#pose practice has once again spiraled out of control

[candycatfalls]

CAN WE TALK ?

[applesontheground]

white whale 🍎

my christening of writing a robert englund character has happened, and it’s not for who you’d anticipate it to be...

honest to god, this was my real introduction to him (but i’ve seen his other work, of course, so stay tuned lol) and i have been playing with an idea with him for a hot second... but that little idea spiraled into a two-part thing. once again, i am being a dream job-influenced menace and i don’t plan to shut up about it any time soon.

(p.s. i will admit it was hard not to focus on leslie, and i failed pretty hard with this opening lmao-)

SFW | Word Count: 1,765 | Doc Halloran x GN Reader

contains reader busts their ass (not in a sexy way), slight stalking/paranoia mentions

🎼: x

➡ continued in holy grail

The things you did for a good shot.

On the side of a steep hill, you were only semi-sure that the rock under your feet would stay embedded in the earth long enough for you to stand on it. Rather, crouch like your back had the sort of stamina to hold a pose of this precision. A lone owl sounded off somewhere, catching your attention as you dared stick your tripod on another flat surface below the rock, haphazard in your form as you turned the camera on.

Field work was a requirement for this autumn’s multimedia class, which meant they wanted plenty of practice obtaining “B-Roll”, filler images to use while the meat of an audio track played in a final cut. The professor had even said, “Never such thing as too much,” so here you were. It was well past 10PM and you were sitting like a goddamn gargoyle trying to get a high enough angle to view the tree line. You started spinning the lens slowly, getting a healthy amount of focus to the nearly full moon.

From your bottom peripheral, your eyes shot down to see someone wading through the forest. He was near silent, so you felt fortunate to have better luck with your eyes in the moment, silently observing with your neck craning from behind the camera. It was definitely a man, you deduced, even though his gait was akin to Bigfoot as he hopped over a few rocks and brambles that he was trying to avpid.

He then stopped, back faced towards you on the mountain, and a low-lit outline of overall straps were strained over his shoulders as he took something out from the brush. Glances of his face from where you could see it gave way to a flat, round mask covering most of his identity. Without thinking, curiosity immediately taking control, you looked back to the camera and began zooming in on him. Turning the knob and doing anything in your amateur power to try and correct the lighting, you finally saw what he was holding up.

A closed bear trap, the U-Shape recognizable but giving you doubt at how cartoonish it almost felt to see one in real life. That soon gave way to a tight realization that there was no bear, or no animal for that matter caught between its teeth. Spattered with mud and a more streaked, thinner liquid alongside of it, you barely made out the crooked fingers of a forearm and hand without an owner as he released the trap with a swift, steady pull of his own arm. The appendage fell back into the brush, and when you flexed your hand to try and bring feeling back into your chilling body, your thumb had been pressing on the record button in a strike of mortified pressure, releasing it again with clammy skin.

“Fuckin’-ey.” You gasped, and that was when a shuffle of brush a few paces too close made your head snap away from watching the man.

Another body was seen, but that was all you caught before the reflex of jumping from the crouch sent you backwards. You gasped, already parallel to the side of the mountain as your legs gave way and skidded on loose dirt. One second, you watched the body at the top of the mountain stand straighter, a hand going out to try and catch you to no avail. The next your knee was embedding into the slanted earth as your head snapped to look back at the other body, now distracted and taken back to see others out here with him.

Both were frozen, watching you continue to slide and tumble down the mountain. You couldn’t help the noises you made, “Ach, fuck- God! Ow, god damn it-“ Finally, when you fell into a few unforgiving but large bushes at the foot of the hill, you stayed stock still. Head still spinning, you were whacked along the spine by your tripod tumbling after, but grabbed it by the camera still screwed on top and started blindly getting to your feet.

Your ankle was rolled, sharp pain shooting up and down your calf as you found a stride that had to be fast enough to disappear as quickly as you had been found. You didn’t listen for any voices, and it seemed that no one came after you. Eyes stinging from dirt and leaves having swat at them, you just kept running.

What was going on?

More importantly, why the hell did I try to get a photo of it??

The waitress brushed your t-shirt’s sleeve as she approached with your order. She did a double take at your empty mug, recalling you had needed it filled what was barely ten minutes ago. Looking up at her an apologetic frown, she gave you a smile. “I’ll get you another one, dear.” She assured as she took it, “College student, I’m guessing?”

“You guess right.” You sighed, hearing her quaint chuckle as her heels clicked off again.

Sitting in a shoddy little diner at 6:30 AM was all you could do without the paranoia eating you alive. It was better than just laying in bed back at your place, unable to close your eyes for more than a couple minutes at a time. The evening before had felt so far away, but it was only a handful of hours all at the same time. You put a hand on your bruising knee, itching the scab that had grown over a fresh scrape. It was at least disinfected and bandaged under your pant leg, which was some kind of reparation from going chest first down a rocky hillside.

If you had to be frank with yourself: that wasn’t what was causing you the exhaustion. You glanced out the window again, the sun taking longer and longer each day to rise from the myriad of suburban-esque buildings in Glen Echo, the bricks still a murky blue, not yet touched by golden dawn and brought to life. Eyes wandered back inside, and the waitress set the refilled mug down by your folded arms as you gave her a nod in thanks.

When your eyes left her again, you then realized there was someone looking at you from the other end of the dining room. You looked at your plate before the eye contact lingered, but your eyes were already growing, and there was no denying they were bloodshot as hell.

Fuck, that means his probably are too. Both of us had a late night.

You adjusted in your lonely booth, a hand running over your mouth as you gave another anxious glance out the window. Still, it didn’t stop him from standing from his seat, seeing that you were debating whether you were going to make a break for the door. He really thought low enough of you to anticipate a dine and dash; to be fair to him, you had been spotty enough to take off running from him before. He wasn’t even the one who had been setting up the murdering devices, and you were still frightened by the guy.

“Hello.”

Looking up from your coffee, you pretended to be surprised with the man now standing over the booth, like you hadn’t been watching the advancement in petrified dread. “…H-hello.” You played dumb, but he made you squirm again with a mulling, thorough stare, like he was analyzing your very posture, giving your obviously unnerved disposition its own character estimate.

He then stated, “You’re up rather early for someone who had been-“ You looked up at him in alert, and he was taken back by your mortified countenance. Still, he went on, “Staking out alongside me last night.”

“Okay,” You rolled your shoulders and quickly murmured, “What I was doing has no involvement with what I saw. I-I didn’t know that was what the camera was going to catch when I went out to the Vernon Farm.”

“No?” He breathed, unconvinced. Not sure what else to do, going into a muted panic, you decided to gesture to the empty seat across from you. He cast a disinterested glance at the chair, but then another pleading bob of your Adam’s apple from a guilty swallow was enough to get him to take it.

“I have never approached that man, but I…” You trailed off, looking around one last time before admitting, “Okay. I’m just a student, and I just needed a simple, local story for a school project.” You shook your head briskly, eyes staring into nothing as you laid it out for him, “I didn’t know there was…something lurking out there, just thought it’d be a goofy urban legend I’d cover with no dice on actually seeing anything, and then I’d get a grade for it and move on with my life.”

His eyes were losing their edge, listening to you go on, “I-if you’re a PI, or an officer, I’ll turn over my footage. I didn’t mean to write myself into this story or interfere with your investigation if that’s what you think I’m doing.”

The diner continued to bustle in an early morning lull while you were stuck in a limbo of silence. You sipped your coffee, the sound of the leather from his gloved hand finally releasing from its clench and setting flat on the table got you brave enough to look over at him again.

“I don’t believe it’s necessary.” He eased, and you breathed a sigh of relief from behind your folded hands. It only was sucked back up, seized in your chest again when he then mused, “Infact, I want to use it as means to help me.”

“What-?” You began, trying to smile, but his hand coming up to slow you in a definite gesture made you clam up again. “Yes, you’re amateur, but you have gotten closer to that man than I could even hope to despite not being one of his targets. You can’t deny that you faced him last night, correct?”

You merely nodded, and he shook his head, “I don’t think you understand how difficult that is. You’re lucky you weren’t maimed when he spotted you.”

I was lucky I didn’t maim myself, you concurred. You tapped your nail on the outside of the mug and weakly joked, “He must’ve had better fish to fry.” The man leaned forward slightly, and you finally looked him in the eye, seeing the world of knowledge you couldn’t even begin to understand quite yet.

“If we don’t stop him, my young friend, it’ll become far too many fish.”

[tomtenadia]

A Little Braver - 17

So, as promised, part 17 is her.

Be prepared to submerge our bird boy with hugs, he will need them.

I promise the chapter will end in fluff and in a good note. The angst is only for the beginning. I need to douse it a bit since from ch 19 onwards the angst gremlin will be back with a vengeance.

I hope you will love it.

A big hug to all the people who commented, reblogged or loved this fic. Thanks to all of you.

A week had gone by and Aelin and Rowan had taken the official decision to try and go back and both deal with the mess of their lives. 

The week had been perfect. Rowan had taken her hillwalking everyday and slowly she had started to feel like herself again. His presence had helped immensely. In a very short time he had become her rock. Full recovery was still a long way ahead but she felt better and with him at her side she had no more panic attacks or nightmares. 

She felt sad at the idea of leaving the cottage in the mountains but they had promised to go back for some special occasion.

*

It was morning and Rowan was getting ready to go back to work. They had set a date for the inquiry on his student’s death and that would be the day.

For once Aelin was the one worried one. She could not forget his reaction to the movie or the night he came back drunk after Fuzzy’s death. She knew he had put up a wall but hoped he would at least let her in. 

“What are you going to do?” He asked her while adjusting his tie.

“I have a meeting with Dorian and the counsellor and then I will pop in at the station and say hi to the squad and apologise.”

“Good.” His tone was detached and she moved a step to him and hugged his waist from behind “are you okay?”

He sighed “nervous. This will mean revive the entire accident over and over again.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

He shook his head and kissed her “thanks for the offer but I will be fine. My squadron will be there and you have an important meeting as well.”

“Ok,” she wanted to believe him, but could not ignore his cold detached tone and Aelin had learned that it was his coping mechanism. He was not okay.

-

Rowan arrived at the airforce HQ and was met by Lorcan.

“Sir,” he stood to attention.

“At ease captain,” Rowan stood down from attention and placed his hands behind his back in a at rest pose “I am sorry it’s so quick. I knew you were coming back yesterday and I did manage to hold on until today.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Are you sure you are ready?” And for once Rowan heard concern in his CO’s voice “this is going to be brutal.”

“I know.”

“I am on the board too and we have Captain Walker from the 24th squadron and Captain Matthews from the 31st and two engineers. They have all copies of the inquiry sent to the board.”

“Who is the president?”

“Marshal Clark.” Said Lorcan in a preoccupied tone.

“Fuck. The man hates me with a vengeance.”

Rowan sighed again and sat on the bench just outside of the room used for the meeting.

His squad arrived a moment later and they patted each other’s back in support.

“We are all here.” Gavriel told him taking a seat at his side.

“Thanks everyone.”

One of the assistants appeared on the door and announced the board was ready to convene. Rowan quickly texted Aelin and switched off his mobile.

The marshal, being the president, was in the centre of the seating area. Rowan went to greet the other two captains with whom he got along nicely and had known for a long time. Then he went to the marshal and saluted as expected “at ease captain.”

Rowan went to his assigned seat and flipped through the folder in front of him. It contained all the documents they needed. His report of the accident, the reports from the engineering team and other supporting evidence.

Marshal Clark called everyone to attention and declared the board in session. He then proceeded to explain to the members the accident that had happened.

One of the engineers who had performed checks after the aircraft had been recovered was asked to present his findings “after the analysis of the recovered aircraft and after having studied the dynamics of the accident we have found out that the main cause for the engine failure was a disruption in the airflow in the port intake causing it to stall with enough yaw rate to induce a flat spin. Cadet Williamson, according to the records of the accident, flew in the jet wash of one of his classmate’s aircrafts. That caused the airflow disruption. The stall was unrecoverable.” explained the engineer reading from his report “with regard to the canopy, we have found a fault in some model of jets used by the students where the charges did not operate correctly, causing the canopy to separate incorrectly. All those planes are grounded and now being checked.”

“Thank you.” Said the marshal, then his gaze turned to Rowan “Captain Whitethorn, stand please.”

Rowan did so.

“Could you please re tell the board the events that lead to the death of the cadet?”

Rowan took a deep breath and retold step by step what happened. It was still vivid in his mind that it would take ages before he could forget it.

“Did you tell the cadet to eject?”

“I did, sir.”

“Why?” Asked the marshal with inquisitive tone.

“He had lost control of the aircraft. From the black box retrieved from his jet he had pulled 9g after he started spiralling. From my position I could see that he was about to pass out. Ejecting the seat had been the safest option. Little did I know that the canopy would fail.”

The two other captains nodded in agreement, knowing full well that they would have suggested the same thing.

“Would the cadet have survived if he had more high G training?”

“Sir,” Rowan almost growled at his superior “his jet was under 9g for almost ten seconds before crashing in the water. Not even an experienced and highly trained pilot can sustain or survive that.” He breathed again “and you know better than me that centrifuge training can be done only with some weekly limits due to its dangers.”

“Had the cadets received basic procedures on how to properly eject and when?”

“Yes, sir. It’s one of the first things they are taught. They are shown how to properly deploy their parachute and how to blow the canopy. Training is also done in different conditions to simulate possible combat scenery.”

“Training was not the issue here,” said Lorcan going in Rowan’s support “Captain Whitethorn is one of our most experienced instructors and hundreds of students have survived his crushing training and are still alive today because of what he has taught them.”

“The post mortem also backed the cause of death in the crash of the body against the canopy.” Added captain Matthews.

“What kind of training were you doing that day?” The marshal continued, ignoring the protests.

“We were going through some basic dogfight routines. The cadets were only five months out of the academy so we were just covering the basics as per fighter school curriculum.” Answered Rowan who felt lost all of a sudden.

“Would the manoeuvre you had practiced put the boy in a position to be in another jet’s wake? Didn’t you teach them how to stay away from the jet wash of another aircraft during a dogfight?” The marshal had an agenda, that was very clear to Rowan. He was trying to blame this on him.

Captain Walker stood angrily “why are we attacking captain Whitethorn? The problem was that the engine stalled due to the jet wash from another aircraft. An experienced fighter might have been able to find a way out of such deadly spiral, the gods know I have found myself in that situation and got out of it by pure damn luck. Not a cadet five months out of the academy. It’s our job to teach them such manoeuvres but only after they have mastered the basics.” He sat down again nodding at Rowan.

“A good instructor would have taught his students how to fly in close formation and to avoid the wake of a team mate. A captain should know what such manoeuvre could cause.” Continued the marshal who had taken the fight to Rowan.

Lorcan stood angrily “That is enough.” He shouted.

“I would suggest you to sit down, Air commodore.”

“Not when you accuse my best instructor of being the cause of the death of a student.”

“It is my job as president of this board to try and figure out what happened.”

“I told two of my students they were too close. I advised another one not to drop below hard deck. I care about the safety of my students.” Rowan almost growled at the marshal “also, I stand by my decision to order cadet Williamson to eject. Had the canopy worked he’d be alive now.”

The marshal nodded and with a bored expression he then went back to the engineering team and they discussed the canopy issue.

Rowan let them talk and his brain disconnected completely and tried to ignore the pain from what had just transpired.

He sat in silence listening to the rest of the board discuss in the background. 

The marshal eventually called the board to attention “Following the evidence provided by the engineering team and the testimony of captain Whitethorn I declare that the death of cadet Williamson was caused by the port engine stall due to airflow disruption in the intake. The commission also noted that the flat spin in which the cadet went in was not recoverable. Captain Whitethorn is cleared of any faults.” Rowan noticed the disappointment on the man’s face for the fact the had been cleared of any faults.

The marshal then turned to Lorcan “Commodore, I expect you to keep the students grounded until the training jets have been fixed.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The board is dismissed.” Clark stood and walked out.

The other two captain went to Rowan “I had no idea the bastard would try to blame you for this.”captain Matthews added with fury.

“I would have told my students to eject as well. It was the only option.” Added captain Walker.

But Rowan was not listening. It hurt too much, knowing that someone had tried to blame the death of his student on him. That the marshal had to question all of his choices and possibly his training methods.

Lorcan and his squadron were at his side as soon as the room was clear.

“The arsehole has some guts.” Commented Fenrys but Gavriel elbowed him.

Rowan stood in a daze and left the room ignoring the voices of his team calling him.

*

Aelin’s meeting with Dorian and the counsellor had gone better than she expected. Thanks to Rowan she had been able to open up and talk to them about what happened and how she had been before her escape and what had prompted her to flee. She admitted to them her fears.

She felt much better but she had confessed that she did not feel ready to go back in action. She felt okay about going back to the station and work from the office but was not ready yet to be in a fire. She was still too scared for that and Dorian and the counsellor accepted her admission.

So they had agreed for a transition period. Aelin was told as well to attend weekly sessions with the counsellor to track her progress and her mental health recovery. She would be on desk duty for a while and after that, Dorian was willing to send her back out but just at his side in a fire emergency allowing her again to be close to the fire scene and if that went well they could work on a plan on sending her back in. 

She had agreed with the final decision and had left the room with a smile and a light heart. She stopped in the corridor to check her phone but no news from Rowan. The meeting should be over by now. She hoped he was okay.

Happily she drove back to her squad and everyone was eager to catch up with her. Then Aedion stopped in front of her “never again,” he told her and Aelin went for a hug. He remained stiff for a moment, then his arms enveloped her in a bear hug “looks like your captain fixed you up nicely.”

“Hey, I would recover from anything if I had such man looking after me.” Said Ansel and everyone laughed.

“He has been nice to me.” But all she could think was his face from that morning.

��*

Rowan had been walking without a direction for a while now. He felt as if he had lost his rudder, he had spent the last twelve years of his life working for people who had been ready to blame on him the death of a student. He looked at his uniform and for the first time since he had worn it he felt no pride in it. He had been so tempted to resign his wings on the spot. No matter that he had been cleared, it stung so much, even if it had been the opinion of one man.

It had been too much. He knew the marshal was never a fan of his. The first student he had lost had been his son. But at the time as well the board had declared it had not been his fault. It had been the pilot’s mistake. The marshal never forgave him. Seeing him again at a board for a student’s death he had probably tried to punish him for what happened to his son.

In the distance he spotted a pub and decided that a drink might help. He got in and sat at the counter and ordered a whisky, but once the drink was in front of him he could not drink it. In his current state he would spiral down again to the same level of self destruction of many years before when he lost the marshal’s son and he could not do that again. He could not put Aelin through that pain.

So he did the only sensible thing. He called her.

Aelin was in the common room with the squad and they were having fun and the guys were telling her about some of the calls they had and then they were teasing Luca and his upcoming exam.

She was about to tell them to stop picking on him when her phone went off. It was Rowan and her heart stopped. 

She quickly left the room and went outside, sitting on the bumper of one of the engines “hey,”

“Hi,” his voice was low and flat and she feared for him.

“What’s wrong.”

Silence.

“Ro, are you okay?”

“No.”

Shit. She stood and started pacing “where are you?”

“At a pub.”

“Which one.”

He told her the name.

“I am coming. Just stay there.” And closed the conversation and almost laughed at the irony of the situation. A week before she had been at the receiving end of such conversation.

She ran back to the squad “guys, I need to go. Rowan. It’s not good. I just have to go…”

She didn’t even wait for an answer. She just rushed back to her car and drove to him. He did not sound drunk so maybe it was not all lost.

She arrived at pub not long after and stormed in. Rowan was sitting at the counter staring at a glass of whisky in front of him.

“Ro.” She walked to him and his green eyes fell on her. There was pain in them, so much pain.

“You are not drunk,” she told him.

“He ordered the whisky two hours ago and had been staring at it ever since.” Said the bartender.

“Hey,” she caressed his head and he closed his eyes at the touch “what happened?”

He shook his head “not here.” He stood and Aelin followed then came back and chugged down the abandoned whisky and went after him.

He was walking away and she ran after him “wait, you have long legs, damn you.” He extended an arm behind him and Aelin grabbed his hand “fine, we are outside, spill the beans.”

She definitely had no tact.

He walked silently a bit longer until they reached a small park and he sat down on a bench and Aelin took a spot at his side never letting his hand go.

And then he told her. Everything that had happened in the room. The results of the inquiry, the marshal’s accusations. The identity of the first student he had lost and his desire to quit.

“I wanted to throw my wings in the marshal’s face.” He looked down dejected “I feel lost now. I want to go back to my students, I owe it to them, to teach them how to be safe. But everything else… I don’t care about it anymore.” his head leaned against her shoulder and Aelin brushed his head with her hand and kissed it tenderly “Ro, how can I help you?”

Rowan turned his head to her and she thought his eyes were wet with tears “what you are doing just now is enough. Having you with me helps.”

“Do you need to go back to the airbase now?”

Rowan nodded sadly.

“Ok, I’ll drive you.” Aelin stood and Rowan followed but before moving he pulled her to him and drew her in for a kiss “I love you.” He said quietly.

She flicked his nose “let’s go.” She offered him her hand and together they walked back to her car.

They arrived at the airbase not long after “do you need me to come in?”

Rowan shook his head “my team is there. I will be fine. Gav will stop me from doing anything stupid.”

“Good. I am going back to the station.” She leaned forward to kiss him “Will you be okay? I am worried about you.”

“I am a big boy.” He joked.

“Ro…”

He leaned forward and kissed her “I do love so much when you call me Ro like that…”

Aelin smiled against his lips “don’t do anything stupid and tomorrow you can ravish me all you want. You can even be super creative.”

“How can I refuse such proposal?” He kissed her again “I will be fine.” His hand went to the door handle and opened the door “I will see you tomorrow morning at home. Have a nice night shift.”

Aelin’s heart swelled with joy at the word home. Their place. They hadn’t made it official but her house had become home. Their home. And she loved the feeling of it.

“Think creative, captain.”

He winked at her and left the car. Then he waved at her and Aelin left, he put his cap on his head and headed back inside the airbase.

-

Rowan made his way to Lorcan’s office and took a deep breath before knocking on the door.

“Come in,” came from inside.

Rowan entered the room and Lorcan looked up at him and he did notice the expression of disbelief in his CO’s face.

“Rowan —” but the other man stopped him.

“Thank you for today. For the support.” Rowan said quietly sitting on the chair in front of his CO.

