#references to rotting and stuff so I put it under a cut

[procrastinatorrex]

His hair was yellow– it waved like seagrass in the currents. The golden glimmer faded as he sank slowly out of the reach of the moonlight and the magic at his throat dimmed and retreated.

Myrddin frowned.

He didn’t want the light to stop… didn’t want the pretty play of light in the waving golden hair to fade.

He will rot away. His golden hair will flutter away in the current when they eat his scalp and scatter on the sand until nothing is left to shine.

Myrddin frowned harder. This land-dweller was pretty, his strength was admirable, and he did unexpected things. Rotting was expected and boring and all of the sudden Myrddin found himself wishing, for the first time in his life, that a land-dweller would live, rather than just die somewhere else.

Decision made before he’d finished thinking about it, the Merrow caught the land-dweller with one powerful movement of his tail. He caught the man by his armor and lifted him until he could see his full lips, oddly sensuous on such a strong jaw. They were pale in the cold water, but he wondered what they’d look like under the heat of the sun.

[poke-me-with-a-stick]

Chapter 32 of Artificial Wingman!

For the full story on AO3, click Here!

Enjoy!

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It's been two whole days since Danny and Jason's conversation, and Danny had yet to bring up the portal gun with Robin. It's not that he was putting it off, he had promised Jason that he would be the one to bring it up. But that was the hard part. How do you naturally bring up a conversation about dimensional rifts and the guns that open them? It wasn't something he just wanted to blurt out! That's what happened the first time, and look how that turned out!

The point was, Danny was trying to find a way to bring it up without sending the other teen into a blind fury like before. And no amount of pointed glares and subtle gestures from a particular skunk-man was going to force him into that mistake!

It was directly after one such glare, that Danny had had enough. He pushed his chair out from under the table and stood, striding past a startled Jason and stopping directly in front of Robin, who had been flipping through channels on the TV. The teen in question looked up, one perfect eyebrow raised at Danny in a silent question.

"I'm sick of being cooped up in here." The halfa stated firmly, if a bit exaggeratedly. "Lets go out."

Robin sat up with a sigh, glancing back at Jason for just a second before turning his full attention back to Danny. "As much as I would love to go out with just you and me, I fear that an incident like last time will occur again."

Danny tilted his head. "By last time, do you mean when we were caught by your brother, or when I was kidnapped by that weird jester guy?" He plopped down next to the teen, letting his head lull back against the cushions. "Because the jester wanna-be probably won't be a problem for at least two to three months."

Robin stared at him for a long minute. "I was referring to Drake. But what do you mean by that?"

"By what?" Danny's mounting frustration was replaced by confusion.

"The 'Jester Wannabe' thing, Casper." Jason pipped up from behind him, a small bubble of laughter in his tone. "I've never heard anyone call him that." The bitter snort that the man let out worried the teen, but his attention was brought back to Robin when the vigilante cleared his throat.

"I was more interested in why you are so sure that he would not be a problem." Robin's words cut Jason's laugh off, the man making a considering hum as he moved from the kitchen stool to the armchair.

"I mean, unless he's somehow immune to it, he should be pretty sick for a while. My two to three month guess was me being optomistic." Danny admitted. "He'll probably be out for longer than that." Embarrasment flooded him as he purposfully kept his eyes on the ceiling, not wanting to look at either of them.

The silence that followed his words lasted for only a minute. "What did you do, poison him?" Jason asked. His tone was half sarcastic, half eager.

Realization hit Danny then, as he took in Jason's words. "Um. Kinda?" He squeaked out. Man, he was so not used to talking about ghost things with people who knew little to nothing about the topic. Was it ever this weird for the ghosts that taught him this stuff? "I mean, ghost venom is kind of like a poison. It also isn't really meant to be used on the living..." Oh, Ancients. Danny had no idea what ghost venom would do to a normal, non-liminal human being. The only human he had ever bitten was Dash, and the venom from that wasn't strong enough to do anything more than give the guy a cold. The full force of his venom could knock out a fully materialized ghost, and he had used that on a living person.

That was a crisis to focus on later, Danny decided faintly. Once he was alone, he would spiral a bit about probably having killed a man. For now, he had confused stares on him. "What the hell is Ghost Venom?" Jason asked, his voice cracking a bit. From what emotion, Danny wasn't sure. He wasn't about to risk finding out, not when the man still tasted of rot. Should he offer to try and fix that at some point? Maybe that was something to leave to Frostbite...

Shaking the errant thoughts from his head, Danny focused on the question asked. "Ghost venom is a, uh, defensive mechanism for young ghosts. It kinda phases out as their cores finish materializing, and they come into their powers, because then they have something else to defend themselves with." That's the basics, anyways. There was a lot more to it than that, especially for halfas like him. But for a normal ghost, that's about how it works.

"I'm surprised you remember what happened that night." Robin tilted his head, leaning closer to Danny. "When I arrived at Quinzell's home, you were quite out of it. It stands to reason that the rest of the night beforehand would have been worse, symptoms wise."

"Well..." Danny's hand came up to rest on the back of his neck. "To be honest, I don't remember most of the night. Not after being hit by that van, while I was looking for you. I do remember bits and pieces, though. Like calling the jester dude a moldy eggplant." Jason let out a startled snort at that. "But the clearest part of the night was when I bit him. Honestly, it was more instinct driven than anything."

Danny shook himself again, determined to get back on track. "I don't want to talk about that though. I meant what I said, I really can't stay in this apartment for another day. I need a change of scenery, and I know that you want that too." Robin didn't deny it, merely tilting his head in acknowledgement.

