#miras endless thoughts

[harukakitous]

thinking about boonboom and #8...

somebody already pointed this out on rangerboard, but it's honestly delicious that the first time we see the full team assembled is the first time that the cracks start to show in the team's dynamic. the boonboomgers are a unit, but they aren't a team yet because of taiya's bs and it's honestly just so good. (sidenote: remember when we thought boonboom was gonna be a return to more conventional sentai dynamics and we get this mf? hell yeah)

what i really like is that nobody is really on board with taiya's dream. jou and mira are obviously pissed because everything they knew was a facade, but there's a lot of implications that ishiro and genba aren't super on board with it either. (a "i will trust you but i don't trust where you're going with it" kind of situation perhaps?) what really got me is when ishiro told mira to trust taiya, but she immediately shuts that shit down quick and he (along with the others) start to really doubt if they can really trust taiya. (sidenote: the acting...😘) this will probably be resolved next episode, but i wouldn't be surprised if this is a lingering feeling as taiya undergoes character development.

also mira. MIRA. i loveeeeee that she's the one that shuts down taiya's whole deal. it's the whole contrast between her trusting him from the get-go versus her seeing him as a selfish person who clearly has his priorities in the wrong place. that last scene in particular is just so good...mira asking him "why did you push yourself so far? why didn't you take it easy? why did you leave us behind?" even in her frustrations, she takes the whole team into account, something that i feel is going to be another recurring thing as we get into taiya's full character arc. (team v. individual sort of dilemma)

also, you know sentai is peak when there's mood whiplash between the dramatic cliffhanger and the happy ass ending dance

[ahhhwomen]

Wait, no, please share. I need to see the darkness 👀

a/n: you asked for it, also this is half shit written cus its just a blurb lol

WARNING TAGS: Violence, religious trauma, death, blood

Platonic Relationship: MotherFigure!Natasha x DaughterFigure!Reader

You’re a freak, a monster, a killer. The girl under you had told you as much.

The skin on your knuckles splits and tears as your hands continue to collide with the helpless prey beneath you. Small droplets of blood scatter and spray the mats covering the floor.

Please, for the love of god, stop me now.

The girl under you cries and begs, but it only spurs you on. It’s like you can see her life force, clutched in your greedy palms, you just need to use a bit more force. Then the voices will stop, your muscles will loosen, and the fear will dissipate. The bunny beneath you is suffering, you just want to help it.

She tries to kick you away, her legs slamming into your ribs, but as your hands take hold of her hair and smash her skull into the ground, you can’t feel it.

Please, God, embrace thy child and end her suffering.

The priest’s words echo; please God, forgive the sinner, and aid her prey.

You can feel Mira’s fingernails dig into the skin beside your eyes, her fingers slip and glide clumsily against your blank face.

 She’s trying to dig her thumbs into your eye socket but the blood covering both of you makes her falter and you use her momentum against her and violently twist your elbow outward, crashing it into her outstretched arm, and there is a sickening crack as Mira screams in agony.

The redhead´s other hand yanks your hair violently before you can deliver the last blow.

Oh, please God, save this sick child.

Your bloodshot eyes stare widely at her shivering frame, Mira stares back at you, her fear evident in the way her pupils are nothing but a pin needle in a sea of endless green.

 Please God, lay the monster dormant and return thy child to the great heavens above.

When you dig your knee into her stomach, the hand that had previously held you back loses its grip, and you can finally end it. It would only take eight ounces of force for your thumbs to penetrate the thin skin over the lower part of her jugular.

And yet-

You make the ultimate mistake.

As you straddle her and start digging your thumbs in, you look up at her young face. Tears roll down her chin, her face is pale and bloody. But her red hair falls like a hallow around her, and her eyes are the perfect resemblance to a familiar emerald, green.

Please God, save thy child. For thy child is alone.

Natasha was the only person to ever make you feel like you belonged. She was the only one to let you feel hope. Feel love.

Natasha was like the mother you never had.

Your small hands clasp the cross tightly and you kneel in front of the altar. The statues are intimidating as your little frame looks up at them in hope.

“Oh, please God, kill me before I can do more harm.” You spoke as clearly as you could into the cold crisp air inside the abandoned church.

You thought you were alone, but then a tall woman with angelic red hair had found you.

“What are you doing her kid?”

You're frozen above the scared girl as you come too.

“What have I done?” you whisper to yourself and quickly lift yourself to let the smaller girl free. However, just as you are about to stand. A white-hot agony shoots up your spine and you fall, the mat is cold and sticky, and you try to push yourself up with the use of your arms, but you can’t move.

There is something firm lodged in your back.

Natasha stands over your limp frame, she can feel the sweat on her palms glide against every nook and cranny as she stands there numbly, not being able to remove her eyes from the handle sticking out of your small back.

Natasha had done that.

She didn’t have a choice.

You had talked about this before…

That if the day ever came when you lost control.

That the redhead needed to do what was right.

She had to.

She had to.

Her knees creak in protest as they ram into the wet mat. Her fingers clutch and grasp at any part of you she can gather up. Your skin is already losing warmth and she curls around you in hopes of returning it. You wheeze when she pulls your body over hers.

You can’t feel anything, but the force against your lungs worsens as Natasha tries to apply pressure around the metal in your skin.

Thank you, God.

You can feel your mind slipping away from you, and the pressure starts consuming you. You can do nothing but use all of your last strength to muster up the words you never had the opportunity to say.

“I’m sorry mom.”

[akumastrife]

Knightmare Of Your Dreams // Dreamling

Rating: Explicit (Just All Smut) Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Word Count: 3k I have no excuse for this. I wanted to write weird and kinky Dreamling with a side of shapeshifting, the thinnest King and His Knight vibes, weird anatomy, some claws and shadow tentacles, and self-indulgence. Written for the "Eldritch" square on last year's Monsterfucktober Bingo that I never finished in time.

{Also on AO3} Shout out to "Violently (slowed) by Mira" that I listened to roughly 200 times while writing this bc its soooo Dreamling to me. also to Zomsaurus for the funniest line in any of my writing ever

It was never supposed to be like this. Death was for everyone else, never Hob. She’d promised.

But the Endless did not abide by such rules; drifted uncaring outside them. If Death could make such a thing, it could be assumed that one of the others could unmake it.

And now that the imminent danger is gone, now that Hob’s safe and remade under Dream’s protection, he can at least admit Hob looks wonderful on his knees.

Dream’s always thought so, and now he gives himself over to leisure to look his fill. He’s well and truly his now, shouldn’t he be allowed?

The visage Hob’s chosen for himself is fitting; muscle encapsulated in shining armor, a sword at his side and the helmet with haloed spikes set reverently beside him. The insignia, mirrored on cloak and shield, is Dream’s favorite part.

A burst of stars across a sea of black, glittering as it moves just as Dream’s coat does. It is the same, after all; a claim that makes primal satisfaction simmer low under his skin.

Dream’s remade him, and Hob has chosen to be his, still. Always.

Everything the Corinthian was supposed to be. Every iteration a pale imitation of the man Dream has followed through time.

 “You do not have to kneel,” Dream says. Near purrs. Can tell the low timber is pleasing by the way exposed skin shivers in answer. But Hob himself does not move. Not even an inch to have his armor creaking.

“Perhaps,” Hob says, looking up quickly and the corners of his mouth flicking up similarly. “But you like it. And I owe you, don’t I?”

Hob owes him nothing. The centuries of give and take sprawl behind them, and Dream is almost certain the scales are still tilted in Hob’s favor.

And yet.

That is not what Hob is asking.

Now that he’s part of the dreaming, now that he’s part of Dream—intertwined irrevocably—there is little Dream cannot know about him. His feelings, his mind, his desires.

It is a game Hob’s wanting.

Dream hums, leaning back in his high-backed throne, crossing one leg over the other. Considers Hob, all his pieces, the laughing light in his soft eyes. Gestures wide and airy with one hand. “And what would you offer? To me, an Endless, who has need of nothing.”

Hob does shift then. “My lord,” said with all the impudence of a knight who ought to be taught to heel like a dog. His eyes drop, hungry and dark, down Dream’s front—

Dream finds himself wearing a velvet robe in the darkest shades of plum and night-sky blue, open to expose the moonlight of his torso. Plays fingers along the sweeping sleeve hems with half an eye on Hob, considering him and the outfit he’s put Dream in with sheer want alone.

“I see,” he murmurs. Watches Hob swallow. Extends his lifted foot, now encased in a soft stocking that runs the length of his leg under the edges of the robe, and slides it slow between Hob’s legs. Presses up, idly, like he is a curiosity and nothing more.

Hob shudders, eyes fluttering closed as he swallows again, jaw clenching against the sigh Dream can almost taste.

“You would like to serve me, then? You, who are now a Nightmare under my hand, and think yourself clever as a knight. All the centuries you’ve lived, and still, you crave a king to kneel before.”

When Hob doesn’t answer, Dream arches up his foot again, a smooth slide that pushes speech out of Hob.

“No,” Hob gasps.

“This says otherwise.”

“No. Not a king.” Hob grits his teeth, every part of his body (tight, honed and singing like a weapon begging to be asked to strike) shivering in an effort to stay still. “Just you.”

Warmth blooms and oozes under Dream’s skin. He lets the satisfaction radiate out as something tangible until Hob’s blinking up at him, expression bare in its awe.

“You are an impossibility,” Dream praises, softly. “I should’ve offered to keep you long ago.”

“I would’ve happily,” Hob says. “Let me now?”

“Be kept? Oh, Robert Gadling,” Dream says, leaning towards him. Takes Hob’s cheek in his hand, cradling gently before shifting to catch his chin in an unrelenting grip. “I am never letting you go, even if you beg.”

Hot hands land on his knees as Hob surges closer and leans up on knees still to catch his mouth in a kiss.

Dream lets himself be kissed. Let’s Hob direct it as hot and slick as he likes, lets himself be lulled under the rhythm like a boat bobbing gently on calm waters. It is at odds with the desire boiling under Hob’s hands, thrashing and teaming to get out. Barely contained in this body Dream has fashioned lovingly for him.

“What do you have for me?” Hob asks against Dream’s mouth, hoarse already with the want like it’s choking him. His hands slide reverently down Dream’s chest, toying with his nipples before following the edges of the robe to his lap. Kisses him gently as he finds Dream’s hips and holds on, thumbs rubbing back and forth.

“What would you like?”

Hob’s hands squeeze, breath catching audible in something too close to a whimper. Freezes, startled by the overwhelming realization and the world that’s been opened to him. Offered to him on a platter.

Dream slips into his mind easily, eyebrows raising at the dozens of images that flip through him. Hob’s brain working overtime with all his wonderings and filthy dreams.

Hob certainly isn’t lacking in imagination. It seems like he’s traded any shame he might’ve had for more of it.

If Hob is spoiled for choice, then he shouldn’t have to choose.

Dream selects a few of them, plucking them out of the mire with newly sharp claws, as precise as a spider traversing its own web. He feeds that thought to Hob while he has him, and smiles at the shudder it gets him.

“Are you that easy?” he asks. He runs his black-tipped claws through Hob’s hair, scratching gently at his scalp.

“For anything, as long as it’s you,” Hob assures him, nipping at his lip.

“I might scare you.”

“You can’t,” Hob says.

Something dark and dangerous flares low in Dream, and he grips the back of Hob’s neck, dragging him back into a kiss. He has to taste him, has to steal his breath until he doesn’t breathe at all without Dream doing it for him.

Hob fumbles to strip his thin gloves off and find the opening of the robe with bare hands. “Please,” Hob groans. “I will be so good for you.”

His hands slip greedy to skin, wrapping around Dream’s cock. Strokes him slow to learn the new shape of him, to thumb all the fluted edges like a tall flower closed.

Hob bows his head to take him into his mouth immediately, groaning softly as his tongue dips into the slit.

Dream sighs, letting his hands wander of their own accord. The armor is mostly in his way, but he is not bound by mortal conventions and can slip beneath them. “You have only ever been perfect.”

Hob’s tongue is heavenly and cruel at once; a rolling softness that deftly coaxes at every place that sparks pleasure like Hob is singularly attuned to it.

The plush give of his mouth is enough that Dream distantly wonders if he had reshaped it to only accept him.

He wants to devour Hob whole, if only he might also feel this all-consuming pleasure.

Hob groans softly like he agrees.

“Easy,” Dream praises again, deftly flicking at every buckle and clasp of Hob’s armor with his claws. It all falls away under his whim, clattering indecent to the floor and echoing through the hall. Leaves Hob in just a soft tunic and breeches, and available to his hands and the shadows that ripple around them in pleasure. They shift and pulse in time with his own heartbeat. Grow larger and darker, building up on their own and teaming hungrily around Hob.

The hunger is its own entity, awakening from disuse in his body and ravenous for it.

Shadows pull together, wriggling into tendrils that wrap and caress Hob like a lover.

Dream can feel him shiver and shake, can feel his breathing stutter and deepen. Feels everything his shadows do, awareness split to watch Hob’s head move sinuous and also in the tendrils slipping under fabric and along tacky skin.

Exhales heavy and inexorable as he tips his head back and watches through the shadows that explore the length of Hob’s body, licking in every crease and curl against the tight heat of him.

“Hard for me?” Dream breathes. “Just from being on your knees, just from having your mouth full? Easy.”

“Merely rigor mortis, my lord,” Hob teases, tracing his tongue down.

Dream tightens his fingers in Hob’s hair, pulling warningly. “I gave you life, and I can take it away.”

“Don’t threaten me, I’m into that.”

Dream laughs despite himself, startled, and just as quickly it twists into a moan at the savage spear of tongue against his slit, the way Hob takes him so deep into his mouth he can feel the squeeze of his greedy throat.

“Do you wish to consume me?”

Hob whines, nails digging into his sides, swallowing again.

“Do you wish to take me inside all of you? Or shall I open myself up so your tongue may taste me at my core?”