“The man was out of line.” Lorcan growled “he knows what kind of instructor you are. How strict you are. The man was trying to get you sacked as a punishment for his son’s death knowing full well that again it was not your fucking fault.”

Rowan looked away, shutting away the painful memories.

“I already sent orders to start working on the canopies and check them all.”

Rowan nodded silently.

“I know what we can do to cheer you up.” Rowan turned his head staring at a surprisingly cheery Lorcan. Elide was really doing miracles.

“Grab you gear and let’s get out in the air, this man here needs to fly. It’s been so long that it’s a miracle I can still be called a pilot.” And he chuckled.

Rowan stood “Fine, be ready to be crushed.”

Lorcan grinned and stood as well “Oh, I submitted a proposal to allow women to serve in the airforce.”

Rowan’s head whipped to one side “who are you and what have you done with Lorcan Salvaterre?”

“The captain and Elide. Turns out we have both chosen very strong women.”

“I like that.”

“Me too.”

Rowan was doing his pre-flight checks when he noticed Lorcan joining him. The man had always exuded charisma.

“You should really send Elide a picture of you in a jump suit. I know how much Aelin likes it, I guess Elide might appreciate it too.”

Lorcan lifted an eyebrow while he reached his jet and popped open the canopy “you think?”

Rowan nodded “how is it going with her by the way?”

“She is incredible. She is tiny but fierce and stubborn and quite amazing.”

Rowan could not believe it, Lorcan was in awe of someone a feat that he thought was impossible.

“You are in love with her.”

“I think so.” said Lorcan hiding the words in a cough, almost embarrassed by his admission.

“Good.” Then he stared at Lorcan and he realised that going out out for a flight had been a good idea. They were evenly matched in skill and it was going to be a fun one. They had a few turbulent months but he had more or less always got along with him. Flying together again felt like the good old times.

“You missed a spot.” Rowan pointed at one section under the wing. 

Lorcan replied with a middle finger and it felt nice to have their old banter back when Lorcan could finally put aside his CO mask for a while.

“I am not a cadet, I know how to do my pre flight checks.”

“Well, you are not following the order we were taught at flight school, cadet Salvaterre.”

“Stop being a smartass, cadet Whitethorn.”

Rowan climbed in his jet and finished his checks inside and communicated with the tower to finalise the flight plan and get the authorisations required.

“Come on Lorcan, you are so slow. Tower gave us the all clear and the flight plan is in. Are you sure you still remember how to fly? Do you need any pointers, Chaos?”

Chaos was Lorcan’s callsign and he had earned it very early in his career for his flying skills.

Eventually they were both ready and the two jets got taxied away and not long after they were in the air.

“Rules of engagement: anything is allowed and two out of three?”

“Copy that, Iceman.”

“Good, be ready to lose.”

The two jets broke apart and went in different directions and for a while they just ran in circles above the airbase to study each other.

Lorcan hadn’t wanted to admit that he was a bit rusty and Rowan was indeed a nasty customer. 

Gavriel and the three young pilots were walking along one of the long corridors on the airbase when they heard the sound of jets in the air and ran to the next window to look who it was. The classes for the cadets were still grounded and the three of them were on ground.

“Holy fuck,” muttered Gavriel when he realised who was out flying.

He ran out to the viewing tower followed by the twins and Vaughan.

“Is that who I think it is?” Asked Connall speechless.

“Rowan and Lorcan.” The older man turned to the three young guys “you are in for a treat, they can make you feel like a newbie.”

Gavriel saw Rowan pull in a vertical and flying into the sun, roll on his back and continue in  straight line flying just a meter above Lorcan, finally flipped his jet once again and placed himself at Lorcan’s six.

Lorcan tried some evasive manoeuvres but Rowan did not let go, always at his tail attempting to get a lock on his CO.

Lorcan felt trapped and as a last ditch he went into a high G barrel roll to try and shake off Rowan.

“Rowan is going to overshoot,” said Connall who was silently watching the dogfight between their superiors.

Then Rowan pulled a trick out of the hat and kept his jet in line with Lorcan’s then rolled and found himself upside down and fired at the other man.

“Holy fuck,” was Fenrys’ comment at the scene.

“What did just happen? How did he even manage that?” Added Vaughan.

“That is Rowan for you. Now you realise why we can’t ever win?”

“One nil for me, Chaos.”

“You are a sneaky bastard, Whitethorn. And where did you learn such manoeuvres?”

Rowan laughed over the comms “get your act together, Commodore, and you can probably get me.”

The dogfight between the two went on for much longer. Lorcan did manage to win an engagement but Rowan still won 2-1. They landed back and they found Rowan’s team waiting for them.

“Good to see you two flying again. The youngsters never had the chance to see the pros at work.” Said Gavriel relieved that the two men seemed again at ease with each other.

“Oh, yeah. Our dear CO was a bit rusty and I took him out to stretch his legs and I handed out his arse to him twice.”

Lorcan gave him the middle finger in response.

*

Elide was in the ambulance doing some inventory checks when her phone pinged. She opened the text from Lorcan and almost fainted on the spot. It was Lorcan in his jump suit beside his jet and the man actually had a hint of a smile on his face. The second image was of him and Rowan standing back to back, their arms folded at their chest and both had a goofy smile on.

She jumped off the ambulance and ran to Aelin who was in the equipment room checking out their gear “Ace, look!” She shouted as she stormed in.

“What?” And she looked at the two pictures on Elide’s phone.

“Interesting…” Aelin stared with curiosity at the picture of the two men.

“He is soooo hot, I have never seen him in a jump suit and gods I don’t know? Want to remove it one bit at a time?”

Aelin laughed “that’s what I would do to Rowan right now if we were together in a private place. I would peel that jump suit off him until he is naked in front of me.”

She saw Elide blush “Lorcan and I haven’t… passed the kissing stage yet. He has never touched me. He is very considerate of me. But a few times he hugged me and I… felt him.” And she made a gesture and Aelin understood.

“Elide that is normal. How do you feel about the next stage? Like exploring each other’s bodies?”

“As in naked?”

“Yes, but you can start with keeping your underwear to have a barrier on if it makes you feel better.”

Elide sat on the bench beside her “I don’t know how to do this. How do I touch him?”

Aelin could see panic rise in the woman “ask him to show you and then once you feel brave enough to try just give it a go. It can be quite fun.” Aelin stopped for a second trying to find a way to tackle the next issue “Elide, have you ever… you know… explored your body? Down there?”

Elide blushed savagely “no.”

Aelin took the woman’s hand “take a nice warm bath and then…” Aelin wiggled her fingers “just put a hand between your legs and see how it goes, what you feel.”

“Oh.”

“At least once you two take the next step you have an idea of how it feels.”

“And Lorcan does that as well?”

Aelin nodded “yes, and if the man is as good as the others claim he might leave you a satisfied mess just with his fingers or mouth or both. A sort of appetiser before the main course.”

“Do you and Rowan…?”

Aelin nodded “and not just him to me but me to him as well.”

“This sounds so much.”

“Elide, look at me.” Aelin placed her hands on the woman’s shoulder “you do not have to take the next step until you are okay with it. Talk with Lorcan. Explain to him that you are getting curious and want to try more. You can use a safe word so that when you start to become uncomfortable, you shout that word and he has to stop.”

“Oh.”

“He hasn’t rushed you or anything?”

Elide shook her head “no, he has been so understanding, and never pushed.”

“Good. You set the pace. You are the one who needs time so he adjusts to you, remember. But if you feel like you are ready for another step just tell him.”

“Is it… is it as good as everyone says? Is it worth it?”

Aelin nodded “with the right person is something incredible. The intimacy… the connection…”

“Do you have that with your captain?”

“Yeah, and some.”

“Uhhh… are we getting serious?”

Aelin looked away for a moment “I loved Sam. A lot. We were good together but it was never like this. Never this deep.” She threw her head against one of the jackets “I don’t know how to explain it but my feelings for Rowan are so strong that sometimes I feel like I can’t breath.”

“I want that too.”

A moment later the conversation was interrupted by Lysandra entering the room “Here you are, why are you hiding?”

Elide showed Lys Lorcan’s picture.

“Oh mama…”

“Elide is feeling… curious.”

Lysandra hugged the woman “that is wonderful, darling. With such a specimen I’d be curious too.”

“Lys.” Shouted Aelin laughing.

“What? Fine the man can be an arsehole but I can’t deny that in that picture he is one hot bastard.”

“Show her the other.”

Elide showed Lysandra the picture with both Rowan and Lorcan.

“Ok, I really need a cold shower now.”

“I am pretty sure Aedion is available. Just keep it quiet.”

Lysandra laughed “don’t you think I tried? He said it would be against the rules.”

“I am almost done with equipment checks. This room will be free soon.”

“You are a wicked woman.” 

Aelin winked.

“Did you do it in here with the captain?”

“No, but his office is quite comfortable.”

“Nice.” Commented Lysandra.

Lys then took Elide’s hand “come on, we got a couple of things to finish.”

Once the two ladies left she phoned Rowan and he picked up at the first ring.

“I am jealous, Lorcan sent a picture of the two of you to Elide and I don’t get a copy?”

“You liked that?”

“You were both smiling.”

“We talked,” added Rowan “Lorcan was even more pissed than me. I think Elide did the miracle.”

Aelin laughed and relaxed at his admission “how so?

“He chuckled. Lorcan chuckled.”

She heard mirth in his voice.

“And the man is totally in love with Elide. I swear I never heard the man talk like that about a woman.”

“Interesting.”

“Also, apparently he has decided to support my idea of having women in the airforce and submitted a proposal to the higher ups and he is prepared to fight for it.” He told her, knowing she would love the news.

“Ok, I might finally start to like the man. What changed?”

“You and Elide apparently.”

Aelin smiled smugly “so he does listen, I am impressed. I don’t think I can cope with the idea of Lorcan not being the bad guy.”

“His job is very stressful and I don’t think I could be able to cope with the amount of shit he has to deal with.” He sighed “put me in a cockpit surrounded by enemies and I will be fine. But the idea of being stuck behind a desk playing the political game day in day out…. no. I will retire before it happens.” He added sadly.

“So, what’s on the agenda for the rest of the day, captain?”

“I am helping him with a few things. Then do more prep work for our performance review.”

“Do you think you are ready for that?”

She heard a lot of noise in the background and she guessed he was back in the hangar.

“Aye, we are good to go.” He was silent for a moment “I have to go, Fireheart.”

“Sure. Be safe and have a nice drill.”

“I love you. Have a nice night shift.”

“Send me that picture, Whitethorn.”

“Yes ma’am.”

She closed the conversation and relaxed heavily. Rowan sounded so much better and she was smidge less worried. With a big smile she went back to her work.

*

It was past 9pm and Aelin was in her office working away on some paperwork Dorian had sent over. She had a good day. It had felt good being back and she realised that Rowan’s help and their time away had helped very much. She felt saner and being at the station did not cause any problems. She was not ready yet to go back fighting fires, of that she was well aware. That was the last challenge she had to face but she and Aedion had discussed a training regimen that would slowly allow her to find the courage again to go fully back on duty and she felt excited at the idea.

She had been so engrossed in her work she did not hear the knock on the door. When it happened a second time she slowly raised her head “come in.” She said flatly and almost annoyed. 

A head of silver hair appeared on the door and she stopped “am I interrupting?”

“Of course captain. How dare you?”

He smiled and took a step in “I can go if you are working.”

Aelin rolled her eyes “get your arse inside and give me fifteen minutes of silence.”

He nodded and walked to her bookcase, giving her his back. His hand behind his back, his spine ramrod straight and his feet slightly apart in a perfect at ease position. She grinned. You could take the man out of the military but not the military out of the man.

She stopped working and rested her chin on her hands and a pen in her mouth. She studied him from behind and was impressed how still he could stay. A feat that had alway been impossible to her. 

Rowan grabbed one of her manuals and started flipping through it. It was only fair, she had done the same to his flight manuals. 

“A chemistry book?”

She eventually decided to stand and join him at his side.

“I hated chemistry in school. I was good at it but never liked it. I preferred physics.”

Aelin smiled and grabbed another book: fire science “this one might be more interesting.”

He had a look through it and smiled at her “can I take it at home or do you need it here?”

“You can take it home.”

Rowan smiled and placed the book on the sofa then cupped her face “hi, by the way.” And he kissed her.

“About time. I thought you were more interested in my books than me.” She teased him, pulling away briefly.

“You told me to stay silent for fifteen minutes. I was just following orders.”

“Screw that.”Aelin switched off her computer and walked to him, palm upturned, offering him her hand “follow me captain.”

“Do I need to be scared?”

She glared at him.

They walked along the corridor of the fire station and it was so silent and quiet compared to what he had seen during the day “where is everyone?”

“Resting. We got beds, you know? But Brullo and Ress are probably up watching tv as usual.”

They walked through the common area and as Aelin suspected the two guys were watching some  series on tv.

“Hi guys,” she greeted them.

They raised their heads “hi boss,” then noticed Rowan “oh captain, you found her. Good.”

“When I walked in I announced myself. I could not just waltz in.”

“Come on,” she grabbed his hand. Aelin dragged Rowan to the area where they kept the fire engine and the truck. She moved to the engine and opened a door on the side and pulled out two thick blankets then with them under her armpit, she started climbing the ladder at the end of the rig “Come on captain.”

Rowan looked at her puzzled.“Where are you going?”

He saw her rolling her eyes “on top of the rig.”

“If the alarm—”

“Captain, if the alarm goes off we have enough seconds to get our arses back down. They will not drive away with us on top of the rig. Do you trust me?”

He looked at her in a strange way.

Aelin threw the blankets on the top of the engine and climbed back down and marched to him, grabbing his hand “move.”

With force she dragged him to the ladder and prompted him to climb. He did as ordered and once at the top he stopped. Aelin stopped behind him, then in a swift motion she pulled her leg over the engine rail and climbed on its roof.

She took the blankets and placed them on top of all the hoses “it smells a bit of smoke. You’ll get used to it.”

He climbed over and stood for a second admiring the view from on top of the engine. When he turned he saw Aelin laying down on the blankets, her arms extended to him and a goofy smile on her face. He joined her and took a place at her side.

She nested against his chest and his arms looped around her frame.

“I come up here a lot on a night shift. I don’t sleep, I just relax, I love to imagine I am laying on the grass and that if I look up I can see the stars.”

“I do that when I am on an aircraft carrier and I am not on standby. I just walk on the deck along the rail, although is not as quiet as here as there are still flights happening, but it’s less busy. I just lean against the handrail, near the island and look out at the sea and I my case I can see the stars.”

Aelin turned in his arms and faced him “can you navigate by just using the stars?”

“We don’t use it much, GPS is a very handy tool, but it’s a skill we learn in case something fails and you are left with no GPS or any other electronic help.”

“What about you? Had a good day at the station?” He kissed the top of her head.

Aelin nodded eagerly “yes, I admitted I had a problem out loud and both Dorian and Aedion have offered to help in anyway they can.” She looked up at him “and you… you helped so much… and still helping…”

He smiled tenderly “it goes under my job description for boyfriend, I assume?”

She caressed his face loving the sound of him calling himself her boyfriend.

“Say it again,” she whispered to him.

“What?”

“That you are my boyfriend.”

He went for a deep kiss “I am yours.”

Aelin smiled against his lips “those are powerful words, captain.”

“They are true, though.”

Aelin’s heart raced and her hand went to his chest and found his doing exactly the same.

“I love this. Us. I really do…” she stuck her head in the crook of his neck inhaling his scent “but it still scares me because it happened so fast. One day I wanted to punch you, the next I wanted to kiss you. And it frightens me. I want this to work. I want us to work out.”

His hand covered hers still on his chest “you are not alone. This is a lot for me as well. But I am done fighting my feelings.” He hugged her closer “I love you, even when this world is a forgotten whisper of dust between the stars, I will love you.”

Aelin kissed his chest “you are so cheesy it’s disgusting.”

Rowan pushed her away and she rolled on her back at his side, her hand still in his “I was trying to be romantic and you ruined the moment.”

She smiled “sorry, I used to do that with Sam all the time. He would say something super romantic and I would respond with a joke. When he proposed I replied that I had to check with my lawyer first.”

“You are a brat.”

“It was so funny. Then I texted him and said that my lawyer had agreed.” Aelin brought their twinned hands to her mouth and kissed them “I showed him later on that night in bed how much I wanted to marry him. He did not complain.”

“You really are a handful.”

“I know, but now you picked me and there is no turning back.” She said against their hands fearing she had gone too far.

“I love a good challenge.” He rolled over and was now half on top of her, his hand on her side caressing her gently.

Aelin grabbed his face in her free hands and kissed him stupid but Rowan pulled back when he remembered where they were. He was still terrified they would drive away with the two of them on top of the engine.

He lay back down and his hand started trailing along her injured arm exposed by the short sleeved shirt. The burns had healed but the skin remained marred. He traced the length of it and leaned over to kiss it.

“Does it bother you?”

“No,” he said softly while continuing to kiss her injured arm and her scars “you are my brave and fierce Fireheart. It scares me that I almost lost you. But you scars…” another gentle kiss “they don’t bother me.”

She snuggled closer and he enveloped her in his arms.

“I forgot.” He propped himself up on one elbow “I have received an invitation.”

“Oh?” Aelin did the same and faced him.

“This weekend the navy is throwing a launch party for the new aircraft carrier, down at the dockyards before she is set at sea for the trials and then off to deployment.” He explained “Me and the guys have been invited and I can bring a guest. Fancy being my plus one?”

“Are we going public, captain?”

“If you want to.”

Aelin thought about it “I could wear the stunning black dress I bought in Doranelle.”

Rowan remembered that dress and the effect it had on him when she wore it in the shop.

“Are you trying to give a heart attack to the whole Terrasen military?”

Aelin giggled “just going to show all those posh boys what an amazing taste in women you have.”

“That I do.” He flicked her nose.

Aelin was about to reply when dispatch alarm went off and she bolted on her feet and pulled Rowan up and grabbed the blankets “come on, captain.”

She climbed down super quickly and by the time he made it down, the blankets were back in the truck and the squad was getting ready to go.

“Showing the captain your special spot?” Joked Aedion.

Aelin nodded and patted his shoulder “keep the guys safe and you stay safe too.”

“Always.” Quickly Aedion ran to the truck and a moment later the squad was gone.

“It’s hard to see them go and not being able to be with them.”

He pulled an arm around her shoulder “come, I’ll make you hot chocolate.”

She followed him “that’s exactly how you woo a woman, captain.”

TAGS:

@rowaelinismyotp​

@jlinez​

@swankii-art-teacher​

@courtofjurdan​

@whimsicallyreading​

@tillyrubes10​

[onebluebookworm]

March 2022 Book Club Picks

Hard Times by Charles Dickens: Thomas Gradgrind lives by one simple principle - facts above all else. There is no room in his life for things like fantasy, whimsy, or emotion, and this is how he governs his schoolroom, his home, and his entire life. Without an understanding of morals or love to guide them, his children, especially eldest Louisa and Tom, fall into desperation, loveless marriages, and lives of crime. As his children fall further from grace, Thomas must reckon with the fact that his grim practicality and slavish devotion to facts has ruined all their lives.

Miss Tonks Turns to Crime by Marion Chesney: When a mysterious fire ravages the Poor Relation Hotel, the five genteel paupers who run it must scrape together the necessary funds to repair it. The duty falls on Miss Tonks, a shy spinster, who decides to pose as a highwayman in order to rob the carriage of her snobbish sister. When she holds up the carriage of the dashing and handsome Lord Eston by mistake, Miss Tonks not only gains an accomplice in her madcap crimes, but a potential suitor for her niece Cassandra. As the lies mount and the masquerade becomes more and more complicated, Miss Tonks and the other poor relations must rely once again on their wits to prevent their ruin and hopefully save Cassandra from her mother’s greedy machinations.

Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy: A Modern Graphic Retelling of Little Women by Rey Terciero and Bre Indigo: It’s been a rough year for the March sisters - with their father fighting overseas and their mother working harder than ever to support the family without him, the girls have vowed to work overtime to help make ends meet. No matter what they face - whether it’s bullies at school, boy troubles, or simply feeling lost - they stick together and have each other’s backs. And when the greatest challenge they’ve ever known threatens to tear their family apart for good, they have to come together and support each other more than ever.

Les Liaisons Dangereuses by Pierre Choderlos de Laclos: A deadly alliance is forged between manipulative and insatiable aristocrats the Marquise de Merteuil and the Vicomte de Valmonte. Merteuil wants Valmonte to ruin Cecile de Volanges, the virginal ingenue Merteuil’s former lover spurned her for, while Valmonte has his eyes on Madam de Tourvel, a married woman renowned for her piety and fidelity. As the two conspire and scheme, the game quickly spirals out of control, leaving devastation, heartbreak, and more than a few bodies in its wake.

The Storyteller by Jodi Picoult: Sage Singer is a master of hiding - hiding her scarred face from the world, hiding herself away in her night job at a bakery, and hiding her pain and guilt over her mother’s death. During a session at her grief counseling group, she meets Josef Weber, an elderly man reeling from the loss of his wife. He and Sage quickly bond, but everything changes when Josef shares a world-shattering secret with her - a secret that not only connects them in ways Sage never imagined, across time and continents, but comes with an extraordinary request, one that could change Sage’s life forever if she complies.

[dangerousconnoisseurdonut]

Curse of Loki preview (F/F/m)

On AO3, I have a request for a Tickle Fic, something I have toyed with for years, but never had the guts to do until now. I realize tickling isn’t everyone’s kink, but please be kind as this is my first attempt. I am posting a preview here to get a feel if I’m doing this right.

Now, context! Bruce has been sent a horn with Norwegian Runes all over it. What he doesn’t know is that this is the Horn of Loki, the Trickster God and causes... interesting results between the recipient and their enemies. In this case, Bruce and the Rogues of Gotham. After he has blown the horn, he gets the urge to go into the city and winds up at Selina’s flat, not realizing that she has a guest at the minute and... well, here goes nothing.

“Relax, Bruce, I just wanted to lounge around for a change; Tabitha and Barbara got me this on my last birthday. Do you like it?” Selina gave a little pose and Bruce did his best to keep his eyes on her face where they belonged and not drawn to her cleavage which he had never seemed to notice before. It was darker than magenta, somewhere between sangria and mulberry, with pink cherry blossoms scattered on it; it was indeed beautiful, but Bruce was wishing at the moment she had something on underneath as he could see her breasts, including her perky nipples.