"I agree with you on that. It would be nice to go out," Robin sighed, "But, sadly, my family is the main factor keeping us here. The other's have eyes all over the city, and if they had any reason to believe that we had been spotted..."

Danny couldn't help but pout a bit. "If only we had some sort of disguise," he joked, expecting either a groan or an eye roll from the two brothers. Instead, he was met with a considering look from Robin, and a dumbstruck look from Jason. "...What?"

"Oh my god, we're idiots." Jason groaned, dragging a hand down his face before standing up and heading for the hallway closet. Danny glanced away from him to shoot Robin a confused look, trying to convey 'What did I just do?' with his eyes alone. Robin wasn't looking at him, however. The teen's gaze remained on Jason, a thoughtful expression evident as he watched Jason dig through stuff.

Eventually the man found what he was looking for, holding a shopping bag over his head with a victorious noise. Walking back to the two boys, he tosses the bag at Robin, the teen catching it efforlessly despite his irritated glare at his brother.

"What is that?" Danny asked, trying to peek into the bag while Robin attempted telekenetic fratricide. The teen broke his stare with his brother, nudging Danny's hand away from the bag gently but firmly as he began digging through the bag.

"Is that a... wig?" Danny blinked at the large clump of blond hair that Robin had pulled out of the bag, flinching in surprise when it was dumped into his lap as Robin began to dig again.

"Yeah, it's a wig." Jason chuckled as Danny was pelted by something else from the bag, a t-shirt this time. "Sometimes we have to go undercover for detective work. I'm not sure how much the Demon brat has told you about us, but our family is pretty recognizable, especially here in Gotham. So if we go undercover, we need to be unrecognizable. Ergo," he pointed to the bag, and both watched as Robin pulled a light brunette wig, this one a bit less mangled looking than the blond furball Danny had been given.

"So, what your saying is, you regularly just have disguises lying around in all of your living spaces?" Danny tried to brush his fingers through the artificial hair, surprised and slighly put-off when it felt a bit... too real. Was this real hair?

"Not in every place." Robin pulled his attention away from examining the content of the bag. "We have a lot of safe houses and hideaways. It would be a waste of resources to fill all of them with the same things. Especially ones that are not used often enough as others." Setting the bag asided, he turned towards Danny. "Would you like some help?" He asked, gesturing to the wig in the halfa's hands.

"Yes please." Wigs were not his area of expertise. The best person to go to in his friend group for wigs and other non-permenant ways to show rebellion through appearance was Sam. And ever since the Anomorpho incident, he really didn't want to discuss her, ah, talent with disguise.

Robin took the wig from his hands, smoothing the wayward hair until it actually looked like it was supposed to, and not like someone had skinned a large furbie. Setting the now less raggedy wig aside, he rummaged around the bag again until he came out with a hair net.

The next few minutes consisted of Jason laughing as Robin tried his absolute best to tame and trap the fluffy, gravity-defying mess that was his hair. Eventually, they managed to trap most of it, some poking out rebeliously through the holes that confined them. Thankfully, the escaping hair had little effect on how the wig fit, though the inner layer caught and tugged on a few strands uncomfortably as Robin adjusts it.

Finally, after what seemed like an hour but was probably way less than that, Robin was combing his fingers through the wig hair one last time, making fluffy strands brush down into Danny's face. While it was familiar enough to how his own hair settled, Danny couldn't help but marvel at the oddness of the color change. The teens eyes were unneringly drawn to the too light hair that covered his forehead and brushed the bridge of his nose. '

This might take some getting used to,' he couldn't help but think, forcing his eyes away as he watched Robin expertly tamp down his own hair in a net and swiftly apply his own brunette wig. The half couldn't help but be a bit jealous at how easily the wig settled into place, looking so natural that Danny could mistake it for his actual hair. The teen had no doubt that his didn't look nearly as seamless, judging by how Jason looked like he wanted to burst with laughter every time he glanced at him.

"Okay, we're wearing wigs now, is there anything else or is this good enough?" Danny fought the urge to push the hair out of his face, not wanting to risk messing up the wig's placement.

Robin held up a shirt in response. "The wigs make giving us a second glance a bit harder. Now we wear something that doesn't fit with the image my family has of us in their heads, and find a way to naturally cover most of our faces, to make identifying us through facial recognition harder." Setting aside a small pile of folded clothes, Robin stood up and made his way to the bathroom, his own change of clothes nestled in the crook of his arm.

Danny was left sitting on the couch, blinking blankly at the spot Robin was just sitting in a moment ago. "Why does your family sound less like vigilantes, and more like super secret spys from a James Bond flick?" Danny questioned faintly, trying to figure out just how Robin and Jason's family do stuff like that.

Jason snorted at his question. "At this point, I barely even notice the batshit stuff that this family does. Stalking through security cameras is basically a love language." The man winked at Danny's look of dumbfounded incredulity.

Deciding that thinking about a vigilante family dynamic was something that could also be put off until later, Danny stood and grabbed his set of clothes, headed for the bedroom at the end of the hall. Changing was quite easy when you had ghost powers, and by the time he made it back to the living room just a few minutes later, it was still just Jason sitting there, Robin nowhere in sight and the bathroom door still closed.

Jason glanced up from a book he was looking over, making a vague noise of surprise as he flipped the page. "That was fast." He commented, humming when Danny flopped down, the teen wincing at the way his new pocket zipper dragged on the couch's fabric.

"Well, intangibility is handy like that." Danny commented, picking lightly at the too-big red hoodie he was in. The sleeves just barely passed his fingertips, and he amused himself with flipping the tiny sweater paws to and fro.