Images fly fast and desperate behind Hob’s bruised eyelids, saliva pooling and dripping, knees twinging against stone as shadows finger lovingly along the inside of his thighs. Debauchery, and a spine-tingling notion of Dream splitting his cock open so Hob can lap his tongue down the center of it, giving pleasure from inside-out.

“Steady, love,” Dream eases. His claws betray him, digging into the back of straining shoulder blades. Trace slow paths that almost draw blood. “We have eternity yet.”

Dark tendrils tease up to Hob’s hole, laving attention and worming inside.

“Fucking terror,” Hob gasps, pulling back and jamming his face in the crease of Dream’s thigh.

“Just that? They are so small, just curious,” Dream muses, curling fingers through his hair, soothing. “You have taken more. This should be nothing.” Tightens and pulls, yanking Hob’s head back and savoring the electric groan.

“It’s well and truly different, and you know that.” Hob’s already panting. Shifts on his knees, hips hitching into empty air and then back on the mime of fingers. “More?”

Dream lets him have as much as he can take, humming a soft ballad from the thirteenth century as he feeds more to Hob, stretching inside him; another to wrap and squeeze his balls, preventing him from rocking himself to any sort of satisfying end. Savors the choked moan.

He would play with him like this for a century, like a cat does a mouse, toyed with on just the edge of some finality but never letting him have the satisfaction.

“Please,” Hob begs. “Please, anything you like, I will do anything, just—just more. I want to feel you. I need to feel you.”

He’s very lucky that it’s exactly what Dream himself wants. Lucky to be so handsome, to have caught Dream’s affection like the golden-limned muse he is. Lucky that Dream will happily bend time and reality for him.

Will happily help him up from the floor to kneel over Dream’s lap instead, and hold his hands firm for stability as Hob sinks down onto his length with a groan so obscene Dream’s sure it would put a whorehouse to shame.

“Look at you,” Dream purrs, watching every inch of Hob’s face tipped back in rapture. “You take me beautifully, my love.”

Hob laughs, something breathy and aborted, tight around all his edges as he squeezes Dream’s hands in a dozen things unsaid. Squeezes his eyes shut; squeezes around Dream himself, sweat dotting his skin as he takes a blessed moment to get used to the new shape of him remade for Dream’s pleasure.

Or maybe it the other way around, maybe it is Dream who’s been reshaped for Hob, to be used and enjoyed.

Dream continues to watch him, enjoying every detail and shift, as Hob takes his time. Runs sharp claws only somewhat careful up and down Hob’s heaving ribs, keeping his own hips still as Hob begins to rock small circles onto him. Keeps him deep inside, but chasing the little shocks of friction.

“Everything you wanted?”

“More,” Hob says. His thighs flex in an effort to lift and sink back down, building to some rhythm only he knows. It is heaven and hell both to feel him—better than, when he’s experienced both. Would rebuke both for this here, and does with his teeth to Hob’s throat, tasting the pounding of his heart as Hob works himself a little faster.

“And you?” Hob manages to ask.

Dream does not bother with words, just in the tightness of his hands and claws as he drags Hob closer into him, both of them gasping as talons pierce skin.

The dark tendrils are as hungry as ever, sliding around Hob’s skin and covering every inch Dream cannot. Teaming against them both like a desperate creature, jealous for attention. Needy still, despite having tasted Hob already. Maybe wants more for having done so already.

They are part of Dream, after all, and Dream does not think he will ever tire of tasting Hob. Tastes him again in an open kiss, slow and indulgent in contrast to the fast and brutal way Hob fucks himself on him. Tastes every breath and keen that escapes Hob. Tastes Hob’s skin and nipples and cock through the wriggling passes of darkness.

Hob is tight and hot and slick, and Dream buries his face into Hob’s neck, breathing deep and fast, grazing with very sharp teeth. Each press gets closer to breaking skin, and each one makes Hob shake harder.

“Will you give it to me?” Dream rumbles. Teeth and claws dig in so slowly, pressing wrenching gasps from Hob. Shadows build and creep around Hob’s cock, gripping him tight, squeezing in time with his own frantic rocking.

Hob sobs, body tense and face utterly slack in ecstasy. “I’d give you anything.” 

“Just you then,” Dream says. Drags nails down to sink into the writhing dark mass to take Hob’s cock in hand. “Everything. You are everything.”

The smallest, weakest whine escapes Hob. As does a tear, tracking slow down his cheek.

Dream stretches to lick it up, saliva turning sticky as arousal swells. He grips Hob tight all over, free hand gripping his hip to yank him down into a frantic rhythm. Feels his pulse follow suit in the desperation—hears Hob’s do the same—thoughts swirling with the desire to fold Hob over something and well and truly claim him. The desire to hold Hob down and use him as much as Hob himself wants.

Wants most, ridiculously, to make Hob happy. And that is to stay right here and let desire fan the flames of his power until he is growing in size and energy, and still letting Hob curl over top of him as he shouts in painful sharp release.

Dream groans with him, drawing it out of him like spinning yarn, a gentle and thready tug-and-give, taking every shake, every pulse, all the suffusing warmth Hob has in him. Wishes to draw every ounce of damp completion out of him until he is as empty and cold as the armor he likes to wear. The armor still scattered on the floor of the throne’s dais. The sight of it over Hob’s shoulder (scratched, bitten, bleeding) is nearly as loose and erotic as the man still fucking himself on him is.

“Won’t you join me?” Hob gasps. His voice grates and fails him, near hoarse. Keens as he forces himself to tighten around Dream’s cock, trying to milk pleasure out of him. Hob is so tired. Dream can feel it. His exhaustion. His pleasure. His satisfaction. His greediness as his muscles spasm and twitch with continued stimulation. “You’ve made me feel so good, love. Won’t you let me do the same? Please.”

It wobbles. The word or Hob’s voice, or maybe Hob’s grasp on rationality.

Dream only hums. Loosens his grip on hip and cock both, softening to hold and stroke featherlight. “You are tired.”

Hob shakes his head. Resumes languid rolling of his hips.

“You might hurt yourself, continuing like this.”

“You will fix me,” Hob argues. Stubborn in life and death both.

“You are charming.”

Hob manages a breathy laugh. His expression tightens, eyes squeezed shut in focus. “If you don’t come inside me right now—”

Dream bites his lip, cutting it off neatly. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t. Just…” Rolls words around in his mouth, leaning back against the throne, watching Hob refuse to still.

The dark tendrils, pesky things, help him. Wrap around his waist and curl at his back, stabilizing him, keeping him from tumbling either direction.

“Not yet,” Dream decides.

Hob chokes on a whine, posture shooting ramrod straight as the layers of ridges on Dream’s cock expand outward. Just enough to keep him locked in place.

“You wanted something new to play with,” Dream reminds him, running claws through sweat-soaked hair. “Who am I to cut your fun short?”

[illuminatedquill]

Worship Me

A Sabine Wren & Ezra Bridger story

Story Summary: Tucked away inside their watchtower during a snowy night on Lothal, Sabine Wren and Ezra Bridger ponder the future and their relationship.

The beverage dispenser whirred and deposited the last of its contents - sweet, sweet hot chocolate - into the mug; Ezra watched the steam waft up from the dark brown ambrosia, bringing with it the tantalizingly sweet aroma that made his mouth water.

Even with the heating unit at max, the watchtower's interior was still chilly. Outside the temperatures were approaching near freezing and bringing with it fresh concerns of an early, bitter winter with its sleet and snow. But, for now, the snow was harmless and provided an endless frosty wonderland for all the children - and not an insignificant number of adults - to enjoy. Ezra took the fresh mug of hot chocolate in one hand and grabbed another less recently filled one in his other and moved to the watchtower's balcony.

His partner, Sabine Wren, was standing there. Wrapped in a comfy gray shawl - a gift from her departed master, Ahsoka Tano - she leaned against the railing, watching the snow drift lazily down. Just beyond, lit brightly against the snowfall, was Lothal's Capital City with its gorgeous array of spires and skyscrapers. Ezra smiled wistfully, thinking of all the families living in those towers, their children's faces pressed against the glass to watch the snow come down.

He remembered with a pang of melancholy of doing just that with his own parents, Ephraim and Mira, many years ago. Waking up to see the snow, riding a sled down the hills of Lothal's fields, scampering after the loth cats to find their hidden burrows . . .

"Enjoying the view?" Sabine called to him, jolting him out of his reminiscing. He blinked, re-focusing on her.

Even after all these years, she still took his breath away with her beauty. Sabine's hair had grown a little longer, the dyed orange tips just brushing the top of her shoulders now. He knew she wouldn't grow it any longer, purely for practical reasons, but oh how he yearned to see Sabine with longer hair. Underneath the shawl, she wore casual clothes: a bright orange tunic, yellow combat pants, and maroon boots. Once upon a time, he had teased that her outfit was similar in style to the one he wore during the Rebellion and had received a sharp poke in the side for his observation (but he had noted slyly that Sabine was blushing as she did so).

Playing it cool (ha ha), he replied, "Yup."

Smooth, he thought dourly. Very cool, Ezra.

Sabine snorted and took one of the mugs to sip at. "Charming as always, Ezra."

He batted his eyes at her in, hopefully, a smoldering fashion. "Hey, it's a part of the package. Prince Charming, that's me."

She choked on the hot chocolate.

Using his sleeve to dab at her mouth, he said, "That wasn't meant to be a joke."

In between gasps of air, Sabine choked out, "You're going to kill me with any more of whatever this is you're trying to do."

Ezra sighed and took her gently by the arm. "Let's just head inside."

Once Sabine had settled down, they settled onto the couch and wrapped a large quilt - a gift from Zeb and Kallus (with an apology note from Kallus about the quilt's clumsy construction but Zeb tried really hard, and he hadn't the heart to tell him otherwise) - around themselves. Sabine was sipping at Ezra's mug of hot chocolate, since he was the reason why hers had been spilled. Normally he would have protested, especially since it was his favorite beverage, but Ezra had learned long ago that certain arguments were futile with Sabine, so he gladly acquiesced.

They sat there in silence, just listening to the watchtower's gentle mechanical hum and the occasional mewling from Murley, who had taken up the usual perch at his favorite window.

Ezra closed his eyes and took in the ambience, enjoying the simple feeling of being at home and beside the person he loved the most in this galaxy.

. . . And trying to ignore the fact his hands were shaking ever so slightly.

Sabine set down her mug on the table in front of them. He felt her turn towards him, leaning in close, her warm breath tickling his ear . . .

"Your hands are shaking, cyar'ika," she said quietly.

Ezra's eyes opened as he grimaced. "You caught that," he said glumly.

Sabine arched an eyebrow at him. "You can't hide anything from me, Ezra," she replied. "We're partners."

Ezra shrugged off his side of the quilt, glaring at his traitorous hands. "I don't know why they're doing that," he confessed. "It's been happening more and more lately."

She cocked her head at him, thinking. "Not during our missions," she said. "Only when we're home."

"Yeah," he said. "You think they'd be acting up while we're fighting off pirates or negotiating trade disputes or any number of stressful situations we've been in . . . but no. Just whenever we're home."

Sabine gently grasped his shaking hands. They stilled in her touch. "It's fear, I think," she surmised, studying his face. "And something more."

Ezra frowned at her. "What am I scared of when we're home, safe and sound, alone together?"

"Talk it out. Let your thoughts flow along with your feelings, cyar'ika."

Ezra sighed. "Okay," he replied. Closing his eyes, he reached out to the Force for calm and just . . . listened to himself, breathing in and out. He felt Sabine's presence beside him - a constant fierce light, radiating love and belief and support -

The quiet.

He opened his eyes, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck raise unsettlingly. "That's it," he murmured. "That's what it is."

Sabine looked at him, frowning. "What is it?"

"It's the quiet," Ezra said. "It's the peace. I'm not used to it."

He leaned back into the couch, processing this revelation. After a few moments he said, "Sabine, do you realize we've been fighting for most of our lives?"

Her grip on his hands tightened. Ezra looked and saw the discomfort appear on her face. "It's not something I like to dwell on," she said. "But, yeah. I know."

"I think it's come to the point where I feel more at home in a battlefield than I do at our actual home. The peace, the quiet . . . Sabine, it scares me. I'm scared it could be disrupted at a moment's notice, that it could be taken away."

Ezra stared at her, his vision going blurry. "I'm scared you could be taken away. Or me, taken from you. It all feels false, somehow. I can't truly enjoy it."

Sabine reached out and cradled his face to her chest. He heard the gentle, re-affirming beat of her heart. It calmed him a little.

"The galaxy's a scary place, Ezra. We've already lost each other once. I wish I could guarantee that it will never happen again . . . "

Ezra said bitterly, "You can't. No one can."

She turned his face upwards towards hers. "I love you, Ezra. That's all I can promise you. I'll love you until the stars go cold."

"Is it enough, Sabine? Love doesn't promise anything. It wasn't enough for Kanan and Hera. It didn't save Kanan. It killed him." The mention of his former master, Kanan Jarrus, brought a bitter taste to his mouth. He felt awful for saying it, but it held true. Kanan had loved Hera deeply - enough to give his life to ensure hers and everyone else's future on Lothal.

But he had still died. And he knew Hera still felt that loss keenly everyday.

Yes, the love had been there. But it hadn't changed anything.

Kanan still died. Hera had told him of the regrets she felt; things that should have been said but were put aside in the foolish hope that there would be another time to say them.

"You don't mean that, Ezra," said Sabine sharply. "I know you don't."

Ezra turned his face away, hiding his shame. He shrugged in response.

Sabine grabbed his face and wrenched it back towards her. Her brown eyes, normally bright and compassionate, burned with a fierce anger. "Listen to me," she said. "Do not let this fear turn you into something you're not, Ezra. You're better than this. I know you are."

Ezra let out a frustrated breath, bowing his head. "I know. I just . . . I don't know, Sabine. Will this be enough for us? With the lives we lead? I don't want there to be any regrets between us."

