he was pressed against her opening.

With the taut band of her shorts cutting into the meat of her thighs, Lilah could only drop her forehead to the dresser as he pushed steadily forward. He was careful with the initial thrust, hands massaging.

“Good?” she heard from over the pounding of her ears.

Rising, Lilah rotated her hips, seating him deeper and relishing his sharp inhale, “Very good.”

One hand grabbed her chin, turning her head so that he could kiss her, his tongue dipping inside. He kissed her like that as he pumped slowly inside, taking up once more his unhurried pace. Lilah swallowed around a dry throat, her hands closing into little fists.

“More,” she cried out, hoping to coax him into a faster, harder pace.

He chuckled. And though his pace remained the same, the intensity kicked up a notch. He buried his cock inside her all the way each time, the intermittent sound of skin slapping against skin overtaking the silence of the room. Slow. Deep. Unhurried. Brasa fucked her as if he had all the time in the world, as if he wasn’t at all concerned about coming.

It built inside her in intervals that were so small Lilah barely noticed them until it was too late, until her pussy was contracting around him in dizzy pleasure. Brasa snarled, his hips grinding against her ass, one hand holding her steady as he arched over her body.

Lilah relaxed her upper body against the dresser, blinking slowly as Brasa grabbed her hips and pulled them back hard. The air was punched from her as he did it again. And again. He got another five or six good thrusts in before he hissed and she felt him pulse.

When it was over, Brasa pulled out and adjusted her short before doing the same with his down pants. He wrapped his arms around her and walked her back to the bed. Lilah went, reaching back to ruffled his curls.

She hummed as he helped her to lay down, his big body molding to her side, “That was nice.”

He pet her hair, “I’ll do it again when you get back.”

“Promise?”

[bisexualallya]

Can i ask what you think the characters we meet post-season 3B zodiac signs are?

absolutely! I didn’t do them originally because there was no canon other than approximate ages to go off of, so this is all my own thoughts and feelings and we can go from there!

also sorry it took me so long to get back to you about this, but I wanted to think these through all the way instead of going with my initial feeling (which was only right half the time)

liam dunbar -  aries or gemini

okay, so liam is a textbook aries. literally, look up aries in the dictionary, and there is a picture of season four liam next to it. main negative character traits are impatient, moody, short-tempered, impulsive, and aggressive. 

however, in my heart, hes a june gemini. he is sweet and soft and so utterly romantic (as we see throughout his hayden and theo storylines) and honestly just needs a hug. he can be changeable but that makes him adaptable as well, and it also makes him a good leader (as we see both in his lacrosse storylines and in being scott’s second). so I say gemini and chalk up the anger to his general frustration and self-confidence issues instead of general aggressiveness.

mason hewitt - libra

mason is such an interesting character, because as much as he is supposed to serve as a parallel to stiles, he is much more in tune with scott in personality and mind (similarly to how scott/liam parallels derek/scott but liam parallels stiles in personality - just an interesting thought). mason is a ride-or-die with a lot of lofty, philosophic intelligence. he is sharp and fair-minded, while also just kinda happy to be there. but also, he gives a lot of grounding vibes for liam, so im placing him as a september libra.  

theo raeken - cancer

I didnt even need to think about this one, it just leaped at me. he is emotional and sneaky, but it comes from a place of just craving acceptance and love. yes, he can be manipulative, but he sticks to his loyalties (in theo’s case, he is loyal to himself until his redemption arc and decides to be loyal to scott and the pack). someone please just love this boy and tell him hes doing a good job so he can stop shoving people away and indulging in self-pity, which can often be a cancer’s downfall. I would say hes more emotional than others, so its definitely july cancer. 

hayden romero - scorpio

100% a november scorpio (I am giving her derek’s fake birthday of november 7). she openly admits to being vengeful, and her entire personality is just prickly. girl is stubborn as all hell, but passionate when she opens up, and can hold a grudge like no one’s business. she is independent and single-minded when she wants something, but is still in tune with the situation around her. 

corey bryant - virgo

corey is the ultimate softboi and I admire him so much. he is incredibly connected to his humanity despite his supernatural abilities, and excessively kind. what sets him apart from other earth signs and places him firmly in virgo is his shy and worrisome nature, while still being loyal and practical and willing to put in the work. september virgo because hes overly critical and can often get bogged down in the details. 

tracy stewart - pisces

first of all, justice for tracy. I originally placed her as an air sign, but the more I thought about it, the more I was drawn to pisces, specifically march pisces. she is exceedingly sensitive, often times coming across fearful and sad (understandable considering the everything about her character arc). but she is also gentle and passionate, which we see with her crush on and eventual “relationship” with theo. 

brett talbot - leo

this is without question. brett is a natural born leader, and comes off arrogant, self-confident, and dominant. however, as the show evolves, we see that he genuinely does care about liam, and how he takes initiative in season six, caring for his sister and other betas from satomi’s pack. he may not like dealing with things, but he has no trouble stepping up when he is needed, and solving difficult problems to calm other’s worries. I think hes an august leo because of how dominant a personality he is. 

braeden - taurus

braeden is stability, plain and simple. although she plays a variety of roles throughout the show, she remains a self-possessed, independent woman who is reliable and practical. her relationships with both malia and derek show that she is willing to help without being overly intrusive and taking control. while this may seem like a soft choice for her considering her career, I think that her inherent practicality allows her to compartmentalize. but I also just like her so. I would say may over april taurus because there is a more romantic side to her. 

meredith walker - gemini

this is one instance when two personalities really does lead you to gemini. meredith is incredibly worried, nervous, all of the ways she presents. what we see in season four, however, shows the downside of the gemini - able to talk themselves into anything under the guise of “the ends justify the means.” she can be cruel when she thinks its necessary in order to achieve her goals. all of this, of course, happens inside her head. I would say may gemini over june solely because my experience with may geminis suggests that there can be self-righteous like its a sport.

gwen - aquarius

this one might seem out of left field, especially because what we know of gwen is stubborn, determined, blind loyalty and confidence that she is correct, which would suggest another scorpio. however, I think the uncompromising and temperamental way in which she pursues her sister’s disappearance suggests aquarius, probably february aquarius. she can be seen as timid until it stands in her way, and then she will bowl you over. she wants to logic her way out of her situation, and, despite a call to action, uses her brain to make sense of the world changing around her.

nolan holloway - pisces

oh, the NERVES on this boy. another that I originally placed as air until I thought about it more. nolan changes sides because he sees the cruelty that is occurring around him, and that really disturbs him. for the rest of the series, he is gentle, sad, often quite fearful. he places himself in a position to be a martyr for the good, helping the pack take down the hunter infestation. and oh boy, the crying that occurs. he is what Isaac would be if Isaac’s main personality trait was not being a smart ass. another february pisces. 

could also be a gemini, but I think he is lacking that layer of changeability that gemini’s require. he is not as defensive of his emotions that way that geminis can be. 