The silence thelat fell over them didn't last as long as Danny hoped it would. "So, are you gonna tell him soon?" Jason asked, almost offhandedly if not for the pointed way his eyes met Danny's over his book.

Danny rolled his eyes, focusing back on his sweater paws as he dragged them over his black ripped denim pants. "Yeah? I promised I would. It's just a bit hard to bring up, is all." He mumbled, his fingertips toying with a loose thread.

"What's so hard about it?" Jason asked, his voice not unkind. It wasn't that condescending tone that parents and teachers used on him all the time, instead a bit of sarcasm mixed with genuine curiosity.

"Well, for starters, the first time I told him, he used a wicked blade and sliced the damn thing in half." He pointed out, his own sarcasm leaning more towards playful than deadpan.

Jason hummed, considering. "Maybe he'll take the news better this time. I mean, he hasn't tried to break it again while you've been working on it." the man pointed out. Flipping the page, he made another noise, this one of realization. "Your gonna break the news in a more public setting just in case he does take it wrong, aren't you?"

Danny shrugged, pulling his knees up towards his chest. The Hoodie pooled around his thighs at the movement, and the halfa had to resist the urge to tuck ot over his legs completely. Now wasn't the time to go turtle mode. "I mean, both of us could really use the day out of the apartment. This place is nice and all, but me and Robin were outside basically every day before this." He didn't mention that most of their time put and about was more like dates than anything else. That wasn't conductive to his reasoning whatsoever. "Both of us are annoyed at being cooped up. What better time to tell him than when we both can actually breath a bit better?"

Before Jason could retort with... whatever he looked like he wanted to say, Robin came out of the bathroom. His sunglasses, the same ones he had gotten from the mall, what felt like forever ago, covered his eyes, and the brunette hair fell over his face artfully. A few clip on ear cuffs studded his cartilage, the mat black color of the accessories matching perfectly with his perfectly-fitted leather jacket, a pop of color added with the ice blue t-shirt and dark blue jeans. Lastly, a pair of mat black, low platform ankle boots completed the look, turning the pr and proper boy he had spent the last few days with into the most attractive punk kid he had ever seen.

Willing away his blush, Danny stood and slipped on his own shoes, a pair of black convers sneakers. They were for someone a size and a half bigger than him, but they were still surprisingly comfortable. "You- uh. You ready to go?" Danny smiled nervously, anxiety starting to know at him alongside the butterflies in his stomach. It was a slightly nauseating feeling, and part of Danny cursed his newfound emotional intelligence. This would all be so much easier if he was still in denial.

Sucking it up, as Sam would put it, he shot Robin a smile as the teen dug in his pocket for something. "Here," the teen offered him a piece of cloth. Grabbing it, Danny hummed curiously at what turned out to be a face mask. "I have one as well," Robin pulled out a second fabric mask, putting it on with the same efficiency as everything else he did. "It will go a long way to hide us from anyone on the lookout for us specifically."

Danny pulled the mask on, the corners of his eyes crinkling being the only sign of his broad grin underneath the fabric. "Man, you have this all thought out, don't you?" Jason's snort from behind him earned a reprimanding glare from the teen, the expression translating scarily well through the sunglasses and mask he wore.

"Yes, I do. Father is very firm on having a plan laid out beforehand, so as to iron out any details as well as contingency plans, in case something goes wrong." Robin walked around him, grabbing one last thing from the shopping bag before turning to Danny. "Here," he offers a pair of sunglasses, gray frames studded with small runestones at the corners. Danny slipped them on without protest, humming at the way they comfortably darkened the room without completely blacking out his vision. Robin nodded in approval, tugging the red hood of his hoodie until it covered most of his head. "Perfect. I barely recognize you now." The teen hummed, before grabbing Danny's hand.

"We shall return before dark. Call only if you have need of us." Robin shot his brother a warning glare as he tugged Danny out of the apartment and into the elevator. A silence settled between them until they were on the street, blending in with the rest of the crowd. "Now, what do you wish to do?" Robin asked as they turned a corner, the apartment building disappearing from their line of sight.

Danny hummed thoughtfully. "Well, I don't know about you, but I'm starving. We didn't exactly eat lunch before we left." He grinned at the teen, though it wasn't very noticable through the face mask.

Robin tilted his head in thought, making Danny suppress the errant thought of 'cute' that ran through his head. "I suppose you are right. We haven't had anything to eat, have we?"

"Not since Jazz's attempts at French toast!" Danny replies cheerfully, grinning at the memory of his sister's burnt yet somehow soft and soggy flavored egg bread. Honestly, if the conversation he wanted to have with Robin went well, then he was gonna ask Jason to give his sister some cooking lessons. Maybe get some lessons himself, while he's at it. That man knows how to cook.

Robin let put another humming noise, this one tinged with amusement. "Your sister is not the best in the kitchen, though she is admittedly more reliable and trustworthy than most of my family." The teen let out a huff that could only be described as a stifled laugh.

"What is worse than physics-defying toast?" Danny couldn't help but ask. Not because he thought his sister was the worst person to put in a kitchen, but because Danny always found it interesting when Robin mentioned his family. The way he talked about them, with tones of exaggerated annoyance and feigned disinterest barely hiding the fondess he held for them, it was nice to see the teen be expressive about someone besides Danny himself.

"Trust me," though his face was fully covered, Danny could still tell his face was set in a serious expression, despite the sweet strawberry flavor of mischief that exuded from the teen. "My brothers and father are much worse. Everyone besides Todd and Cain have a lifetime ban from the kitchen in the manor. Pennyworth is very protective of his precieved domain."