“Bruce?” Selina asked with a shit-eating grin as though she had a damn good idea why he hadn’t answered her, causing his blush to deepen as he responded,

“Nice! It’s very, uh, very nice!”

“I think the naughty boy was eyeing your tits, Cat.” Bruce whirled around at the sound of another female, only to find Bridgit Pike waltzing into the room in another bathrobe, this one somewhere between navy and indigo, with white orchids. He was struck by how attractive she was, even with the scars on her face and what he could see of her body; her hair was long, though there was none where her face had been burned, and her smile was one of the, pardon the pun, cat who got the canary. He felt himself harden as he suddenly felt very much like a canary.

“Uh, I’m uh, sorry for interrupting you two, I’ll just, um, I’ll just -” Bruce was shocked when Bridgit grabs the lapel of his jacket and pulls him to her so she can kiss him. As he and Bridgit make-out, he feels Selina grab his jacket and pull it off of him. Bruce however gets a moment of clarity and pulls away as Selina pulls his button up partially off, ripping a few of the buttons off and trapping his arms in the sleeves.

“W-wait a minute, what are y-you -?” Bruce just about jumped out of his skin when Selina dug her fingers into his underarms, causing him to almost bite his tongue off as he fought not to laugh.

“Naughty boys need to be punished, but we don’t want to hurt you so, Selina and I think you need a good laugh; not to sound like Jerome, but you are way too serious.” Bridgit explains as she lightly runs her fingers over his ribs. Bruce doesn’t say anything, knowing the minute he opens his mouth he’ll start laughing and won’t be able to stop. He hadn’t been tickled since he was seven, and he had forgotten how much he hated it. Selina and Bridgit start leading him to Selina’s bed, digging their fingers into his ribs or underarms when he tries to struggle. Bruce is almost crying from the exertion it’s taking to not laugh. When it comes time to get him on the bed, they move quickly to get Bruce’s arms out from the shirt, and tied down using some scarves. For his legs, Bridgit sits on Bruce’s stomach and switches between his underarms and stomach, not letting him get used to either sensation as Selina wrestles him out of his shoes, pants, underwear, and socks before tying his legs down. Bridgit stopped for a moment, enjoying seeing Bruce struggle to contain his laughter, as Selina went to get something.

“P-please Bridgit, I, I’m sorry I looked at Selina’s breasts; you’re both so pretty I couldn’t help it, but I’m so sorry for being a pervert and -mmph!” Bruce was cut off as Bridgit again kissed him, and he moaned a little as she played with his nipples before Selina came back.

“Starting without me?”

“I’ve never seen a guy apologize so much for sneaking a peak at a boob before.” Bridgit explained as she petted Bruce’s locks, something he actually seemed to enjoy.

“I told you; he’s an odd one but can actually be kind of sweet, like a puppy.” Selina said as she resumed her position at his feet, making him worry about what she planned to do.

“Well, even cute puppies have to be disciplined when they do something naughty, but since he seems so sincere with his apology, I think we can give him a little reward afterwards.” Bruce went to beg again, only for Bridgit to lightly trail her fingers up to his underarms, prompting him to keep his mouth shut and bite his lips.

“Gotta warn you handsome; we won’t stop until we hear you laugh. Why not make it easy on yourself and just let it out?” Bruce shook his head, causing Bridgit to sigh before smirking as she dug her fingers into his underarms and Selina tickled his thighs, a place he didn’t even think was ticklish but Selina just had to prove him wrong. He giggled, chortled, and snorted behind closed lips, but still refused to out and out laugh, even when Bridgit switched to his stomach and Selina tickled his knees (seriously, knees could be a ticklish spot?). Though, when one of Bridgit’s fingers got close to his navel, he almost lost control, though sadly he knew Bridgit had seen it for what it was when she got a wicked gleam in her eyes before saying,

“He’s a tough nut to crack, Cat; I think we better up our game.” Selina released a very put-upon sigh as she responded,

“You asked for this Bruce.” Bridgit leaned over as Selina also stopped to get something, though just what Bruce could not see. When Bridgit pulled back, she held what appeared to be a makeup brush, making Bruce wander just what was she going to do with that. He wasn’t allowed to worry about it however as Selina grabbed the toes of his right foot and stretched them back as far as they would go, leaving his arch taut. He got the uneasy feeling he was about to face his Waterloo. Bridgit then leaned down and placed the brush on his stomach and started a slow spiral edging closer and closer to his navel. Soon, it was tracing the navel itself, and Bruce was shaking so bad with suppressed laughter, he thought he was going to pass out. Those soft, silky bristles felt like dragons teeth on his sensitive stomach. Bridget looked him straight in the eye, amber into green, and asked,

“Does our naughty pretty boy have a ticklish belly button?” Before Bruce could confirm or deny, Bridgit dug the makeup brush right into his navel to swirl it around same time as Selina lightly ran her nails up his foot. Actually, to Bruce’s horror, he realized Selina was wearing her gloves with the claws on them, and they were what she was lightly dragging up and down his foot. At the twin sensations, Bruce didn’t stand a chance and finally burst out,

“Hahahaha! P-please s-s-stop! I, I c-can’t t-t-take this!” Bruce hated how he was reduced to stuttering, but the girls were just too good. Selina kept her touch light to make sure her claws didn’t accidentally pierce the skin, but that didn’t make it any less intense as she used one claw to draw nonsensical patterns along his sole, first lines going up and down, then spirals on the ball and heel of his foot, then zig-zags across his arches. Bridgit meanwhile kept switching between the brush and her her finger digging into his navel. Sometimes, just to spice things up, she would use the brush on his navel while digging her fingers into his underarm. Her dual sensations of sharp and soft were driving him up the wall. Once, she even ran the brush over his nipple and as the silky smooth bristles ran along his slightly swollen nub, he didn’t know if he wanted to moan or bite his tongue off.

“You know, Bruce, for a guy who runs around as much as you do, you have really soft feet.” Selina casually remarked before she gave into temptation and ran her tongue up the sole in front of her, enjoying Bruce’s bucking as he almost screamed,

“S-Selina! P-pl-please s-stop! Hahahaha!” Bridgit then found a similar urge over taking her so she leaned down and ran her tongue along Bruce’s underarm, relishing in the squeal Bruce couldn’t hold back as she licked and nipped at the smooth skin there.

“Isn’t Bridgit beautiful, Bruce?” Selina asked before she nipped at his arch and soothed it with her tongue.

“V-v-very b-b-beautiful!” Bruce had started laughing so hard, he was actually crying a bit.

“Why don’t you show her how beautiful you think she is by eating her out?” As though convincing him of the idea, she tickled one sole with her claws and licked the other one, going so far as to take his pinky toe into her mouth and run her tongue all around it.

“A-anything y-you w-w-want!” Bruce was almost convinced he was having an out of body experience from the sensations. He took in a huge breath when they stopped while Bridgit moved to sit on his face, though he was surprised when she turned around so she would be facing Selina.

“If you think I’m going to stop tickling you and making you do that cute little laugh of yours, you’re as nuts as Selina says you are. Besides, this gives me better access to your cute little belly button.” Bruce whimpered before leaning forward to her center; he hadn’t had much practice with this, but he remembered a few drunken fumblings with Grace, and she directed him to what she liked and didn’t like, though this time he was hindered by only having his tongue and he was at the wrong angle to reach her clit. Still, he started by gently licking her inner lips with little nips here and there, and he heard her give a little moan.

“Looks like you haven’t been training your puppy enough Selina; he’s very shy, but seems like he’s -ah!- trying.” Bridgit stroked his hip as she spoke, and Selina smirked as she responded,

“Maybe we should encourage his tongue a bit more by way of example?” ‘Oh no, what now?’ Bruce whimpered before almost dislodging Bridgit when he bucked like a bronco at the feeling of tongues on his most ticklish spots. Selina repeated the action of putting his toes in her mouth and running her tongue and now teeth around them as she dragged her claws along the arch. Bridgit meanwhile leaned down and used her fingers to spider up and down his stomach as she stuck her tongue in his navel and swirled it around before nipping at the skin around it. As he laughed at such intense sensations, Bridgit moaned at the vibrations, causing her own tongue to vibrate in his navel, which made it tickle even more. He wondered about the heat that had started bubbling up in his stomach from all this; was he becoming aroused from being these powerful girls little tickle and sex toy?

[risingphoenix761]

All right, I have the time to rant and rave because I finally got over myself and watched The Babadook again and I have Thoughts And Feelings and an ominous sense that I might regret my actions come time to sleep but c'est la vie...

1. No jumpscares! Just atmosphere that builds pressure until something goes off! HALLE-BLOODY-LUJAH!

2. Those phone calls got a lot less freaky once I realized I could make those sounds too *files info away to put to evil use later*

3. It's annoyed me since my first viewing and only gets more annoying how folks complain about Sam. I mean, seriously, he's a six year old boy with an active imagination, living with an emotionally distant mother who resents him for his father's death. That's literally central to the whole movie. Of course he acts out, because what kid wouldn't? Yet he still has a good heart, feels just as lonely and isolated as Amelia, and wants nothing more than to protect her from monsters real and imaginary.

4. The above being said, how gut-wrenching is it that the booby traps and weapons he makes to protect her are used in self-defense from her?

5. It got me the first time and it got me the second time to watch Amelia's journey from start to finish. Like, goosebumps-just-thinking-about-it got me. Loneliness, trauma, and the stress of being a single parent descending into insanity and aggression, ending with confronting her grief and fighting back to protect her child. No, I'm serious, I don't know what part sticks with me the most. Her lashing out at Sam the very next morning after the Babadook possesses her hurts (I wouldn't forget my mom doing that to me as a kid), but holy shit, her reaction to the hallucination of Sam's body hurts. She has very clearly lost control and it's horrifying to see what she's capable of, but it's her love for her son that she acts on.

6. Also, anyone else digging the parallels between Amelia and the Babadook once she starts to spiral? The speech patterns, the pose, etc?

7. Speaking of the pose, I've learned how much I hate humanoid figures with claws. *shudder*

8. Is there anyone still complaining about the ending? Because I think it's Fucking Brilliant.

9. Name a line more tragic than "I know you don't love me...but I love you." I'll wait. REMEMBER! THE KID IS SIX!

10. Practical effects FTW! Special shout out to the subtle design and the reliance on shadows to keep your imagination on the hook!

11. On that note, how about the contrast in how the story is told depending on whose perspective you look at it from? For Sam, it's a literal monster that lurks everywhere, which plays into childhood fear so well. For Amelia, it's grief and depression left unaddressed and untreated that grows stronger until it consumes her, which is the reality of so many mental health struggles.

12. If #9 is tragic, how about the sheer ferocity of "You are trespassing in my house?" HELL FUCKIN YEAH, MOMMA BEAR MODE ACTIVATED!

13. Of course I loved the Lon Chaney Phantom clip. Of course I'm going to mention it. Of course it's next on my rewatch list.

Aaaaaaaaaaaand, I think I've run out of steam. Here's hoping the lovely time I had trying to sleep after the first watch doesn't repeat itself. 😅

[izaswritings]

Title: saving atlas

Fandom: RWBY

Synopsis: (Post-Volume 7 fic). In the aftermath of the Atlas disaster, Oscar and Oz figure out where they stand. But first: shelter. 

Or: in which Oscar is Upset, Oz is the voice of reason, and Atlas winters prove to be the most immediate foe, incoming invasion non-withstanding. When the weight of the world is bearing on your shoulders, what are you supposed to do?

AO3 Link is here.

.

“Stop,” Oscar says.

The air is so cold it burns against his face, every inhale like a knife right to his lungs. The icy breeze saps what little warmth his coat might have given him, and right now even his aura is no help. He’s used it all up—aura and magic and whatever else besides—and now he’s left standing in the snow, with less than nothing. Oscar is cold and tired, and he wasn’t prepared for this, didn’t leave thinking he’d end up here—

He stops the thought in its tracks, mercilessly. He doesn’t want to think about that right now. He just can’t. Already the memory coils in his gut, tight and angry, beating like a hollow ache. It rises up and he has to swallow it down before he does—something. Scream, maybe. Or worse—  cry.

Ironwood is going to leave Mantle to die.

Even just the thought, Oscar thinks, chills him worse than the wind.

“All I want to know,” he says, at last, “is how we save Atlas next.”

He can feel Oz’s hesitation like a lump in his throat. Fear of a different sort, preemptive defeat. That may be—a harder task than we can handle.

“It’s not about handling it!” He means to sound calm; instead, his voice snaps. Oscar closes his eyes, and grits his teeth against a scream. “He’s going to—to—”

Pain flares up his side like a spark, right where the bullet had hit. Oscar presses a hand against the bruise and exhales hard. “Please. I—” The words are bitter, but the feeling behind them is complicated. He is so tired. And Oz has been gone for a long time, when they really could have used him back sooner. But at the same time, Oscar understands. And he is also just so, so grateful, that at least in this moment, he is not out here in the cold alone. “I don’t know what to do.”

…To start, perhaps shelter.

“Oz—”

We are no help to anyone like this. Oz sounds as reluctant as Oscar feels; this mollifies him little. Your aura is broken. You… we need to rest.

“But Salem—!” He can’t finish. Just the name makes his head spin, pounds through his skull with all the gravitas and fear of hundreds of lives. If he heard Ruby’s transmission right, then Salem is planning to come to Atlas. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe now. In the back of his mind, the memories that aren’t his own whisper: Bad things happen when Salem comes calling.

Oz, too, in his head, takes a long moment to answer. …I know. It’s funny, that for all the memories Jinn showed them, there is nothing in Oz’s voice that speaks of once loving this woman. All Oscar can feel from him is dread, and a dull hatred borne from years of endless loss. Every good thing Oz ever tried to do, Salem has always destroyed. But that doesn’t change the facts. You are already freezing. And, I imagine, in a great deal of pain. The bullet didn’t break through your aura, but that doesn’t mean it won’t leave a mark.

He wants to argue it, but fresh pain flares and Oscar can’t. Oz is more right than he probably realizes. He shakes his head. “But…”

Oscar, please. I hate this as much as you do, but if we do not recover, then we will be less than useless. And that will be so much worse.

Oscar breathes in. The air burns. It’s so cold it takes everything he is just to keep from shivering, and Oscar exhales slowly through his teeth. Damn it. Damn it. He’s not going to cry. “…Fine.”

There is a feeling from Oz like relief, wordless and grateful, and Oscar ignores him, rubbing at his arms for warmth and finally taking in his surroundings. Shelter. He needs shelter, and a place to hide, until he can face the cold with aura in place. But his surroundings are cold and gray, barren. A great downward spiral of a pit, with roughshod buildings and unpaved roads. The houses are sparse and decaying, little more than hollow shells. He can’t even see any heating grates.

This is what lies under Atlas? This is the pit beneath the city? It looks… it is… worse off than even Mantle. He’d call it abandoned, except it’s clearly not—just neglected to a degree that makes something in Oscar go small and furious.

The sting of disappointment rises up in his throat, stronger this time, strangling. He’d really thought… they’d been so close! So close to saving Mantle, to choosing trust. But maybe they were never as close to peace as Oscar had hoped. Maybe this was always going to fall apart. He gets the sudden and looming sense that Ironwood never really saw Mantle, or this place, as worth saving at all.

You couldn’t have known. Oz sounds tired. It’s not your fault.

Oscar starts walking. His feet sink in the snow. “You weren’t there.” There’s no accusation in his voice—just fact.

…No. But I—saw what happened. In a way. And it wasn’t your fault, Oscar. You did—everything right. Another pause, longer this time, and Oz concludes, very quiet: You did better than I ever could.

Oscar hesitates mid-step, staring at the ground. He wants to protest, but he can feel the sincerity. Oz means it. It makes something go funny in his chest, to hear that. Oscar blinks down at the ground, watching his shoes, and doesn’t answer. Just remembers, suddenly and clearly, the first thing Oz had said to him. Actually, you saved us. Now he wonders, quietly, if maybe Oz had meant something other than just surviving the fall.

Oscar doesn’t ask, though. He puts a bracing hand against his side, still sore, and looks up into the sky. Atlas is a looming shadow, and the storm clouds are dark and forbidding… but still. The pale light of the coming dawn is beautiful against the ice.

“I’m glad you’re back, Oz,” he says, finally.

You don’t need to lie to me, Oscar.

“I’m not.” He starts walking again. “I got used to hearing you, I guess. And you weren’t so bad, really. And then, when you just… weren’t there…” He’s not sure how to explain it—the emptiness, the hollow pit, the silence worst of all—so he doesn’t try. He takes another step, hand pressing harder at his side. The pain is blinding. Oscar takes a shaky breath. “I never hated you. Not really. I just—I wanted the truth. I think we all did.”

…I know.

“Mm.” He takes another step, and his knee almost buckles. “Ah—”

May I?

“What?” Oscar blinks, fast. His first instinct is to say no—he’s never liked losing control—but already he can already feel Oz pulling away, and Oscar swallows down the instinctual denial. Oz only means to help. And honestly, Oscar could use a break. But on the other hand… “It’s not gonna be fun, feeling this.”

I assure you, I have gone through far worse. Oz’s tone is almost dry. You’ve seen a few.

For a moment Oscar has no idea what he’s talking about, but then the memories click. Ohhh, right, the constant death via godly bickering, and not to mention that whole bit with dragging himself across the ground while suffering from a terrible stomach wound… Yeah, no, Oscar remembers. “Still—”

Please. If you won’t let me apologize… at least let me shoulder some of the burden.

Oscar considers this and sighs. He closes his eyes, drifting back—and then his limbs are not his own, and he is there and yet he is not, and the pain is suddenly and wonderfully far away, barely an echo.

Oz, in control now, takes a sharp breath and almost stumbles. “Oh.”

Told you.

“You did, but I confess, I didn’t expect…” He presses a hand to their side. “You’ve had a hard battle.”

Bullet didn’t help.

“No.” Oz’s voice goes briefly hard. “No, I suppose not.” He straightens, turning around to look, flexing their fingers. For a moment their mouth pulls in a grimace.

Are you okay?

“Just—unused to this. I’ve never… done—well, that, before. Locking myself away. Now… It feels like going out of practice.” He rolls their wrist, flicks out the cane. “I’ll adjust.”

You old man.

Oz exhales hard, almost a laugh. His surprise flickers bright and warm, the barest hint of a smile. “Well, I suppose that is true…”

The conversation tapers off, and Oz takes them higher up the pit, closer to Mantle’s edge. Beyond that momentary stumble, the pain doesn’t seem to touch him at all; with the cane as a crutch, he walks as if they are perfectly fine, rather than on the verge of collapse. Which is good, Oscar supposes. People tend to remember injured children, and tend to ignore weird ones walking with fancy canes. Good for staying undercover.

On one of the ledges of the pit, they find a small house with the door already swung open. Oz takes them inside, and shoves the door shut behind them. The heating is still off—if it even exists down here, a thought that makes Oscar flinch and Oz tight-lipped—but there’s some moth-eaten blankets in one corner and an empty bed elsewhere, and Oz curls them up in the corner of the abandoned home, with some food and a small water bottle he’d swiped from the cupboard.

Oscar takes in the place, the tiny kitchen and barren bedroom, and sighs. Who do you think lived here?

“Hopefully someone who managed to evacuate.” Oz sips at the water. “We’ll take an hour to recover here. Then, we need to discuss our next move.”

I don’t know where the others are. I told them to go ahead…

“With luck, they have. If they’ve been detained, that may pose a… difficulty.” Oz pats down their side. “Where did you put your scroll?”

Left pocket. Wait, wouldn’t you know?

“When I say I was watching, it was really only the barest minimum of awareness. That is, when you were stressed, or felt you were in danger. So no.” Oz tugs out the scroll, pulling it open. “Hmm.”

Surprised it isn’t broken.

“They are remarkably sturdy things.” He taps their finger against the screen, frowning faintly. “Oh, joy.”

There is a bright blue alert flashing across the screen—updated orders for the whole of Atlas Military. Oz taps at it, and the banner expands, taking up the screen. A row of faces stares up at them. The main group—RWBY and JNPR—are listed under a banner labeled Arrest on Sight. Qrow is now under Detained. And Oscar—

There’s an X through his photo, and a small note beneath his name. Deceased.

For a moment neither of them says anything. The silence weighs down like a physical thing. Oz shifts on the bed and exhales hard, and then lifts a hand, tentative, to their cheek. Their fingers come away damp with tears. “Oscar.”

Are you—?

“…No.”

Oh. Which means… the tears are Oscar’s.

With that understanding, all at once, everything crashes down on him. Neapolitan. Losing the relic. Facing Ironwood, hoping against hope something could still be salvaged, and then—

Oscar is suddenly glad to not be in control anymore. If he was, he thinks he might crumple, or worse, hyperventilate. Everything goes shaky. Their vision blurs. I…

Oz carefully wipes the tears away with one edge of the blanket, their sleeves too dirtied and torn for use. “It’s okay.”

I don’t even know why…

“I do.” Oz lifts a hand to their chest. “I feel it too. We trusted him. We thought he would make the ri—” He stumbles, briefly. “…a good choice. We thought things would be okay. That Atlas and Mantle could stand together, that Remnant could be reunited. And even then.” Oz sounds bitter. “In that final moment. My presence would have only angered him, I think, but—I’d truly hoped that you would be able to change Ja… General Ironwood’s mind. I never thought…”

He shot me. The words are dull, empty, devoid. The shock hasn’t hit him yet. Not really. He tried to kill me. He thinks he did kill me. And I don’t think he even cares.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

Why are you apologizing?

“I—”

Oh.

“Never mind.”

No. No, you’re right. I think—I always thought so too. The bitterness settles down on both them, a shroud. Always trying to wake you up… and even then, he asked which one of us it was, when I walked down there. I wonder if he ever saw me for me.

“The others did. Do. Miss Rose, Mister Arc, Miss Valkyrie… I have seen that, too. They care deeply for you.”

And now they’re going to think I’m dead, too.

“…Ah. A fair point.” Oz frowns down at the scroll. “This is, perhaps, a problem.”

Can we get in contact with them?

“Hmm.” He brings a hand to their ear, to the comm piece, and waits. Nothing. “We are still too far out of range, I think. Too far below. If we got back to the sky…”

Oscar considers something else. It says… Qrow got detained.

“…so it does.”

What prison do you think they’d throw him in?

“I have a few ideas.” But Oz sounds hesitant. He swallows. “Oscar—”

Hm?