"You mean like Hera and Kanan?" asked Sabine. "I get what you mean."

He looked at her, feeling lost. "So what do we do?"

Sabine looked back at him. Then, with a soft touch, she placed a finger under his chin and titled his face up ever so slightly.

"If the love is not enough," she said softly, "then I will ask you for more."

Ezra stared at her, entranced. "What do you mean?"

Sabine leaned in close; the scent of her, a lilac fragrance, filling his nose, intoxicating his mind . . .

"Adore me, Ezra Bridger," she whispered. "Worship me."

His mind went blank. "I . . . how?" he heard himself ask.

With her other hand, Sabine reached behind his head, running her fingers through his hair. Silvery sensations erupted from his scalp; Ezra could hear his heart pulsing loudly within his ears. The fingers clenched, and she pulled him into a deep, searing kiss.

After what felt like an eternity, she let him up for air. Breathing heavily, she placed a hand on his chest.

"I will worship you too," she said huskily. "All of you."

She leaned forward and kissed his chest. "I worship your heart."

His forehead. "I worship your mind."

Sabine reached for his hands, still shaking but for different reasons now. She brushed her lips lightly against each of his fingers. "I worship your hands."

Ezra shivered at her touch. When she was finished, she gazed deeply into his eyes. "Your turn now," she said with an impish grin.

"Are you sure about this?" Ezra asked. "I haven't . . . I mean, this is my first time."

"Mine too," Sabine admitted.

Ezra's eyes widened. He smiled, feeling surprised - and a little gratified. "You waited for me?"

Blushing, Sabine punched him gently on the arm. "Obviously, goober."

He grinned at her. "So, who will take the lead then?"

"Me," she said bluntly. "Unless the Noti gave you directions."

Ezra laughed, feeling some of the tension slide out of him.

Sabine poked him in the chest. "Hey. Focus. Back to worshipping."

He reached out through the Force and dimmed the watchtower's lights. Sabine quirked an eyebrow at him. "Trying to set the mood?" she asked.

Ezra glanced at his hands - they were steady as a rock.

He slid his hands underneath the quilt, searching . . .

Sabine frowned at him. "What are you - oh."

Ezra gently pressed himself against her and returned her kiss with a fervent ardor that left them both breathless. Blinking at him, stunned, Sabine asked, "Where did you learn to do that?"

"Maybe the Noti did teach me some things," he teased. "Oh, I've got tricks that will blow your mind, Sabine Wren."

A sly smile grew slowly on her beautiful face. "Yeah?" she challenged. "Are you willing to show me some more of these tricks?"

"Certainly," said Ezra. "If you're not busy this evening."

She rolled her eyes. "I've got some free time, sure," she replied dryly.

"Excellent," said Ezra. And he promptly got to work, worshipping her, adoring her.

*Author's Note: One of the craziest lines I've ever heard in romantic fiction is a woman saying to her lover, "Worship me." I immediately knew it was something Sabine would say to Ezra and, well, here we are.

[specialinterestshows]

Get to know your hostess (pictured at the beginning of the last chapter) as you hide from the public eye in this latest chapter of my Rhea Ripley x lady!reader fic, Absolute Smokeshow.

Warnings for this section: Parasocial behavior mention, cannabis (weed), social anxiety, teasing, groping, tickling, praise, begging, embarrassment

-

Absolute Smokeshow (Part 78 of ?): And They Were Roommates

It seemed like every time you woke up, Mari was either asleep on the couch or had left you a note before leaving for work. The notes usually mentioned or accompanied food that she’d made while you were away or asleep, so you weren’t complaining; especially given that none of the strangers online seem to have caught onto your new living situation.

Still, it felt lonely sometimes. You tried to deal with this one night by staying on the phone with Rhea (and Dom, for about five minutes before he fell asleep.) The familiar cadence of your girlfriend’s voice lulled you until you drifted off, but the sound your phone made once she hung up woke you again.

After a few days of yours and Mari’s work schedules conflicting, you came home at the end of a particularly exhausting day to her sitting at the table, halfway through eating a dish she’d just made; the delicious smell filled the air.

“Mira, we’re finally awake at the same time!” Mari announced, smiling, “Want to share a bowl and have a bite?”

“Yes please,” you replied, removing one of the face masks you now wore most days to obscure your identity, “Lemme just freshen up a bit first.”

You slipped out of your work clothes, took a quick shower, and threw on something comfortable. When you walked out to the living room, Mari had a bowl packed and a plate of warm food ready for you.

“You sure know how to make a girl feel welcome,” you tell her, accepting the bong she held out to you once you sat down, “Home-cooked meals every day and an endless supply of weed?”

“Happy to do it,” she replied as you took a hit, “What’s the point of having nice stuff and not sharing any of it? I think the best things in life are meant to be enjoyed with other people.”

Thinking back to your nights with Rhea and Dom, you couldn’t help but agree, nodding.

Your conversation with Marisol continued while you finished smoking and she finished eating, and vice versa. Both of you talked about your past few days, sharing work stories and making each other laugh. After a particularly long rant of yours about your frustrations at your job, Mari asked what seemed like a non-sequitur:

“Pues, you like wrestling, right?”

“Well, I… yeah, actually,” you admitted, thinking of all the wrestling videos you’d been watching with fascination since Dom’s last match, “It wasn’t really my thing until I started, uh, seeing Rhea, so I’m still new to it, but… yeah.”

“Ever thought of doing it yourself?” she asked casually.

The question seemed ridiculous - you laughed.

“I have way too much anxiety for that,” you said, nervously playing with the leftover bits of food on your plate as you thought about it, “All those people, cameras, heckling - I’m not good with crowds.”

“What about indie stuff?” Mari questioned, “A friend of mine is part of the local scene and apparently they’re looking for some new talent. Small crowds, phone cameras at best, from what they tell me.”

“I… I don’t…” you were starting to feel overwhelmed just thinking about performing in front of people in any capacity.

“Ay, belleza, lo siento,” she apologized, noticing the sudden rise in your anxiety, “I’m not trying to pressure you - just letting you know there’s other jobs out there.”

“Thank you,” you responded, letting out a relieved sigh.

Mari stood, stretched, and yawned before taking both of your plates to the sink.

“I’ll have to set up the couch here in a minute,” she said as she rinsed the dishes.

“Actually, would you, um,” the words spilled out of your mouth, “Want to fall asleep with me tonight? In your bed?”

“As long as you’re okay with cuddling,” Mari said, loading the dishwasher, “I can try not to, but all bets are off once I’m asleep.”

“Cuddling would be perfect, actually,” you admitted, feeling touch-starved.

“Let me wash my hands and put on some pajamas,” she said with a smile, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

You quickly typed out a message to Rhea as you walked over to the bedroom:

“Hey, babe, just letting you know Mari and I are sleeping in the same bed tonight”

Heart pounding, you pressed “send” before trying to get comfortable on the mattress. Anxiety made you want to elaborate, but you reminded yourself that your girlfriend preferred if you avoided specifics. She would understand what you meant.

“Have fun!”

The reply came surprisingly quickly, though it lacked her usual little black heart. Rhea was clearly doing her best to be supportive, despite her jealous tendencies; you appreciated it more than you could put into words. You did your best not to worry too much as Marisol appeared in the doorframe wearing pot-leaf print sweatpants and a tank top, pillow in hand.

Even though you’d been sleeping there the past few nights, the room felt entirely different when Mari walked in; calming, inviting, not quite contained by its physical walls.

“Do you have a side of the bed you prefer?” she asked as you stood.

You shook your head, “I’m good wherever.”

Mari placed her pillow next to yours, pulled back the blanket, and invited you to get under the covers first with a flourish of her hand.

Laughing, you take her offer, moving into a good position before she turns off the light. The mattress shifts behind you before feel Mari’s warmth, her arm casually brushing against you before resting on your waist.

You waited.

Despite having her arm on you, Mari wasn’t as physically close to you as you would like. Maybe she felt like she had pressured you enough for one night, you thought as you recalled the way she looked when she realized she had made you anxious.

It looked like you might need to be the one to make the first move.

Scooting back, you stopped once Mari’s chest was pressed against your back, your legs flush with hers, and wiggled slightly to draw attention to your ass. Her breath hitched and you took it as a sign to move against her even more, taking her hand and sliding it underneath your shirt. The moment Mari’s fingers brushed against your nipple and you whimpered, you felt her getting hard through her sweatpants. She freezed almost immediately, pulling away and whispering an apology. You turned around quickly, pulling her close again by her hips and kissing her gently.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” you reassured her, looking into her eyes, “I want you. I want this. Do you?”

“I’ve wanted this since I first saw you,” Mari admitted, “I just don’t want you to feel like you have to, and I didn’t know if you knew-“

“Hey,” it was your turn to keep her from getting too overwhelmed, “I just want to make you feel good.”

Once you saw Mari begin to relax, you took in her soft smile for a moment before kissing her again. You felt her getting more and more comfortable, holding your face in one hand and placing the other on your hip. Her movements became more confident as her touch began to wander, making you gasp against her lips. As her hands worked on you, she trailed kisses across your cheek and down your neck.

Your hum of delight abruptly turned into a vicious giggle when Mari kissed you just softly enough to tickle you. She pulled away when you squirmed, a mischievous grin you’d never seen from her before tugging at the corners of her mouth. Before you knew it, fingers were tickling your neck and your sides relentlessly as you laughed without pause.

Then, just as quickly as she began, Mari stops. Her own giggles accompany yours as you happily lie next to each other.

“It all makes sense now,” you joke as you catch your breath, “You lure innocent women… with weed and food… so you can torture them.”

Still a bit giggly, you couldn’t help but laugh at your own joke.

“Tu risa es divina,” Mari said with sincerity, “I can’t help that I love your laugh.”

Holding your gaze, Mari slid out of her sweatpants, revealing her lack of underwear. You followed suit, removing your own clothes. Next to go was her tank top; you bit your lip at the sight of her tits and the smattering of tattoos her clothes had been hiding.

“Quieres?” she asked, cupping and bouncing her breasts.

“Yes please,” you breathed, about to move before Mari gently held your shoulder down and straddled you.

Her hips were just above yours and she was already dripping pre-cum onto your stomach when she brought one nipple down to your mouth.

“Mmm, que buena,” she praised when you wrapped your lips around it and started licking and sucking.

The more your tongue danced and your teeth gently grazed her breast, the more she rocked against you, hard against your stomach.

“Please,” you finally begged when your need was too much to ignore, “I want you inside of me so badly.”

Rather than saying anything, Mari’s weight shifted as she opened the drawer of her nightstand and took out a small bottle of lube. Squeezing some into her hand, she set it back down before reaching behind her.

Her hand lowered down between your spread legs and she gently worked the lubricant around and inside your entrance, teasing you with her fingers. The second she took her hand away, your hums of desire turned into frustrated whines.

“Paciencia, preciosa,” Mari moaned, lubricating herself now, “You’re being so good for me.”

She scooted down, raising one of your legs in the air with her unlubricated hand before using the other to slide her tip against the ache at your core. A moment before you were sure you’d have to start begging again, Mari slowly slid inside of you until she no longer needed to hold up your leg, resting it against her torso. With her entire length now buried inside of you, she leaned in, hands gripping your waist.

A seductive smirk is the only thing to alert you before she moves you back and forth. Mari praised you as you gasped, letting her set the pace as you were lost in how good you felt. A delighted chuckle soon crept into her moans, accompanying your pleasured cries as she sped up.

“Ma-“ you stop yourself, realizing what you were about to say:

Mami.

You panicked for a second before playing it off.

“Mari!”

Fuck, how did you fail to notice how similar the two titles were before? You couldn’t help but feel embarrassed.

You did add black and purple hearts around Rhea’s contact name in your phone; the way the address book on your phone sorted things, Marisol wasn’t even in the same section.

Thankfully, the feeling of embarrassment seemed to turn you on even more, enhancing your body’s reaction to every sensation: your warm face, the slick pleasure that filled you, the sight of the beautiful woman on top of you.

“‘M gonna-!“ you came before you could finish declaring it, reaching up and gripping Mari’s red curls as your body writhed underneath her.

All you could hear were your own unrestrained noises as you felt her hands moving to your tits, thrusting now as she chased her own release.

You were close to the end of your peak until Mari’s mouth ran into yours, her fervent moans making your lips buzz, sending a thrill through your body again. A second later, you felt her twitch inside you, moaning against you as you suddenly felt warmer and slicker.

“Fuck, you’re hot,” you muttered when she pulled her face away to look at you.

The lip-bite she gave in response made you involuntarily clench around her.

“You’re one to talk, belleza,” Mari sighed happily, giving you one last kiss before slowly sliding out and lying down next to you, “Did you enjoy everything?”

“Is that rhetorical?” you giggle blissfully.

“Just need to make sure,” she whispered, planting kisses on your cheek as she wrapped her arms around you.

“I definitely enjoyed myself,” you said sleepily, drifting off already. Then, after a beat:

“And you. I enjoy you a lot.”

[end part seventy-eight]

Part 79: “Monday Night Mami”

-

Tag list (thank you!)

@littlemiss-fanficlover , @babybatlover , @girlofpink , @kagome2909 , @domripley , @wiccanpriestess , @falloutboy-lover , @aut0luminescence , @riverina69 , @itsrheasgirl , @1-800-sinister , @ripleylove , @beeposts , @teganc

[thedomesticanthropologist]

Mira takes her prayers to Ilmater very seriously. Clerics must pray 6 times a day to their God(dess) in order to retain and grow their powers.

Usually she does it silently. One time, out of curiosity, Astarion uses a potion of Mind Reading (the worm would work but would alert her) to listen to her thoughts. Expecting to hear the basic sort of Idolatry of Reverence to her God, he instead hears an endless litany of:

Oh Ilmater, the things I endure for love!

Please send your aid to Bless Astarion with a pinch of selflessness,

a dash of kindness,

and a sprinkle of humility.