Danny mulled over Robin's worout. Sending the teen a cheeky smirk, he couldn't help but to point something out. "You know, I noticed that you didn't say anything about yourself not being banned from the kitchen as well." Danny couldn't help but snicker as Robin took a cheap swat at him, embarrassment and amusement mixing to make an almost sweet and tangy taste to his emotions. Like an orange cream filled chocolate.

Great, now he wanted something sweet. Deciding to let the topic of horrible family cooks drop for now, Danny focused on trying to find an enticing food smell amongst the different smells of the city. Pollution and garbage stung his nose, while body sparys and perfumes made his eyes water uncontrollably. After a few minutes, Danny sighed quietly in defeat and turned towards Robin. "Ypu have any ideas on where to eat?" He asked hopefully.

The teen thought on it for a minute. "As luck would have it, I do." Tightening his grip on Danny's hand slightly, he began to weave through the streets as if he were born in them. For all Danny knew, that could be true. Past flower shops and fruit stalls that seemed a bit on the shader side, until the streets began to clear up a bit. Not like when they had visited the arcade or the skating rink, but not as crowded and trash-filled as when they were staying in Jason's abandoned building.

Finally, Robin slowed his pace until they came to a stop in front of an out of the way shop. A small sign above a glass door with a bell, cursive letters spelling out, 'Grandma's Kitchen' in sleek black-cherry colors. Standing where they were, Danny could already smell the scent of fresh bread and coffee, sweet undertones pointing to muffins or danishes as well. It was good enough to make his mouth water and his stomach growl.

Hearing no complaints from the teen, Robin pushed the door open and led Danny inside, coming to a stop again at the counter. Behind the bar, manning the register with a pen and notepad in hand, a woman with short blond hair and green eyes smiled at them. "Hello!" She greeted warmly. "Welcome to Grandma's Kitchen. What can I get you today?" Her eyes crinkled at the corners, the beginnings of crows feet evident as she took in their appearances.

Robin tutted to himself as he skimmed over the menu hung up on the wall behind the woman. "Your vegan options are quite acceptable. I shall have a croissant with berry jam filling, and an almond milk hot chocolate." He ordered after a second of consideration.

Her grin widened slightly as she jotted down the teen's order. "Alright, lovely choices. Now, how about you?" Her attention turned to Danny, the boy stuttering slightly as he looked over the menu himself. "Um, the waffles look good. Maybe the waffles with whipped cream and blueberries? Oh! And a milk tea." That sounded good.

"Okay. I'll have that right out to you!" She smiled again as she turned towards the kitchen. "Go ahead and sit down, I'll be out shortly if you need anything else!"

With the door swinging shut behind her, Danny and Robin turned to survey the sitting area options. There was no one else in the shop, besides and older woman rubbing down a table near the window. So that left the two teens free reign over where they wanted to sit.

After the last few times they had eaten out together, Danny wasn't surprised at all when Robin led him to a seat next to the kitchen doors, just out of sight of the windows and front counter. Unlike the other times they ate together, Robin kept ahold of his hand, slinding into the booth next to him instead of in front of him. If not for the fact that he could go intangible, Danny would be half tempted to complain about being boxed in. Y'know, if he could find the will to argue around the warmth that filled his chest and cheeks at the action.

As silence decended over them, Danny couldn't help but fidget in his seat. His finders found the ends of his sweater paws, tugging at them in a way that almost resembled two kids fighting over a toy. A bit lower, his foot began tapping out a rhythm he vaguely recognized. Something he heard oten, but not something he particularly paid attention to. Maybe one of the background soundtracks for Doomed? Or maybe something Sam made him listen to. No lyrics popped up in his memories, so he decided to tap a little louder. Maybe it was from a boss battle or something?

Danny was brought out of his musings by Robin, the teen clearing his throat subtly as his gaze raked over Danny. "Are you alright, Danny?" He asked, his hand coming down from the table top to ease his grip on his hoodie sleeve.

"Y-yep!" Danny stuttered. "I'm fine, everything's fine!" Clearing his own throat, he shot Robin what he hoped always a reassuring smile. It wasn't that convincing, if the look of concern and suspicion on the vigilante's barely visible face was anything to go by. But before he could comment on Danny's oddness again, the clatter of plates and a sqeal of door hinges brought both of their attentions to the lady approaching their table. A different woman than the one that they had seen clearing off another table, she had long dark hair that fit nicely with her warm brown eyes, the corners slightly creased with age.

"Here you go, one croissant with berry jam, one plate of waffles with blueberries and whipped cream." She set down two plates of delicious-looking food before turning back to her tray. "One hot chocolate made with almond milk, one milk tea, and a sharing sized basket of blueberry muffins." The last item was set down in the middle of the table, almost like a bread basket. "Is there anything else I can get you boys?" She asked kindly.

"Oh, uh. I'm sorry, Miss. But we didn't order any muffins." Danny told her, his Midwestern manners kicking in. Though, he wasn't quite sure how they could make that mistake, seeing as there weren't any other costumers present at the moment.

The woman laughed a bit. "Don't worry 'bout it, hun. It's on the house." In a quieter voice, she leaned closer to Robin and whispered, "Clarissa said that the blond boy was too thin. Make sure he eats the muffins." With a wink and a wave, she was gone. Danny stared after her, gobsmacked. Robin grinned at him, nudging the basket of muffins closer to Danny's plate.