“I—that is, I am not sure…” He trails off, as if unable to finish. Their lips pull in a grimace.

He’ll be mad. Oscar is frank, certain. I mean, probably. The others too. But it’s not the same as before. We’ve all had time. Atlas has… we’ve grown a lot. All of us. You said you were watching some of it—you saw that too, right?

“I did.” There is a quiet warmth there. A muted pride.

Then, you know. They’ll be angry, I think. But Qrow—and the others, they’ll listen. We’ll listen. You came back. And whatever you say about me saving us, well, you kept me from blacking out, which is its own help, so.

“Oscar—”

You’re not—it’s not like with Ironwood. You’re not an enemy. I’m pretty sure no one ever saw you as one. They just wanted the truth, and now we have it… and if I’ve learned anything from today, then its only too late if you make it that way. You can always still choose trust. You can still choose to build trust.

Oz goes quiet, distant. He stares off at nothing, and then slowly shakes his head. His smile is a faint, disbelieving thing—but genuine, too. “I said before that I had reasons for the things I do. For the lies, especially.” He closes his eyes. “But I admit, Oscar. These past few weeks have… swayed me to your side, so to speak.”

The truth didn’t break them, Oz.

“No. It didn’t.” He straightens. “All right. We’ll do it your way. Trust others, as you like to say. Starting with…” He taps the scroll. “You’re quite right. Qrow would despise prison.”

So…

“We need to find a way to Atlas.” Oz downs the last of the water and food, and stands, stretching out their arms. Their aura flickers up, weak but slowly strengthening. “Evacuations have stopped in Mantle, but if I can find us a ship…”

You can fly an airship? Wait, what am I saying…

“Beyond crash-landing expertise, I was also there when they were first being built, you know.”

Wow, you really are ancient. But Oscar almost feels like laughing, the earlier grief beaten back. He hasn’t realized until now how much he’d missed Oz. And he thinks... he did miss Oz. He hasn’t missed all of it—the fighting, the lies, the body-snatching—but he’d missed this. The echo of a voice in his head. The warmth of not being alone. Of having someone there to turn to, whether Oscar needed it or not.

And strangely, for all the time he’s been gone, Oz being back is… easier, somehow, than it was before. Less like being haunted, and more like living in tandem. Maybe it’s the merge, or the shared memories… or maybe it's something else. Relief, perhaps. There are no more lies or fears to stand between them. All of Oz’s secrets are now brought to light, no more pretending necessary—and Oscar, at ease with his fate, has grown stronger and surer of his place here, all on his own.

It feels… equal, now. As if, for the first time, Oscar and Oz are finally on the same page.

Thank you for coming back.

Oz hesitates. “I should have—”

It doesn’t matter. He can’t smile, but he hopes the feeling comes across. Just… thanks.

“…Of course.” Oz ducks their head. Then he takes a breath. “Well, then! To Atlas.”

Oscar almost laughs at him, but that would be rude. Instead, he settles back with a sigh. So, what now… find a ship, save Qrow, connect with the others, help Mantle, stop Salem’s probable invasion…

“One thing at a time,” Oz says, smiling faintly, and pries open the front door, stepping back into the sun. The air burns with winter fury; the wind howls a storm. But the cold is lessened, beaten by their aura, and the oncoming darkness of the storm still pales, for now, to the sun-lit horizon. In this moment, the worst has not yet come. In this moment, there is still a chance. The determination rises in them twofold, a feeling like setting your feet and lifting your head, and the grief of the long night fades away, if only for now.  

Let’s go save Atlas.

Oz’s smile grows, a little wider, a little stronger. He lifts their head, tilting their face back to the sun. In the glint of sunlight, their eyes burn bright and gold.

“Agreed,” Oz says, and heads toward the city proper, cane in hand and gait steady, taking the first step of many on the long trek back.

[artificialqueens]

The Tinder Chronicles (Lemon x basically everyone?) - Mermelada

A/N: Bonjour Bonjour Bonjour, long time no fic! I’m currently job-less, so have naturally developed an obsession with the Canadian dwolls! This is (hopefully) going to be a multi-chapter lesbian/bi/pan AU, with lots and lots of appearances from different queens as Lemon figures her life out. I have a vague idea of what direction I want the story to go in, but I am always open to suggestions and feedback! Gros bisous à toustes! (Gender neutral French still looks a bit odd, but we’re going with it!)

Lemon tapped her yellow acrylic nails against the screen of her phone. It was now or never: she could either wallow in her post break-up misery for another two months; or she could finally start piecing her life back together and get back on the dating scene. She shook her head at the ridiculousness of her current emotional turmoil, blinking, sighing, and finally pressing the ‘download’ button on her screen. For the first time in three years, she was single. And for the first time in three years, she was going to use a dating app.

The icon spun for a few seconds, the app finally opened on her screen. This, she supposed, was the easy part. She decided to link her Facebook profile to speed things up, and pressed the buttons that she was a woman, interested in women. Not wanting to spend too long on a profile she wasn’t even sure she’d use, she chose her current favourite photo of herself to head up her profile, an adorable portrait of her sat on her kitchen floor, in plaid pyjamas, cuddling her dog. Nobody needs to know that an hour after the bliss pictured, she’d cried herself to sleep, once again unable to shake the feelings of worthlessness and inadequacy from her mind. She quickly followed by adding an assortment of photos from her Instagram which she felt best “advertised” herself: posing happily in front of the theatre where she’d just performed, cradling a giant bouquet of flowers (from her grandma, bless her); holding her leg in a grand-battement in the ballet studio, clad solely in a black leotard and bright yellow legwarmers; staring seductively into the camera lens at the dinner table, which could have been sexy if it weren’t for the floating crab claws above her head, courtesy of an off-camera Jan; and a simple selfie she’d taken moments before at her desk, with her thick-rimmed glasses perched on her nose and her hair tied back in a messy heap on top of her head. She looked at the five images, hoping that people would be able to see the kind of upbeat, loyal, and fun-loving person she really is. Or, at least, the person she can be when her heart isn’t broken. Next came her bio, which she really couldn’t be bothered with, so she just wrote the only vaguely amusing tagline she could think of: “Pucker up, motherfuckers.”  

Happy with her choices, she finally clicked the ‘save’ button and waited. The loading screen turned and twisted for what seemed like an eternity, which almost gave Lemon enough time to change her mind and delete everything. But before she could even contemplate quitting, the first profile sprung up in her hand.

Priyanka, 29

Within 10 miles

Wow, this girl – sorry, grown ass goddess – was stunning. There was no other way of putting it. Lemon bit her lip as she scrolled through the photos, holding back her giddy excitement at the prospect of getting to know with Priyanka.

Nope, she thought, don’t get too carried away. She hasn’t matched with you yet. She probably hasn’t even seen your profile yet. And she also probably wouldn’t want anything to do with you, you dumb bi- Dropping her phone and jumping onto her bedroom floor Lemon resorted to the best way of controlling her anxiety she could: doing a handstand against the wall, while singing the national anthem. The first time she attempted it was after her dad – in a panic himself – had suggested it, not sure how best to look after his daughter as her breaths shortened and her pulse raced. As it turned out, it was the perfect distraction for her adrenaline-fuelled brain, and she now kept it as her secret weapon against her hidden anxiety monsters. Maybe she could share it with someone else one day. As she finished the last long note, she stood back upright and lay back on her bed, carefully timing her breathing.

Okay, now where was I…?

Priyanka was hot. She had a picture sat on a beach in a blue and white striped bikini, followed by one in a beautiful white and gold lehnga, taken in what looked like a garden, but Lemon’s favourite was the candid snap of a laughing Priyanka in the middle of a street, surrounded by people, holding a pride flag around her shoulders. Without needing to think anymore, Lemon swiped to the right…

…and nothing happened. Without feeling too disheartened – she had only just downloaded the app, after all, these things take time – she read through the next profile.

Rita, 33

Within 10 miles

Now Rita was completely different from Priyanka, but Lemon wasn’t complaining. Her main profile picture was an artsy selfie, with her short platinum hair sleeked back, making her look every inch the sexy business lady Lemon loved. As she scrolled through the pictures, she learned that Rita was clearly a lover of the 80s, as she was definitely not afraid of bright make-up or loud, monochromatic clothing. Glancing down at bio, it simply read “Je me sens sous-titrée”. Lemon may have dropped French as soon as she was allowed at school, but it only added to her already growing intrigue. Even more enticing, however, was the final picture, where Rita appeared to be dressed as a young Céline Dion, passionately serenading a hot dog. Swiping right was a no-brainer.

The next profile quickly followed, with Lemon once again swiping right.

Kyne, 21

Within 10 miles

She was younger than Lemon would have usually gone, sure, but Kyne was pretty. She was tanned and toned and had perfect eyeliner and was a final-year mathematics and statistics major?! Sign her up!

Kiara, 22

Within 10 miles

“Kiki wanna kaikai, maybe you’ll be my type ;) “. That was all the next girl had written in her profile bio, the suggestive nature making Lemon audibly snort. She would definitely be down for some fun with Kiara, she had to be a supermodel! The tall girl was a vision in red, with her dark hair cascading down her back as she posed for the camera. It was an obvious right-swipe.

Tynomi, 39

Within 10 miles

Okay, so maybe Lemon had forgotten to set an age filter, but now she was glad it had slipped her mind. Tynomi was exquisite – if Lemon could have a figure like that at 39, she’d be a very happy girl. There was no bio to read, only four photos. In the first two, Tynomi was wearing a skin-tight lime green t-shirt dress, standing on a balcony looking out to the sea. In one, she started moodily at the camera, her honey-blonde hair gently blowing behind her. Though in the second one, Lemon could practically hear the laughter radiating from the tall woman, her mouth wide open and teeth sparkling in the sunlight.

I wonder what was making her laugh like that, Lemon pondered, zooming in to where she wishfully thought she saw the faint outline of a nipple through the thin material. Maybe one day I could make her laugh, and then I’d laugh at how much she is laughing, and we’d be so happy together… Uh oh, control yourself, Lem. Focus. Let’s not get carried away… But fuck, please choose me, Tynomi!

Boa, 25

Within 10 miles

Lemon stared at the profile, pursing her lips. She knew deep down that as much as she told herself she didn’t have a type, all of her past fixations – yes, including she-who-must-not-be-named – had one thing in common. They were all skinny bitches. But Lemon wanted to change that, she really did, she is now at an age where she needs someone she can bond with on a deeper level and have some fun with. And Boa looked very, very fun: her profile picture was her sat on a bale of hay while dressed as a cow, how could you not be entertained?! The rest of her photos followed a similar theme, until Lemon reached the final one, which took her breath away. Boa stood on a spiral staircase, with a huge smile upon her face as her sparkly silver dress hugged all he curves.

She’s funny, she’s pretty, she has amazing tits… let’s do it!

And then, she saw it. To say she felt her eyes pop out of her head, her lower jaw hit the floor, and her stomach turn inside-out would be an understatement. Two months after blocking her on every platform she could think of, two months after deleting every photo of her, two months after having her heart shattered… There she was, staring straight into Lemon’s soul.

Juice, 31

Within 10 miles

Lemon’s mind went blank. In her haste to get the beaming picture of the girl she may-or-may-not still be in love with off her screen as quickly as possible, her thumb slid the screen to the right. Before her brain could even catch up with the atrocity she had just committed, a bright, white notification popped up on her phone.

“CONGRATULATIONS! You have matched with Kiara!”

[accidentally-a-writer]

even now i lie awake

Did I spiral again? Absolutely. Is this becoming an actual story with a proper plot and continuation plan? Yup. Am I mad about this? Absolutely not; I love this AU. 

A new instalment of our Stand Back, Watch it Burn verse! 

... 

Alexander doesn’t know what’s going on.

Everything had been fine an hour ago, Washington had let him hide from his tutor for the day in his office. (He let Alexander do this far too often, but every time his boy stared at him with that expression he gave in.)

Alexander enjoys his time in his guardian’s private office, Washington rarely let anyone else in with him - not even Laurens - while he works. If the general anticipates needing to work closely with his aides he works at a desk in the workroom. His office is for his private work, when he doesn’t like to be disturbed.

And yet he lets Alexander sit with him whenever the boy wants.

Even when the boy is being a purposeful nuisance. Like today.

“Alexander,” Washington sighs warningly, “stop.”

The boy glances at him from the chaise, where he’d been ‘innocently’ reading some book or other that the tutor had assigned. There’s mischief in his eyes though, and when Washington fixes him with a look he sighs and snaps his fingers. All the papers that somehow mixed themselves on his desk flutter back to their proper places.

“‘m practicing,” he defends, throwing his head back morosely.

“No, you’re bored, and when you’re bored and restless you make a habit of coming in here and causing mischief.”

“Well you scold me when I cause mischief out there,” Hamilton grumbles.

“What was that?” Washington quirks a brow, fixing his ward with a warning look.

“Nothing, Your Excellency.” Alexander grins at him, and he still has that mischievous glimmer in his eye.

“Oh nothing?” With a twitch of his finger Alexander is off the couch and floating just above it with startled shout. Water manifests in little tendrils, twining around him and playfully splashing against his face and arms. “Nothing you say?”

The boy is laughing, kicking his legs out and shielding himself from the water hitting his face where he can. He manages to splash Washington once or twice with water of his own, but he’s not well practiced in holding up shields and wielding the elements at the same time.

Washington sets him down with a fond grin, and the boy looks positively scandalized. “You scold me for causing mischief and yet you’re just as bad!” But he’s still laughing, shaking the water droplets from his hair and holding them hovering in the air. Washington sees the moment the idea pops into Alexander’s head.

“Alexander... no,” he tries, as the boy threateningly advances the water towards his guardian only to jerk it backwards. Alex is smiling, that little grin children often have when they know they’re being disobedient, he jerks the water forwards and backwards again. “Alexander, no, I have important letters here-”

“Shield them,” he says simply, quirking an eyebrow in a manner very reminiscent of Washington himself.

“Don’t-” forwards, backwards, “Alexander, don’t be a-” the water finally rushes forward and Washington has just enough time to shield his work before the water splashes against his face, “brat.”

“I’m told being a brat is in my nature,” Alexander smiles and winks, Washington rolls his eyes.

“And who told you that?”

“Mmm Laurens or Lafayette, I’m not sure. Probably Laurens because if Gilbert thought me a brat he’d just reciprocate.”

“You two should stop picking on Colonel Laurens with your magic,” Washington scolds, standing from his desk for the first time in hours.

“But picking on him without magic is alright?” Alexander could make a fine lawyer someday. Washington crosses the room and stands in front of his ward, who’s suddenly not meeting his eyes. “You’ve been working so late for so long, maybe tonight we could take supper with Laurens?”

Alexander always seems younger when he makes requests like these, more vulnerable. He plays with the ring Washington gifted him for his birthday, his family’s signet ring.

The general cups the back of Alexander’s neck, smiling gently down at him. “Of course we can-”

“Your Excellency!” Laurens bursts through the door, and something must be terribly wrong because Washington can feel Alexander’s dread through the bond. He might not himself be an empath but he always feels Alexander’s reactions as he reads other people.

“Laurens, what’s the matter?”

“A message just arrived sir, they say they’ve captured a mage sir. One that employs Dark magic.” Washington stiffens. Dark magic is archaic, so few use it and the ones that do use it are corrupted down to their very souls. “They are bringing him here, Your Excellency, for they figure you’re the only mage powerful enough to make wards to seal him.”

Washington’s stomach drops. He blocks his emotions from Alexander, the boy doesn’t need to know how scared he is at this news. “Stay here,” he orders the boy, already rushing away with Laurens.

His office is heavily warded. No one comes in without his express permission except for Laurens and Alexander and when he was here and not France, Lafayette.

“Wh-what? Washington?!” Alexander stumbles to the door of his office but Washington’s already halfway down the hallway. His guardian shouts back once more not to leave the wards and he’s gone.

And that’s where he is now, waiting for Washington to return and explain what the Hell is going on.

He doesn’t know what’s going on.

…

Washington is immediately warding a room, adding onto the layers his mages in the camp had begun.

The room is in his home, he has a child and they’re bringing this man to his home.

He knows it’s no one’s fault, he’s kept Alexander a secret from a majority of the world, but the idea that he has to keep a Dark mage so close to him… these wards must be perfect.

“His magic will already be bound, I’m assuming,” he asserts.

“Partly, Your Excellency,” one of his mages starts, “they’ve managed to bind it so that he needs to give spoken commands to control someone’s will.”

Washington stops and rears on the mage. “That still poses a considerable risk to everyone in this camp, why hasn’t he been properly bound?”

“They’re unable, General Washington, he’s too powerful a mage to completely bind his powers. As he was, he was able to control our all our troops at one battle just by looking at them, he turned them against each other. To revoke his power to give non-verbal commands or control with his eyes alone is a great feat.”

The danger of this man is indescribable, and he must surely be completely corrupt. “Can someone tell me why are we preparing a holding room and not the gallows?”

“Congress, sir. They are deliberating what should be done with him, whether he can be traded for anything from the British.”

“Well I’ll make it known immediately that my recommendation is that this man, if you can call him that, is executed as soon as possible. Dark magic like that has no place in this world.”

…

Alexander paces the floor, that remnant dread still clinging to his gut from when he felt Laurens’ fear.

/Washington?/ He reaches through their bond, trying to speak with the man. /Washington what’s happening?/ He feels the resistance before he can even finish his sentence, Washington is blocking their bond.

All at once something else comes, it invades Alexander’s body down to his very core. It skitters along his skin like spider legs, he feels the gooseflesh rise against his skin and he knows it’s wrong.

That’s not even the beginning. That wrongness sits in his stomach and rolls it, and Alexander is sure he’s going to get sick. And that skittering doesn’t go away either, soon it’s in his head too, the world tilting a little too much when he tries to take a step. His head feels very light.

/Washington? Washington something is wrong./

His guardian doesn’t answer. Alexander wants him. He needs Washington, he doesn’t feel well and he can tell instinctively it’s because of his magic.

It’s a split second decision, Alexander needs Washington - he leaves his office, the wards, and seeks out his guardian through the bond.

He finds him outside, standing with Laurens and a few other officers Alexander recognizes as being his mages in camp. The man turns to meet him with widened eyes before he even shouts his name, arms coming to meet him as Alexander races towards him.

“Alexander you shouldn’t be out here-“

“Something is wrong, I don’t- it’s wrong, it feels wrong.” Alexander is breathless, clutching his guardian’s hands without care of the spectacle it’s causing. Washington glances to his side, and Alexander’s stare follows.

Across the camp there’s a man - a mage, he realizes - staring at them. It’s so far away he shouldn’t have such an effect, but Alex knows without a doubt that he’s the reason he feels so sick.  

Their eyes meet and Alexander feels another jolt of that something rip through him.

Washington must feel it too, or feels it through their bond, because he snaps into action. He pulls Alexander behind him, out of the mage’s stare. “It’s dark magic,” he murmurs into his ear, “that’s what’s making you ill. I’ll come to you in a little while, lay down a moment, once you’re in your rooms’ wards you’ll feel better.”

Washington reaches with one hand and takes Laurens by the shoulder, pulling him away from the line. “Sir?”

“Take Alex to his rooms, and then stay there with him, I’ll collect you both after he’s dealt with.” Washington doesn’t want either of these boys anywhere near this mage.

Laurens nods, taking Alexander’s hands from Washington. “Yes, Your Excellency. Come on Alexander.” Even he’s unnerved by that man.    

He escorts Alexander to his room, the boy is barely walking on his own. He’s the only one who can get into this section of the manor, save Washington, without Alexander allowing them passage through the wards. The boy is in no state to do that now, so he’s glad he’s been given such a privilege.

Alexander makes it a few steps into his parlour before throwing up.

…

That. That boy is the source of the power he’s felt?

Why he went to the trouble of getting captured to begin with?

Well, that’s… interesting. Intriguing. What is a boy doing in a war camp? In proximity with Washington? How has Washington hid him for so long?

The pair of them have enough power to radiate for miles away from the camp, it’s what drew Davies there in the first place. There should have been more mages wondering the same, had they all assumed it was only Washington’s power?

A ward, perhaps, a son?

And the other one, that one has no magic but Washington is clearly just as fond, trying to shield them from his gaze. The things he could do with them, to them.

This venture is well worth it then. Behind the muzzle Davies grins.

Washington won’t have to worry about his ward for much longer.

…

When Washington slips into Alexander’s rooms the boy is still retching. Laurens is trying to soothe him, catching the vomit in a bucket and wiping his mouth, rubbing designs onto his back in an effort to relax his muscles.

If this is the reaction a young mage has then Davies soul is truly corrupt.

“Boys,” he rumbles from the doorway, “I’m sorry I took so long.”

He takes some of the disquiet from Alexander and the boy stops retching. Davies’ presence unnerves him too, but he has defences from him, experience and age alone providing a certain amount of shielding.

Laurens relaxes for a moment when Alexander does, but he’s up and saluting in the next breath.

“At ease, John,” Washington moves slowly, like he’s exhausted or sore. Laurens figures he probably is, it takes a lot to make wards the way he had to today. “I’m sorry you’re so affected Alexander, I’m trying to have him dealt with as quickly as possible.”

Alex nods from his place on the floor, letting his head rest against Laurens’ shoulder in exhaustion. For a moment the pair of them just breathe, and Laurens too looks exhausted. He’s also splashed in vomit.

“John, you may change your breeches.” Washington and Laurens exchange a glance, Laurens understands he wants a moment alone with his ward.

“Yes sir, and what after, sir?”

“Return here, we’ll take supper.” Alexander brightens at that, and both Laurens and Washington notice.

“Yes sir,” Laurens grins, gently nudging Alex off him and against his chaise. He stands, and poor boy, he’s splashed with quite a bit of vomit. Washington vanishes most of it but the breeches will still feel dirty. His aide tips his head in gratitude and moves for the door.

Once it’s just the two of them Washington lifts Alexander and puts him on the chaise, banishing the rest of the vomit.

“Why does it feel so… bad,” Alexander settles, he can’t be eloquent right now.

“Dark magic doesn’t mix well with proper sorcerers, it’s archaic and corrupt. Sometimes young and new mages react like this.” Washington runs his fingers through the boy’s hair, pulling him against his chest. “It’ll go away when he’s gone and I’m going to make sure that’s close to immediately.”