[spitalofatalo]

May I ask, if Afterimage ever became canon, and got his own episode, how would that go?

this is such a cool question, thank you!! i'm SO glad there's interest in him

i don't have a full script, but i have several key points in mind for how an episode with him would go! it got very long, so i'm putting it under a read more

i'm imagining it as another halloween special, only more lighthearted in nature because of who the villain is. highlights include a scooby doo-esque chase through krei tech. please enjoy

i imagine his intro ep taking place about a week before halloween. the team would catch a glimpse of a strange figure during night patrol on a foggy, spooky evening - but he seems to disappear before they can get a good look! but there WAS definitely something there, right?

fred is convinced they just saw a ghost; hiro of course is skeptical and looks for answers. based on the footage they have, the most baymax and/or basemax can come up with are a bunch of strange blurry "ghost images" that people have taken all over the city recently. hiro figures it's some sort of viral halloween prank, but the team decides to keep an eye out just in case

hardlight has also recently escaped, so they've got bigger things to worry about, anyway

one night during a battle with hardlight, bh6 manages to knock his glove several feet away from him but then it starts... floating? moving on its own? and somehow tosses ITSELF back to hardlight, in a series of motions that leaves the team very confused. they're even more confused when things start hitting them out of nowhere - gogo is tripped on something invisible and crashes into fred, wasabi's hit with lasers from thin air, honey's suddenly ensared by a net. hardlight gets away, for the time being, and the team is left wondering about all these new tricks he's got up his sleeve...

“could it be GHOSTS?” “we know for a fact hardlight is not a ghost” “but DO WE?”

the next day, bh6 receives a report from alistair krei that there's been a strange figure showing up outside krei tech for the past few nights. nothing's been stolen - yet - but it's worth looking into. plus, a rumor's been spreading that krei tech is HAUNTED, and that's not good for publicity!

using security cam footage, they recognize the figure as the "ghost image" that's been popping up around san fransokyo. they're also able to determine that the subject is wearing some kind of robotic armor, which they recognize as the buddy guard technology - and it's confirmed even more when the figure disappears on tape! everyone wonders what this "ghost’s” goal could be, and why they'd be using the decommissioned tech. bh6 asks for a list of everyone who worked on developing the buddy guards, which krei gives them (mel meyer, notably, is NOT on that list).

in the next days, people begin to report sightings of afterimage more frequently, usually with blurry distorted photo evidence if they catch him mid-vanish. he tends to show up at big gatherings and events and sabotage them, usually by cutting the power and sending everyone into a state of confused panic. strangely, it seems to affect personal devices too, and happens too often to just be a coincidence...

big hero 6 makes note of the fact that afterimage's appearances seem to line up with hardlight's - they tend to strike on the same day, sometimes even the same place. the same is true for the photos people have been reporting; they line up with hardlight sightings. however, hardlight hasn’t been near krei tech, so that seems to be the outlier

so the next time they face hardlight, the team are prepared to confront afterimage as well. luckily for them, hardlight's on the same page. there's a line like "allow me to introduce... my player two!!!" and afterimage makes himself seen, in a dramatic, but silent, flourish. he and hardlight do a cool pose together, and there's probably some fun sparkle effects

wasabi would say something like "...does he not talk?" and hardlight would reply that the two of them agreed it was more mysterious and threatening that way

and so the battle continues. with afterimage switching in and out of visibility so fast, hardlight's menagerie of light weapons, and the two of them protecting each other, it's difficult to get a hit on either of them! and the duo escape again, much to the frustration of the team

the heroes probably do a little pondering on how the two of them can be so in-sync. even if we don't see them react to it, i'm assuming bh6 knows that hardlight = ian, so they start looking for potential connections of his. they'd probably check out retired villain dark volt (who i headcanon as ian's father), olivia (who i hc as his half-sister), and even judy (under the assumption that them being co-workers means they might have co-conspired), but of course those are all dead ends

soon enough, it's halloween eve, and bh6 figures something big is likely to go down the next night, so they try reaching out to krei again for any more information. but they can't get through to him. uh-oh... the power seems to have been cut at krei tech!!

they rush over to check on krei, and find the building encased in one of hardlight's force fields. hardlight tells them that afterimage has been in tutorial mode, and now he's on his first big solo quest - the one he's been gathering XP for all this time!! and hardlight's NOT gonna let them sabotage it, so he'll just have to dominate them in single-player >:]

so of course they have to take hardlight down first. which they do, because all they have to do is get his glove and i can't think of a cool detailed way that they do that right now

with the light shields gone, they get into krei tech and - since baymax is scan-jammed - they have to search for krei and afterimage in the dark facility. on the way, they run into a few employees who have been trapped in the building, many believing the intruder is an actual ghost! hiro is still patiently trying to convince people it's not, but the others, to his frustration, seem to be getting more open to the idea

they finally reach krei's office and find him pleading with this mysterious invisible force to leave his company, and his face, alone. he doesn't deserve to have his company haunted, he says! is this a vengeful spirit come to throw his past mistakes at him, in the form of his own obsolete decommissioned tech?? :’(

a modulated voice finally speaks, to everyone's surprise. "oh, like you decommissioned ME??" afterimage is now visible, in the moonlight coming through the large window

"i thought you weren't speaking," gogo quips, to which afterimage stammers and replies something like "ugh, i totally messed that up. but anyway-"

he proceeds to let his lasers do the talking and battles it out with big hero 6 once again!! until honey lemon jams his blaster with a chem ball. and he realizes that while he may still be able to disappear, he doesn't have the advantage of open space in krei's office. so, amidst the chaos, he manages to slip out the door

the team proceeds to chase him down the halls of krei tech, each taking different paths (this part could be a little haunted house montage where they run in and out of different doors, if you wanted a little comic relief) and fred beats him to the door. as afterimage runs toward the exit, fred finally decides on the most effective way to fight invisible with invisible, and simply sticks out his tail to trip him

AND HE TRIPS!!