"You know, she isn't wrong about you being too thin." The teen teased him in a low tone. Danny glared at him half-heartedly, but pulled his own plate closer to him, taking a bite of his waffles. His momentary annoyance is forgotten as the taste hits him. Robin chuckles at the way his eyes widen, but stays blessfully silent about it. Instead, he turns to his own food.

It feels like no time has passed by the time Danny wipes up the last bit of whipped cream with his fork, slightly disappointed that he had finished. Beside him, Robin was polishing off his hot chocolate, having already finished his croissant. When Danny's fork clattered against his plate, Robin looked over at him. "Are you done?" He asked, glancing at his plate, then at his cup. Danny nods, gulping down the last few sips of his milk tea.

"Ready to go whenever you are!" He answers, his bright grin only slightly forced.

As they stand, Robin casts a glance back at the basket of muffins. "What about those?" He asks, pointing to the muffins. Danny looks back at them as well, before grabbing the basket with a shrug.

As they approached the counter to pay, Danny sets the basket on the counter. "Excuse me, would it be possible to get a to-go bag or something for these?" He shoots the woman behind the register a charming smile.

She nodded, smiling back at him. "Here you go, honey. Be sure to eat them before they go stale!" She calls after them, waving as they exit the café. Danny waves back at her, pulling up his mask before following Robin out the door with his bag of muffins.

"Okay, now. Where to?" Danny asks, linking his arm with Robin's instead of just grabbing his hand. He couldn't help but to lean into the taller teen, a rumble of contentment running through his core. His nervesness was buried under the positive delight his core was producing, making him feel warm and bubbly as long as he stayed curled up to Robin's side. Logically, he knew that this peace he felt wouldn't last, but what was the harm in enjoying it while he could?

Robin hummed thoughtfully, slowing their pace and moving them out of the way of anyone rushing past. "How about Robinson Park?" He suggested. "The last time we attempted to visit the park, I believe we were... Rudely interrupted." The last part was grumbled with a bite of venom, making Danny smirk. It warmed his cold ghostly core that his prospective partner was prone to violence. Maybe he would be up to a play fight, if the love potion antidote didn't make him hate Danny?

...A question for later, the teen decided. He ignored the part of him that wondered if it was a question he would even get to ask, if things happened the way he was planning. Instead, but focused on the here and now, tilting his head until his hooded wig brushed Robin's shoulder. "Well, if we do get interrupted again, at least it won't be by thw jester knock-off." He snickered playfully as Robin knocked his knuckles against Danny's forehead lightly, almost like he was scolding him.

"It would be unwise to say that aloud, as things in Gotham usually happen in the worst way possible." Robin huffed, but Danny could hear the smile in his voice. "But, if you have no objections, then Robinson Park it is." Without further delay, Robin turned to the crosswalk, leading Danny across quickly and down the sidewalk on the other side.

Doing there best to look like any other teenaged couple roaming around together, they made no effort to avoid crowded areas or places with cameras. It was actually a bit freeing, not having to sneak around just to avoid trouble. And before long, Danny found himself standing at a park entrance.

As they walked in, Danny spotted a vendor just off the walking path. He was quick to point it out to Robin. "I think he's selling hot chocolate and tea." The smells of chocolate and fragrant leaves waft of the chilled breeze. "We could grab a drink and enjoy these muffins on a bench or something. Like a picnic!"

Robin nodded, agreeing easily. The vendor had more than just hot chocolate and tea, but the two boys stuck to warmer drinks. Danny with an extra sweet hot chocolate, and Robin cradling some jasmine and honey tea, both piping hot and steaming as they settled down on a bench not too far from the entrance to the park.

Children passed by frequently, running and jumping and doing only things that small humans could do with their limitless energies. Their parents followed at a much slower pace, content to let their children tire themselves out. Couples and joggers and dog walkers waved back and forth across the pathway, all going about their lives as if nothing else truly mattered at the moment but what they were doing. All in all, it was a pretty populated place. Perfect for the conversation that they had to have. Because with how much Danny had learned about Robin over the past few weeks, he knew the teen wouldn't cause a scene in public

But just because he knew this would be the perfect opportunity to tell Robin about the portal gun, doesn't mean that his original problem wasn't still hampering him. Because, really, how do you bring up a gun that rips holes in the universe for quick travel? Especially when the person you are trying to tell really, really doesn't want you to leave?

The silence between them had been stretching like taffy as Danny tried to figure out how to bring the topic up. The nerves that he had been suppressing bubbled up again like angry blob ghosts in his stomach, making him feel just a tad nauseous along side everything else. When he finally opened his mouth, planning on just blurting it out, Robin stopped him. "The portal gun is finished, isn't it?" It was phrased like a question, but Danny already knew that the teen had his answer.

Danny blinked in surprise, before letting out a nervous chuckle. "Man,there really isn't any hiding things from you, is there?" He joked. In a quieter, more serious tone, he asked, "how long have you known?" Part of him dreaded the answer.

Robin sent him a small smirk, though it was slightly bitter. "I suspected something was amiss yesterday, when I noticed the way you and Todd kept gesturing at each other when you thought I could not see you. Though I didn't make the connection until you stated that you wanted to leave the apartment."

That... Wasn't the worst timeframe, Danny had to admit."Look, I'm really sorry that I didn't tell you sooner. Jason discovered it was finished about two days ago, and since then he's been pressuring me to tell you, but I wasn't really sure how to bring it up, and I didn't want to freak you out like what happened the first time and-" The halfway was cut off by Robin's palm against his mouth.