If he resists, may his cape forever snag on door frames

🙏 amen 🙏

[liquid-luck-00]

Marks of Magic

Day 10 Mask of Maribat Spooktober 2023

First *** Previous

Language and cursing is used

2,090 Words

Guess who isn’t dead

~~~~~~~~~~

The second after they agreed and he shook her hand, the air rippled again. They were in someone’s apartment, lair, workroom might be a closer word to it. The room was small but seemed to also be endless. On one wall was a kitchenette, while two of the other three walls were covered with pinboards, sketches, and a wall of fabrics. A giant table was in the center of the room, and a door with two giant windows on either side occupied the last wall.

"Where are we?" Jason knows that the question of how is magic, so where is the next.

"A pocket dimension of mine." She shrugged and walked up to the table.

"So who are you, really?"

She gave him that stupid smirk again and he wanted to hit her and protect her at the same time. "You know my face but I don’t know yours, and you still ask me that."

"I don’t trust you."

"I don’t actually know you either, much less actually trust you. But since you are helping me you can just call me Mira."

"Fair enough." He walked up next to her. "So what’s the plan?"

"Bats is preoccupied, so we have maybe an hour, and if my hunch is correct we can’t leave a speck of evidence."

"And how would you know that."

"Let’s just say I’ve got a good feeling." A knowing smile and a glint in her eyes, almost made him ask but thought better of it.

He watched her suspiciously as she set out several blueprints of various Joker hideouts, Jason was actually a bit impressed with it.

He doesn’t get her, hell he doesn’t even know why he actually agreed to this. They got to work quickly devising a plan and ten minutes later they were ready.

"You might need a mask." He pointed out, in this light he finally saw her.

She was close to his age, probably around 5’4”. Her hair was a black almost blue color and the underside was a bright crimson. Bluebell eyes and freckles splashed her nose and cheek bones.

"You’re probably right." Mira did it again, she waved her hand and the air rippled around her.

The next second she was dressed completely different. A long red jacket that was accented with gold and black straps, was over a black dress and a belt around her waist. Red boots that came up to just under her knees, over black leggings. Her hair turned a powdery blue almost white while the hair framing her face was such a dark black it looked like ink. Even her eyes changed to a dark red all while a half gas mask covered the bottom half of her face.

"Is this better for you."

He almost wouldn’t have believed that the person in front of him was the same person he met on a rooftop not even a half hour before, but it was. Damn magic.

"Okay let’s go." They nodded and she teleported them again.

"Now you find…" He started but was cut off.

Maniacal laughter was heard not even two buildings away from where they appeared.

Damn this girl is lucky.

So, they made their way over and he was going to say something but she was already ahead of him.

"Ten thugs and the Joker no one else." She whispered at his side not even looking in. This girl is starting to scare him. "But we only need Joker."

"You’re planning on using that pocket dimension aren’t you?"

"Yes, it’ll give us more time, than if we did it here."

"Okay, knock out the others and we’ll grab the trash pile."

She jumped in and he followed right after. They each attacked and the goons quickly fell, he looked over his shoulder, and saw her, the second she touched any of them they seemed to freeze in place. She danced around them, easily avoiding the bullets that flew towards her. She was trained, and trained well, a pit grew in his stomach at the realization. Who is she?

"Red Hood, now that’s interesting." Joker’s cackling voice drew their attention towards him. "Last I checked that name was mine."

"Well let’s call it a down payment." He was focused on the clown, Mira was capable of taking out the others. "After all you took something from me and made me this."

"And how would that work, hm?"

"You killed me."

"You're going to have to be more specific now. I've killed quite a few people, as have you." He mocked, trying to elicit a reaction. "Be honest, are the faces starting to blur for you yet. Because I can't remember them any more." A chilling smile overtook the Joker's features. "Actually I do remember one. It wasn't far from here. God I wish I could have seen that Blunder's face when my bomb went off."

"Fucking bastard!" He growled, his helmet amplifying the sound. The edges of his sight began to turn green, the madness began to settle.

"Well, well, if it isn’t the little boy blunder back from the dead, does this make me your father?"

The words Joker spoke made him fall further and further into madness, until he let it consume him.

•••

"Well, well, it it isn’t the little boy blunder back from the dead, does this make me your father?"

What?!?! Marinette froze, the words swimming in her head, that night replaying in her head.

"Well this was fun, wasn’t it, boy blunder?" When he didn’t get an answer he continued. "Well it was for me make sure to finish your homework and be in bed by nine. And hey, make sure to tell the big bad bat I said hello."

Jay, she watched Red Hood, and he attacked, but it was different. His movements and aura shifted, inhuman is the only way she would describe it.

They fought like rabid dogs, not caring if they took a life or died themselves in the process. He didn’t care if he got hit, or shot and it terrified her to see it, now that she placed the man in front of her with the boy she knew, she couldn’t move. But she had to, he could kill himself in this state. And she wasn’t going to lose him again.

She called on Pollen’s venom and jumped between them. A fist collided with both of them and they went still. She shoved each of them into a separate room in her pocket dimension before following herself. She secured the Joker in one room, then went to check on Red Hood, no that was Jay, her Jay was alive.

She went into the room and she could feel the anger and hurt that rolled off of him. Marinette approached, as if he were a wild animal.

"I just want to help…"

Hood turned to her, the helmet having broken in the fight, peices dug themselves into his skin, while his eyes were still covered by a domino mask. He trained a gun on her, silently telling her to stop, so she did. They stood there a minute, then two, then five, the minutes ticked on until she thinks he may have calmed down a bit.

Then she recognized it. Stories she read in the grimore, places that were overflowing with magic, from a single Kwamii. And this felt like Plagg, destruction and death, the pits of Lazarus.

She unclasped the chain she always wore from her neck, pulling it forward, a ring was threaded through which she let fall into her palm. The ring of the black cat. He stared at it in her hand a moment before she closed her fingers around it.

"Who are you?" His voice was labored, either from the exertion earlier, or he was still fighting off the madness, she couldn’t be sure.

"Hi, Jay…" She dropped the glamor spell from earlier. Tears stinging her eyes but didn’t care as they fell down her cheeks. "It’s Nettie."

He blinked at her. Not saying a word but she stepped forward. He stood still, watching her. She reached down to take his hand, but he moved it away, so she looked up at him, he was taller than her now. She held out her hand until he took it. When he did she dropped the ring in his hand and a green light emanated from him.

"Better?"

"How?" He asked in return.

"The Lazarus pits are Plagg’s domain, and you are one of his, so now that you’ve been recognized the pits can’t control you."

"How did… I told you… why did you come back?" He finally finished a question.

"I couldn’t live knowing that stupid clown was still alive, I just…" She choked out her answer with just as much difficulty. Tears stung her eyes as she desperately tried not to cry. "I didn’t plan on this happening. I never thought I’d actually…"

"Let’s end this." Jay reached out and combed his fingers through her hair, stopping at the red.

"Let’s!" In a flash her glamour returned and she led him to where she had the Joker.

The monster held inside had regained consciousness in the time they were, sorting their own issues. He watched them, as if he could actually escape them.

"So what’s the plan, Mira?" Jay, Red Hood, asked her casually leaning on the door they came through.

"Physical and emotional transmission."

"Aw the girly doesn’t actually want to hurt anyone?" Joker cackled as if he had won.

"Wrong." She stated coldly. "You’re going to be trapped feeling the pain you emotionally and physically inflicked, until you beg us to kill you, or you kill yourself in the madness."

"Your bluffing sweetheart."

She put a hand on each side of his temple and a scream was immediate.

She hated this spell, and she couldn’t believe the pain that Nooroo and Duusu had to feel for this to become reality. But if it meant that this maniac could feel what he’s done that’s fine with her. The silence that immediately followed sent chills down her spine. The Joker was trapped in his own mind and body, being tortured by what he did to himself, essentially comatose.

They walked out of the room, back to her studio, and Jay finally talked. "How long?"

He wrapped his hand around her wrist, making her stop and face him.

"Jay…" She dropped her glamour again, reached up, he nodded and she removed his mask. "Planning this, maybe a few hours. Knowing your alive and…" She started to tear again but he watched her, not saying a thing again. So she huffed looking him over and pulled him to yet another room. She sat him down and started tending to his now various wounds.

"Why do you still care, I’m not the same person I was?" A desperation crept into his voice, steeling himself from her. He held her away from him by her shoulders.

"I wouldn’t expect you to, I’m not the same either." She shook herself free and fluttered around the room, plopping Jay in a seat in the process.

"Aren’t you mad at me! I left and didn’t even bother trying to find you."

"Yeah I’m mad!" She dabbed the iodine soaked cotton on the laceration on his arm. He winced, if it stung or the fact her temper flared she isn’t sure, she took a breath to calm slightly. "I’m mad at Joker, at Bruce and Alfred for never telling me you died, mad that I couldn’t get you out! But you had no control over what happened to you."

She tried to get him to make eye contact but he looked away. When he finally spoke his voice was cold. "I'm not a good person, so stay away, put me back in Gotham and forget about me!"

"When will it get through your oh so thick fucking skull!" She grabbed his face forcing him to look at her, then flicked him on the forehead. "I don’t give a flying fuck what people think, and I will stand beside those I care about, which includes you. Idiot." She huffed.

"Nettie, you were… you are, my best friend. I don’t want you to hate me." Fear snuck into his voice, it was small, so different from the imposing figure in front of her. Yet so reminiscent of the boy she knew so long ago.

She stood up and offered him her hand. "You’re my best friend, Jay, and no mask, magic, or maniac is going to change that."

~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:

@jennifer-rose123 @toodaloo-kangaroo @joydone07 @mizzy-pop @starling218 @crystalqueertea

[eletricheart]

You're Losing Me

(Mother Miranda x Reader)

*image creds to the owner

Word count: 1.255

song: You're Losing Me by Taylor Swift

ps: i've been trying this new way of writting my stories, i have the ideas but i still cant put it all in one story, so i'm connecting it to the song lyrics, just to get it out yk.

ps2: angst

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

You say: I don't understand, and I say: I know you don't

We thought a cure would come through in time, now, I fear it won't

Miranda had come back to the cabin after spending a week inside the lab. She expected to see you waiting on the couch but you were nowhere to be found inside the house.

It was three in the morning, way past the time you usually went to sleep. You considered waiting for her, at least during the first two days.

Miranda found you sitting outside, she sighed and sat beside you.

"You're late." You stated, keeping your eyes closed in a relaxed position.

She shrugged. "I had much to do."

You huffed. "I'm sleeping in my room, alone."

Miranda furrowed her eyebrows and looked at you. "I don't understand."

You sighed. "I know."

Remember looking at this room, we loved it 'cause of the light

Now I just sit in the dark and wonder if it's time

Miranda stayed around for a couple days before diving into work again. You became used to it, the silence, the loneliness.

You would spend hours sitting in your shared room, remembering how long it took to decorate since you had different tastes. Remembering how the morning sun would always give the woman a holy aura.

You missed her.

Do I throw out everything we built or keep it?

I'm getting tired, even for a phoenix

Always rising from the ashes

Mending all her gashes

You might just have dealt the final blow

This time the priestess came back during the morning, but only for a few minutes. She had forgotten one of her notes for the meeting with Alcina.

You reassured her it was fine, you were fine, she could go, you could talk later, it's okay. 

She just never noticed you.

Stop, you're losing me

Stop, you're losing me

Stop, you're losing me

I can't find a pulse

My heart won't start anymore

For you

'Cause you're losing me

You'd rarely see her now. She was either busy with experiments or in another meeting with one of the Lords.

You started to hate the cabin, you would walk around the woods (the lycans were smart enough to not bother you), sometimes you'd even accompany Duke during his sales.

Miranda only noticed when you weren't there once she arrived, but didn't pay much thought into it.

Every morning, I glared at you with storms in my eyes

How can you say that you love someone you can't tell is dying?

I sent you signals and bit my nails down to the quick

My face was gray, but you wouldn't admit that we were sick

You started to sleep less, to match her schedule. 

You were exhausted, everyday you tried something new, anything to have just a moment with her.

And the air is thick with loss and indecision

I know my pain is such an imposition

Now, you're running down the hallway

And you know what they all say

You don't know what you got until it's gone

You had woken up to Miranda looking for something in the drawers, waiting for her to find it in order to speak.

You sat on the bed, facing her. "Mira, it's one a.m, can you stay? Just this one time, please."

She looked at you, hesitantly. "I apologize for waking you, but this is urgent. I'll be back, wait for me. Okay?"

You weakly nodded and she left without another word.

How long could we be a sad song?

Till we were too far gone to bring back to life?

I gave you all my best me's, my endless empathy

And all I did was bleed as I tried to be the bravest soldier

Miranda was stressed after the service at the village, and you were faithfully listening to every single complaint she was making. You dutifully supported her, just like all the other times she returns with a list of complaints big enough to write a book.

You accepted when she wanted to go over to Donna's for tea, even tho the priestess claimed you couldn't join because the dollmaker didn't like strangers.

Sometimes you still tried to prove that you could be there for her, but the woman never listened.

Fighting in only your army, frontlines, don't you ignore me

I'm the best thing at this party (you're losing me)

And I wouldn't marry me either

A pathological people pleaser

Who only wanted you to see her

Miranda stared at you in confusion. "You don't even like crows."

"But you do, this can be a group project, they become bearable when you're around." You responded, with a pleading smile.

She took a deep breath. "Sure, maybe next month."

You rolled your eyes. "I've got nothing to do right now, can't you fit this in your schedule?"

The priestess shook her head. "I have more important matters to attend to. We'll do this when I'm done, okay? Just wait a bit more."