Alex hums, listening to the sound of his heartbeat and relaxing closer and closer to sleep. Washington makes a few lights, just a bit away from the boy’s face, and grins when Alexander smiles contently at them.

“You can nap,” he murmurs, “Laurens, you and I can take supper later in the evening.”

“D’nt need naps,” the boy grumbles, already settling closer to Washington, eyes already slipping shut. “‘m not a child.”

“I know, you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Washington replies. The stars he’s made slowly begin moving, slow, rhythmic patterns dancing around the pair. He feels the boy relaxing further and further in his hold. 

As suspected, Alexander is asleep before Laurens returns.

Washington doesn’t hear the other boy enter, too lost in his own thoughts. He only notices because he turns around and Laurens too is watching the lights, a look of awe upon his face as he tentatively touches one that hovers near him. Washington grins, they never truly outgrow this.

Laurens notices the scrutiny and feels his cheeks warm. “Apologies sir, I should have announced myself.”

The stars fade and Washington slides Alexander away from him, so he’s on the cushions and that’s all. “Never mind, Colonel, better you don’t anyhow. Since supper is evidently delayed, accompany me to my office to draft a letter to Congress, nothing in this world is worth keeping that mage alive.”

Laurens nods and bows shallowly, following after Washington exits his son’s rooms. Once again, he is not sure where he falls in Washington’s affections but in his staff he is ever the dutiful aide-de-camp.

At times like this it can become confusing.

Washington drafts this letter, then realizes another needs revision, and another urgent message has arrived which must be replied to. This is often a trend when he sits at his desk.

John doesn’t need to be an empath or a mage at all to tell that Washington’s torn about needing to work and leaving Alexander alone.

“I can revise a few letters with Alexander, sir,” Laurens suggests quietly, almost timidly. “He does enjoy it, if he’s awake. If he’s not I can sit with him a whiles, he was… unsettled by our prisoner today.”

Washington glances up gratefully but guilt shines in his eyes as well. He’d promised Alexander they’d dine together tonight. “Yes, please Colonel. I’ll- I’ll be there in a moment’s time. Just this last letter, I swear. It won’t be too late of a supper.”

Laurens quirks his lips into a half-grin, and he looks so much like Alexander; Washington wonders if Alexander has influenced him or vice versa. The aide gathers his papers, assured that there’s ink and quill in Alexander’s room.

“I’ll tell Alex you’ll join us briefly then, if he’s awake,” Laurens assures. There’s a piece of hair in his eyes that he absentmindedly blows away. Washington doesn’t know why, but it’s this sudden reminder that this boy is only twenty-three years old.

“Please do.”

John nods his head and moves towards the door, stopped only by Washington’s voice at the last moment. “Do not think you need to work too hard, Colonel. There’s no one on my staff more devoted and I am cognizant of this fact. Tonight was supposed to be a time off for you to dine with Alexander, you needn’t spend it working now that we’ve been interrupted.”

His hand is already holding the doorknob, he turns back towards the general with the slightest grin and tips his head again. “Yes sir, thank you sir.”

Washington watches him slip out the door, his own small grin growing.

Laurens’ steps are quiet, he knows these halls well and he knows which places squeak even better. (Alexander’s birthday celebration comes to mind and he shudders, it’s a blessing Washington did not end up discovering them.)

He knows the way to Alexander’s room so well that he moves most of the time without conscious thought, his father always said he was far too wanting of daydreams and senseless bouts into his thoughts for a gentleman to be.

A hand snatches around his waist while another slaps over his mouth. He feels his back impact the wall and a man’s hand hold him there, his other still clamped over his mouth to silence any shouts for Washington that are desperately trying to be heard.

“Now, now, don’t be fussy,” a voice says, and he’s not sure if it is inside or outside his head. “Look at me boy, that’s it.”

Laurens feels the moment the man - the mage, he realizes, fear stilling his heart and inciting him to try and scream again - dives into his mind. It’s seconds and his mind is no longer his, there’s no fight, he can’t.  

“Don’t scream,” Davies orders, removing his hand from Laurens’ mouth because he knows he will be obeyed, and he is. “So, Lieutenant Colonel Laurens is it? You are going to help me with a little endeavour.”

[ronanvespertine]

... good grief I didn’t consider the wider implications of that ask. Can you just imagine a first responder scene “ma’am are you a doctor?!” “I’ll do ya one better: I’m a vet.” This world would be a nightmare to practice in. It already takes six years plus specialisation. How long does it take to be a doctor in this world? Fifteen years?

(Previous Ask)

Bruh, idk. Honestly, I'm sweating just thinking about it. My sister is a nurse (RN, to boot) and most of my memories of her are just stressing over work and school. And she was in school for a long, long time. (And we don't talk about her student loans.😨)

I tried to find a cute way out of 15 years of medical school (because Y I K E S). I can't imagine every goddamn doctor knowing how to resuscitate a dolphin. So.....

....a new specialization? "Quirk specialization". Quirk doctors, like Ujiko/Garaki. They're the ones who'll know how to deal with mutant/emitter/transformation quirks. (Legit read up on the wiki. Hoo, boy, this took me down a rabbit hole.) They're the ones who spend half a year in general vet school, haha! For their education, I'd say the ability to adapt and basically yolo their way through would be emphasized. (Because I believe vets do that anyway? Like, they know different animal biologies, but it's not like there are specialized equipment for every animal, so they use medical tools meant for humans and figure it out.) Besides, all their patients would be mostly human. So those extra animal bits might not be that big a deal.

Worst case scenario, they teach doctors to prioritize human biology in emergencies and green light the neglection of quirk care until it's safe or the patient is stable.

Actually, now that I think about it, it's probably that. The quirk factor is just a gene. And judging from what we've seen.....human biology is not dependent on the care of one's quirk factor. It's affected by it, but not dependent.

Quirks are like an extra body part, but they're not an essential organ. You can usually live without it. Just like you can live through amputation or losing a kidney.

The big thing would be quirks that hold more importance in a person's biology. Those ones might be regarded as a risk factor in the medical field. I'm mostly thinking mutant quirks that occur through the whole body. Froppy, for example. And maybe her lizard friend. (Ew, does Tokoyami have a weird skull structure? Oh YUCK, I tried not to imagine how his brain would be sitting in his bird head. YUCK! And EW, how does his x-ray look with the fucking beak--?!) Aoyama would be the biggest example of someone who is dependent on the care of their quirk.

For them, I'm not sure how emergency medical care would go. I think medics would try to stick to human biology as much as possible. But Asui's got a frog's stomach, so idk what other special organs she has that may pose a challenge. Hopefully, her quirk didn't add like some super important frog organ. I doubt it, though. Animals basically have the same structure humans do, right? Heart, brain, lungs.....

Uhhhh, I'm trying to remember a little medical tidbit I learned from my sister the other day about triage. There's like this way nurses assess who is prioritized in triage by going down a list. Consciousness, breathing, blood.....(I'm spending way too much time and brain power on this.)

Okay, I just did some searching, and there are different ways to assess a person's condition for triage depending on country and profession ("lay people", like firefighters who only know basic first-aid, judge differently from trained medical professionals). The thing I think my sister uses is the ISS (injury severity score) that separates the body into ABC categories.

(God, all this speculation is giving me flashbacks to a chapter from my old fic, The Haunting of Tony Stark. In one chapter, I explored Doctor Strange's medical background and talked about this hellish mass casualty incident that forced him to make heavy decisions with triage. It got kinda dark. Just reading about the ISS thing put this layer of somberness over me.)

Basically, let's hope Asui's quirk doesn't do extra shit to her head and abdomen (A & B). I'm guessing those are like the key areas of the human body that you really don't wanna mess with.

(Good god, I thought I could get away from the curse of the medical field in my family. But it comes to haunt me in my writing.)

And Aoyama.....hoo boy. If his support belt breaks, I think he's basically gonna have to deal with the pain and injury of Navel Laser leaking out until the hospital can emergency order a temporary support item from a lifestyle support company like Detnerat.

But if Aoyama is in a life-or-death situation in the ambulance, and the paramedics can't treat him because of Navel Laser or Navel Laser is continually making his situation deteriorate, then.....

Quirk suppressants.

Drugs that can forcibly nullify a person's quirk factor enough so that the quirk is not majorly affecting the patient. Very risky, and still an experimental medicine, but medics use it nonetheless if it could possibly save a person's life. It may bear future side effects or damage the quirk factor. But the patient would live.

Though quirk suppressants would be cool, I'm not sure they'd exist yet. I mean, we had that whole thing with Eri and the bullets. If there were medical drugs that could suppress quirk factors, the Shie Hassakai would've just used those instead of blindly evolving Eri's blood.

Basically, the medical field is still trying to adjust to the evolution of quirks. BNHA is basically in the 17th or 18th century when it comes to quirk care in the medical field.

Anyway, that spiralled out of control. I've been blindsided by anatomy fears once again (and outside of art no less, d'you see why anatomy is the enemy of us all?) and got hunted by the medical field curse in my family. But hey, we did some awesome worldbuilding!!! (Doing your job for you, Horikoshi, no thanks needed 😎)

This also may be food for thought for an OC I have in development for BNHA. 😏 She's been slowly developing in my WIPs, and is actually concentrated around medicine. I'll introduce her sometime when I have her fully fleshed out, but for now, she remains a WIP. 😂

Thanks for simultaneously scarring me and giving me quality brain food in the middle of the night, anon! 🤣😁 I always appreciate the random thoughts you pop into my ask box. 🤗

[frizz22]

Here’s the prompt: There’s a party at the Academy and High Priest from another coven is hitting on Zelda. Faustus is furious and becomes very possessive. He finally summons Zelda to his office for a word and it turns out... well, hot ;)

Combo story, above prompt with ANON prompt 2: Zelda dominating Faustus in bed, not necessarily with ropes and hips, just dominating        

Sorry for the hiatus, July was crazy. Hope you still enjoy! Read on ao3

Faustus watched them with a dark expression, not listening to a word Shirley was saying. Though he should at least pretend to be paying attention to his faculty member, he couldn’t manage even an ounce of interest for the witch next to him.

Not when Father Michaels from the Church of Shadows was flirting shamelessly with Zelda just across the room. To her credit, Zelda didn’t appear to notice—perhaps she was just so used to witches, warlocks and mortals alike falling over themselves around her that it didn’t matter to her.

But it did to him. 

It mattered that the high priest was standing too close to Zelda, that he was touching her far too much and growing bolder with each one. It mattered that he was practically undressing her with his eyes, that he looked as though he were going to latch his lips onto Zelda’s neck each time she tipped her head back in laughter.

And when Father Michael placed a hand on Zelda’s hip, letting it linger there for some time, Faustus’ grip tightened on his glass to the point that it cracked ominously in his hand. It was this, and Shirley placing a hand on his arm, that brought Faustus out of his spiraling jealous thoughts.

“Father, is everything alright?” Shirley asked, giving him a simpering smile.

Lips tugging into a slight sneer of disgust, he shook her off. “Of course, Sister. Excuse me.” And without offering an explanation for his sudden departure from their conversation, Faustus set down his cracked glass and made for where Zelda and Father Michaels were chatting.

Before he could reach the pair, though, Zelda stepped away and made for the refreshments table. He heard her claiming she’d get a refill for Michaels as she moved away. Seeing his chance, Faustus stalked over and came to a stop next to the warlock, seething.

Oblivious to Faustus’ mood, Michaels let out a low whistle. “Heaven, Faustus, no wonder you wanted to be high priest of the Church of Night so badly. If I had parishioners like her,” he groaned a little and Faustus knew the man’s eyes were glued to the mesmerizing sway of Zelda’s hips as she walked away.

Clenching his fists and pressing his lips together to stop himself from cursing his counterpart, Faustus remained silent. Not trusting himself to speak as they watched Zelda get the drinks and stop to converse with another witch on her way back.

She was in her element. As the highest-ranking witch in the Church of Night, Zelda was playing her role; talking with everyone, smiling, laughing, generally drawing all the light and attention in the room to herself effortlessly.

Normally, Faustus loved to watch her work a room. Loved how much she enjoyed the power, the awe others felt in her presence. But tonight, he couldn’t appreciate her power and poise, not when Michaels was so blatantly doing it as well. And while others admired Zelda often, most weren’t in a position like Michaels, most didn’t pose an actual potential threat.

Unable to stop himself, Faustus cast a small spell under his breath before Zelda could rejoin them. Blinking, Michaels turned and looked at him, stiltedly stating he had to leave before confoundedly wandering off.

Smirking to himself, Faustus quickly moved away as well, not wanting to confront Zelda just yet… not when his blood was boiling with lust and jealously. But he couldn’t continue to move around the party in the state he was, it would draw unwanted attention. So, Faustus discreetly slipped out of the party and made it to his office.

Faustus paced the room and attempted to collect himself. Then, he found that he didn’t want to collect himself, and there really was no need. Not when the witch he desired was just down the hall. With a quick spell, Faustus summoned Zelda into his office as well.

She appeared before him, blinking in confusion and a drink still in her hand. “Faustus? What—”

He was on her before she could finish, lips crashing into hers, spilling her drink a little in their collision. His hands immediately found her hips and drew her closer, pressing them into his where she could feel his need.

To his irritation, Zelda smiled into the kiss at the revelation of his desire and broke the contact between their lips.

“Eager tonight, are we Faustus?” She arched a brow and took a sip of what was left in her glass. And despite her calm teasing, her pupils had dilated.

In no mood for her games, Faustus knocked the drink from her hand completely before covering her mouth with his once more as he spun her and lifted her onto his desk.

Gasping involuntarily, Zelda curled her fingers around the lapels of his jacket to keep him close when she broke the kiss once more. “What has you so worked up, darling?” She purred into his ear as her legs opened, dress hitching up to accommodate him stepping between her legs.

Hands sliding up and down her body, Faustus nipped at her neck. “You. In this damned dress,” he growled, unwilling to admit his jealousy, to give her the power of knowing she’d undone him simply by talking to another warlock.

“Liar.” Zelda smirked, and suddenly he was standing several feet away from her, dumbfounded by the change. Zelda appeared entirely unaffected, sitting primly on his desk, her dress fixed, and legs crossed as she examined her nails. “Though I know I look good enough to eat in this dress, that’s not why you summoned me here. Appearances are important, and you wouldn’t have taken us both out of an inter-coven party because of my dress. You have more control than that,” she cocked her head to assess him, “or I thought you did.”

It was a petty insult; one Faustus knew she’d thrown to bait him into telling her the truth. And even though he knew what she was doing, Faustus couldn’t help but step into the trap. “I certainly have more control than that.” He retorted, perhaps a little petulantly, but Satan he wanted her, wanted to mark her as his for all of his coven and every coven to see. And here she was, still calmly playing their usual game when he had no head or patience for it.

Smiling wickedly, and knowing she had him exactly where she wanted him, Zelda leaned back on the desk, her palms flat on the wood behind her. “Then why summon me here?”

A low growl rumbled through him. “Is it so hard to believe I wanted you?” He tried to avoid truly answering, tried to play to her ego and vanity, knowing if he stroked them correctly, she’d forget his motivations.

“No. You always want me, Faustus.” She answered cockily, clearly relishing her upper hand. “But you also always know when that lust needs to wait. Tonight, would have been one of those nights to wait, what with the entire Church of Night and Church of Shadows here. Why didn’t you?”

It was apparent she wasn’t going to let anything happen least he explain himself, and Faustus loathed the idea of going back to the party and watching Zelda flit around for the rest of the night without some indicator that she was taken, that she was his.

Lips twisting, Faustus speared a hand through his hair. “I was jealous.” He spat, somewhat hating how Zelda’s expression lit up with delight at the admission. “Father Michaels was devouring you with his eyes, his intents were hardly subtle.”

Preening slightly, Zelda bit her lip. “You summoned me here because I was talking to another warlock?” Her tone was light, if a bit condescending. “Faustus, I thought you were a bit more secure than that.”

Closing the distance between them, he pinned her to the desk, his arms on either side of her, hands on top of hers. “Not just a warlock,” he sneered, irritated her insinuation that he’d be threatened by any warlock, no matter how lowly in the coven. “A high priest. And one from a prominent church.”

Practically beaming at his response, Zelda took a deep breath. “My, someone’s feeling possessive.” And how she remained so calm, how there was a slight laugh in her voice burned Faustus in the most gloriously painful way.

Lifting a brow, Faustus let his eyes sweep over her. “Well, when our Dark Lord is so possessive, how can we be anything else?” He muttered, dipping his head to bite her collarbone which was just peeking out above the collar of her dress.

And finally, finally a shudder ran through her and Zelda arched her back into him.

His victory lasted only a moment. He found himself across the room from her once more, livid. “Zelda…” He growled in warning, moving towards her again.

She held up a hand to halt his progress. “I appreciate your desire and possessiveness, Faustus, I do. But if you are to mark me as yours in front of not one, but two covens, then I deserve more than a quick fuck on your desk.”

Eyes darkening with lust, Faustus inclined his head towards her. “And how would they know? That I was ‘marking’ you?”

Zelda smirked. “We’ve both disappeared during an inter-coven event… And for those who are less astute, well, I have no intention of being quiet.” She lifted a brow and it sent heat straight to his groin.

And, in that moment, Faustus was sure he’d promise her anything if it meant others knew she belonged to him. “What do you want?”

“Sit.” She indicated to the couch with a jerk of her chin.

Faustus happily complied and watched as Zelda leveraged herself off the desk and slowly undressed as she advanced on him. His body was practically vibrating in anticipation as one article of clothing fell to the floor after another.

“I deserve to be worshipped,” she breathed, now down to her lingerie and heels, and all he could do was nod. “Will you worship me, Faustus?” She slid a hand into his hair gently, then gripped a handful and tugged back so he was looking up at her.

Not caring whether it was blasphemy to pledge worship to anything other than the Dark Lord, Faustus licked his lips. “Yes,” he managed, hands flying to her hips and tugging her onto his lap as he spoke.

Zelda preened at her victory and allowed herself to be drawn in, straddling him. She took her time, settling in, not letting him pull her much closer than she already was. Grinning wickedly, Zelda leaned in and nibbled on his ear. “I’m leading here, darling. I told you, I deserve more than a quick fuck…. So, stop trying to rush things, you did promise me worship.” She murmured throatily into his ear and Faustus’ hips bucked up involuntarily at her tone, her proximity.

“And worship you I shall,” he purred, one hand sliding between her legs and swiping against her through her underwear. He was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath and Zelda’s hips surging forward, desperate for more contact. For all her cool exterior and control, she was just as wound up as him. “Tell me, my dear,” he growled the endearment as he left a trail of sucking kisses down her neck and to her chest. “How can I best serve you?”

Without a word, Zelda guided his hand back to her center. Taking the hint, Faustus went to work, stroking her through the fabric, the material quickly becoming sodden under his ministrations; especially when he dipped his head to lavish her breast, taking a nipple into his mouth and sucking it through the lace of her bra.

Tipping her head back at the friction, a soft mewl escaped Zelda which soon turned into louder moans of pleasure.

Deciding they were both overdressed, Faustus flicked his free hand and freed them both of their clothes. Zelda gasped at the sudden direct contact and ground herself harder onto his hand, his fingers having slipped inside her and crooked just so to find his favorite spot. The one that made Zelda sing his name. The one that would tell everyone at the party that she was off-limits, that she was his.

Suddenly, Zelda sank her teeth into his neck, enough that she drew a bit of blood. She lapped the spot with her tongue and sucked the sting from it; eliciting groans from both of them. Wanting to give as much as he got, Faustus tangled his free hand in Zelda’s hair and tugged it back, exposing the creamy length of her neck. He happily gave her a mark that matched the one he’d just received, increasing the speed of the fingers buried inside her as he did; her walls fluttering deliciously at the efforts.

She came gloriously, head thrown back, clenching tightly on his fingers as she called out his name for everyone to hear; even Father Michaels in his spell altered state. Gasping, Zelda pulled his hand from between her legs and sucked the fingers into her mouth, stunning Faustus and turning him on in equal measures.

“Zelda…” he muttered, mouth dry as she licked between his fingers, chasing what remained of her climax. “Why—?” Though he certainly didn’t mind, she’d never, never done that before.

Releasing his fingers with a sinfully wet pop, Zelda licked her lips. “Your mind is still on Michaels. I can see it in your eyes. You’re wondering if he heard, if he knows I’m yours yet or not.” She slid a hand down his chest took his cock into her hand, stroking up and down its length, making him shudder. “And if your mind is on him, it’s not on me. And that won’t do.”

Eyes widening, Faustus swallowed. “Zels, I—”

“Will just have to be distracted better.” She cut him off, and before he could think of a response, she guided him inside her and sank into his lap so that he was swiftly sheathed to the hilt.

Faustus barely had time to acclimate to the sudden, wonderful, change. Before Zelda was moving above him, her nails raking across his shoulders, his back, his forearms as she clung to him for purchase as she rose and fell in his lap. And then her lips were attached to his neck again, his collarbone, biting and sucking, punishing and soothing. Crying out, it was all Faustus could do to cling to her, roll his hips to meet her, to occasionally get in a love bite of his own between her onslaughts.

She continued to ride him loudly, greedy in her search for another orgasm. And Faustus was no quieter as he chased after her, looking for a climax of his own. Surely everyone could hear them, whether they were in the building or not, surely that was how loud they were being.  

Knowing he wouldn’t, couldn’t, last much longer, and also knowing Zelda would likely flay him if she didn’t finish first after his promise of worship, Faustus maneuvered a hand between them and pinched her clit; roughly rolling the little bundle of nerves between his fingers. The result was instantaneous, Zelda arched above him a loud, wordless cry falling from her lips.

Faustus surged forward, whispering filthy and encouraging things in her ear, still moving helping her ride out the high. Praise Satan she didn’t last long, collapsing against Faustus moments later and he finally allowed himself to finish.

As they sat there, sated, exhausted and tangled up in one another, Faustus pressed light kisses along the top of Zelda’s shoulder before he rested his head there. “Do you feel worshipped, Zels?” He intoned, a little breathless, his hands skating up her sides.

She huffed in amusement, and swung up and off him, landing indelicately on the cushion beside him. “Oh, darling, I’m thoroughly sated.” Zelda purred, touching his cheek sweetly.  

A smile tugged Faustus’ lips and he caught her hand as she pulled it away and kissed the knuckles. “You’re mine.” He murmured, turning her hand over and kissing the palm.