the team catches up as afterimage tries to collect himself. fred and wasabi quickly grab him. hiro, excited at the opportunity to prove once and for all this is not a ghost, removes his helmet, exposing him as none other than.....

former krei tech employee mel meyer!!!! cue GASPS from everyone. "sur...prise," he manages, still a little dizzy from all that

krei is, of course, extremely upset (and pretty embarrassed and trying to brush off having ever been afraid), and demands to know what's been going on

mel explains that ever since A Certain Someone convinced him that sometimes villainy is empowering and lets one do the things they can’t as a civilian, he'd been wanting to teach krei a lesson about how he treats people. you can't keep getting away with using others!! and that's why he became the ghostly apparation, because the REAL monster looming over san fransokyo is YOU, alistair krei!!! and he would have gotten away with it, too, if it weren't for these meddling kids and their robot!!! >:[

“you really think THIS is what would have stopped him? trust us, he’s seen worse.” krei stubbornly nods

and, frankly, mel's a little hurt that krei never even suspected it was him. to which krei responds that he forgot about mel entirely after getting him arrested, and so did everyone else, probably. big hero 6 nods sheepishly

...well, not everyone. cut to hardlight, who is Still standing outside, long after being subdued by bh6 - he’d had the opportunity to escape when they raced off to save krei, but clearly didn’t. he calls mel's name (and would be waving if he weren't handcuffed and surrounded by the SFPD at that very moment). mel is pleasantly surprised, and a little confused. "wait, you stayed and kept watch for my WHOLE mission? you didn't even try to get away?" he asks

to which ian replies, "of course not! i wasn't gonna let anyone break up our co-op, and i wanted to make sure you got out alright. after all, you're my... player two :)" they smile at each other, seemingly unaffected by the fact that they failed and are both getting arrested again, and it's a nice moment

cut back to krei and the gang. everyone is quite confused

so, the double damage duo is in custody (for now), and it's still the night before halloween. cue some jokey banter amongst the team about what they should do to celebrate - DEFINITELY no haunted houses, and no movies about ghosts. fred accuses hiro of being disappointed that it wasn't a real ghost, and by now the whole team is in on that joke, so he begrudgingly admits that, yes, maybe it WOULD have been cool if ghosts had been real this whole time :/ so there.

The End!

(but hopefully not the end of hardlight and afterimage - ideally there'd be more in store for them, even if they just got cameos!!! 😌)

[unremarkable-house]

Polaris by unremarkable_house

The X-Files, MSR, Rain King

Mulder and Scully attend Holman and Sheila's wedding in Kroner, Kansas.

Tagging @today-in-fic

Part One: Mulder and Holman

“Platonic intimacy is the foundation of my relationship with Agent Scully, Holman, and risking physical intimacy affects both parties. I don’t want to take that risk unless we are both willing.” There is a condensation of intent that settles around the patio of the Kroner Prairie View Ballroom and Suites where Fox Mulder and Holman Hardt - weatherman, meteorologic anomaly, crack relationship analyst, and now very newlywed - share their conversation during a small break in the matrimonial festivities.

It is also something Mulder has never admitted out loud, his desire for something more, and he feels the uncomfortable humidity of it fill the blissfully mild Kansas air. Holman has made it vexingly clear that he expects him to dish on the so-called Mulder-and-Scully-relationship while the blushing bride and redheaded FBI agent were otherwise occupied. Apparently, he and his buddy the weather wizard had a special affinity for these kinds of chats.

“Are you really worried that you wouldn’t be compatible in bed with someone who looks like your partner?” Holman is projecting a bit of his newfound sexual confidence with Sheila, but he doubts he’d have any trouble if Agent Scully came to bed instead. Or both. Holman’s eyebrow quirks appreciatively.

Mulder is not worried about his level of attraction to his long-suffering and comely partner, he does get to look at her every day after all, but he is worried that the weight of their traumas could make the next level of intimacy challenging. He didn’t need a degree in psychology from Oxford to figure that out, he need look no further than his own baffling sexual history. Plus, he knows how much energy she puts into maintaining their professional distance, especially since Antarctica. And Diana. As always, part of how he shows her he cares is by respecting that.

“There is something to be said about the fact that it’s been six years and no one has even mentioned sex. With each other or otherwise. Maybe she’s just not that into me.” He shrugs, also thinking that really isn’t the case. Although it had been not-so-helpfully suggested by a Gunman or two before. As if any of them had any real experience with women outside of chat rooms and computer labs.

Because Scully hasn’t left him either. Hasn’t ever expressed an interest in a life outside the X-Files. Hasn’t ever, ever let him down. She stands entirely too close to him on elevators and drinks from his coffee cup when she’s in a rush. She waits up for him in the middle of the night, she lets him watch her sleep. She rises like the Phoenix time and time again. She touches the stars and toils in the basement. And she kissed him on Tuesday.

Though she would be seriously perturbed if she heard him acknowledge any of that out loud. Especially that last part.

But he was allowed to acknowledge it, right? He had to, or else they were never going to get past this bizarre phase where their relationship was even a secret to themselves. Will they or won’t they? Are they or aren’t they? Damned if he knew.

They didn’t even have the X-Files anymore. The entire pretext for their relationship hovered over the razor’s edge, completely unprepared for Salt Lake Cities and Diana Fowleys and meaningless days spent tracking down literal piles of shit. He made it clear he wasn’t ready to handle anything personal and then they RSVP’d to a wedding together.

Polaris or utter chaos. Scully had once called him unfathomably capricious.

“Yea, but don’t you want to just take her in your arms and kiss her?”

Holman’s aggressively simple advice is reflective of a man who got everything he wanted. Easy words from someone who finally found safe harbor.

Three months ago, he was offering Holman dating advice. Now Holman was freshly married and all Mulder’s gotten were a few chaste kisses he wasn’t supposed to think about. Cosmic justice or just complete fucking irony?

Sighing, Mulder looks back through the windows where Holman and Sheila’s wedding reception is just getting into full swing. Dazzling lights, disco balls, even a few novelty lasers spin dizzily over the guests as they start feeling the liquor and therefore, the groove. Scully is in there somewhere and his eyes scan for her instinctively, but he doesn’t see her red hair in the crowd. She must still be in the bathroom or surely she would come to find him out here, right? Mulder couldn’t believe the amount of insecurity he had been feeling since she came out in that dress and asked him to help her zip up the back. He needed a drink, big time.