When the other teen was sure Danny wasnt going to say anything, he lowered his hand with a small laugh. "It is alright, beloved. I'm not mad, or even disappointed that you did not tell me sooner. Although, I am not exactly thrilled that you are finished with the device-" Danny winced slightly at the sharp look Robin sent him, "-I know that you did not intend to keep it from me."

A different kind of silence fell between them, one that was a bit uncomfortable, but it wasn't like before. "Soo... What now?" Danny can't help but ask. It was kind of dumb, but he wanted to know where Robin was in all of this. 'We've had enough misunderstandings.'

Robin shot him a slightly confused look. "Well, I suppose you are planning to leave, soon. Isn't that the whole point?" Well, that made things a bit easier.

"Well, I have to go home eventually. I have a life, friends and school." Danny admitted. "But there still isn't enough power built up to make our way home just yet. And me and Jason have talked about some things..." The hope that was beginning to grow in Robin's eyes directly reflected the feeling growning in Danny's core.

"We think it would be best for me and Jazz to leave before you take to antidote." Immediately, Robin's face fell. Danny grimaced, wishing silently that he hadn't said that so bluntly. Hurriedly, he continues. "Its just so neither of us get hurt, either physically or emotionall, if the cure works the way I think it does. If, afterwards, you still have feelings for me , ai do plan to come back. And if you don't have feelings for me, or you hate me for what happened, then we'll deal with that when it comes up. But, Robin," Danny grabs the teen's hand in his, squeezing it as he brings it, anlong with Robin's gaze, to his face. "I do plan on coming back."

Robin smiles, grabbing Danny's free hand with his and bringing it up to his face. Laying it against his cheek, he turns his head to lay a small kiss on the meat of Danny's palm. "Then I have nothing to worry about, do I?"

Danny didn't answer him, too flustered by his braisen actions. Clearing his throat, Danny tore his eyes away from Robin, instead focusing on the dogwalker being dragged across the grass by a pack of five. The scene caused him to snort, breaking the intimate cloud around them. Robin glanced away from him as well, snickering questly at the man being pulled to and fro by the dogs he walked.

After a while, when all the muffins were gone and their drinks were noting but dredges in their paper cups, the two left the park. "Should we return to the apartment, now that you've finally told me what you wanted to?" Robin asked as he led Danny down the street, being careful of any shady alleyways.

Danny thought about it for a minute, before shaking his head. "Nah, let's just walk around For a bit." When Robin sent him a questioning look, Danny snickered. "You know, I wasn't just trying to make up an excuse to talk to you without Jason around. I really have been cooped up in that apartment for too long. Especially ow that the PG is done."

"PG?" Robin raised an eyebrow, giving Danny a look that conveyed just how dumb he thought it sounded.

"What? Are you gonna tell me that it's okay to say g.u.n. in a public area here? After some of the things you've told me?" Danny snarked back playfully, nudging Robin away before wrapping his arm around his again and pulling the teen back. He was only a little annoyed when the teen didn't stumble at the sudden action.

"I suppose I was hoping that you would have a better name for it." The tease was layered with something that was a mix of fond and exasperated, and it seemed so right, that tone he used, that Danny wondered if he had reminded the teen about his family.

Grinning mischievously, Danny lightly bumped his shoulder with Robin's. "Well, of you have any better ideas, I'm all ears. Personally, I don't see anything wrong with calling it by it's initials. Not as confusing, that way." Robin's only response was an eye roll. Silently, Danny cheered for his small victory, a smug smile the only evidence of his inner emotions.

Robin bumped his shoulder in retaliation, but made no verbal attempt to rebuke him. The two fell in step next to each other, strolling around Gotham's streets. Eventually, Danny noticed something. "Hey, when did it get cleaned?" He asked, having not seen as much trash as he had been. Cars actually filled the street, and the crowd around them thickened a bit. With all the activity going on, it was a little surprising that there was a lack of litter.

The teen beside him hummed. "Of course it would be cleaner. We are getting closer to the diamond district." As if to prove his point, a woman in designer heels and coat walked past them, the crowd parting around her ever so slightly as she moved. Robin scoffed at her under his breath, and Danny couldn't help but he reminded of Sam's mother for a moment.

"Well, at least the sights are pretty to look at, unlike some of the people." Danny half-joked. Honestly, he didn't know how a person could comfortably wear so much makeup.

Robin chuckled at his comment, before schooling his expression a bit. "You know, if you want a better view of what the Diamond district has to offer without the strongly decorated people interfering, I know a good leash-free dog park we could visit."

Danny side eyed the teen. "Didn't we just leave a park?" He asked playfully, already planning on agreeing. Anywhere Robin wanted to hang out was fine with him at the moment.

Robin rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses. "Yes, but that was a normal park with a strict leash-only policy. The dog park has no such restrictions. And, I might add, more dogs as well." Already their direction had changed, Robin pulling ahead by a step or two to direct Danny away from the bustling streets.

The halfa couldn't help but chuckle. ”Lead the way." He snarked playfully, letting himself be dragged along.

- - -

Dick stared at Stephanie from over Duke's shoulder, tucked safely behind the confused man. The girl stood innocently in front of them, offering a plate of what looked like something out of Alfred's nightmares. The plate had set, presumably abandoned, while Steph had spent three hours cleaning the kitchen up under the weight of Alfred's disappointed stare. The man had added another name to the kitchen's ban list, but she didn't seem to care as Dick had waltzed back into the kitchen to check on her. The spotless kitche had given him hope,but that hope had immediately been dashed when he caught the sight of the plate sitting on the counter.