Laughing, Zelda caught his chin and lifted it, so he met her gaze. “That’s where you’re wrong,” Zelda murmured, tone dangerously sweet. “You belong to me. And now the entire coven knows it.” A sinful smile spread across her lips and Zelda stood, waved a hand to dress, fix her hair and makeup and she left his office; leaving the door open behind her.

Dumbfounded, Faustus stood and followed her lead, making his way back to the party once dressed and his mussed hair tamed. It was only once he was there, that Faustus realized what Zelda had meant.

She was smirking at him from across the room, already nursing a new drink and seemingly in deep conversation with a group of witches. And while she was getting some attention because of their little display, most eyes were on him. It was then he caught sight of his reflection in one of the mirrors on the wall.  

It appeared that while the party had heard both of their screams of pleasure, only Faustus still bore the marks from their session. Without him noticing, Zelda had erased the love bites he’d decorated her neck and chest with… while also enchanting his so that they couldn’t be magicked away.

Effectively marking him as hers, just as she’d promised.

Adjusting his collar, Faustus grabbed a new drink and took a swig. Well, two could play at the game of one-upping the another. Swaggering over, Faustus boldly wrapped an arm around Zelda’s waist and kissed her chastely on the lips as he joined her conversation.

This caused an even bigger stir; a ripple going through the room.

It was a different kind of mark. It wasn’t just a love bite or scratches, animalistic ways of marking one’s territory and warning others off. It was a public proclamation that they were more. More than sex in not so discreet places and polyamory. It meant they were official. Zelda blinked at him and a faint flush crept up her neck and dusted her cheeks. Faustus beamed and continued to chat with the witches in front of him. He’d made her blush; Zelda Spellman, who’d just purposely had loud, rough sex in the other room for all to hear, was blushing at this public display of affection.

Not saying a word, Faustus tightened his hold on her minutely, squeezing her hip. And if Zelda slipped her arm around him a few moments later, hiding it under his suit jacket but still doing it, well, Faustus tried not to show how excited the gesture made him.

She’d accepted his proclamation. Returned it. They were officially a couple.  

And even though Zelda had outwitted him in his office, left him floundering and marked as hers when they finally emerged, Faustus found he quite liked having won this round instead.

[samsonet]

Silver Dreaming (2/6)

That night, Raihan has a dream.

He’s on a rocky mountain, the highest point in Alola. The sun shines down on him, warm on his skin. His heart is racing. There’s a grin on his face.

He’s battling someone — he doesn’t know who — and it’s exhilarating. Flygon rushes across the battlefield like a shooting star. Whatever his opponent does, Raihan is one step ahead. He is winning and it is glorious.

On the other side of the battlefield, his opponent smiles.

*

At nine exactly, Professor Kukui walks through the door.

He’s grinning, buzzing with the kind of excitement people usually get at their first time in a stadium. Raihan doesn’t get to witness that kind of emotion often; by the time challengers get to him, they’re usually used to the spotlights.

“I’m glad you asked me here,” Kukui says. “Z-Moves need a lot of space, so it’s hard to find places to really show ‘em off, you know?”

Raihan doesn’t know, but he nods anyway.

They stand at the center of the pitch, side by side.

“Now, Z-Moves have a long history in Alola and are critical to our culture… but I can give you the full report later. You’ve got the Dragonium-Z on your Z-Ring, yeah, so if you send out a Pokemon with a damaging dragon-type move, you can use the ultimate dragon move!”

“Really? I’ve never been fond of Draco Meteor, myself.” But he sends out Flygon all the same.

“No, not Draco Meteor. Devastating Drake. It’s even stronger — trust me, I measured it. Now! Watch me!”

Kukui proceeds to… make the strangest poses Raihan has ever seen, and that’s counting the Charizard pose and dabbing.

“Can you copy that, cha— Raihan?”

With a shrug, he does. Let it never be said that the great Raihan does not have a good memory.

“Perfect! You got that like a Smart Strike! I knew you’d be a natural at this!” Kukui steps back, gesturing for Raihan to face the opposite end of the pitch. “Now, act like you’re in a regular battle. Do the pose, and channel the energy through you. And when you’re ready, command Flygon to use Devastating Drake!”

Either this is going to be the most humiliating experience ever, or it will be epic.

Raihan closes his eyes.

He crosses his arms and flings them out.

Are his fingers really tingling, or is he just imagining it?

Hands forward, palms facing together, fingers curled. A dragon’s mouth. Dragons guard treasure. Dragons are wise and terrifying. Dragons get slain and the fairytale still ends happily ever after.

If he opened his eyes now, they’d be sharp, glaring. That happens when he’s worked up. He’s still not entirely sure how he does it.

His heart is racing. His arms feel hot, almost burning, like he’s holding the sun in his hands.

Alola is paradise. Alola is full of friendly people and strong Pokémon. Alola has a desert where there’s a sandstorm always raging, and a guardian deity lives there.

He opens his arms, the dragon’s maw. Flygon cries out.

Maybe Raihan is imagining it, but at that moment, he’s certain that he and Flygon are completely in sync. He feels his partner’s excitement, feels the sun on his scales, feels the power coursing through every atom of his body —

Flygon roars.

Raihan roars, too.

“DEVASTATING DRAKE!”

The power courses through him like nothing he’s ever felt before. He stumbles back at the force of it, almost falling over before being caught by Kukui. He tears his eyes open just in time to watch Flygon unleashing the most awesome move he has ever seen.

A gigantic purple light in the form of an amphipthere flies across the pitch. It spirals up, then plummets to earth at the spot where an opponent would have been.

It leaves a smoking crater in its wake.

Oh, Arceus. Arceus. Arceus.

Raihan’s shaking.

He’s gradually aware of Kukui’s voice. “Deep breaths, cousin. Deep breaths. In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

Deep breaths.

Deep breaths.

In and out.

It takes him a while, but Raihan recovers. When he comes back to his senses, he realizes that he did not, in fact, faint or even fall over. Somehow Kukui has kept him upright. There’s nearly thirty-six centimeters’ height difference between them. How strong is this man?

“That was…” Raihan rubs his face. “I… man.”

“Intense, yeah? You did good. A Z-Move is powered by a trainer sharing their light with their Pokémon, so for yours to be so powerful on your first try… You’re amazing, Raihan! Exceptional!”

“Is it always this… draining?”

“Well, it’s like any other move, really. If you practice, it gets easier. You will practice, right?”

The Z-Ring glitters.

“...yeah. I’ll practice.”

“Great! If you want, I can call Kahuna Olivia later. She’s the one who made your Z-Ring. You’ll be working with her at the league.”

“If I become champion. If.”

Kukui’s smile falls, just the tiniest bit. “Still thinking about it, then?”

“Yeah. I am.” He’s not thinking clearly. This is a runner’s high, he knows that, and that means he’ll probably crash later, but… “Damn. That felt amazing. Thank you, Professor.”

“Anytime. Er… is there a place where you can lie down for a bit? You still look a bit unwell.”

“I’m fine. I’ll be fine. If you can just help me back into the main building, Sebastian can help me from there. I don’t want to keep you from your other plans.”

“Okay. If you’re sure.”

Kukui walks him back inside, and the gym trainers take him from there. Raihan lets himself be guided to a back room. He drinks water and lets himself rest.

Today had been put aside to train for his battle with Nessa, but he’s not sure if he can handle his usual routine right now. Instead, he lets himself replay the Z-Move in his mind. The dragon, the light, the raw power from a Pokemon who couldn’t even Gigantamax…

He imagines his next match against Melony. Maybe he’d switch things up a bit, send out Duraludon first and save Flygon for last. She would be confused, of course. The whole stadium would be. The commentators would wonder what in the world he was thinking. Melony would Gigantamax her Lapras and wait for him to do the same with Flygon, but then he’d reveal his Z-Ring and unleash a Devastating Drake, and maybe he’d finally beat her for once.

He’ll have a match against her sometime next year. It’s more than enough time to get used to the move, to get accustomed to battling with it.

Next year —

No. Wait.

If he takes the offer, he won’t be part of Galar’s league by next year. He might never get the chance to battle Melony or Nessa or Piers or Milo again.

It’s… a shame.

But that’s what happens when you grow, right? Sometimes you have to part ways with people you used to know. He hasn’t battled Sonia in years, after all, and he doesn’t miss her.

Most of the time, at least.

*

A couple hours later, he’s recovered enough to head back out. His trainers seem relieved to see him. Raihan helps them finish repairing the pitch, then goes over their training.

At the end of the day, he goes home.

Sonia and Nessa are waiting at his door. Sonia’s holding a six-pack of soda in one hand and a bag of takeaway in the other. The food smells delicious.

“Glad you two could make it,” Raihan says, letting them in.

He doesn’t have to tell them to make themselves at home. They do it themselves, getting the fluffy blankets out of his closet and pulling out the folding table for the food. Nessa turns on the telly and sets it on mute. Raihan grabs the Leon Jar from the top of the fridge. It still has a few coins in it from last time.

They settle in, lounging on the floor. Sonia brought their favorites, as she always does: potato curry for herself, coconut curry for Nessa, bone curry for Raihan.

Sonia’s always been good at remembering things like that.

They meet up like this once a month, alternating who brings the refreshments and whose house they go to. They never really planned for it to become a thing. It just did.

There are rules, though.

Well, just one. Don’t mention Galar’s champion.

Usually, that’s not too hard. But if Raihan tells them about the offer…

He keeps quiet, at first.

Nessa’s talking about the maintenance plans for the lighthouse. Sonia’s concerned about how it’s weathering the summer storms.

“I don’t remember them being that harsh last year.”

Nessa shrugs. “Climate change. But the lighthouse will be okay. It’s been here for a hundred years, it’ll last a hundred more.”

“I hope so. I love that place.”

“Same. Hey, Raihan, you control the weather, right? Make it sunny around Hulbury for me, okay?”

Make it sunny. Like he holds the sun in his arms.

“Sonia,” he says. “Your gran is meeting with some guy from Alola, right?”

“Yeah, Professor Kukui. How’d you know?”

He takes a bite. “Mm… I might’ve spoken to him. Did he mention anything about the Alola league?”

She furrows her eyebrows. “I don’t think Alola has a league, Rai. They’re pretty traditional.”

“Yeah.”

Nessa sips her soda, looking him in the eyes. “Got something you want to share with the class, Raihan?”

“...if I tell you, you have to keep this a secret.”

“I can do that. Sunny?”

“My lips are sealed.”

Raihan leans forward. “Alola doesn’t have a league right now, but they’re setting one up. And Professor Kukui asked me to be the champion.”

As soon as he says it, he realizes how silly it must sound. He can’t take the title in Galar, and then all of a sudden someone from another region walks in and offers it, no strings attached? Ridiculous.

The girls don’t seem skeptical, though. They just look at him curiously.

Nessa asks, “But what about Leon?”

“Hey! You said his name!”

Nessa snorts, but puts a pound coin in the jar. Then, staring Sonia in the eyes, she puts in another. “Seriously, what about Leon? His rivalry with you is like half of the reason people come to watch his matches. Is Rose really going to let you off so easily?”

“I don’t know. Rose seemed pretty excited about it.” Raihan leans back. “Oleana said, too, that if I go, you would be that guy’s greatest rival.”

Nessa looks down. He knows that expression on her face: she’s imagining it. She usually loses to Raihan on the second round of the finals; with him gone, she’ll likely be the one facing He Who Must Not Be Named for the champion title. She’ll lose, of course, but as his new Greatest Rival she’ll be lifted from mere second gym leader to something higher. She’ll get the adoration, the respect, the sponsorships…

She deserves it all, honestly. He couldn’t pick a better person.

“Are you…” Her voice is hesitant. “Are you going to accept, then?”

“I’m still thinking about it. But honestly? The idea is kinda growing on me.”

“You’ll let us know before you leave, right? We have to throw you a party, and Gran will probably have things to ask you...”

“Sure, sure. Anything for Sunny’s granny, right? I haven’t accepted yet, though, so let’s not talk about what-ifs. Ness’ and I have a match to prepare for. There’s no way I’m going to lose!”

“Oh, just you wait!”

*

A couple hours later, they’re ready to call it a night. Nessa and Sonia share the guest room, as usual, and Raihan goes to his bedroom.

He turns on his phone and checks his notifications.

His last selfie, from yesterday morning outside Rose Tower, has six thousand likes. The comments section is full of questions about what he was doing there.

Nessa’s official account has some pictures from her latest shoot. He gives the post a like.

He scrolls through a while longer, but nothing else catches his interest. Still, he’s not quite ready to unplug yet.

He texts Piers. U up?

Dark specialist, mate. I’m practically a Noctowl.

Then, before Raihan can type a reply, Piers sends another message: Is this about the Alola championship?

How the fuck do u know about that?

Don’t ask and I won’t lie. Okay, it’s like this: You were at Rose Tower. So was that professor. He’s been talking about looking for a champion. It’s not hard to put two and two together.

He doesn’t like that. Piers is a good guy, but he’s from Spikemuth, and Spikemuth isn’t known for being quiet. And that’s not even mentioning how the rumor ended up reaching him in the first place…

It was supposed to be a secret.

I won’t tell anyone. Cross my heart. The rumor is going to spread, though. You know how the tabloids are. Promise you’ll let me know before you leave?

There’s yet another person acting like he’s definitely leaving. Is there something in the way Raihan talks that makes them think he’s pretty much accepted the position?

I havent decided that I’m going yet. but I’ll tell you if I do

Three dots appear, a signal of Piers typing.

He continues typing for five minutes.

It makes Raihan anxious.

At last, the message appears: Have you thought about who’s going to take care of Sandaconda and Duraludon?

What?

Alola has a pretty limited dex, mate. I don’t know if you’ll be allowed to take them out of Galar.

Really?

He’d known Turtonator was native to Alola. He’d sort of assumed all the rest of his team would be allowed there, too.

Raihan fact checks this in this quickest way he knows how: googling it.

Turtonator, check. Goodra and Flygon lines, usually found on Ula’ula. Turkoal, also found on Ula’ula.

Sandaconda and Duraludon…

Not part of the dex. Not found in the region naturally. In other words: not allowed.

As the champion, Raihan could be an exception, right? Didn’t champions usually have exotic Pokémon on their teams? If he makes it a strict condition, there’s no way Kukui would refuse to let him bring his partners, right?

But that’s wishful thinking. Raihan knows his Pokémon well. He knows the Sandaconda line, in particular, could cause trouble if one somehow made its way into the wild.

So if he leaves, he’s going to play by the rules.

It probably rains a lot in Alola, he thinks. They won’t be happy there anyway.

He texts Piers: I’ll probably ask Aria to take care of em.

He doesn’t want to think about how Piers is likely judging him on the other side. Raihan is selling out, and he knows it.

Going to bed now. Talk to u tmrw.

Raihan sets his phone to Do Not Disturb, and tries to sleep.

[rehancel]

Cold

Whumptober prompt 9: Shackled

This is almost just basically from Frozen where Elsa is locked into a cell, and that was the thing I thought of when I saw the prompt. I realise now I’ll probably have to classify this as Frozen fanfiction and that...doesn’t sound too good. Oh gosh. I think I’ve drifted off from the prompt and it isn’t really whump i guess...but anyway..

-----

She opens her eyes, the place is familiar. The hard stone floor doesn’t surprise her, and neither does the weight of the metal shackles that cover her hands, or the sharp yank of the chains attached that keeps her from moving too far.

She’s been here before, locked herself in for a week to see how well it’d hold. She had a purpose in mind when designing it, protect others from herself.

She can barely see through the window, it’s frosted over in white, the outside stark, bright blue that hurts her eyes and leave flashes behind her eyelids. She walks toward the window, and the furthest she can get is still twelve steps from the wall, and the cup-like metal that covers her hands are still as tight as before. Everything is the same, she lets herself breathe a little. She feels better, somehow. Nothing’s changed. So this cell still can contain her.

It has to contain her, that was the whole purpose of the cell. It had to hold her away when nothing else could, or she’d bring nothing but danger to everyone. The week she spent in here left her more assured. Shaking, aching, but assured. Because she knew then, that if she was too weak, if she was one day to become precisely what she feared, then this cell could protect everyone from her.

Something is different now though, because she can’t remember why she is here. She didn’t lock herself up, and if she didn’t…then it meant someone had. And if someone had, her chests tightens, it means she posed a threat.  Her mind is reeling as she drags herself to a corner, where she slumps against. So it had come then. The time that she’d become that person, that witch. Someone called it sorcery not two days ago, and she can hear what will happen if she wasn’t locked up: their queen would be a witch. She’s a danger now, even more so that before

That week told her the cell could hold her. How she knew was because not once did her hands start freezing, nor did a single drop of water turn into ice. The people were safe. She’d found a way to contain the monster inside.

Her arms ached, her shoulders screaming from the weight of her shackles. When she removed them her fingers were cramped, red patches around the pale skin where they pressed too tight against each other, against the insides, which she never bothered to get it smoothened. Why bother? Someone—no, something like her didn’t need to be comfortable. Her wrists were chaffed, the skin red and raw and peeling back in ugly strips. She feels her breath become shallow at it, the red suddenly brighter, redder, sharper, the pain intensifies and suddenly she thinks: I never asked for this.

She can remember that time, when she winced with every movement, delicate wrists rubbing against blunt metal for hours on end. She can remember how her breath quickened, how her thoughts spiralled, how the metal seemed like it was burning into her hands and into her bones and melting her skin off— and she’d find herself in a pool of blood, spilling out from her hands like the ice would, staining the stone floor and because it was her, she was dangerous and she was a monster, it would melt the walls of the cell and she’d hurt people and she’d be forever a disappointment and too weak and still controlled by that cursed ice that leaks from her, and there was nothing she could do.

And for a moment she can see it happening now, just woken up in the cell, with no idea of why she was here except that she must have been hurting people and someone had to lock her up to control her because couldn’t even do it herself.

Her mind keeps going back to that week, that terrible, terrible week. A hundred and sixty-eight hours spent in there, arms heavy but her heart heavier as she was left alone with her thoughts, the room too small to allow for any freedom from her own head. It was suffocating, and it’s choking her now, and when she looks down at her hands, are they turning blue? Or was it herself playing tricks on herself again? But then it grows, flowers of ice bloom brighter and brighter and she hears creaking, cracking, that sound before everything blows to pieces when she is still too weak and lets the curse take over as the ice now covers the entire length of the chain, up the walls, the stone that she painstaking accessed a long time ago. In the white blue shards of ice she sees red spilling out, the cold ice is suddenly cold blood, because she’s a monster. She can only watch as the ice keeps creeping up the walls and around the window, the hairline cracks on the glass just before it shatters and she thinks no no no no no no and tears of frustration are running down her face, she is still useless. She tries to hold it in, to keep it all in but she can’t move her hands and she’s struggling desperately, please don’t. But then the shackles burst open and the chain drops to her feet, her hands are the same as that time, but redder and more tender and raw, her fingers still jammed into position, the skin on the back of her hands and rubbed raw till the skin practically comes off in long ribbons and she wants to scream, to cry, because what can she do? She’s powerless to this curse, she always has been, and always will be.

[nola-unchained]

STATS

Name: Abigail Avalos-Barrera Gender/pronouns: She/her Age: 32 Species: witch Occupation: Journalist / Part Time Healer Faceclaim: Diane Guerrero

HISTORY: 

There exist a strange phenomenon even in this demimonde, a curious occurrence born within the bones of the Avalos-Barrera women. They are each of them powerful creatures for more reasons than one. Magic saturates their blood, envelops flesh and bone weaving itself into all that they are stretching back into the beginning. A multi-generational collection of the extraordinarily gifted, mothers, sisters, and daughters all bound by blood and the title of family. Gifted as they are, as strong and resilient as women, they are incredibly so, what beats inside their chest is a miraculous wonder. That muscle buried in that cavity is what makes these witches who have existed to protect, heal, and act as guardians - that little thing is the source of their humanity. That is what makes those supernatural women even closer to their human cousins in a way few embraces. It adds another level to their already ethereal and otherworldly nature. One cannot help but admire them - wonder about them how curious it is that they could remain as they are even in this day and age. Their matriarch and leader of their coven will tell you that perhaps it is because each generation of their women is stronger than the next capable of facing the rising odds. In broken English with bony and trembling fingers, she will point to one as the living example of this proposed theory. Leticia Avalos will gesture to her great-granddaughter, and when you hear the name Abigail Avalos-Barrera you almost immediately understand how true that statement is. When has there ever existed a soul quite like hers? Leticia will tell you its because Abigail is uniquely designed and capable of facing the day, but Abigail will say to you a slightly altered story. On a handful of accounts, Abigail will agree with Leticia, but the young woman doesn’t credit her magical capabilities or her strength of heart to having been born special. With a soft smile and raise of a sharp brow, Abby will tell you her power comes from the women who raised her. It comes from the people around her and the unique environment in which she was raised. No one is born knowing what sort of person they will be or the level of their respective talents - credit is due to the people who help each person become what they were always meant to be. Had any of the people who contributed to form her ideas of self and the world around her not been a part of her formative years, Abigail, with absolute certainty, wouldn’t be all that she is now. 

That is not to say that Abigail wasn’t something else entirely as a child. Perhaps the reason Leticia believes her great-granddaughter is so special is because of the nature of her birth. Isabella Avalos loved passionately the man she married - soulmates they were, and Abigail’s father was a good man. Good men in New Orleans were very hard to find and, unfortunately, not easy to keep alive or corrupt. Isabella, her mother, and great grandmother have never told the story of how Rafael Barrera died, but the rest of their coven have always spoken highly of him. He died very bravely protecting another family - the sort of man who ran toward the danger - instead of away from it. Isabella was inconsolable, as it would seem until Tia Rosa and her visions spoke of the piece of Rafael still living. ‘You carry a precious piece of the one you love’ Tia Rosa spoke non-nonchalantly ‘I have seen it.’ It was not an easy pregnancy, but if it weren’t for the women who made up her family, who knows what would’ve happened. Thankfully - she was born happy, healthy, and with the strength of generations of women behind her to help raise her into maturity. 