“It’s not just about kissing her -” Above them, the full moon is in dazzling brilliance. Not a cloud in the sky, not a hint of chill in the breeze, downright perfect humidity. On Holman Hardt’s wedding day at the end of April. Figures. “I don’t sit around and pine for Scully the way you did for Sheila. We are in a relationship, have been for years, I guess. We are not just partners, I know that. And not just friends. But it’s about being with her all the time - forever - I think. I want to keep that possibility alive.”

At whatever the cost, he doesn’t add, an onslaught of near-misses hurtling past them like a vengeful comet wrought by some dissatisfied god. The weight of the knowledge that he would follow her anywhere - and she, him - whether they liked it or not. Something that was beyond what a ring or social status could ever symbolize, objectively speaking.

It was as simple as wanting Scully like air to breathe, simple as obeying the laws of gravity. A purely biological necessity. No need to complicate things. And no need to scare her off by being as lousy a lover as he was a friend. If all she ever needed from him were chaste yet unforgettable kisses, he would be honored to provide. Ad infinitum, if that’s what it took to keep her in orbit. No need to define the bonds that connect them. Just the need to stay connected.

A light in the sky from which he could chart his course.

Mulder looked hungrily back into the pulsating throng behind him, seeking his personal universal invariant. As much as he wanted her to return so he could end this candid and hyper-intimate conversation, he especially did not want her to overhear how pathetically punch-drunk he was after just the smallest morsels of her affection. He was supposed to remain coolly and Mulder-ish-ly aloof. It was part of their unspoken agreement for partaking on this exclusive jaunt they had both surreptitiously cashed in their vacation days for.

“I’ve kissed her a couple of times, though.” Except for that, of course. Holman gives him a high five. Then he says in the wistful way he’s been saying everything tonight:

“You know, I’ve been in love with Sheila since I was in high school; I was completely infatuated.” Mulder knows, but not really. Who could be in love with someone with a voice like that? Who consistently kicked you under the rug to date the people you detested the most? To him, the sexiest thing about Scully was that she willingly spent time with him. That and she smelled like a secret garden and her skin was as soft as a petal. His own luscious Atropa belladonna; look but don’t touch. It was a fitting match considering his life was rotely defined by his personal, unattainable longings.

“I think it's different, Holman. I love Agent Scully--” more of that condensation settles. “I have for a long time. As a friend first. But I'm not lovesick. I'm not…” he trails off because to say he’s not also in love with Scully isn't the whole truth. But it’s not the same. “I'm still working on being in love with her in a way that is most fair for her. For us.” He looks up into the starry night and grips the edge of the stone wall that he is perched on. “I tend to be a bit overbearing and unpredictable.”

And incomprehensible and dog-headed and nebulous and borderline unreliable - but he’s not really interested in listing all the ways he’s failed Scully or why he knows he’s badbadbad for her. The reasons why she shouldn’t be wearing a short navy blue dress at a private and completely voluntary event with him tonight. Why he should have done the gentlemanly thing years ago and convinced her to get out and save her reputation, to save herself from a lifetime of pain. Should have resisted the tender, irresistible way she always pulled him back to her. Should not have RSVP'd to this damn wedding, at least.

Instead, he spirited her away from the world living into the world of the half-dead and always searching.

Then again he’d probably be dead ten times over, considering the numerous occasions she’d saved his ass over the years. But life without Scully would be a fate worse than death.

He’s seeding the rain cloud, he knows. These are the kinds of words phrased in such a way that he’s been avoiding admitting - let alone thinking - for years. It’s admissions like these to people like Holman that will force him to pay the piper. He envisions Holman and Sheila forcing them to slow dance beneath the dizzy lights to Fools Rush In. He’d prefer a Whiter Shade of Pale, himself. Something a bit more subtle.

“Loving someone isn’t about being fair, Agent Mulder. My life has basically been at a standstill until I finally got my chance to be with Sheila. I wasn’t willing to move forward with any decision in my life if it meant missing a chance I might have with her. I accepted a job in the same town I grew up in, for Chrissake, because she was here! And yes, there were times when I resented the fact that she refused to see me as more than a friend and instead chased after the people I liked the least.

I have a few buddies from high school who got pretty sick of my laments for a woman - who you will probably agree - is completely out of my league.” Mulder resists reacting, different strokes and all. “The fairest route would have been to save myself the drama of Sheila’s many romantic interludes and settle down with someone else - you might not know it but I’m quite the catch in a small town like this - but I was determined to wait until it was my turn. Now those same guys from high school are here dancing at our wedding!

Look at me! I’m married to the most beautiful woman in Kroner! In all of Kansas, probably! And we are already talking about starting our family right away!”

Holman, glowing with pride like the light of the moon with his arms outstretched, has a nostalgic, faraway look on his face, back to his days as the awkward teen in love with the prom queen. Indeed, Holman had received his just rewards for patience, diligence, and the honor of a respectable life.

Scully is his reward too, Mulder knows. Has always known, since the day she walked back into his basement office after spending thirty-six hours hiding in the rain forests of Puerto Rico with no food or water and scared to death that the kill squads were going to find them and use extreme force. He was constantly falling in love with the versions of herself that she shed with each tragedy - always a moment too late. Always under her sharp and disapproving eye. She wore her newfound vulnerabilities with a sign that read: “Danger, Stay Back”. That she refused to be worshipped just made her easier to love. He’d had no clue dignity was such a turn on.

Mulder was just worried he hadn't paid his dues with such noble qualities as Holman’s. His many wrongdoings play with a sad soundtrack in his head, as sad as the desperate way she always looks at him when they’ve cheated death yet again. She had been particularly unzipped by his recent near-drowning and nick-of-time rescue in the Plantagenet Bay. The Gunmen published it in their quarterly and referred to Scully as the Babe of the Bermuda Triangle. He still felt kinda bad about that one.

Was it just Mulder or was the moon shining a little more brightly right now?

“One of the best days of my life was when Sheila started working at the station.” Holman gets another dreamy look upon his face as he recalls the day. Mulder remembers too, it was chronicled in the local paper. That and a portfolio of other newsworthy weather events Holman was responsible for sat neatly collated within his X-Files. And now including their invitation to the blessed Hardt-Fontaine nuptials. It wasn’t every day he got to hang out with one of the curiosities from his wonder cabinet.

Unless he counted Scully which he explicitly and vociferously did not.

“May 11, 1992: residents of Kroner, Kansas, report witnessing a rare quadruple rainbow,” He recites.