Steph had looked up at his frozen form, a grin that sat between innocent and devious forming on her face. "Dick! There you are!" She called excitedly, setting the last pot into the dish drained to dry. Quickly wiping her hands off on the hand towel that rested by the sink, she leaned over the counter to reach the plate. "So, Alfred wasn't very happy with the mess I made, but he let me keep the caramel pineapples that I made! I mean, he gave them the stink eye, but he didn't tell me to throw them away, so I'm assuming he let me keep them!"

Dick took a small step backwards as a strained smile pinched his face. "Oh, that's great, Steph! But, if you think they look so good, then why don't you eat them?" The man prayed that Steph would take him up on it. At the very least, he hoped that she would take a bite of one, taste how bad it was, and decide that this was too far for whatever revenge she was trying to enact. Not even Dami, his babiest baby bat, would result to poisoning.

To the man's dismay, the girl pouted. Giving him her best puppy dog eyes, she held the plate up a bit higher. "But, Iade these for you? Do you not want something I made? I mean, I worked so hard on these." Oh dear Lord, this girl knew how to tug on his heart strings. If not for the fact that this was obviously some sort of plot against him for some reason, guilt would be eating away at him right now.

Some higher being must have been on his side, however, because his angel in a college hoodie walked through the door as he was trying to find a way to turn her down. "Duke!" The relief in his voice caught the man's attention immediately, pulling his gaze from his phone as he took in the scene in front of him.

"Uhhh..." The meta blinked at the two of them, his eyes going to Dick, then Steph, and to the plate in her hands, then back to Dick. "What's going on here?" He asked cautiously.

Dick took the unexpected moment to dive behind the man. In a low voice, he hurriedly explained. "Duke, I have no idea what I did to her, but I'm pretty sure she's trying to poison me and make it look like a genuine accident." He snuck another glance at the plate she was holding, cringing at the hardened yet squishy looking cubes it held. "Honestly, it doesn't look like she's trying hard for the accident part."

Steph's pout flickered briefly into a smile, before she schooled her expression back. "Aww, come on Dick! They don't look that bad!" A humorous light entered her eyes. "I bet Duke would try one, wouldn't you?" Her pleading eyes turned on Duke, and the man felt his stomach drop.

Throwing up his hands in surrender, he turned hand hurried out of the kitchen. "Sorry, Dick. You're on your own for this one." With his back to the man, Dick could hear him mutter, " I dont feel like being poisoned either."

Feeling betrayed, he turned his wary gaze back to Steph, who was watching Duke leave with laughter in her eyes. It disappearedI almost as soon as it had appeared, her expression dropping back into that mopey, sad look that almost made Dick surrender himself. But he stands firm, keeping a firm distance between them.

Finally, she dropped the sad, pleading act. Her expression morphed into exasperation. "Seriously, Dick? It's literally sugar and cream on a fruit. Stop being a baby and just try one!"

Dick smiled at her again. "Oh, I really couldn't, I, uh, I had a big breakfast with Babs earlier! Honestly, I'm just too full to eat anything else right now. You understand, right?" He flashed her his most charming look, hoping to get her to drop the topic long enough for him to secretly dispose of the pineapple cubes while she wasn't looking.

Steph rolled her eyes at him. "Y'know what? I'll show you there isn't anything to be afraid of." Grabbing a toothpick from the plate, she jabbed one of the cubes. Before Dick could stop her, it was in her mouth.he frozen in horror, expecting her to spit it out in disgust. Instead, her eyes lit up after chewing for a moment. Swallowing, she reached for another one. "Actually, these are really good. Since you obviously don't want them, I think I will eat them myself." With that, she hurried out of the kitchen, leaving Dick to stare after her in shock.

Shaking himself out of his stupor, he chased after her. "Steph, wait!" He calls, trying to get her to slow down. Instead, she giggles and speeds up, throwing another cube into her mouth. Dick groaned, slipping in his socked feet as she stepped off the carpet and onto the hardwood. While he fell over, Steph slipped out of the room, her plate of abomination candy still firmly in her hand.

Slapping his had on the floor, Dick couldn't help but groan again. He didn't believe for one second that she actually liked that treat, he had once seen her eat a ghost pepper out of spite. All the while pretending to be fine, but the minute she was alone, she had made herself sick chugging milk and water to get rid of the spice. And he had been the one to look after her in the days following.

Two things he had learned from that were one; Steph wouldn't back down from a challenge or dare, even if it was only a precieved one. And two, a sick Steph was very, very clingy. So clingy, in fact, that he hadn't been able to go on patrol for two days after the pepper incident, on the count of a teenager girl not letting go of his sweater any time he tried to leave.

If there was anything to be taken from that incident, it was that a sick Steph was a bad thing, especially when you had a baby brother to be looking for.

Pushing himself back up, he took off after Steph again. The man had already spent too long at the manor, looking for his spare suits when he could have been out there looking for Damien. He didn't need a clingy Steph holding him up more.

-

Steph watched as Dick ran towards the library, swinging her legs over the railing of the second floor as she tossed another cube into her mouth. Honestly, the girl hadn't been expecting these to actually taste good, but she had been more than willing to force herself to eat one of it got Dick to eat one too. But the taste had reminded her of those mini pineapple upside-down cakes that had been on the food platter at one of Bruce's Galas. Granted, the texture wasn't right for it, but the taste had been pretty close. And, well, if Dick had been about to throw them out while she wasn't looking, then she was gonna eat them instead. No since in a decent snack going to waste, right?

The girl giggled as Dick left the library, heading into the whole first floor before moving upwards to look for her. So she got to enjoy a snack and a show! The only thing that would make this better is if Cass were here.