Things would not always go according to plan with as rapidly as Abby would come into her own. Especially the day she stole Cassidy Bolton’s heart. The two of them were small little things barely out of diapers when it happened. From that moment on, it didn’t seem as if there would ever be two more attached individuals in the world. It wasn’t uncommon at all for her family to wonder where she is and inquire next door to find her practicing her skills with Cassidy or sitting up talking about their grand escape to faraway places. There was nothing hidden between them; every plan the two had ever made they shared from college into the wild forever. The young woman was already practically a Bolton; the two were so close, eventually falling into dating at the young age of thirteen. At the time in her heart - Abigail Avalos-Barrera could’ve sworn she couldn’t even imagine life without him. Two years later. A positive pregnancy test would overturn every dream they’d had for each grand adventure they were to take. She was going to be a mother when most girls were having quinceaneras or planning sweet sixteens. Part of her couldn’t help but feel like she was holding them back, but she would never regret creating the most beautiful little boy. Aiden, as she would always come to tell her son, was and will always be the light of her life. 

What two young parents weren’t aware of even if they had some idea of the commitment it would take that his arrival would be the beginning of the division between the two of them. The Avalos-Barrera women and the Bolton family were incredibly supportive before and after Aiden’s appearance but in a toxic combination of their age, sleepless nights, bills, and anything under the sun that could pose a problem Abigail fought tooth and nail with her most beloved. If it was not one issue, it was another, and when Abby pursued college, things came to a disastrous head. To this day, Abigail isn’t sure what spurred her on into another man’s arms. Perhaps it was the heat of the moment, and as emotional, as young mother was, there was no controlling the urge. Maybe it was because he was handsome? Perhaps she saw someone who was there - who wasn’t going to argue with her - who wanted her. No matter her flawed reasoning Abigail slept with another man. An argument for ending all disputes ensued, words were said one could never take back, and Cassidy found out what she had done. Abigail broke her first love’s heart, and to date, it remains the only thing she ever regrets doing. If only she knew what it would do to him. For Aiden’s sake, for the sake of the friendship, they’d always had the couple called it quits and agreed to split custody between the two of them. 

Again while the world would turn on its head, New Orleans would serve eternally as the backdrop for the continuation of Abigail’s story things were different now. The one saving grace of their mutual break was that Cassidy loved her enough to keep her cheating to themselves. As beloved as Abigail always was - this bright shimmering star of incredible potential - he couldn’t ruin her like that. So when Cassidy fell into the ways that would ultimately lead all of them where they were today, Abigail had no right to tell him Riley was no good for him. To say to the man, it was a foolish mistake, but each of them dealt with the death of their romance in different ways. He partied and slept around in a downward spiral of debauchery and drugs. Abigail - Abigail devoted herself to Aiden and tried to breathe life into fractured fairytales and old dreams they’d planned for with his elder brother. 

Always the artist soul, one who never saw the world like others did full of death and despair - kaleidoscope eyes desired to show others they way objects appeared to her. Traveling was out of the question. Aiden needed one parent to be firm and steadfast - she needed to stay the course and be a better person for her son. Abigail, then, began to prove just exactly what she was made of. To show great grandmother correctly that Abby had been made to weather the storm and shine brighter than ever before - respected and admired by almost everyone she met. Who could say they weren’t affected by the young mother’s determination and resilience to forge ahead and how there was always room in her heart to put the needs of others before herself. It didn’t stop Abigail from being flawed, from having human emotions and struggling in her way. No one claimed it would be easy to raise a boy who was just like his father or to pursue journalism and master an ancient craft all at the same time. No one would be able to tell her how many sleepless nights there were to come or the trials and tribulations there were to follow each new day. Tia Rosa’s gift wasn’t all it was cracked up to be anymore, and her predictions for the future were vague and in riddles most days. If not Tia Rosa’s puzzling prophecies, Great Grandmother Leticia’s declining health, or the score of other problems her family and coven encountered, there was still Cassidy. Her first everything and while the dynamic was different, she was still as there as one could be. 

By this time, Aiden was well into being a teenager. He was driving, working, and dating several girls. Abigail was an incomparable healer and talented journalist for one of the major newspapers in the area. Despite ups and downs and fights, she found herself once again to Cassidy’s best friend. Close enough to be a surrogate mother figure to his other children. Abigail was close enough to see him fall in love with Cassandra. Abigail was there to see her first love genuinely fall in love. She’d always had a fondness for humans herself, and Abigail greatly admired the woman - it took a particular sort of person to capture Cass’ heart, and the Avalos-Barrera woman thoroughly approved of her. It stung a little due to her pride, but he wasn’t her love anymore, but he was her family, however forever and always. The other shoe then dropped, and Cassidy nearly died. If not for his mother’s magic, all of them would’ve lost a most irreplaceable being that night. More so than that, Tia Rosa’s visions turned more bizarre full of coming darkness and for the young woman who saw the world so differently - Abigail couldn’t help but believe dangerous times were ahead. Things have calmed now - if only slightly. Abigail expends herself ever consistently to help take care of those she loves and lend assistance where she can to take care of Cassidy’s other children. Part of her has the deepest desire to speak with Cassandra, and the other would love to knock Riley into the next century. It’s not the wisest thing to do - challenging an alpha werewolf or a woman who hasn’t had the most beautiful life experiences, but some days the saint of a woman would like to try. The gifted young witch, the powerful woman strong in heart and mind, grapples with decisions that could again change the world. If danger is on the horizon Abigail is afraid of all she is willing to do to protect the small slivers of peace they hold onto and just what lengths she’d prepared to ensure the safety of her family. A journalist can only wait for the story to break. An amateur photographer can only hold for the perfect shot. Most importantly of all, a gifted witch can only hope her magic is enough or that the draw to darker things isn’t strong enough to pull her from the light when the time comes. Only an Abby can be all these things as great grandmother whispers into the dark that it should be afraid of a strong heart.

PERSONALITY:

+ motherly, perspicacious, resilient, passionate

- opinionated, willful, overly protective, guarded

Abigail is played by Eden

[per-ineptia-ad-astra]

Star Trek Gold Key #30: Death Of A Star

Our story begins with an old woman doing something mysterious, which on its own wouldn’t be terribly foreboding, but of course, we can’t possibly start a Gold Key comic with anything less than imminent danger lest the readers feel they haven’t gotten their money’s worth, so she’s also about to explode. Or so Kirk tells us, anyway. How he came to this conclusion I’m not sure.

[ID: A comic splash page titled STAR TREK: DEATH OF A STAR PART 1. A narration box at the top reads, “Trapped on a veritable keg of cosmic dynamite, Captain Kirk and the Star Trek crew become an unwilling captive audience to the most shattering spectacle in all the galaxy: a star going nova! But the natural cataclysm takes on tragic overtones when a mysterious old woman’s life is mystically linked to...a strange cosmic force!” In the foreground Kirk and Chapel are holding their arms out, facing away from the camera and looking toward Spock and an old woman wearing orange and yellow robes, who is touching Spock’s forehead; swirls of red and yellow are spiraling away from the old woman. Chapel is saying, “Captain! What is happening to her?” Kirk is saying, “I’m not sure, Nurse, but I think she is going to explode!”]

Kudos to the narration box up there for its use of the excellent term “a veritable keg of cosmic dynamite” although “But the natural cataclysm takes on tragic overtones when a mysterious old woman’s life is mystically linked to a strange cosmic force!” sounds like a sentence that someone started out saying without knowing quite how it was going to end.

So, what’s the Enterprise crew done now that’s somehow resulted in an old woman spontaneously combusting? It begins, as usual, with a captain’s log. “Our mission,” Kirk tells us, “is to study and record, from a safe distance, the final death throe of the star Isis. According to our calculations, this gem of space has only 48 hours before it explodes, destroying everything for billions upon billions of cubic miles. Fortunately, its solar system is uninhabited!”

So a star is due to go supernova and they’re going to park somewhere at a safe distance and watch the fireworks. Cool. How close is a safe distance? At least billions upon billions of cubic miles away, apparently, since, sure, we definitely measure astronomical distances in cubic miles. I sure don’t know how far back you have to stand from a supernova to avoid getting turned into a cloud of nicely toasted atoms, but apparently the material being ejected from the star can travel at speeds up to 10% lightspeed, or about thirty thousand kilometers per second. Exactly how fast the various warp factors are is all over the place, but we know warp one is lightspeed. So the Enterprise can outrun a supernova, if it gets going in time. Let’s give a generous safety estimate and say it takes a minute to go to warp. At thirty thousand kilometers a second, in the space of that minute the ejecta, or in scientific terms, the Big Hot Cloud of Death, could travel about 1,800,000 kilometers, so theoretically they’ll be safe if they hang farther back than that. For comparison, one Astronomical Unit, defined as the average distance from the Earth to the Sun, is about 150 million kilometers. Astronomically speaking, they could get within spitting distance of this star and call it a safe point. I mean, they probably shouldn’t. But they could.

Anyway, while they’re hanging out waiting for the show to start, Sulu suddenly reports that he’s getting “readings of humanoid life-forms from Isis III!” Spock is dubious.

[ID: Two comic panels. In the first, Kirk is sitting in his captain’s chair saying, “What do you make of that, Mr. Spock?” Spock, standing next to him with his hands on his hips, is saying, “Highly unlikely, captain! Earlier, and much more thorough sensor scans suggest no such signs of life!” In the second panel Kirk is saying, “But you don’t deny that these readings are genuine?” and Spock replies, “Most likely a malfunction in the system, captain! The chances are 87.663125 to 1 in favor of it!”] 

love Spock’s pose in the first panel there

Kirk isn’t having it. “When that ‘1’ may be a human life, I consider the odds even!” he declares, somehow jumping to the conclusion that because the life signs are humanoid they must be human, even though practically everybody in this galaxy is humanoid. Point is, he intends to check this out, so he tells Uhuru to get a fix on the sensor readings. Which is not her job, and also, not her name.

[ID: Kirk half-turning to Uhura, who is sitting at her station, and saying, “Lt. Uhuru, get me a fix on those readings!” Uhura says, “Roger!”]

THIS IS THE THIRD TIME, GUYS, COME ON IT’S JUST NOT THAT DIFFICULT

Kirk then orders Sulu to set a course for Isis III. Spock quite sensibly points out that even if the sensors are right and there are people down there, they can’t evacuate a whole planet in the forty-eight hours before the star blows. Kirk isn’t having that either.

[ID: Kirk pointing at Spock, whose ears are drawn abnormally large in profile, and saying, “We can try!” Someone off-panel is saying, “Captain?”]

“Captain, that statement is so ludicrous it made my ears stand up straight!”

So last issue, the scanners reported no life signs, so they sent a landing party down to check. This issue, the scanners are reporting life signs, which Spock says must be a malfunction, so they’re going to send a landing party down to check. I’m starting to wonder why they even bother scanning for life in the first place if they’re so determined to go down and check anyway.

Meanwhile, Uhura has a report on the upcoming planet. I’d question how she got sensor data at the communications station, but as this panel demonstrates, whoever drew this clearly never saw the actual bridge set, so perhaps it’s a bit much to expect whoever wrote it to remember what everyone’s jobs are. Or their ethnicites. Not only is Uhura white once again, they didn’t even color in her earring separately, which results in a somewhat disturbing image.

[ID: Uhura, colored with a pale Caucasian skin tone, looking out over the bridge, where Kirk is sitting in a bright pink chair, and in front of him two helm officers are sitting at a control panel. A viewscreen is visible at the end of the bridge, with several computer screens below it. Uhura is saying, “Class M planet, sir! Capable of supporting human life! Sensors indicate a massive life-force, suggesting a large population! I don’t understand how Federation probes could have missed them!” Her large hoop earring is colored the same as her skin, making it appear to be part of her ear.]

Man, gauges got kinda extreme by the twenty-third century.

Uhura goes on to report that she has a fix on the life signs, but it’s weird, because “All the life-force is emanating from one spot as if the entire population were on the head of a pin!” “Perhaps that’s why your earlier probes missed them, Spock!” Kirk comments. “They’re either midgets...or angels!” Spock then starts to give the odds against this before Kirk cuts him off. Yes. Hilarious.

Kirk tells Uhuru (sigh) to get ready to beam down with him and Spock, and to inform Chapel that she’s coming with too. “She has proven to be of invaluable assistance on past missions!” he explains, and I use the term ‘explains’ loosely.

The unorthodox landing party is soon ready to beam out, although that might prove to be difficult because apparently a terrible transporter accident has fused the bridge and the transporter room together.

[ID: Two panels. In the first, Kirk, Spock, Uhura and Chapel are standing on the transporter pad, with Sulu and Scotty looking at some screens in the foreground. Kirk is saying, “Sulu, how much of a safety factor do we have?” Sulu replies, “24 hours, sir!” In the second panel, Kirk is leaning in and saying, “Scotty, I want you to wait precisely 23 hours, 59 minutes for us and then warp out of her immediately!” Scotty, who is sitting at what looks like one of the bridge stations, says, “Aye, aye, captain!”]

WHERE ARE WE

So...unless it took them twenty-four hours to get that landing party ready, they still have forty-eight hours before the sun goes nova. I’m not sure exactly what Sulu’s ��safety factor’ means, but I’m guessing he means the buffer of extra time they’ve allotted to make sure they can get out of there before things get really dangerous. Which means Kirk is telling Scotty to leave...one minute before they have twenty-four hours before the sun explodes?

Having left those baffling instructions in their wake, the landing party beams down, and has the perfunctory exchange of comments.

[ID: Chapel, Uhura, Spock and Kirk standing against a dull purplish-gray sky with some foliage creeping into the panel on the right. A narration box says, “Soon…” Chapel is saying, “Wow! I’ll never get used to that sensation!” Uhura says, “Nor to the sight of a new world! Amazing! That sky!” Spock says, “Atmospheric conditions are caused by pre-nova solar activity!” Kirk says, “We’re not here to sight-see!”]

Wow, that sky. Breathtaking. Incredible. I’m in awe.

After reminding everyone that they are not here to sight-see, they’re here to save a WORLD! Kirk asks Chapel where they should be going, since their landing site is mysteriously devoid of all the people they were expecting to find there. Chapel says she doesn’t know because the atmosphere is scrambling her equipment. Dang Federation technology gets scrambled the moment you take it out of the packaging.

Uhura and Spock then have a baffling exchange in which she comments that she “feel[s] like we’d been plopped down on a “Doomsday Earth” movie set!” and Spock replies “For all intents and purposes, we have, Lieutenant!” I’m not sure if Spock understands what a movie set is. Or possibly I don’t understand what a movie set is, or at least what a “Doomsday Earth” movie set is. Ultimately it’s irrelevant though, because the conversation is cut off by Spock getting attacked by a giant cloud of spray cheese.

[ID: A tall panel in which Uhura is yelling, “Look out!” and pushing Spock out of the way of a beam of yellow energy strikes down from the sky in front of him with a “PHFFAZZZ!”]

Kirk declares that “Whatever we do, we better get out of HERE, fast!” and takes off running, but Spock grabs him and pulls him in the other direction; turns out that somehow in the past five seconds or so that Kirk was occupied, the rest of the landing party found a path. Which Kirk is pretty sure wasn’t there before, but there’s no time to deliberate on that, with more spray cheese energy bolts on their tail.

[ID: Kirk, Chapel, Uhura and Spock running through some woods with bolts of energy striking all around them, making “PAHZAZ!” “PHFFFZING!” and “PAHZOWIE!” noises.]

“Don’t ask, captain! Just keep moving!” Spock says. But Kirk, of course, isn’t going to let a little thing like running for his life distract him from asking questions. “I don’t like it, Mr. Spock!” he declares as they charge through the bolts. “This path from nowhere! These bolts just missing! It’s as if someone were herding us somewhere! But where?”

Fortunately we don’t have long to wait for the answer to that question, because in the very next panel Chapel points out a rather attention-grabbing landmark up ahead.

[ID: A full page containing mostly one large panel with two smaller ones, inset at the top and bottom. In the top panel, Chapel is pointing into the distance and saying, “Perhaps there, captain!” while Uhura, behind her, says, “Goodness!” In the main panel, the landing party is looking through a tangle of trees towards a large angular pyramid-like building with two flights of steps leading up to the top and a door inset under an archway in front. A yellow triangle with an eye symbol in the middle is hovering above it. Uhura is saying, “What is it, captain?” Kirk says, “I was just going to ask Spock that!” Spock says, “It appears to be a religious temple!” In the bottom right panel, the group has gathered around the door of the building. Uhura is saying, “It reminds me of ancient temples to the sun!” Chapel is saying, “Captain! My sensor’s going crazy! There must be an army inside there!”]

alright, who summoned Bill Cipher

I appreciate that Kirk’s first reaction to seeing this thing was going to be asking Spock, who has exactly the same amount of information about it as Kirk does, what it is. Which I’m not sure is a great idea in this case, because Spock’s over there leaping to some big ol conclusions. Sure, that could be a religious temple, but it could just as easily be a tomb, a dwelling, a government building, hell it could be an artfully decorated grain silo. There’s no way to know just by looking at the outside of it! Geez, keep this guy away from archaeological sites.

Kirk declares that they’re going inside the temple, since that’s quite obviously the intended way to advance the adventure. Chapel protests that they might be walking into a trap, but Kirk says they don’t have much choice—the path they came by has disappeared again. Oh, so this is definitely a trap, then. Kirk orders them all to put their phasers on stun and aim them at the door, presumably intending to stun the door into submission. But before anyone can fire, the door opens on its own.

[ID: Two panels. In the first, the landing party is gathered around the doors, which appear to be opening on their own, while a voice from within calls, “WELCOME! BEINGS OF EARTH...AND WATER!” Chapel says, “That voice! Like a light in my head!” In the second panel, we see through the doors to where an indistinct robed figure is sitting in a tall chair surrounded by curtains, saying, “Enter the temple of the sun! Home of the sun-god incarnate! Enter crew of the Enterprise!” Someone offscreen says, “Incredible!”]

Huh.

Foregoing all thought of this being a trap, Kirk strolls on in through the door, the better to put his hand to his chest dramatically and say, “You—you know us???”

“You are not the only ones with “eyes,” captain!” the robed woman replies, in a rather disconcerting use of quotation marks. “I saw you out there...watching! You were curious about me, so I, in turn, am curious about you!”

Kirk asks if she’s aware that she and the rest of her people are in some serious danger, but she’s not fazed in the least: “I know that my time grows short! As does everyone’s and every thing’s!” “But you don’t have to die!” Kirk says. “We can save you! We can take you aboard our...boat in the sky! And take you to a safe place!” Smooth, Kirk.

The woman only says that she did not summon them there to save her. “You wished to see me die,” she says, “I give you your chance!” This thoroughly baffles everyone in the landing party, since last time they checked no one summoned them here at all. Evidently they’ve missed something.

[ID: Kirk approaches up the steps towards the woman sitting on the throne, who is draped in a yellow cloak with a red head covering. Kirk is saying, “Look, I don’t know where you got the idea we came to watch you die, but maybe the rest of your people aren’t so eager! Where are they?” The woman says, “Alas, they left but moments before you arrived!”]

Or we could just decide the old woman is the one who’s wrong, that works too.

Kirk asks where all these people left to, and the woman points off somewhere and says, “There! From whence they came!” Helpful. Kirk wonders if this means they’re all dead and buried and the woman is the last of her race, but Chapel says she’s still picking up a huge amount of life-force from around the temple, more than one person could account for. I’m still trying to figure out how the heck their sensors are quantifying ‘life-force.’ I mean life signs, I could understand life signs, I could understand detecting, say, heartbeats or respiration or a thermal signature, but apparently Chapel’s just straight up got some kind of aura reader over there.

Kirk—very dramatically—asks the woman just who she is. She tells him.

[ID: The landing party stand in a line looking at the woman, who is extending her hands upward and saying, “I am the warmth! I am the light! I am the giver! I am the protector! I am Isis, the god of the sun!” Kirk is thinking, “You’re also a warp four loony!”]

Nice, Kirk, very diplomatic thought bubble there. The use of ‘warp four’ there also implies a scale of looniness that goes up to at least seven.

Kirk asks Spock what he thinks of Isis. Spock refrains from giving any rankings of looniness, only speculating that perhaps she was left here as a sacrifice. So we’re just dismissing the god theory out of hand, huh? Ordinarily that would be considered a reasonable enough decision, but you guys have already met several beings who may not necessarily have been divine from a theological standpoint but sure had enough power to make that pretty much a moot point. I’m just saying, if I’d personally encountered folks like the Metrons, the Thasians, Trelane and his parents, etc, I’d at least take a minute to hear out anyone else who told me they were a god, just to save any nasty surprises down the line.

But instead, Kirk tells Chapel to stay with Isis—not for any particular reason that he feels like explaining—while the rest of the party goes out to look around some more. “The other inhabitants must be around here someplace,” he says as they walk outside, “and we are going to find them!”

Uhura points out that the path is still gone, but this doesn’t bother Kirk. Not because it is usually actually possible to walk through woodland without a path (sometimes unpleasant, but usually possible) but because hey, they’ve got phasers, so they can make a path. He tells the other two to set theirs to ‘heat blasts. I didn’t realize that was an option for phasers.

[ID: Spock, Kirk and Uhura firing their phasers into a copse of trees with a ‘PHFFFIZZZZZLE!’ Kirk is saying, “Fire!” Spock says, “Captain! Nothing! Our phasers don’t fire!” Uhura says, “I think….we’re being….surrounded.”]

And evidently, I was right about that.

I don’t know what Uhura thinks is surrounding them that requires such heavy use of ellipses, but Kirk yells for everyone to get back inside, then throws his phaser at a tree for good measure. But once back inside, they find Chapel passed out on the floor. Uhura, who is not a nurse or doctor, and is using no tricorder or other medical equipment, nevertheless manages to instantly identify the problem as sunstroke. Kirk is so distraught by this that his hand starts mutating.

[ID: Kirk gesturing towards Spock with one arm bent in an unnatural position to put his hand on his head, his thumb inexplicably large and also at a wrong angle. Kirk says, “What’s going on around here??? Has this world gone crazy! Beam us out of here, Spock! Now!” Spock says, “I can’t captain! Solar flares are interfering with communications to our ship!”]

you okay there buddy

“I fear we are trapped here, Captain!” Spock declares. Oh, what a surprise.

[ID: A splash page titled STAR TREK: DEATH OF A STAR: PART 2. It shows the Enterprise orbiting a planet with a bright sun in the distance. A narration box at the top reads, “Captain’s Log, supplemental: While the Enterprise orbits helplessly overhead, due to interference from the near-nova sun, we are trapped on a planet marked for doom! Our desperate search for Isis III’s mysterious inhabitants has only led us to a strange old woman! But now I have a more immediate concern than saving the lives of the inhabitants—namely, saving the lives of the crew and myself!” Below that a smaller narration box reads, “On the Enterprise...” Two speech bubbles are coming from the Enterprise, one reading, “Are you sure about these figures this time, laddie?” and the other one, “I’ve checked and double checked everything, Scotty!”]