Mulder has a similar best day of his life, but he doesn’t recall any meteorological event that marked the moment. It wasn’t even a full moon. Just a regular March afternoon that he had been antipathetic about.

Holman grins. “Some reported seeing a fifth arc as well, but it was never substantiated.” Then his face grows cloudy. “That same day, while we were catching up, was when she told me she was moving in with Darryl Moody and that they were ‘engaged to be engaged.’” He spits the last words out like venom. And that would explain the subsequent supercell lightning storm that knocked Kroner off the grid for three days (also in his files).

“She just wanted to be friends,” he bemoans before becoming annoyingly cheerful again, “but being her friend was the next best thing because here we are! Sheila recently told me that the best relationships are rooted in friendship so if that’s what it took to get here, I wouldn’t change a day.”

Mulder, dipping his chin to his chest, was appalled he found that so pathetically endearing. And a little bit wounding. Were he and Scully not rooted in friendship? For someone who was so quick to believe, he knew he was certainly wanting for a little more faith in the matter. Because here we are, he thinks, together, in other lifetimes, always.

In this particular lifetime in Kansas, there might be drinks and dancing and more than one excuse to touch her companionably and then maybe a little more familiarly, as soon as she finished up inside and he could end this awkward conversation with the groom.

“Don’t let some bad luck cramp your style, Agent Mulder,” Holman says, reaching the end of his proselytizing. “The future will be as bright as you make it.”

Following Holman’s gaze up into the night sky, Mulder finds that the heavens are now alight with the ethereal trails of meteors, dainty and otherworldly, glittering their way across the universe.

Mulder sighs again, equally entranced by and indifferent to Holman’s bizarre skills. “Easy for you to say, Holman.” But Holman just laughs the contented and mirthful laugh of a man in love. To him, everything is limitless: life, love, the weather, and now the entire galaxy.

And though there was once a time where Mulder would have imprudently coveted the ability to touch the unthinkable like Holman Hardt, tonight he is content to reach only one star.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24564760

Notes:

WIP, I hope. There should be a chapter for Scully + Sheila and another for Mulder + Scully. Fingers crossed! Mad love to my favorite fanfiction of all time, Parabiosis by Penumbra. This story includes some loving references to that masterpiece. Made with the utmost respect. Thanks for reading.

[cagestark]

Would love a vengeful Tony - those who ignore, insult or hurt Peter in any way find that texts intended for mistresses are sent to wives, their names go missing off guest lists for important events, shady business deals are exposed, etc. Those who are kind and thoughtful to Pete reap rewards, their businesses thrive, their children gain scholarships, etc. Everything is done quietly, discreetly. Nothing can be connected to Tony, but Peter is a genius too - he knows and loves Tony all the more. 😍

Read on AO3 here. 

Hope this is okay

Warnings: dark!Tony who will do anything for his precious boy. Explicit sexual content. Peter is 18+ though. Violence. Dark stuffs. But it’s still pretty soft IMO

-

Alternate universes are infinite. That means that there are an infinite number of worlds out there where Tony Stark does not own Peter Parker. In those worlds, Tony’s must be soft-bellied, burden with consciences that bow their backs over things like right and wrong. Maybe the attraction is there still, the lust for a boy with curls and eyes like liquid cedarwood. He probably jerks off in the dead of night for a kid less than half his age and then cries about it afterwards.

Tony feels sorry for those poor sons of bitches.

He has no such qualms. When Peter applies for the Stark Industries internship, freshly eighteen years old, Tony sees, wants, and takes. Finding out that his boy is also a super hero feels like kismet. Peter adores him. Its visible in the wide wet eyes, the flush that still blooms on his cheeks when he sees Tony naked even months after the first time. And maybe a little begrudgingly, Tony begins to feel the same way about him. His worth to Tony grows exponentially until he can no longer ignore that the boy is the most important thing in his life. Peter is precious. He is kind-hearted (foolish as kindness is), thoughtful, and intelligent.

And he is damaged.

It is months into their growing relationship when Peter finally confides in him, but Tony is no fool: he knows the signs of a bruised apple when he sees one. Peter is shy to the point of insecurity, apologizing for his enthusiasm, for the way his body looks naked, for using the wrong size coffee grounds in the French press. Tony himself has never felt the need to apologize for his own existence, so the habit in his young lover is particularly unfathomable.

Then they get drunk. Peter isn’t legal to drink—not in this country—but if he’s responsible enough to fuck who he wants to, he should be responsible enough to partake. Tony drinks scotch, but Peter coughs his face red when he takes a sip. Instead, he prefers the softer, sweeter or sour liquors and mixed drinks. They have a full bar, so Tony spends the evening making one of every kind of drink he knows just so Peter can take little sips of each, flushing with alcohol, eyes shy as he proclaims it’s good, if he like it and it’s alright, if he doesn’t.

They end up on the couch together, Peter reclined between his legs. It’s there in a soft, trembling voice that Peter begins to cry in his drunkenness and admits the love he had before, the one who bruised him.

“Tell me his name,” demands Tony.

Peter shakes his head.

“He never like, hit me,” Peter says. “But he did slap me sometimes. It didn’t really hurt, but it was so embarrassing. Like I was a, a child. Or a dog.”

Tony just hums, waiting. On the back of the couch, his hand in clenched into a fist, but still he waits. A sniper holds his breath when he needs to steady the scope.

“We went to school together—” yes, yes, go on, Tony thinks. “—he bullied me for a while. Innocent stuff. Then one day we had a heart to heart and he admitted that his animosity towards me was because he was gay. He didn’t know how to express himself, I guess. Or maybe he resented me, because I was out and he wasn’t. I don’t know. We started dating in secret, and I thought—god, I’m such an idiot. It sounds so stupid now—I thought that it was cute. We were like, enemies to lovers. Like the stories. But it wasn’t a story. Not a good one.

“Even after he came out, it felt like no matter what I did, he wasn’t happy with me. Sometimes, it seemed like he enjoyed being unhappy with me. My body was always too scrawny—this was before the bite—and I was always doing things wrong. He said that I embarrassed him. Maybe I did. I don’t know. He’d invite his friends over, the ones who used to bully me with him. They would make fun of me and he, he never stopped them. They’d say the m-most humiliating things to me. Why didn’t he stop them, Tony?” Peter asked, voice cracking, weeping into Tony’s chest.

“A name, darling. Be brave for me. Give me names.”