And again, you nodded and she left.

And I'm fading, thinking

Do something, babe, say something (say something)

Lose something, babe, risk something (you're losing me)

Choose something, babe, I got nothing (I got nothing)

To believe, unless you're choosing me

You stood next to the door with your bag next to you. Duke had kindly offered to take you on one of his trips, you accepted of course, now you just had to tell Miranda.

Part of you wanted to just leave a letter, giving her the same consideration she has given you, but you couldn't. So now you were waiting.

When she arrived, the first thing to be said was "I'm really tired right now, we can talk tomorrow."

You were righteously annoyed, so you took a deep breath and let it out. "I'm leaving."

Miranda stopped before the stairs and turned around. "What do you mean by leaving?"

You nervously bit your lips. "Duke invited me to travel, I said yes."

She chuckled. "No."

You arched a brow. "I'm going Miranda, I just wanted to let you know."

Her smile turned into a frown. "When are you coming back?"

You laughed. "Really? That's what you're asking?"

"What do you want me to say?" She asked, slightly annoyed.

"Ask me to stay! Why is it so hard?"

"If you want to stay, why are you leaving?"

You put your hands in your head, trying not to cry out of anger mixed with sadness. "I just want you to care."

She sighed and walked towards you. "I care, why don't we talk about this later? We can unpack your bag, I'll even tell the Duke you reconsidered."

Tears were sliding down your face, which she was carefully wiping with her fingers. "We're not gonna talk, we never do."

Miranda nodded and pulled you in a hug. "I know, I've just been very busy lately. You understand, right?"

You nodded, weakly, hugging her tight.

She smiled, faintly. "Good. Let's go back up, it'll be over soon, you just have to wait."

You gently separated from the hug and looked her in the eyes. "I need time."

Miranda frowned. "You don't need to leave for that."

You smiled, weakly. "I know, but I want to."

The woman looked at you with furrowed brows and a frown, but still nodded. "Will you come back?"

"I don't know."

You're losing me

Stop (stop, stop), you're losing me

Stop (stop, stop), you're losing me

I can't find a pulse

My heart won't start anymore

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

masterlist

[hexados-on-a-string]

gus and ace friendship except its based less on actual friendship and more based on "oh my god the fermins are so fucking oblivious it should actually be scientifically studied." gus has practically proposed to keith like 8 times. mira has had a crush on DAN before even considering she might have feelings for ace. gus knows that keith is emotionally constipated so hes almost coping with it better cuz thats Just What Keith Is Like. ace is attempting to console themselves w the thought process of "if mira can fall in love w dan, her standards might be low enough to fall in love w me. maybe." its not working out for them but its all they've got. they are both suffering immensely.

meanwhile the fermins are in an endless feedback loop of "keith, gus likes youuuuu" "no he doesn't he just sees me as like a friend or something" "ur kidding" "anyway ur one to talk, whats up with you and ace" "wdym??? we're just best friends" "ur kidding"

[esuemmanuel]

Trascendente.

Si he tocado tus ojos no ha sido porque así lo haya buscado, sino porque te has mirado en mis dedos como aquello que tanto he anhelado, y es que también te has sentido ajeno y apartado del mundo, como un desconocido que, en su transparencia, le es imposible mirarse en los otros. Eres único, especial y auténtico, por eso tu andar por el mundo pasa desapercibido, mas, te miraste en mí… y eso te ha salvado de morir en la inmanencia. En tu búsqueda me encontraste… y yo, que me creía perdido, comprendí lo que es existir, además de estar vivo. Hemos sido parte de una misma historia; ambos protagonizamos esta obra sin fin que se repite a cada minuto. Tú, creyéndote ajeno, te enfocas en la soledad. Yo, pensándome invisible, me aferro a ser visto. Sin embargo, ninguno de los dos se ha percatado de la realidad… y es que, mientras tú me miras, yo te lleno de Mí la soledad.

Transcendent.

If I have touched your eyes, it has not been because I have been looking for it, but because you have looked in my fingers as what I have longed for, and you have also felt alien and apart from the world, like a stranger who, in his transparency, finds it impossible to look at himself in others.

You are unique, special and authentic, that is why your walk through the world goes unnoticed, but you looked at yourself in me… and that has saved you from dying in immanence. In your search you found me… and I, who thought I was lost, understood what it is to exist, besides being alive.

We have been part of the same story; we both starred in this endless play that repeats itself every minute.

You, believing yourself alien, focus on solitude. I, thinking myself invisible, cling to being seen.

However, neither of us has realized the reality… and that is that, while you look at me, I fill your solitude with Me.

[blackrabbit111]

~Twst android au, prequel draft~

"You are the sole heir to the worlds top tec company that makes everything from military weapons to remotes. Raised alone by your grandfather, you've found yourself alone since his passing and are struggling to find someone to turn too.

On a whim you go looking for one of his crack pot inventions in one of his old factory's. Only to find more then you were looking for"

An au fic I wrote months ago but never shared cuz insecure, But I'm down so I say heck to it 👍

Feed back and critic is appreciated especially on grammar😅Not sure how much I'll keep or if I will even make more but I might as well share what I've already made

The sound of a switch echoed as the warehouse lights shot on in uniform order one by one until the massive hanger sized warehouse was lit up. 

The walls and roof were vast and the rows upon rows of shelves were endless, each filled with who knows what? All different types of machinery, a tec nerd might see this as some gold mine full of decades worth of technology going back nearly fifty years according to your newly bequeathed assistant. 

You hadn’t even changed clothes yet. You were still in these uncomfortable shoes, these stuffy black clothes that were far too warm to wear indoors, even your hair had been newly styled at your “guardians” request. 

You don’t even remember most of the day ... just stepping into the car. 

“Master Yuu?” Your assistant’s voice tore you from your mindlessness, you hadn’t even noticed they’d stopped. You’d just kept walking down the isle of discarded tec. 

“O-oh? Sorry Mira, and please don’t call me that” You asked, your voice quite as always. You hated having to force a smile but manners like other things had been drilled into as a child, so you had no choice. 

“Of course, sorry” She gave you a sympathetic smile, one of the few you’d had despite the circumstance. With your years forcing smiles you had grown to recognize when someone else was faking it too. 

Mira was genuine at least “Are you sure you're up to this? We can wait a few more days?” 

You appreciated the thought, but your hand was going numb from signing forms. The owners of such documents, the sources of most of those forced smiles, they knew better than to be honest about what they wanted. Or else risk upsetting you and with the power you now had none of them could afford such a thing, for some literally. 

You shook your head no “I’m fine, just tierd. This is the third warehouse we’ve checked after all”  

Might as well of been the one hundred with the size of these things?! Your college campus was half the size of the last one 

“Could you go check with the site manager and see if they had any luck tracking it down? I’d like to keep looking around on my own” 

She nodded, lingering a bit before turning back to leave the way you both came her footsteps faded to echo’s and suddenly you were alone. 

The shelves were daunting like this, shaded over from the different levels framed the discarded bot shells in a creepy way. Yet that wasn’t what was on your mind. 

Not much … had been on your mind lately …  

Everything had felt- fuzzy? 

You were never the greatest at showing your feelings, you’d certainly been teased enough because of it growing up. 

It was easier to just make friends. (literally) 

Rustling through your pocket you pulled out an old worn leather-bound book. Its pagers were flakier than the old coot that had left it for you. Sticky notes and faded pages stuck out and fell lose as you flipped back through its ancient pages. 

Sketches, notes and old diagrams were all etched into it. Most had been released, just one of his many sketch books you’d had the ‘joy’ of flipping through. 

But there was one page that had caught your interest, 

“Project Wonderland” God he sucked at naming things. 

Among the faded doodles these few seemed the oldest, added in safter the pages had already been filled? Even Mira didn’t know what it was, and she seemed to have known more about his company than he had. She knew him more than you had... 

“Project Wonderland, Log #037. 

So far, all prototypes for model “Heart” have remained lacking, subject Ace ________ ____hap ___ _______ ___ ___ ___  ___ ____  ___________________ ________Riddle remains____ __________ ,strict rules_ _________. Further_______ ______ ______” 

The rest was too faded. 

Most of the scribbles summed up that amount. Even the more salvageable ones left too many holes to piece together anything that made sense? 

You groaned trying to make sense of it all. This was just a way to get away from all the work you still had to do, Mira’s suggestion, if not you’d probably still be sat behind that oversized desk, in that oversized chair signing the endless rotation of papers brought by your newly acquired legal department.  

Attending the by hourly meetings on new bot colors, branding and all the other topics you didn’t understand. That didn’t stop the bombarding you with requests and asking your opinions … more demanding... 

Day in day out, 

Right up until- 

-Nya! Lunch time! - 

 You were again torn from your invasive thoughts, the pitchy voice crying out from your pocket. 

-Nya! Lunch time! - 

-Nya! Lunch time! - 

-Nya! Lunch time! - 

Pulling the device from your pocket its screeching only seemed to get louder- 

-Nya! Lunch time! - 

-Nya! Lunch time! - 

-Nya! Lunch time! - 

-Nya! Lunch time! - 

-Nya! Lunch time! - 

Small, grey with a bright blue screen. Its body, an old tomogachi toy you had as a kid, now turned into a travel sized version of an ai interface. Your first attempt, robots were child's play to you. At the age of ten you were making drones on par with your grandfathers. You could code before you could spell your own name, which made passing online tests a breeze. 

Ai was different, specifically intelligent ones. 

Nowadays it was rarer to see a machine that didn’t have some type of interface built in, even kid’s toys could remind the child to brush their teeth. But the ones used for androids, the ones running shop tills and driving buses.  

Those were harder for you. 

-Nya! Lunch time! - 

-Nya! Lunch time! - 

“ALRIGHT! Sheesh....” 

 Generated, Response, intelligence, Model #008. Or Grim for short, you were still working out the kinks. Somehow it had begun to prioritize meal notifications, despite it being near 6pm it kept on screaming for lunch until you clicked off its alarm. 

It’s been nearly 2 weeks since you’d last had a free moment to look at the code, which meant round the clock alerts at random. 

You let out an audible groan “Maybe this really is a waste of time? ….....” 

You stared at the old, tattered book in your hands. His name engraved in white tread across the wine-red material 

“......” 

“......” 

“......” 

How were you supposed to feel? You didn’t know? 

You never knew, so when you could you’d just avoid it. Avoid feeling much of anything? 

Hence the names the other kids called you.  

“Freak-droid”, “Robot”, “dumb as a bot” .... it wasn’t your fault; you just weren’t good at being like them. You eventually learned to pretend, to force a smile or a chuckle when needed. 

It was better anyway; the robots were better. 

More time to hone your skills, why make friends when you can build them? That’s what you told yourself. 

Alone at school, alone at home... 

Nothing had changed … those two weeks ago.. 

You were still eating alone,  

Still spending the evenings alone, 

Still walking through those empty halls alone.... 

He was your only family, yet you were lucky if you saw him twice in one week. Either locked in his lab or at the office. He was never there. He was just, not with you, not beside you. 

You’ve always been alone, so why- 

“......” 

Why now … did you feel so- 

“......” 

His name engraved in white tread across the wine-red material 

You looked back at the books cover, His name still engraved in white tread across the wine-red material... 

 He was gone now... 

You were now … alone... 

“......” 

“......” 

“......” 

It was quiet here.... 

“Project ...wonderland?” you mumbled out loud. You don’t know why, but you began giggling. 

This was so unlike you, wandering around aimlessly. After this crazy idea that- that this MYSTERIOUS project could somehow be for you! Could somehow help you explain how to do a job you didn’t want or how you were supposed to feel or how to make this STUPID AI tell you about something other than LUNCH!!! 

“......” 

“......” 

“......” 

It was stupid of you … to think that... 

“......” 

“......” 

“......” 

You sniffled, having to dry your eyes before anything came out. You shook your head trying to think straight. 

It had been a good distraction, but it wasn’t important. You could get some intern to find it for you, you had those now apparently and they seemed despite. They nearly decked each other the first time you met after asking for a drink. 

Give extra credit to whichever one found it~ 

Perfect! You took another sharp inhale and turned to leave, ready to head back to the office. No doubt there would be a whole new stack of papers there to greet you when you arrive. 

Only to crash face first. 

Stumbling back, you looked up confused, there wasn’t anything behind you a moment ago- 

What you saw made you jump.  

He was tall, like REALLY tall. The dim light in of the war house casting his dark slender form in a shadow simply from looking down at you, his raven hair falling over his broad shoulders, his chiseled features pale as a ghost yet sharp and defined. 

He looked almost ethereal, if not for his eyes... 

They cut through the shadow that painted his form as if they glowed like screens in the dark. 

A piercing green that seemed to dance through the many shades, cut through by the black slit of his pupils. 

You were speechless, almost afraid to move in case he might pounce. A green grew on his face, as if your nerves amused him. 

“Are you okay?” 

His voice was deep, smooth, yet his tone was gentle? You were able to relax a little more but were still wary. Why was he here? Had he been following you?! 

“What do you want?” You ask bluntly, your voice is flat, yet he only seems to grin more at it letting out a small chuckle. 

“You were looking for something weren’t you? It’s a big facility, so I thought you could use some help” 

“How did you-?!” 

“Your assistant went back to speak the site manager; I noticed you weren’t with her, I’m sorry if I'm interrupting you” His appearance was still daunting, but he seemed genuine enough? You assumed he must work here. 

“O-oh? No, it’s alright, thank you. I was just heading back anyway” 

His head tilts “No luck then?” 

You shock your head “Something like that” Your forced smile grew back, deciding to be pleasant instead “I have better things to be doing is all, could you point me towards the exit?”   

A hand lifts to his chin as he lets out a hum in thought. 

“I believe I know a short cut? You took a rather unorthodox route here from what I could tell” He beamed again raising one hand to his chest while extending the other to guide the way, his sleek yet dark appearance, butler like movements plus his kind smile brought to mind a certain show you’d watched a few years ago? 