Part two begins with Scotty harassing Sulu in an exchange so generic you could probably stick the dialogue into a good half of all TOS episodes with barely any variation. “I hope you reach the captain before it’s too late for all of us!” Scotty says, to which Sulu replies, “I’m trying but something down there is interfering!” Having established this very important bit of information about what the people back on the ship are getting up to, we immediately leave them behind again and get back to the planet.

Kirk helps Chapel up, or at least, he kneels beside her and says, “Are you feeling better, nurse?” Yes, Chapel says, she’s fine now, but she doesn’t know what happened—she just fainted. No worries, low blood sugar happens to the best of us.

But Kirk isn’t satisfied with that. “You!” he shouts at Isis. “You’re behind all this, somehow, aren’t you?!” Unconcerned as ever, Isis replies, “You have come to record my death! So be it! But on my terms!”

Rather than make any effort to engage with her to figure out what she means, Kirk declares that this whole thing is hopeless-- “trapped on a sinking ship with a lunatic!” That’s what I love about Kirk, he’s so sensitive and respectful. But Spock has had an idea. Maybe, he says, when Isis said her people were “down there” she meant it literally. Perhaps they’re underground, in some sort of shelter. Wait...you mean, it’s possible that Isis could actually have meant what she said? I dunno about that, man. I mean, what she said didn’t immediately make sense to us, so I’m pretty sure it must be total nonsense.

But there’s not much else for them to do, so Kirk has Uhuru (sigh) and Chapel stay behind to try and get “some sense out of Isis” while he and Spock go looking for some kind of passage or tunnel around this joint. It takes all of one panel before Spock locates the incredibly obvious switch on the wall that opens a secret door.

[ID: Kirk and Spock standing in a long stone corridor, facing the wall. Spock is pressing on a large panel engraved with a triangle-eye symbol, which makes a CLICK! He says, “Captain! Come quick! I believe I have found a way to our “Lost Isisians!” Between him and Kirk a door is opening in the wall with a ‘HYMMMMMMMM MMMMMM’.]

For an extremely loose definition of ‘secret’, anyway.

While Spock and Kirk are off making their Perception checks, Isis, having finally gotten rid of that annoying guy who keeps shouting at her whenever she tries to say anything, leads Uhura and Chapel out on a walk in the garden, because “There is much yet to say and little time to say it!” As they head outside, some mysterious lights appear.

[ID: Chapel and Uhura flanking Isis, each with a hand on her back, leading her down a path through some greenery. A line of sparkling orbs is snaking around the three women.]

That’s probably fine.

Meanwhile, Spock is showing off his discovery to Kirk, when suddenly...uh, actually, I’m not entirely sure what’s going on here. I guess either the switch opened up the door in the wall and then a second door in the floor underneath them, or else they both just tripped and fell through the first door.

[ID: Three panels. On the top left, Kirk and Spock are looking at the door opening into the wall. A narration box leads, “Suddenly, while Mr. Spock investigates...” Kirk says, “What is it, Mr. Spock? What have you found!” Spock says, “Very simple, Captain. This “eye” seems to operate some kind of…..” On the right, a long panel shows Kirk and Spock falling into an abyss, Spock yelling, “...TRAP DOOOOR!” while Kirk yells, “WE’RE FLOATING! SPOCK!” On the bottom left, Kirk and Spock have landed in a cave. Spock says, “Though the odds were against it, there must have been a second passageway below our feet!” Kirk says, “Odds or no odds…..”]

What do you mean, the odds were against it? Spock, I don’t know if you’ve been playing too much Oblivion lately or what, but the architectural features of most buildings are not randomly generated. People either put doors in places or they don’t, there’s not just like a 30% chance of a trapdoor spawning in any given location.

But regardless of how the passage got there, they’ve clearly happened upon something significant. Or, as Kirk puts it:

[ID: Kirk and Spock look out through the cavern at a large underground city in the distance. Kirk puts his hand on Spock’s shoulder and says, “You’ve hit the jackpot, Mr. Spock!”]

Any hopes of locating a friendly NPC and getting some exposition about this weird place are quickly dashed, though, because closer examination reveals the city to be a thoroughly abandoned ruin. As they explore, Kirk wonders once again where everyone went, and why they left Isis behind. Luckily, Spock happens to stumble upon a room that has exactly what they need.

[ID: Three panels. On the top left, Spock is beckoning Kirk into a room that contains a pile of tapes and other junk in the corner. Spock says, “Perhaps these will tell us, captain!” Kirk says, “What have you got there, Mr. Spock?” In the right panel, Spock and Kirk look towards the tapes, each with a glowing spot on their forehead. Spock says, “They appear to be history tapes, captain!” Kirk says, “I can hear them, see them inside my head!” In the bottom panel, the light on Kirk’s head projects an image of a planet in space with a sun shining in the distance and a triangle with an eye hanging above the planet. A disembodied narrator says, “At first there was only “the eye”, Isis!”]

Well that’s an unorthodox method of data storage.

The tapes go on to explain how Isis—represented here by an Eye of Providence for some reason-- created life on the planet, inasmuch as the word ‘explain’ can be used to mean ‘somehow made things even more confusing than they were to begin with.’

[ID: Four panels. On the top left, a red sun is shining above a jungle, with the pyramid floating above it all. The narrator says, “And ISIS looked down on our world and saw that there was no light!” On the top right, the pyramid floats above the planet with a stream of tiny yellow eyes falling from it onto the planet, while the narrator says, “So Isis seeded the earth with her eyes!” On the bottom left, the eyes fall onto the ground, and a fuzzy red humanoid figure emerges from the earth. “And there-in rose up a people called Isisians!” On the bottom right, the figure looks up at the sun, which now has the pyramid in it. “And when they looked up there was light! For Isis now lived among them!”]

I’m...assuming this is some kind of metaphor, but it might make just as much sense either way.

Anyway, the Isisians (try saying that one three times fast) built the temple to house Isis, who proceeded to stay there to be with her children on the planet. Everything was great for a while, but “all things must pass! Even peoples! Even suns!”

[ID: A panel showing several figures gathered around the temple as the pyramid jumps up into the sky while the narrator says “And thus it came time for Isis to return to the sky, taking with her the gifts of life and light!”]

“alright my children it’s been fun but I gotta bounce byyyeeeeee”

The narrator (do you think they got some famous Isisian VA to do this?) concludes by relating that “in the twilight of our race, we have groped blindly underground to make this our final resting place! Yet we are not bitter! We are sad! For one day Isis too must give up the eye and pass! Thus ends our story! Thus ends our race!” So, what, they recorded their entire history and just left it laying around on a tape in some random room before they all went extinct? Were they intending for someone to come find this someday as a last record of them or did they just do it for kicks?

Well, anyway, Kirk is impressed. “Am I correct in assuming, Spock, that we have heard the legend of a people long since extinct?” he asks. “25 million years extinct, Captain, if my estimate is accurate!” Spock replies. Your...your estimate? Your estimate based on what, exactly? Did you just look around the city and go “hmmm yeah this looks about 25 million years old” or what? Also, that is one hell of a sturdy record tape that’s still fully functional 25 million years later. Can I get one of those anywhere? Cause I’ve had this harddrive for like five years and it’s starting to go on me.

Back up on the ship, Sulu is being pointed at so dramatically he’s having to lean back to get out of the way.

[ID: A panel showing the Enterprise bridge, with a narration box reading “Meanwhile, on board the Enterprise...” Scotty is pointing dramatically at Sulu, saying, “Still no luck, Sulu?” Sulu, only his head visible at an awkward angle in the corner of the panel, is saying, “No sir!”]

Scotty proceeds to explain to Sulu, who presumably already knows all this, that “Ya got tah raise ‘em, laddie! When the captain beamed down we told him he had twenty-four hours! But that was a mistake! That blasted star could go at any minute according to our new figures! If we stay, the whole ship’s in danger! If we go….” That’s all in one panel, by the way—there’s barely room for his head left under the speech bubble.

Having delivered his exposition, there’s not much left for Scotty to do but tell Sulu to keep doing what he’s been doing. Meanwhile, we’re told that Spock and Kirk “returned to the surface via the transport tube.” Ah yes, the transport tube. The transport tube that was definitely clearly established before that panel. That transport tube. Oh, and Uhura tells them she no longer wishes to change Isis’s mind.

[ID: Spock, Kirk, Uhura and Chapel standing in front of some trees and bushes, while Isis stands in the right corner. Kirk is saying, “You what??” Chapel says, “We no longer wish to change her mind, captain! We respect her right to die!” Uhura says, “She has a kind of nobility, sir! A soul! I have a tremendous empathy for her!”]

What, did you not think she had a soul before?

Kirk, apparently, takes quite a hard line on the whole right to die debate, because he immediately accuses Isis of bewitching his crewmembers. “See if you can reason with Isis!” he tells Spock, having made absolutely no attempt to reason with Isis. “I give up!”

Spock says he’ll try, but “logic rarely works on humans!” He then confronts Isis on how she earlier claimed that her people left just moments ago, “Yet there have been no humans on this world for millions of years! How do you explain that?” Which is an odd thing to say, considering that the images of the Isisians we saw were quite clearly not humans, yet Spock’s first statement rules out the idea of him using ‘human’ as a catchall term for sapient lifeforms. Evidently Spock’s definition of ‘human’ is ‘everybody in the galaxy that’s not a Vulcan.’

“So you have heard the legend of Isis?” Isis says, still as unperturbed as ever. “What do you think of it?” “An interesting folk tale!” Spock replies. Evidently this was not the right answer.

[ID: Spock and Isis stand in the background, Isis with one hand on Spock’s forehead, as she says, “Your logic is a cage, Mr. Spock! Come closer and let me set you free!” Red and yellow swirls are extending out from her in all directions. In the foreground, Chapel, Uhura and Kirk are watching. Uhura says, “Captain? What’s happening to her?” Kirk, leaning away in alarm, says, “I don’t know! It looks like...yes! That’s it!”]

What? What is it? What’s happening? Is she...no, she couldn’t be...

[ID: A tall panel showing the pyramid of Isis at the top with red and yellow light/flames emanating from it as the four landing party members float in the air. Isis says, “Farewell! Kirk says, “ISIS IS EXPLO...”]

Hmm, still not sure what’s going on. Could we get that confirmed one more time, please?

[ID: A panel on the Enterprise bridge, with a narration box reading, “On the Enterprise...” Sulu is standing up from his helm panel, saying, “The planet is exploding right now, sir!” Scotty rises from his own chair and says, “Then it’s...”]

cool thanks

Before Scotty can get the bagpipes out for a funeral dirge, our brave heroes are whisked onto the bridge, remarkably unexploded. For another few seconds, at least.

[ID: Three panels. On the top right, a narration box reads “At that exact instant...” above Chapel, Uhura, Kirk and Spock appearing on the bridge in a flash of light. Scotty, in the foreground, exclaims, “Captain Kirk! Spock!! Uhura! Chapel! How??” Someone in the landing party says, “Oooo! What’s happening? Am I dreaming?” On the bottom left, Scotty throws out his hands towards Sulu, saying, “Sulu! Warp eight! Immediately!” while Sulu says, “It’s...too...” On the bottom right, Sulu yells, “...Late! Ugh!” as explosions rock the bridge with ‘OOF!’ and ‘EEEEEEEEE!’ sounds and the helm shorts out with a ‘BZZZZT!’]

well maybe we would’ve had time if Scotty hadn’t stood around shouting the names of every single person in the landing party

And then the planet explodes. Hang on, I thought it was the sun that was exploding? Man, supernovas are confusing.

Luckily for the Enterprise, it turns out supernovas are also remarkably like hurricanes.

[ID: A large panel showing the Enterprise caught in a stream of energy from the pyramid of Isis as rocks and flame explode out from it. A narration box at the top reads, “The Enterprise is buffeted like a paper airplane in a hurricane as the force of a billion atomic bombs washes over it! Yet, like a hurricane, there is a place of calm in the center of the violence and the Enterprise, as though guided by some unseen protector, rides out the storm...in “the eye” of the hurricane!”]

Or, to put things less poetically:

[ID: The Enterprise bridge filled with smoke, a narration box reading “Suddenly...” Scotty, looking up with a stunned expression, says, “It’s a miracle! We’re saved! We’re in some sort of space pocket!”]

is that like a hot pocket

Unconcerned by the smoke now filling the bridge, Scotty asks Kirk what happened down on the planet. “I’m not sure, Scotty!” Kirk says, speaking for the audience. He asks Spock what he saw when Isis touched his forehead. Spock replies that he “felt...er...admiration, captain! And I saw things...inconceivable things! And I saw that a star had taken on human form in its final hours, so that it could talk to us!”

“You mean that Isis really was Isis?” Uhura exclaims. “It does explain a lot of things, lieutenant!” Kirk says. “Like how she could use the planet’s resources against us! And how she was able to block communications!” ...does it explain those things? Can stars usually control planets? Did I miss that episode of Cosmos?

As the Enterprise flies off, Kirk wonders if this means that stars really are living beings. “From what I glimpsed, captain, they may be more “alive” than we are!” Spock replies.

[ID: The Enterprise flies away with star-filled space on its right and a blue sky with a large sun on its left. A speech bubble from the ship reads, “Mr. Spock, next time we’re in the vicinity, remind me to have a long chat with our “lucky ole sun”, will you?”]

I dunno man, it didn’t go super well when they tried it in that Doctor Who episode.

And so ends another issue, with yet another planet destroyed. There’s not gonna be many planets left by the time this series ends. At least they didn’t start any wars on this one first, although I’m sure if there had been more than one person down there they would have found a way.

[voidiots]

⚔️- Celtic Cross How will recovering lost memories impact me moving forward? -- Tek has been dying to know about his mysterious past ever since he woke up with no memories of who or where he was. This is absolutely a question he'd ask. Or really anything pertaining to his past, or recovering memories. He's a precious bab who just wants to know his own place in the world.

[Emoji Tarot Reading]

The query is posed and Una’to nods in understanding as he picks up the deck, starting to shuffle it with a faraway look despite his concentration on his task. After a long silence, only filled with the sound of the cards and their breathing to indicate any amount of life, he stops shuffling, and lays out the spread. Flipping each card as he places it to have it’s face drawn skyward, to stargaze.

The spread is set. Two cards in the middle, four surrounding them in a cross, and four on his right side.

He lay’s his hand gently on the cross formation’s two cards, looking at the Miqo’te man across from him as he speaks. “We start the grand spread here with the heart of the matter and the challenge to overcome. First, the heart, as it is the key component to the reading that impacts all other cards that follow it and are shows us the biggest influence on you presently. Our heart is a card of fear, lack of objectivity, and despair. You become worked up over small things, making you nervous in all endeavors. As a result a spiral of negativity devours you. The advice here is to take a step back and look at things with a clearer perspective...” he says as he lifts his hand away from the cross. A card of sunflowers of one of nine swords placed around a humanoid jawbone. He picks up the card with sunflowers.

“We now move on to the challenge. The forces working against your resolution, and what you must overcome to resolve the issue. The card here speaks to us of resilience, pushing forward, and the last stretch before completion. You are close to being able to achieve a victory after battling through the heart. It’s been a challenge and draining to you, though you are pursuing what you think is right. Exhaustion is setting in. I believe then the challenges lie in not giving up too soon when you’re close to the end of your fears. Keep working on them to overcome them and achieve that which you have been seeking.You’re almost to a prize it should seem.”

His eyes go to the cross around that of the center, landing on the card closest to him. An images of a skeleton woman holding a ring above her head, and plant life surrounding her. “Here we start to consider other aspects that may be impacting you presently and set your future course, should you choose to continue following the road you’re on the results will not change. Mind you, the future is yours to shape... Enough of my prattling though. Our next card is your unconscious. How you truly feel about the matter, and some hidden emotions that maybe impacting you. The card here symbolizes practicality, creature comforts, and financial security. The woman here is blessed with gifts of sensual comforts, and talents related to domestic life. She is motherly, and seeks to bring her loved ones joy through worldly means. She creates a home. Often times human figures like this can be transposed on to ourselves, or others in our lives. I ask to you ponder who this figure maybe. This person maybe impacting your unconscious feelings on the matter, or perhaps you’re looking to overcome your challenge through such means unknowingly. I can’t say for certain, the threads are endless and unknown to me as your person it yet.”

Eyes shift up to his left. The next card depicts seven swords, the middle most one with a halo around their handles. “Your past is what we look to next. What attitudes, feelings, or beliefs of the past shape your current self. There is a message here of turning a new leaf, a desire to reform, and a desire to change. In the past you may have found yourself in a place where you needed to lie to survive. How ever a spark was ignited to over come such underhanded tactics to survive. You left you feeling smothered and as if you were lacking freedom. Is that perhaps why you’re trying to recover you memories? From your turning over a new leaf? Or, perhaps it’s how or why you lost them? Some people wish to turn over so thoroughly that the destroy their past, never completely though, as memories can live on in others. Again, I can’t say. I can only offer you advice and conjecture.”

He looks to the card closest to his querent, two skeletons in a loving embrace, despite their necks being coiled about by a snake. “Now we look to your conscious, the card is directly across from your unconscious. In this position it tells us how you are seeing your situation, your assumptions, convictions, and beliefs. Both for this reading and your actual situation. The message here is heavy handed, a changing point on the road for you, something that will change you. A devil in reverse speaks to us of freedom, release, and restoring control. Where there was codependency, enslavement, and debt is being cleared and an understanding of what is important and isn’t is achieved. What chains do you need to yet break to be completely free however? So it seems you expect this to be freeing, enlightening maybe? Clarity being granted, a key to escape but not escapism.”

Following the circle around they land on the last card of the cross. A skeleton hangs from a rope upon his foot, or he would by Una’to’s perspective were he not in reverse. “This card is another major one that ushers in change. The messenger here tells us of the future. The influences that are coming your way that will impact how you see your situation, and your developing concerns. Our should be hanging friend speaks of stalling, needless sacrifices, and a fear of sacrifices. Often to move forward when there is a rock in the road, we have to take a few paces back. You may understand this, but it isn’t always easy to lose an ilm of the hard work you’ve put in to getting to this point already. Or, a sacrifice may have already occurred, and you soon come to find out that it wasn’t all you had hoped for in your results. Do not lose heart however. What is lost can be regained often enough, with time certainly.Understand the sacrifices you must make or have made that have not panned out as expected. Remember, your heart is one of fear, and you’re close to the end. Put the rest of the work in rather than succumbing to the hardships you face.”

The row is all that is left of the spread components. He moves, and taps the card closest to him. Two skulls, a halo about them, their craniums being opened as cups. “This is you. How you are approaching the problem. Your beliefs, fears, and preconceptions that impact the outcome of your situation. The card that represents you at this time tells me of imbalance, broken down communication, and tension. This break down has lead to two parties being unable to connect in a lasting and equal partnership, making it difficult to get on the same footing again. It asks of you to look and see what you can do to make the relationship more meaningful. However, I’m uncertain if this is in relation to another person who has been impacting you, perhaps the figure of your unconscious? Otherwise, it may be two parts of yourself. Your present self, and that of your forgotten past? The answer is yours to find, as I lack all the pieces that you yet carry.”

Eyes shift one card up, the pattern by which the end will be reached becoming clear. “Next we look to the environment by which you must orchestrate yourself and move through. It is the climate of the situation. The card here speaks of giving up, confidence being destroyed, and feeling overwhelmed. I suppose that’s why you are filled with fear and asking me to help divine some answers. There are constant battles to defend yourself, and it’s wearing down upon your self image, as you are forced to compare yourself to others, rivals of sorts. Exhaustion is mentioned here once more, mind all things that are repeated in a reading for they hold more and more weight and demand your attention. Build up your confidence once more, take that time to do it. Again, you’re so close.”

The next card depicts three skulls, two pouring golden ichor into one below them, a sunflower blooming from it’s crown.Differing from the one prior, a halo of flowers. ”We have no arrived to your hopes and fears. These are your expectations of the situation and this reading. There seems to be a fear here of herd mentality, conformity, and solitude through being cut off to a community. Sometimes having too many people around you can cloud your views from what you truly believe, and the fear may lie in here. Or perhaps you have no group support. Ponder these fears, and see what you can do to alleviate them. Do you fear that your resolution with make those you love leave you? Are they truly worth it if they aren’t there for you and your own growth? Or are these fears present and all consuming in regards to your environment. Seek out the cause, and resolve it if you can.”

The final card is reached. Two skeletons once more, this time in a truly loving embrace, on equal footing, though they are too upside down.”Finally, we reach our outcome and conclusion. Where this path is leading should you continue on it with out correcting and changing it as all factors come into play. This is the grand evolution of the situation. The card here is major once more, speaking of a great change, a way point in life. The lovers  here speak of a loss of balance, one-sidedness, and disharmony. The partnership here feels like one side is taking too much. Are the feelings mutual? Otherwise, there are disagreements between two parts of yourself, or amongst your relationships with others. I ask again, to consider your environment and all things that impact you. Your fears, those working against you, and your shattered confidence. Recover these things before you go for the end. Consider what you are seeking freedom from through this reading, and destroy the lasting chains of dependence. I ask you consider all things I lack the ability to reveal, take these keys and maps and find your way.”

He collapses the cards before him into a neat pile, and returns them to the rest of deck. Stretching upwards, a small crack from his back, likely from being bent over the cards to read their messages. “I do hope you were able to get some clarity into the situation of recovering your lost memories and the feelings you have that are impacting the incoming outcome. I will say once more. The future is yours to shape, it can be changed until is is at such a point that it becomes the past. Should you need more insight or advice, simply ask. I can divine them, or perhaps fill in some blanks myself with insight, should you so wish.”

Thank you for the ask @bellsandspells​, as well as for the wait it took to get this reading set up, deciphered, and typed up! It took about two and a half hours to suss through, and ended up pretty long, but I hope it’s a fun read none the less and able to hit home on some fronts. I never know, I just read the cards, haha. Sadly, I lost the light as I read them, so no pictures this time, sorry!

Cards drawn : Nine of Swords reversed, Ten of Wands, Queen of Pentacles, Seven of Swords Reversed, The Devil Reversed, The Hanged Man Reversed, Two of Cups Reversed, Seven of Wands Reversed, Three of Cups Reversed, and The Lovers Reversed.