Peter turns to look at him, eyes red and glazed from alcohol, cheeks wet. He is painfully beautiful. “What will you do to them?”

“Nothing, my sweet,” lies Tony. Some lies are necessary things. “Nothing, unless you tell me to.”

He gives names. A whole list of them, and Tony doesn’t need his artificial intelligence recording to remember them. He doesn’t need an eidetic memory to remember them. They are burned into his brain along with the image of Peter now only thinner, cheeks wet and red because he was slapped like a dog.

Peter cries himself to sleep. Tony carries him to bed, undresses him with glazed over eyes. His mind is miles away. Once the covers are pulled up snugly against Peter’s chin, a wastebasket beside the bed should he wake and feel sick, Tony goes down to his lab, still buzzed, wearing nothing but his pajama pants. The air is cold, but he doesn’t feel it.

“FRIDAY, baby?”

“Yes, boss.”

“We’ve got work to do.”  

-

Peter is naked in his bed, artfully covered by a sheet still damp from their lovemaking. Belly down, he props himself up on his elbows with a Stark tablet in front of him, scrolling through news stories, filling Tony in on news articles involving him.

“This article says you’re trying to create a new world order,” Peter says. This is like after-play for Tony. Besides his cock, his next favorite thing to have stroked is his ego. When he hears Tony snort, the younger man glances over, lips still swollen from the tender abuse they suffered between Tony’s teeth. Peter smiles. With a flick of his finger, the tablet goes dark. He nudges it onto the end table and rolls so that he can spoon his naked body against Tony’s side. When he speak next, he sounds sleepy. “Can you imagine that, Tony? You ruling the world?”

He hums. He can imagine that. He does. Sees it in his dreams, knees bending in supplication to him, wills bending to his way. “Can’t you, Pete?”

The boy presses a hot kiss to one of Tony’s pecks. It’s amazing how little water can help a blossom to bloom, and for Peter, he would bring down a veritable rainstorm. Look how far he has come from days when he would hesitate to brush their fingers as they watched a movie together or were in the back of the car together. He is becoming a diamond, Tony’s crown jewel. “I can see you as a king,” Peter says.

Tony grins. “And where are you, my sweet?”

Peter hums. His hand drags across Tony’s flat stomach, gently scraping blunt fingernails against where stomach becomes pelvis, feeling the muscles beneath it twitch to his whims. The boy has come twice in the last hour, but he is already hard against Tony’s leg. “I don’t know,” he says, voice low. The hand drifts lower and brushes his soft cock, which makes a valiant stir. “Maybe I’ll be your—paramour. Your willing slave. At your feet to take care of all your needs.”

Tony frowns. He leans away, loathing even the brief look of anxiety on Peter’s face at his withdrawal, the cheeks flushing with anxiety, wondering did I do something wrong, did I sound stupid? Taking the softly pointed chin in his hand, he brings them so close their noses almost brush. “You are no servant, and I don’t intend for you to be anywhere near my feet. You will be my queen.”

And like that, his blossom blooms a little more, leaning forward to press their mouths together, soft and sensual as rose petals.

-

The galas are a treat since he’s starting dating Peter. They make games of them, usually delightfully sexual ones that have them tugging their dress pants down in the limo on the way home so Peter can sit on his cock—though there was that one lovely night that Tony took him into the bathroom during the speeches, locked the door behind them so he could bend his boy over the sink and rim him within an inch of his life. For the rest of the night, Peter hadn’t been able to look away from his mouth, blushing and adjusting himself.

Tonight, Peter is wearing a plug. Watching him shift restlessly at dinner has had Tony half-hard for the better part of the evening. Desperate for a reprieve to clear his head, he stalks to the bar to order them drinks: a glass of champagne for Peter and a scotch on the rocks for himself. If they know he is giving his underage date alcohol, they don’t dare say anything.

It’s there leaning up against the polished bar that he overhears Peter’s name spoken from a group nearby. His hearing is excellent, and it takes little effort to block out the white noise of the room to listen in to the conversation taking place among three heads ducked together. He recognizes them: the man is CFO of a private security franchise in upstate New York that made several attempts to offer Stark Industries security services. Tony had humored him for far too long, asking detailed questions about the company’s capabilities before turning him down—and why shouldn’t he know what techniques the little guys are using? It’s smart strategy. Hacking into the man’s private servers to read his emails had been purely for entertainment. All work and no play would make Tony a very dull boy indeed.

Beside him are two women, most likely a wife and a secretary, probably interchangeable.

“—look ridiculous together. Like father and son. If he wanted to feel twenty years younger, a prostitute could have done the same thing for him and with half the work.”

“He’s a cute kid,” the secretary or wife says.

The CFO snorts. “Have some taste, Margot.”  

Tony doesn’t see red. His hands don’t turn into fists, his teeth don’t gnash. He doesn’t get angry, he gets even, wracking his brain for the most insignificant details, anything that he could use to his advantage here—and then he remembers, something about a food allergy, berating the PA who went out to the local bakery for breakfast and brought pastries back to the office.

“Three more glasses of champagne,” says Tony, leaning against the bar. “And tell me. Do you have strawberries?”

When Tony appears behind them, drinks in hand, CFO’s soul nearly leaves his body. All the blood leaves his face. Even the secretary wives look anxious. One of them can’t even meet his eyes. There are probably rumors about the kind of man that Tony is and the kind of business he conducts. When his reputation does half the work of intimidating scum like this, then he considers himself thankful for it.

“Drinks?” Tony says, passing around flutes. “It’s an open bar. Please make sure to partake.”

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” Margot says. Sensible woman. If only she kept better company.

When Tony returns to the table with Peter’s champagne and his own scotch, the ice hasn’t even begun melt. “That was fast,” Peter says. This is his second glass, and he is already looking more relaxed, eyes a little lidded. Whether it is from the alcohol or the plug inside his ass, Tony doesn’t know. What he does know is that he himself is unbearably hard, has been since the strawberry idea came to him.

“Let’s get out of here,” he suggests.

It’s as they’re leaving that the other shoe drops. It must have started as a tickle in his throat, maybe the buzz of numb lips. By the time CFO realizes he’s having a severe allergic reaction, his throat has swelled and his face is turning purple. A crowd gathers, and he and Peter are part of it, the boy pressed against him back to Tony’s front. From what he can gather, the man has an epi-pen that his secretary carries, but she has left it in the Rolls Royce. By the time the valet finds her car among the sea in the parking lot, the man is unconscious.