You thanked him, walking past him down the isles weaving left or right with his direction. 

He walked a few steps behind you simply directing you as a turn came up, otherwise you were both silent. 

The route was bizarre? Weaving in and out like an ally cat over a neighborhood's walls or roof tops, a fair comparison with his dark hair and and bright eye color, all in all you felt more lost than anything? 

Did he really know the way? His assuring nature just made him feel like he knew what he was talking about? 

“Sorry, but are you sure-?” Concerned, you turned to ask him about where he was taking you only to find more empty isles of shelves. This tall dark stranger had vanished, you looked around thinking you might have just gotten ahead of him? But he was nowhere to be seen... 

You cursed under your breath.... 

He had ditched you, you felt stupid for not too of seen this coming. After your little “Episode” you’d been so frustrated to get out you didn’t even think about it. At least he’d only gotten you lost, given your new net worth MUCH worse could have happened. 

You let out another sigh, you were really done with this. 

You began to dig around in your pocket for your phone, deciding to just call Mira and the staff to come find you. 

As you pulled it out your annoying- you're in need of updating Tamagotchi toy tumbled out with it. 

You groaned again, just one more thing gone wrong. 

-Nya! Lunch time! - 

It had slid under one of the shelving units, peering underneath you could just see it on the other side. The lights were out on that side, so it was a little hard to tell? 

After failing to swat at it you relented to having to try squeeze between the gaps of the two units, it was tight and the creaking noises it made as you nudged it made you nervous- 

-Nya! Lunch time! - 

-Nya! Lunch time! - 

But you knew it wouldn’t stop sending alerts if you didn’t get it... 

So, between the metal frames it was~! 

Squeezing your way through, you just managed to make it without knocking much off, you finally reach this annoying pest of a program. 

-Nya! Lunch time! - 

-Nya! Lunch time! - 

-Nya! Lu- 

And off it goes.... 

You’re about to plop your ‘pet’ back in your pocket when a light catches your eye? 

A low flash of red was glowing from the corner pile. 

This space was narrow, a small corner tucked away behind the shelves you hadn’t been able to see with the lack of lighting and old parts blocking your view from the isle. 

Walled in by the units and the warehouse walls, meaning you could just barely squeeze in. 

Stumbling a bit, you saw the source of the low red light. 

Two sleek metal crates, each taller yourself, were stacked against the wall tucked away between bits of cardboard. Each one looked huge black versions of those fancy box's phones come in, the red light shining from beneath its seal? 

Both metal caskets had gold engraving carved into their surfaces, some type of registration number and a symbol?  

“A1-164-♥ & D2-164-♥?” each read with a golden heart displayed above? 

It took a moment to click before you were again digging through your back pocket for the withered remains of a notebook, he’d left you. 

-Model Heart- 

“Project … wonderland?” you mumbled aloud now looking at these caskets like they were some mythical creatures that had hopped out from a children's story. 

Digging through the faded pages had already been difficult, now near impossible with only the glow of these things to see. You scanned it for anything that still counted as language that mentioned these things?  

Finally, a passage mostly filled with flawed calculations caught your eye 

“___ ________ ____ sleep mode while ins____, 

_____ _______________ _______urther funds ____ ______ coffins develop___” 

“____subject Silv____ ___ _______ ________ more time in sleep_____.  

_______ _____ bug reports t_ ___________ later.” 

The rest is more faded calculations. 

The texts were mostly useless, it was the sketches that caught your eye. 

Like most of this leather-bound pile of dust the sketches were rough, looking to be more concepts rather than any type of blueprints? They mentioned some type of access panel on the front, molded to match one of the seven symbols outlined in more detail earlier in the notes. 

It was easy to assume it was that gold heart etched into the metal caskets casing. 

You didn’t really think, more just acted. 

Reaching out, you laced your palm over the etching of a golden heart. 

Nothing happened, at first, but suddenly the gold coloring was painted over by that same crimson red from under the seal. The etching became filled in causing you to flinch and pull your hand back, as if it had sent some type of signal to its twin, the other caskets matching heart also lit up now an almost blinding light. 

“Palm scan complete~ 

Connection established” An obnoxiously cheery voice sang 

“Running security check, 

Running diagnostics check, 

Running personal check” It read off line after line, running upload bars through one after the other. Most of the more complicated one’s were lost on you and your limited knowledge of software; it was much easier for you to follow the hardware terminology meaning at the very least you could piece together it was running checks on some type of high moveability machine? 

“All preparation checks complete for model’s A1-164-♥ & D2-164-♥. 

How gracious~ 

Beginning reupload of data files of model’s A1-164-♥ & D2-164-♥” It had all loaded pretty quickly until now, each screen uploading in seconds, but now- 

“Loading- 

Loading- 

Loading- 

-ERROR- 

Unable to recover crucial data, beginning recovery measures- 

-ERROR- 

-ERROR- 

-ERROR-” Both screens began to flash with alerts, as if the system’s attempts to recover whatever it couldn’t was somehow causing the other files to corrupt. You were by no means an expert, but you knew if you didn’t act soon the whole system would be unsalvageable 

“-ERROR- 

-ERROR- 

-ERROR-” still panicked, you put your hand back to the screen swiping away as many of the alerts as you could to try and get at the recovery icon. 

“-ERROR- 

-ERROR-” 

The alerts were popping up faster than you could close them, with little other choice you did the only thing you could think of in this panicked moment 

“Cancel recovery measures! Proceed with upload as is!” You yelled hoping for some type of response, and just as you did the corrupting screens froze, the loading bar froze, the whole screen froze …. before another loading bar popped up. 

Slowly it filled, there was a brief pause before- 

“Upload complete~ 

All systems ready, deactivating sleep mode for models A1-164-♥ & D2-164-♥” 

A relived sigh escaped you, the screen shut off before the crimson glow faded as both seals jutted forward a white cloud of steam blowing out as the casket undid its releases. 

The doors slid open, tucking their lids around each of their left sides. 

The cloud died down finally letting you see inside, having the squint at first you thought at first you were mistaken. But now you were certain, two figures stood within. 

One with boyish features, red spikey hair and a heart shape painted over one eye. 

The other slightly taller, features sharper with flat raven hair and a spade shape painted to match their opposite. 

Wide eyed, you didn’t notice you held a breath once they stepped forward. You tried to speak, ask them questions like if they were okay or why they were in there? Only for it to come out as mumbles once their eyes both shot open in synch. That same pixelated crimson flashing over their eyes only to fade again replaced by their respective red and blue iris’s. 

The red one blinked, you held your breath again... 

The blue one held its head staggering a bit before both their sights landed on you. 

…..... 

…..... 

….... 

You all stood their starring for a moment; afraid moving might activate some attack mode or- 

“Excuse me but-” 

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH?!!?” 

[queer-geordie-nerd]

It's funny, having just finished Mira's book again (yes, again), I always take something new from it each time. The first few times, I always felt overwhelmed by the injustice - by the incredible amount of trauma she endured and the cruelty she faced from people far too often in her life.

This time though, the thing that struck me more than anything is the utterly fearless and fierce way she showed her heart - endless, beautiful descriptions of her love for the people that mattered most to her - her parents, her husband, her son, her cats, her friends. She was clearly a person who loved hugely and deeply. A passage about how close she was to Andreas in the last months of his life is incredibly touching.

And then when she talked about the peace and calm and acceptance she finally felt in the last few years of her life, where previously she had always been so restless and insecure - that resonated. That it no longer mattered to her what the world at large thought of her - that the love she had was enough. It left me this time with a warm and hopeful feeling and gratitude that I've gotten to know about her and her work and that this beautiful soul existed.

[zeneveiva]

Egalan vivon chapter five

The group continues their journey on the camels alongside the strangers, they finally begin to see signs of civilization ahead. The air is filled with the scent of smoke and the faint sound of voices in the distance. They soon come upon a quaint, bustling community set against the vast desert scape.

The community, surrounded by humble dwellings, seems to be a beacon of life in the desolate surroundings. Children play gleefully in the sand, while elders sit in groups sharing stories and laughter. It's a sight that offers a stark contrast to the endless sands and the quiet of the desert they had traversed through.

The stranger leader halts the group, looking over the community with a contemplative expression. He turns to the others and announces, "We're stopping here till the camels have enough energy to carry on to the desert's edge. We might as well use this time to restock supplies and take a well-deserved rest. I suggest we make the most of this pitstop."

Mira, taking the initiative, turns to the stranger leader. "Thank you for your help," she says, her tone genuine but cautious. "May I know your name?" she asks, her gaze steady.

The stranger leader, his eyes meeting Mira's, responds with a deep and commanding voice, "My name is Kareem." His words carry a weight of experience and authority, making it clear he's someone who's used to taking charge.

"My name is Kareem," the stranger leader introduces himself, his voice carrying a hint of warmth. It's the first time he addresses them directly, and the revelation of his name adds a personal touch to the encounter.

Kareem nods towards the seven, gesturing for them to explore the community. "Feel free to look around," he says, his voice firm but not unkind. "I'll call for you later when we're ready to move on."

The seven nod, their expressions a mixture of weariness and curiosity. As Kareem and his companions go about their tasks, setting up camp and attending to their camels, the group looks around, taking in the sights of the small community.

Hermes' eyes light up as he spots a food stand nearby, his stomach growling in anticipation. "Yes, food!" he exclaims, his voice filled with enthusiasm. Without wasting a second, he heads straight towards the stand, practically salivating at the thought of finally satisfying his hunger.

At the food stand, Hermes finds a range of local delicacies - freshly baked flatbreads, grilled kebabs, and sweet pastries, all seasoned with aromatic spices. He can't resist and quickly orders a heaping plate of the delicious food, his mouth watering as he watches the vendor prepare it.

He eagerly digs into the food, savoring each bite. The flavors are bold and authentic, and Hermes can't help but close his eyes in pure bliss as he eats. It seems he has found his new culinary heaven amidst the desert adventure.

The others, in contrast to Hermes' messy eating, watch him with a mixture of amusement and slight disgust. Their brows furrowed, they shake their heads at his lack of table manners, their own appetites somewhat dampened by Hermes' enthusiastic display.

"Does he have to eat like that?" Ipo mutters, rolling his eyes. "It's like he hasn't eaten in days."

Artula chimes in, her voice dripping with disgust. "It's because we haven't eaten in days," she says, emphasizing the point.

Haru, his stomach churning at the display, mutters half to himself, half to the others, "I think I'm gonna throw up." His face has gone a bit green, and he looks away, trying to distract himself from Hermes' messy eating habits.

The others grimace in agreement, each trying to distract themselves from the unappetizing sight. They look away, scanning their surroundings and engaging in hushed conversations, trying to block out Hermes' eating sounds (and sights) altogether.

After enduring Hermes' eating spectacle, the others finally decide to get food for themselves. They can't continue on an empty stomach, and the aroma of the local delicacies beckons to them. One by one, they head to different food stands, taking care not to emulate Hermes' messy eating habits.

Haru, who has just finished his food, notices Omar wandering off by himself. Feeling a mixture of curiosity and concern, Haru decides to follow him, keeping a distance to avoid being noticed. He stealthily trails Omar, staying out of his line of sight but close enough to keep him in view.

As Omar disappears into the shadows of a rock alleyway, Haru's heart starts to race. He quickens his pace but still keeps his distance, careful not to reveal his presence. He peeks into the alleyway, just in time to see Omar being pulled against his will into the shadows.

Haru's eyes widen in alarm, and his heart pounds in his chest. He grips the rough edge of the nearby building, torn between running over and revealing his presence or waiting to see what happens next. The suspense is killing him, and he can feel his hands starting to shake from the adrenaline.

As much as he wants to rush over and save Omar, something tells him to wait. He takes a slow, steadying breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts and observe discreetly from the shadows.

The others, finished with their meals, regroup by the food stands. Artula notices that Omar and Haru are missing. "Where's Omar and Haru?" she asks, looking around in concern.

The others look at each other, realization dawning on their faces. "I don't see them," Ipo responds, glancing around the area. "They were just here a moment ago."

Hermes chimes in with a smirk, his tone sarcastic. "Oh, they're probably off on a romantic getaway somewhere," he suggests, chuckling. "Or maybe they've eloped without telling us."

The others shoot him a glare, dismissing his absurd idea. "This is serious, Hermes," Mira says, her voice firm. "We need to find them."

The others shoot him a glare, dismissing his absurd idea. "This is serious, Hermes," Mira says, her voice firm. "We need to find them."

Haru cautiously enters the alleyway, his grip on his katana tight and his senses on high alert. As he goes deeper into the shadows, he sees someone walk into the light. To Haru's horror, he see Omar being held by a man with a knife pressed against his throat.

A sharp gasp escapes Haru's lips as he sees the dire situation Omar is in. Without hesitation, he calls out, "Omar!" His voice is panicked but firm, filled with worry for his friend.

The man holding Omar smirks, chuckling as he mockingly asks, "Who is this, my little Omarion?" The sharp edge of the knife presses a little harder against Omar's throat, causing him to wince.

Haru, his hand on his katana, takes a determined step forward, his voice steady. "Let him go," he commands, his eyes locked on the man holding Omar. The blade of his katana glints in the dim light of the alley, a silent threat.

The man's smirk widens, unperturbed by Haru's threat. He tightens his grip on Omar, the knife still pressed to his throat. "Oh, we have a feisty little warrior here," he sneers, his eyes narrowing.

The man clutching Omar had a striking appearance. His skin was dark, and his dreadlocks were neatly tied into a ponytail, revealing his piercing blue eyes. He exuded an air of confidence and mockery, his grip on Omar firm and unwavering. For a moment, he chuckled, his gaze locked with Haru's.

Omar, his voice strained but annoyed, finally speaks up, addressing the man by name. "Davu," he says, a mix of irritation and familiarity evident in his voice. "You don't have to do this."

Haru, momentarily surprised, turns his gaze to Omar. "You know this guy?" he asks, his voice laced with shock and confusion.

Davu, overhearing Haru's question, chimes in with a dramatic tone, grinning widely. "Oh, dear Haru," he says, feigning a heartbroken expression. "You see, your friend Omar is the player who broke my heart into little, tiny pieces."

He tightens his grip on Omar, the knife digging slightly deeper into the sensitive skin of his neck. Omar winces, a hint of guilt flashing across his face. "Isn't that right, Omar?" Davu says, his voice mocking and full of bitterness.

Haru, not deceived by Davu's performance, calls him out bluntly. "Liar," he says, his voice firm and unshaken.

Omar, his expression pained, reluctantly nods, unable to deny Davu's claim. "Yes," he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper.

Davu, his smirk widening, takes great pleasure in explaining his plan. "Since your friend here has the audacity to break my heart into pieces, I now have to break him into pieces as well," he says, his voice filled with spiteful satisfaction.

Hermes, appearing out of the shadows, can't resist the opportunity to comment. "Wow... you really broke this guy," he says, his tone laced with sarcasm and mild incredulity.

The others, having arrived on the scene, immediately rally to Omar's defense. "Enough of this nonsense," Mira declares firmly, her eyes fixed on Davu and the danger he poses to Omar.

"Release him right now," Ipo adds, his voice carrying a hint of anger. "This isn't a game."

Davu, his smirk still taunting, responds with a casual tone. "No, shit," he says, and with one swift motion, he slices a small cut across Omar's face. Omar winces in pain, a thin line of blood now trickling down his cheek.

The others flinch at the action, their expressions filled with a mix of anger and concern. "You bastard!" Artula exclaims, her voice laced with anger.

The others gasp in shock and anger, their eyes widening at the sudden act of violence. "What the hell!" Hermes exclaims, disbelief etched on his face.

Mira's jaw clenches, and her fists ball up with suppressed fury. "That's enough!" she yells, her voice cracking with anger. "Let him go, now!"

Davu, feigning a sense of graciousness, releases Omar, but as Omar starts to step away, Davu quickly stabs him in the back of the shoulder. Omar cries out in pain, sinking to his knees as the knife is withdrawn. The others react with gasps of shock and horror.

In a flash, Davu tosses a smoke bomb, and in an instant, a thick cloud of smoke fills the alleyway. His figure vanishes into the smoky haze, leaving Omar clutching his wounded shoulder and the others coughing as the acrid smoke fills their lungs.

Haru, overwhelmed with guilt, rushes towards Omar, his heart heavy with regret. "No, no, no. This is my fault. I let this happen," he mutters, his voice choked with remorse. "I'm so sorry, Omar."

Omar, his voice strained with pain, manages to speak through gritted teeth. "I need a doctor," he gasps out, clutching his wounded shoulder, the blood staining his clothes.

The others, seeing the severity of Omar's condition, exchange worried glances. "We need to get him medical help fast," Mira says urgently, her voice filled with alarm

As Ipo and Zola rush off to find medical assistance, Hermes and Haru remain with Omar, trying to make him as comfortable as possible. Artula and Mira, not wanting to take any chances, keep a vigilant watch in case Davu decides to make a surprise reappearance.

Hermes observes the scene, his gaze shifting between Omar and Haru. He notices the way Haru holds onto Omar, the concern and care etched on his face. In a soft tone, Hermes asks, "You really care for him, don't you?" A mix of surprise and understanding in his voice.

As Hermes poses the question, the tension in the air is broken by the return of Ipo and Zola. They are followed by an elderly woman who exudes an air of wisdom and expertise. She is the village doctor healer, known for her skills in treating wounds and ailments. The others immediately turn their attention towards her, hope and relief etched on their faces.

The healer approaches Haru, Omar and the others, her eyes filled with compassion. She glances at Omar's wounded shoulder, assessing the situation. "Let me see the wound," she instructs in a firm but gentle tone.

Hermes and Haru carefully move their hands away, allowing the doctor to take a closer look at Omar's bleeding shoulder. The doctor's experienced hands gently touch the wound, her eyes studying the injury with a keen gaze.

The doctor, taking out her medical kit, sets to work on Omar's shoulder. With sure and steady hands, she begins to stitch up the wound, her movements efficient yet careful. The others watch silently, relieved that help has arrived, but still on edge after the encounter with Davu.

The elder woman, after stitching up Omar's shoulder, turns to the others. She instructs them to carry Omar carefully to her fabric tent nearby. "Someone needs to carry him to my tent," she says, gesturing towards the direction of her dwelling. "He shouldn't be lying on the ground like this. I need to finish treating his wound properly."

Ipo, being the strongest of the group, carefully picks up Omar and lifts him up with ease. He carries him in his arms, his face a mixture of concern and determination. The others fall into step behind Ipo, following closely as they make their way towards the fabric tent where the doctor healer awaits.

As they approach the tent, the elder woman holds the flap open, allowing Ipo to carry Omar inside. The soft light spilling out from the tent casts a warm glow, illuminating their path. Ipo gently lays Omar down on a makeshift bed within the tent, making sure he's comfortably positioned away from the dirt sand.

The elder woman, noticing the others gathering at the entrance to the tent, turns to them. "Please wait outside," she instructs, her voice firm but kind. "I'll fetch you once I've finished treating his wound."

As Haru starts to panic silently, Ipo and Artula notice his distress and swiftly intervene. Working together, they gently but firmly pull him outside the tent, knowing the situation is in the hands of the skilled healer.

As Ipo and Artula pull him outside, Haru's emotions overwhelm him, and he begins to tear up, blaming himself. "It's all my fault," he says, his voice filled with regret and remorse. The weight of what happened and the risk Omar faced weighs heavily on him.

Ipo and Artula exchange glances, their expressions filled with a mix of empathy and understanding. They know how much Haru cares for Omar, and they can sense his guilt. Artula rests a comforting hand on Haru's shoulder, trying to soothe his conscience.

Mira notices Haru's distressed state and envelops him in a warm embrace. Meanwhile, Zola and Hermes chime in, trying to ease his guilt. "It's not your fault," Zola emphasizes, her voice filled with reassurance. Hermes adds, "You couldn't have foreseen this."

As Haru succumbs to his emotions, tears streaming down his face, the others step forward to offer comfort. Mira tightens her embrace, and one by one, the rest join in, surrounding Haru with a group hug. Each one of them, sensing his distress, reaches out to share their support.

As the group enters the tent, the elder woman observes their haste, especially Mira's concerns about their tight schedule. When Mira approaches her and explains they are on a quest to Mount Fikalimankaro, the woman nods understandingly.

"Mount Fikalimankaro, eh?" she muses, her wise eyes meeting Mira's. "Quite a perilous journey lies ahead. I'll ensure your friend Omar is well enough to travel by morning. But do take care. The path to that mountain is treacherous."

Haru urgently rushes to Omar's side, concern etched on his face. Omar lies on the makeshift bed, clad only in pants, his muscular build partially covered by bandages wrapping his shoulder and upper torso. Haru's gaze is fixed on Omar, worry and relief intertwining in his expression.

Omar, still weary from the previous ordeal, but reassured by Haru's touch, gently places his hand over Haru's fingers that rest on his shoulder. A small but weary smile graces his lips. "I'm alright," he mutters, his voice slightly strained.

"Just a little sore, but I'll be fine," Omar continues, attempting to downplay the pain. He looks into Haru's worried gaze, silently appreciating his friend's concern.

Hermes, looking at Omar's wounded state, raises an eyebrow, thinking aloud, "How's he going to handle the journey to the Desert Edge like this?"

Artula, taking the situation into account, chimes in, "And how are we going to explain this to Kareem and the others we're traveling with?"

They all exchange worried glances, the realization dawning on them that Omar's condition will complicate their journey and potentially raise questions from Kareem and their companions.

Mira, being the one who knows Kareem best, takes charge and declares, "I'll go and tell Kareem what happened and explain the situation."

Zola, showing her support, decides to accompany Mira. She says, "I'll go with you," her voice filled with determination and solidarity.

The group nods in agreement, appreciating Mira and Zola's initiative to handle the situation with Kareem. They know that explaining the situation and managing the group's expectations will be crucial, especially given Omar's condition.

As the plan of action is set, Mira and Zola bid farewell and leave the tent to inform Kareem and the rest of the group about Omar's condition. The others remain in the tent, waiting for updates while keeping company with the elderly healer and a resting Omar.

In the tent, the atmosphere is tense and hushed. The others, still on edge from the earlier incident, settle in for the wait. The elderly healer busies herself with tidying up her supplies, keeping a watchful eye on Omar, who is resting on the makeshift bed.

Artula, begins to feel restless. Her breathing quickens slightly, and she starts to pace nervously around the small space of the tent.

Her thoughts starting to get louder and louder until her eyes widened from the overwhelming feeling; her body starting to sweat, her breath getting quicker and quicker until-

“Artula?…”

Hermes says softly, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

Artula, pulled out of her anxious thoughts, looks up at Hermes. She takes a deep breath and tries to steady herself, but the worry is evident on her face.

"I'm just... worried," Artula admits, her voice trembling slightly. "About Omar, about our journey, about everything. I can't help but feel like something else bad is going to happen."

Hermes moves closer to her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It's okay to be worried," he says, his voice calm and soothing. "But we're all in this together. We'll get through it, and we'll make sure Omar's alright. We'll take things one step at a time."

Artula's anxiety seems to rise further, her voice becoming more frantic. "We don't have time!" she exclaims. "What if something worse has happened back in Egalan Vivon while we've been away? We don't know if anyone there is even left! We have to hurry!"

The others, hearing Artula's words, exchange worried glances. They know time is of the essence, but they also understand the importance of taking care of Omar and ensuring he's well enough to travel.

Ipo chimes in, attempting to reassure Artula. "Mira and Zola are going to go speak to Kareem right now and explain everything about Omar's condition. We'll have an update soon."

Artula, unable to calm herself, shoots up to her feet, her anxiety now in full force. "We're wasting time!" she exclaims, her voice filled with frustration. "Every moment counts, and we're just sitting here twiddling our thumbs!"

She continues pacing back and forth, her movements becoming faster and more erratic as she tries to process her feelings of helplessness and frustration. The others, seeing her distress growing, exchange worried glances, unsure of how to help ease her anxiety.

Mira and Zola arrive back outside the tent, their faces showing signs of a mixture of tiredness and worry. Mira has a slight tear rolling down her cheek as she glances around at the group, her emotions starting to get the better of her.

Zola approaches the group, her face serious and her voice strained. She explains, "Kareem and the others... they're gone."

[undercoverpan]

College of Pandora

Sleepovers and friends

Spider ate something called a croissant. It was filled with cream and fruits called strawberries and peaches.

It tasted wonderful.

He has had many Na'vi fruits, but his choices were always limited, being human and all. The taste was a little bit like Yovo fruit, tasting so fresh and sweet. The croissant was flaky and soft, a wonderful contrasting flavour.

He didn't let his enjoyment show, however. Just chewed the strange food and swallowed it. She seemed satisfied with this as she placed the plate down beside him, lifting up one of the foods and eating it. She coaxed him into eating another, and he did.

"Good, now we can start touring the school." She said, getting up. This place didn't exactly look like a school, so much bigger than Grace's schoolhouse. He's heard such wonderful things about back then, before the shooting. Learning and playing, like a little break from the humans' violence. He thinks he'd like a little break too.

He followed her, keeping a distance behind her. She talked very carefully, pointing out the dormitory, the cafeteria, the many bathrooms, the….um…the uhhh…sa'una? Somewhere called an observatory with this big telescope. The endless halls starting to blend in together from how similar they were. They had similar rooms in Hells' gate, but they were different.

While those were grey; very basic designs that served their purpose and nothing else, this one was different. Gold detailing lined the halls, paintings similar to the ones in that bedroom paired with golden frames to match. Huge windows so he could always look at Pandora. The floor had these gold and grey swirls inside and felt cold and smooth. The observatory was all windows, and the cafe had these huge wooden tables lined with foods he both did and didn't recognize.

They paused in the middle of the day, stopping for lunch in the cafeteria. It seemed others had the same idea.

Spider could feel people staring at him. He turned and hissed, not seeing Miranda mouth 'sorry' behind him. There was this group of students sneaking glances at him while whispering and laughing. Strangely, it made him feel weirdly exposed.

After a while, one of the humans approached him. They walked casually, and they were dressed similarly to Miranda. They wore a similar blazer, but theirs were buttoned up at the front. Instead of the skirt that Miranda wore, they had black pants instead. His hair was blonde like his, his skin was pink like his. His eyes, however, were an intense blue colour, like the gentle hue of Eywa'eveng at night. Not a colour he thought humans could have.

"Miranda, honey, who's your little friend?" He asks, his tone jovial. Miranda shoots him a sharp look, shoulders slightly tense. ".....This is Spider. He's going to be joining us for the foreseeable future." She answers curtly. He nods, taking a seat beside Spider. "Hi buddy, I'm James Ewing, my parents are huge fans of the whole–" he gestures something with his hand, "--nature aesthetic thing Pandora has going on. I think your little outfit is cute, really giving, like, Na'vicore." He says casually. 

Spider gets the feeling he's trying to be friendly. He's not doing a good job, he genuinely has never felt more weirded out. Na'vicore?

"Thank you for the introduction, James," Miranda says, getting up, "But we still have to tour the entire left wing and gosh, I have to introduce him to his teachers and show him where his classrooms are." She spoke clinically now, and Spider got the feeling that she wasn't too fond of James. James snapped his fingers, as if the sound was helping him recall something. "Oh yeah! I remember the email you sent to professor Quarintina, she's his English teacher then?" He asks, "Then why don't I come along? I'm her assistant, aren't I? I should definitely help, show you the ropes, and all the cool stuff that Mira here would deny you."