“Is there anything we can do?” Peter asks, watching as the paramedics administer an emergency shot of epinephrine.

“I’ve done quite enough already,” purrs Tony. His hips give a tiny aborted thrust, cock aching. Peter’s chest begins to rise and fall more rapidly. It’s a warm enough night for them to shed their jackets, holding them over their arms and in front of their erections like the gentlemen they are.

But nothing they do in the limousine on the way home is gentlemanly, and that’s the way Tony likes it.

-

There are three names Peter gives him. By the time FRIDAY is done working her magic, Tony has entire life histories, not just for the three boys who graduated alongside Peter at Midtown High School, but for their families. Their ancestries. Tony doesn’t know where inspiration will strike, so he has FRIDAY compile everything. He reads the files leisurely in the evenings when Peter is lounging between his legs watching television or even in bed when the boy slumbers next to him.

Of the three, he knows that Flash will receive the worst of it. Tony will be the old testament God, cursing Flash and four generations of his descendants. That is where he puts his true energy, drawing from that dark well inside of him where is wrath pools. It makes him giddy, wondering how far he is willing to go.

The inspiration is endless, with Flash’s life laid out in front of him. After graduation, he went to a second-rate technical school in New Jersey after a series of rejected applications to MIT. Had he been trying to follow Peter?

Afterwards, he moved north to Maine where he works for the Gulf of Maine Research Institute, probably spending his days smelling of salt water, working on electric monitoring systems meant to replace human observers on commercial fishing boats.

Digging into his criminal record is where it gets personal. Because there is very little. One domestic violence charge, the plaintiff being the State of New York, but it takes only a little elbow grease to see that it is Peter. Flash had pled no contest. He served no time in jail, just faced parole for 18 months and a required anger management class.

Besides that, there is nothing. No more charges. Tony tells himself that the vast majority of such personal crimes go unreported—and really, would it make Peter feel any better? To know that it hadn’t been personal, it hadn’t been just him that Flash had abused?

Tony has never been a victim of abuse. While he usually doesn’t have difficulty imagining how people will feel, even in such instances of heightened emotion, Peter is an enigma. The consequences of being wrong, of hurting his boy. It’s too much to bear.

Still, he digs deeper. Flash is married to a native Maine woman. FRIDAY has social media photographs included in the file, and they look—like a couple. He won’t say a nice couple, because he desperately wants them dead. But they would probably look lovely in side by side burial plots. The smiles look genuine, arms wrapped around each other. Pictures of them together on the beach looking out at the bleak Atlantic Ocean. But he knows the kind of masks people put on for the public. He’s more interested in knowing about Flash’s relationship when the camera is off, pointed elsewhere.

“Get me their phone conversations, FRIDAY, baby.”

But whatever he expected; it wasn’t this. The tenderness between them. The loving messages sent in the middle of the day. The largest argument they have is over what they will have for dinner after Flash comes home from work, and the boy apologizes for his terse messages within twenty minutes of sending them. He sounds contrite. He sounds genuine. He sounds in love.

Why does that make it worse? Why does that make Tony angrier? Tenderness existed inside this Flash the whole time—why wouldn’t he give it to Peter?  Tony logs off, turns off his systems, shuts down the lab for a while. Sometimes the wrath he keeps deep in that well inside him swells up like the tide, swells up like a spring after rain. It no longer feels like the well is inside him, but that he is in the well, looking up through a haze of fury towards a sky he can’t see.

He doesn’t want to act in anger.

The kind of justice Peter deserves is cool and calculated.

-

His boy is in his lap, confident enough to crawl there while the movie they were watching draws on behind them, their kissing a sensual soundtrack. Peter is so beautiful like this, when the slightest arousal melts away his inhibitions. It is animalistic, the way they lick into each other’s mouths, the biting of lips and gnashing of teeth. There is a restlessness though, a rising fever that isn’t being quenched quickly enough. More is needed. His boy needs more.

“You’re going to top tonight,” says Tony lowly, dragging his teeth across Peter’s hairless, cut jaw. He’s close enough to hear the boy’s breathy gasp. He clams up, going tense, drawing away. When they meet eyes, Peter is already anxious, unsure.

“Why would you want that?” he asks.

Tony frowns. “Why do you like having someone in your ass?”

Peter flushes. “I just—I guess I always thought that the person who. You know. Received—it’s, like, a power thing. People top because they’re stronger.”

“Are you not strong? Do you not want power, Pete?”

“I—I’ve never. I was always the one who. You know.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Tony assures. He presses his palm flat against the boy’s clothed chest, feeling his heart hammering away. When his thumb brushes the pebbled nipple, Peter shudders, eyes fluttering. “But you have power here. I’d like to show you.”

Peter swallows. “I’ll try.”

Tony blows him first, just to take the edge off. Peter’s stamina, while better than it once was, isn’t legendary. With the taste of cum in his mouth, he kisses his lover, legs spread and Peter propped between them. The amount of lube he slathers on his fingers is overkill, but it makes Tony warm: the innocence, the desire not to hurt his partner. How someone could hurt this sweet creature, Tony will never understand.

The first finger Peter presses inside him, the boy groans like he’s fingering his own ass. It’s been a while for Tony, but Peter’s pace is slow bordering agonizing, thrusting in carefully, catching softly on the rim as he pulls free. Two fingers feel fuller and Tony groans. Could he convince the boy to take him like this, half-prepared so that it might sting? But half the joy is the look on Peter’s face, eyes squeezed shut, mouth slack as he crooks his fingers to rub so gently against Tony’s prostate. When Tony moans, Peter’s entire body shakes, his cock hard and leaking, giving aborted little thrusts against the bed.

“Take me, Pete,” he asks. “I’m ready. How do you want me?”

“I—I don’t know,” Peter whimpers. He’s already gripping the base of his cock, knuckles white, wincing at the ache. Tony strokes his back to let him recover giving him the time he needs. Maybe he should suck him off again—but now he’s getting desperate himself. Let the boy come quickly. That in itself is a turn on.  

Desiring to watch, Tony just presses a pillow underneath his hips to improve the angle, holds his cock and balls in one hand, and lets Peter press forward, the head of his cock nudging Tony’s rim.

“Jesus,” Peter gasps, even though he hasn’t even pressed in. “I can’t do it Tony, I can’t—”

“You can,” Tony says, low and dark. “Fucking look at yourself Peter. So goddamn strong. So powerful. You could pin me to this bed and fuck me half to death if you wanted to, and god do I want you to. You could snap me in half, couldn’t you sweet boy? Take me. Overpower me. You’re strong enough.”