And so James joined them. He offered little comments and tidbits on their tour that were very….uh…

"This is where we all just kinda chill and hangout, yknow?" He says, gesturing to a room with a bunch of computers. "I'll come in here and play, like, roblox and whatever. There's also VR headsets with games too. The cool ones that let you connect to the robots in the garage are downstairs, though. You should see them, they're so cool! They've got, like, built in flamethrowers so it's easy to–" Miranda gives him a light slap on the shoulder and sends him a look that says 'shut the hell up'. "I think we'll leave downstairs alone for now. It's mostly just a storage space."

He was more open and honest. He spoke before he thought, and it provided some insight on the inner workings of the school which might be helpful for when he escapes.

"We're just about finished with the tour, it's just the courtyard left." She says, relieved. "We're not doing the bio department? But it's got all the cool animal stuff! I'm pretty sure your lab is somewhere over there, which, god, imagine having your own lab." He whines, "I'm suffering over here." 

"We won't be doing the bio lab, or my lab in any case." 

"Pssst, hey, dude." He leans over to Spider once Miranda is decently far from them. "Come over to my dorm tonight, I'll give you the cool deets that Mira doesn't want you to know about." Spider regarded him with suspicion, "Why? You don't even know me." James squinted.

"You're an interesting critter, dude."

Which is how Spider got invited to his first 'slumber party'. There will be more humans there, of course. The thought makes his skin crawl; but he has to make himself useful, even in captivity. He can't imagine going back to the Omaticaya empty handed. This trauma needed something to offer in order to be real, valid. And he's going to get it.

The door to James' room opens smoothly, as most things do in this place. He can hear some kind of music, loud and strange, playing in the background. He's dressed in a set of clothing, coloured a deep red. "Spider, dude! Come in, come in." He says, stepping to the side. The inside of his room is also strange. The walls looked to be soft brown, but the light lining the walls cast such a glow that the room looked yellow.

Posters lined the walls with strange writing and symbols like 'Nirvana', 'BlackPink' and 'B43'. Black circles with coloured centres were hung up as decoration, with writing on them as well. The floor was wood, and Spider felt a stabbing guilt at the thought of a tree being cut down for this. His room was wide and spacious, big enough to fit Spider's three times over. His bed had covers with a chequered pattern on them, a simple black and white. On his table were strange little dolls that almost looked human as well as something called a 'record player'. 

On the bed were 2 other people; a boy and a girl. The other boy had strange blue hair, like the colour of the sky. His skin was dark and his eyes were purple. He offered a polite wave, elbowing the girl to get her attention. The girl, with hair coloured half white and black and styled in such a way that you couldn't see her eyes, waved back.

"Welcome to my room! These are all my collections of all the real bands from a long time ago. Got my records here, might play em later." He spoke as he sat on a plush chair at his desk. Spider sat down on the floor, as there was no other option other than sitting near them. "This is Mario and Lemon. Guys, this is Spider."

"Hey."

"What's up?"

Spider waved at them. "Hi, I'm Spider." He cringed awkwardly. Silence fell over them like a thick layer of snow. James let out a low whistle. "Wow, you guys are unsociable little freaks, you know that?" 

What.

"So I invited you guys to talk a bit about the school and stuff. Maaaaiiiinly about the secret lab stuff we aren't allowed to talk about, and–" he pulls some kind of box out of his drawer, taking out a few masks, "---Making deco masks! Ordered a few yesterday for it."

That's how Spider ended up glueing fake flowers to the rim of a mask. Neither he nor anyone he'd ever met had decorated their masks, mainly because they can't risk breaking it and being down one. But apparently there was a culture surrounding decorative masks. "These aren't that cool," James says as he pressed some kind of rainbow film against his mask, "The really cool ones are the ones with the custom base, like the owl masks."

"I think the medusa mask is cooler," Mario says, painting the outside of his mask, "The one with the snake design for the strap, the little snakes covering basically everything. Not sure how Marlot sees outta that, but it's pretty cool." They all hummed. "The coolest one is that one Opps specialist military person. The one with the LEDs just covering it, uses the lights to speak cause' I'm pretty sure they're mute."

"I like Mira's mask too. The whole blacked out look gives villain vibes." Lemon continues. "What was her deal today anyways? I saw her literally sprint back to her lab once she was done with the tour and I'm pretty sure she hasn't come back out since." She informs them. Not too strange to Spider, the science guys have a habit of holding themselves in their labs all day. "I heard something about her project getting rowdy. You know how the higher ups are about her research, she's literally allowed to do whatever. If she asked for someone's brain in order to make a Na'vi clone of them, they'd have them strapped down and sedated before they could realise it."

"Has she ever done that?" Spider asked, because his room is literally next to hers. "She's done something like that. Not exactly cloning, but really really similar. From the docs I've swiped, her research has to do with transmutation and something else that everyone's super hush hush about. Transmutation means that you're turning one thing into another, but there's a long and sciencey process behind it." Lemon explains, and Spider nods along. One thing to another, huh? Doesn't sound so extreme.

"Remember when the school got sent into lockdown cause one of her subjects escaped and killed like 8 guards?"

Maybe she was the devil incarnate, who's Spider to say she isn't?

"Do you guys not like her or?" He asked curiously. They all shared a worried glance. "Her and Marlot. Everyone's kinda scared of them, actually. Marlots' work is kinda like Graces' in that they're trying to study the global network and neural connections that everything has here. But the things I've seen them do…." Spider grew pale at the of the demons trying to study Eywa, taking apart her children in a sick attempt to See, to understand a connection so deep and global that they couldn't begin to fathom it.

He was torn between wanting to know more so he would have something to report, or changing the subject lest he lose his lunch.

"What do they do?" He asks, regretful in his decision-making. "Well…."

[impossiblesuitcase]

Kill The Emperor!

Inspired by @kaixiety 's fabulous headcanon

“You can’t take me, Cinder!”

“Mama.”

Kai suppressed a smirk. “You can’t take me, Mama!”

“We’re gonna save you from Levana and you can’t stop us!”

Peony shoved a blue doll shoe into Cinder’s hand, aiming it at Kai. Well, the Emperor Kai action figure who was grasped in her father’s hand, under assault from the Linh Cinder “Revolutionary Princess” doll that she was holding.

The dolls were both a blessing and a curse. It was harrowing to see his sweet, pig-tailed daughter dangle him over a viper den, or have a shark tear off his arm so he could become a cyborg “like Mummy.” Not once did he envisage when he held that precious, innocent, downy baby in his arms that she would become a gore-obsessed four-year-old.

Nevertheless, all was forgiven when she had her Cinder and Kai dolls tuck doll Peony into her wooden bed and kiss her goodnight.

“Bang!” Peony shouted, firing the ‘gun.’ The Kai doll stayed upright. “Daddy,” she whispered, “I shot you.”

“Oh!” Kai flung his inanimate counterpart to the floor. “Mama tranquilized me! Now you can escape!”

“You’re asleep. You shouldn’t be talking,” she scolded.

“Right. Sorry.”

Kai heard a chuckle from across the room. While they sat crossed-legged on the living room rug, Cinder was at the dining table pecking away at her port. She was out here ostensibly to work, needing a break away from her office. That was most likely an excuse to spend time with them, as he knew it was impossible to concentrate on low-income benefit schemes with a daughter’s trilling and frolicking in one’s periphery.

But he knew he would do the same. He wouldn’t give up time with Peony even if it could undo every bad thing that had happened to him. Maybe that was why he happily reenacted his own kidnapping as per the little princess’ request. The scornful feelings he’d had at the time of the incident had aged like a bitter wine—stinging as a whole, but pleasant in small sips. 

“Let’s go to the Rampion!” Peony announced cheerily as she dragged Kai’s prone body by the hair as any loving daughter would. What was left of it, anyway. Still, the bald patches were comparably better than the markers graffitiing his face. “There’s the ship! And Termaturge Mira is ther—”

“Wait,” Kai interrupted. “How did we get to the roof?”

Peony frowned. “We just…did.”

His eyes narrowed. “So no one tried to stop us on the way?”

“They’re stopping us now!”

Kai feigned agreement, folding his arms. “Okay, okay. If you insist.”

Peony crossed her arms in turn, petulant but sufficiently challenged. She was both stubborn and competitive, so an obstacle was sometimes the only thing that helped her learn. “Wait!” she exclaimed, gleaming in her copper brown eyes with a lightbulb moment. “We took the elevator and Mummy had to stop the guards!”

Kai nodded approvingly. He didn’t actually remember this part, having been the damsel under duress. Peony’s extensive scene-by-scene knowledge was thanks to endless probing of Mummy and her aunts and uncles.

Peony shuffled over to the couch, setting the dolls on her hand and lifting them up to the seat. Kai’s hands acted as the opening elevator doors. At its destination were three teddy bears in traditional imperial guard uniform—gifts from a certain adviser. 

“There’s guards on the other side!” she cried.

Kai gasped. “What are we going to do?”

“You’re doing nothing,” she corrected. “But Mama always has a plan.”

A snort came from the dining table.

“You will protect us,” Princess Revolution declared to the guards in a soothingly sweet voice. Peony’s eyes scrunched tightly, casting her gift over the defenceless bears. “You will take us to our ship—”

In fact, Kai thought with a crinkling heart, it was a rather good impression of Cinder using her gift. She was near identical to her mother in the motion, and it was moments like these that floored Kai. Despite Peony looking so much like him, he saw Cinder in her anger and compassion and—

“—or I will kill the emperor!”

Kai startled. “What? That never happened.”

“Yes it did.”

Kai turned his figure’s head, speaking through him: “Cinder, you wouldn’t try to kill me.”

Revolutionary Princess faced the limp emperor. “I will if I have to!”

“Peony,” said Kai, breaking the farce. “Mama wouldn’t do that.”

She emphatically rolled her eyes. “No Daddy, Uncle Thorne told me that Mama putted the gun on your head ‘wike this.” She jabbed the doll shoe into one of his bald patches. “She said she would kill you! And Mama didn’t shoot, but if you don’t stop talking, I will!!!”

In a swift instant, in a flash, with chubby, grabby four-year-old fingers, Peony seized the doll from his hands with a war cry and slammed it into the couch.

“Whoa! Peony!”

The screeching continued. Emperor Kai got multiple knocks to the head.

A strangled laugh caught in his throat. He looked to his wife with a loose grin, expecting giggling over this blatant mischaracterisation.

Cinder was not paying attention to her port, as predicted. But she wasn’t laughing. Her face was indeed scrunched like Peony’s in thought. Then recollection.

“Cinder,” Kai called as the cries died down. “Tell her that didn’t happen.”

She tucked hair behind her ear, returning to her work. A quick swallow.

“Love?”

Peony hauled the emperor’s body to the rooftop, evidently having glamoured the guards into compliance. She hadn’t shot him.

Cinder’s nose pinched guiltily.

Memories poured back into him like long draughts of that bitter old wound wine. Those very guards whom Cinder had manipulated questioning whether she had good intent in marrying their emperor. Thorne often reminding him that he had been completely at their mercy when they’d knocked him out. Her ability to jokingly threaten him without a hint of remorse or hesitancy. 

“Love.”

She avoided his gaze.

Never mind. He wasn’t over the kidnapping.

Notes

Kai and Peony playing together

I know what you're thinking: "Hang on impossiblesuitcase, you said you weren't going to post any new fic" and that is true comrades. I posted this a while ago as a reblog on another post so I thought it deserved its own post. Or maybe you weren't thinking that at all. You probably weren't.

[itskristal]

JOURNAL 20. LOCATION: OLIVINE LIGHTHOUSE

<<Hey! Are you still there? Is this thing still working?

I accidentally dropped my Pokegear in the harbor and Minerva had to swoop to my rescue again. An overnight bath in some rice seems to have fixed things though--this model is just built different, apparently! Bill was nice enough to help me with some test calls, but I think we're officially back online.

Whitney won't stop ranting and raving to me about how lovely Jasmine is, so of course I marched straight to the Gym--but OF COURSE she wasn't there. And OF COURSE she would be at the top of the city's lighthouse, filled with trainers itching to battle... Ugh.😩

I went to eat at this tasty restaurant down by the port and got to talk to a LOT of the sailors there. They got their teasing in, of course--one even said I didn't have a 'killer instinct,' which is...true, I guess? But I guess they warmed up to me--I didn't listen to all those DJ Mary radio interviews for nothing, you know!! One sailor upgraded my fishing rod, one told me more about the new Battle Tower being built, and one even gave me a hidden machine for Strength. (Mira is going to have some fun learning this one...!)

I learned that all the sailors are crew for the new S.S. Aqua ship--how cool is that? I want down by the harbor to check out the boat construction and fish...and ended up catching a timid Chinchou. (Her name is SCUBA, and Bill promised me she'd be kept nice and secure in the storage system! Good luck, Scuba! Reminder to meet all my 'boxed' Pokemon later...)

When it came time to scale the lighthouse, I miiiight have overdone it on the healing items--but I ended up needing all of them to keep my team healthy! Mira learned Dragon Rage and almost tore another hole through the floor--what's with all of Johto's buildings having these pitfalls anyways? Still, we were careful enough, and that's when we got to meet Jasmine and Amphy.

Even thinking about Amphy right now makes my heart break! Poor, poor thing...and Jasmine was so lovely, but she's shier than Scuba was--and I could tell 100% of her energy was going towards Amphy's care. Despite that, she congratulated me on scaling the Lighthouse and we shared a little Fresh Water teatime together while I filled her in on what I've done so far...

Jasmine said that Amphy needed the SecretPotion from Cianwood Pharmacy, and I accepted the mission before she even thought of asking. She kept asking if I was sure, if I wanted to make the trip, blah blah blah...but my mind was already made up. If I can help make Amphy feel better, then that's just the right thing to do. Case closed. 😤

Maybe I've bit off a little more than I can chew...I guess I can't resist playing hero...but as I'm fitting Mira up with our supply pack of Fresh Waters and medicines (thanks for the reminder, Mom), I keep glancing at that glittery Battle Tower in the distance...and that endless sea in the other direction. (One of my sailor friends lent me a star map but I don't know how to read it!! Now seems like a good time to learn...because I'm not turning back. Amphy needs that medicine, and my team--especially Lumi--is ready to set sail.)

Oh gosh

What have I gotten myself into now?>>