Peter keens. Wet and warmth hits Tony’s hole as the boy’s hand flies down, too late to stop himself and instead wrapping around his shaft to jerk himself off, strings of cum spurting onto Tony’s cock. He watches, half-amused and more than half-aroused. Wiping a hand through the cum, Tony wraps it around himself and fucks into his fist to spill onto his own abs.

“What did I say?” he says afterwards, pressing a kiss to Peter’s embarrassed face. “So powerful. God that was hot.”

“I didn’t even get inside,” mutters Peter.

“We can try again. If you want.”

He feels the boy smile against his chest. “I—think I’d like that.”

-

Justice starts closer to home than Tony thought it might, because on the first page of FRIDAY’s report about Flash Thompson, Tony discovers that Flash’s father works for Stark Industries and has for years. With thousands of employees, it isn’t difficult to fathom that a well-off man growing up in New York city, but it still irks Tony to know that at any time coming and going, Peter might have crossed this man, might have had to remember. Harrison Thompson is a consumer relation’s specialist working in their marketing department. The man looks trepidatious when he enters Tony’s office bright on Monday morning.

Tony can see the resemblance between father and son. He knows a lot about this man too. His record is not nearly as clear of domestic violence charges as his son’s. Abuse is a vicious cycle in which the offended can become the offenders. The seed of violence in Flash was probably cultivated for years before he met Peter—then again, after remembering the graphic images of a battered Mrs. Thompson, Tony can’t deny that Flash’s DNA probably came from the seed of violence.

The man sits, looking like he’s ready for his own execution. “Mr. Stark.”

“Harrison,” Tony greets. “Have we met? Tell me, in all the years that you’ve worked here, have I ever bothered to meet a little pissant like you?”

“Once, sir,” Thompson says, slow. He’s sweating. “We spoke on the phone.”

Tony coos. Inside his top desk drawer is a stack of papers, which he draws out onto his desk. Forging them took no time at all. He must look unhinged, eyes glittering like hellfire is just behind the pupils, grinning the way he is. “What a shame then, that we’ve had to meet under these circumstances.”

-

Everybody is talking about it, Peter texts. Tony is in a meeting when he sees it, but he has no qualms about answering his boy when he should be listening to shareholders complain about the way the media is spinning Stark Industry’s image.

Talking about what, baby?

An employee you fired yesterday.

From 5th floor.

Caught him stealing from me, baby.

Firing him was just the start.

Wait until the police get their hands on him ;)

Tony. You must know.

Know what, my sweet?

Peter doesn’t answer. If he is worried that the boy will be cold to him when he returns to the penthouse for the evening, his worries were for nothing. There is dinner on the table, with candles. Dinner is only half eaten when they end up in the bedroom, and after undressing him, Tony finds that Peter has shaved. Everywhere.

“Wanted to do something nice for you, daddy,” he gasps while Tony rims him, shifts to mouth at his tight balls.

The sweetest boy.

-

Flash himself, Tony never even meets. Tony has maids to take out the trash in his penthouse, custodians to take out trash from Stark Tower, and Bucky to handle the more personal refuse that Tony would rather not dirty his hands with. He has a thing about his hands.

It is handled all through phone calls from his untraceable line. Bucky is one of the only men in the world besides Peter that Tony would admit he likes: the man listens twice as often as he speaks, has incredible loyalty, and also takes initiative. “How bad do you want him?” Bucky asks.

“Use your discretion,” Tony says, feet braced up on his desk. That’s code for let him live, but not easily. Through the glass walls of his office, he sees Peter getting off the elevator, waving cheerfully to the secretary. When they spot each other, the boy blushes softly, and Tony winks. “But I’m sending you a little extra compensation. There’s an additional detail that’s very important to me, and I want to see it come to fruition.”

The others are child’s play. Via anonymous tips, he alerts the IRS about one of the boys’ fraudulent tax returns. The other keeps his nose cleaner, but that is no problem for a man who doesn’t mind playing dirty: Tony empties his bank accounts, trashes his credit score, and sends several fake incriminating messages to his wife. It barely scrapes the surface of what they are owed, but he figures that there will always be time to expand on a solid foundation of misery.

The pictures arrive one after the other an hour after the sun sets on the East Coast. The boy is barely recognizable: face swollen nearly to bursting from the shattered cheekbone and orbital fracture. Bucky’s gloved hand is visible in the last picture, clutching a head of dark hair to pull the boy’s head back so his throat is visible, wreathed in livid bruises. But the dog collar looks good.

Pet Supply, Bucky says. $4.99.

Tony sends him five grand. Then he saves the pictures on a private server that FRIDAY is under orders to destroy should it be breached or should Tony die. He’d delete them altogether but…one day, Peter might want them.

And he would give Peter anything he wanted.

-

“Boss, you’ve received a text from Peter.”

“Read it to me, baby,” says Tony, welding mask on, sweating. FRIDAY’s voice is barely audible over the sound of the blowtorch.

“It’s a news article, sir, from Portland Press Herald, dated this morning. The headline article is titled GMRI Employee Left Paralyzed After Overnight Attack.” Tony turns off the blowtorch. He takes off the mask to reveal his smile. Peter knows how much Tony loves to hear news about himself. “Shall I keep reading, boss?”

“Please do.”  

-

Peter never mentions it, but sometimes Tony catches him staring. The look on his face is one that isn’t easily read. On anyone else, he would expect to see fear, but this boy is finally starting to grow into his own. He is finally starting to see how he should be treated, and the ramifications he—and Tony—can rain down on those who treat him poorly. Instead, Peter looks hungry for him. So, fucking, grateful to him.

“Do you want to try topping again tonight, my sweet?” Tony asks in bed. “Do you want the power?”

Peter plants a hand on his chest and pushes him back into the mattress. Eyes heavy, he is sure the boy will finger him open, thrust desperately inside him to completion. Maybe he won’t even pull out, just rest his cock there until it hardens, and then Peter will take him again. Until he is strong and satisfied.

Instead, Peter throws a leg over Tony’s hips and sinks down on his cock. The look he gives is positively devilish, resting his hands on his thighs while he begins a brutal, perfect rhythm. He smiles, impish, delighted. Bruised apples are soft, riper and all the sweeter in spite of it.

Peter says: “I already have it.”