Sighing, Steph ate another cube before standing up and cackling as Dick finally spotted her on the banister. She disappeared into a hall closet before he reached the landing, watching him turn the corner and dart down the hall. This was way more fun than she thought it would be.

---

(There may be some spelling/grammar mistakes, but it's okay because I did my best!)

To all the wonderful people who follow along, as well as the amazing person who made the prompt:

@halfblackwolfdemon @manapeer @xxwintrynightzxx @im-totally-not-an-alien-2 @blu-lilac @academicpurposes @secretdestinywerewolf @passivedecept @naluforever3 @postit-nope @spiteismymiddlename @2t-productions @plague-daisy @feet-achy @bubblecookies16 @thesapphiredragon13 @justwannabecat @magicalcollecter @adeniumdream @amuseofminds @lupagrim @readerkayden @dr-syko-pharm-4 @ladythugs @angelheartgamer @markthespot68 @kyrianclawraith @michikoy-yuki @servasvictoria02 @your-emo-nightmare @vala-dreams @scarlett-green-rose @t1dwarrior-of-earth @charlie-the-frogie @akikoyuii @mysticalcomputerdetective @roseuniverse999 @im-totally-not-an-alien @thefearfullone @weird-droplet-309 @jaytriesstuff @raventao @jacquelynwinchester @dragongoblet @tlise21 @longlivethefallen @the-archer-goddess @temple-of-jalebi @adepresseddwightsblogofjunk @plainly-colorful @the-legalHe-shipper @49saltpeppershakers @igotafewbadideas @tumbling-darkling @sparklygardenbouquet @sarcastic-yami @blueneko9314 @starscreamlover @liedboutmurder @do3y @roze-realm @some-mildly-happy-human @yinari-uchiha @azuera @chaoticmistake @altairsarts @kawaiikenna @heartsong18 @thetoyboxs @tricksovertreats @mnemovoid @lim4b3ans @horribly-lost-and-gay @keimiwolf @dryeraseslime @joey394

[thehotelpod]

ONE MORE WEEK OF DOUBLE STUFF OCTOBER LETS DO SEASON 5 OF IZZY'S EPISODE ART

5.1 Merp and Burble

Our first Big Named Event arc! "BEHIND THE CURTAIN" which I'm almost certain I picked because we could do this cool ass curtain frame device. Izzy continues to bring the pain here with photo bashed curtains, a modified Madam Hotel horrifyingly cartooning about like bugs bunny to reveal our almost Trevor Henderson-like trail cam timelapse photo of Merp. He also gave me a number of color options on this one, maybe we'll have a section in The Guestbook Vol. II of bts sketches? I'll ask Izzy. This one holds a special place in my heart because Merp is, as devotees will recall, just Scary Slar.

rest of the season under the cut! (it's long, you've been warned)

5.2 It Watches and It Smiles

look! The curtain connects at the top! It's gonna be one long picture!

This monster was actually based on a 3 foot tall hard foam statue we had in our house growing up. It is actually scarier looking than you are imagining, made every one of my cousins cry, and is not only something I had nightmares about but also one of the main reasons so much of my horror is "something weird is Over There but looking at you". Full disclosure, one of the reasons I put this monster in this episode was so that Izzy would have to draw a postcard of it and maybe someone would recognize it and tell me what the hell it is because I have not so much as a single photograph of it. BUT then Izzy showed me this drawing, which almost completely hides the monster but it's just so so good I couldn't pass it up. The implied shape and DYNAMITE bloody palm fronds make this look so much like a 90s book cover I fell in love right away. We always try to keep those season and episode numbers in the postcards now too, but I think we forget sometimes?

5.2 Nothing Can Kill That Which Glowers

LOOK AT THIS ONE. Madam Hotel rotting in the reflection of the bubble (she was supposed to show up more in those episodes and sort of be in the process of rotting but she ended up being a single light instead.), I'm crazy about the Owner here, Izzy loves to always keep a little monster in the mix when he draws the Staff. And miss Manager POPS like an 80s music video. Lot's of subtle layers and textures here that can get overlooked, but just like the lake the Owner sinks into, it deepens the longer you linger (did you find the episode number?)

I also like to remind everyone that 'That Which Glowers' is the Grimace and this episode title is a reference to the Clerks cartoon.

5.4 We Are...Watching You...

But are you really LOOKING at it? Do you SEE Izzy's MIND? Lined up you get back to back Managers mirroring each other as well as Madam Hotel in the wings of the now completed curtains--these doubles ALSO frame what is hopefully implied to be the Lobby Boy's hand reaching for his Manager. All of this duality and connection not only reinforces what we know about the characters and show already but set up beautifully the new mirrors about to arrive...

5.5 The Bellhop

THERE SHE IS! There's my goblin girl. You get the bloody vision of the Hotel as Hop sees it as well as the framing for a triptych of the New Crew, each on their own floor. The New Crew stands apart from the Staff in that they have canonical designs immediately, so there tends to be less variation on their fan designs. However there was like ONE WEEK or so before this episode dropped where people were drawing Hop ALL KINDS OF ways. She's one of my favorite designs Izzy's done for the show and I think it's partially because she looks a little like ET.

5.6 The Concierge

Shut up. Shut UP. Look at those colors. Look at that face. Look at those shoulders. Look at those colors! THE COLORS DUKE! THE COLORS!!!! and those printing spots breaking up the lines, all layered over starlight?! It should be, at this point, very hard for Izzy to outdo himself but...he just keeps on outdoing it. We jump down a floor here and the Concierge has slightly more brick surrounding him than the Bellhop did so my pattern recognizers in the crowd can probably guess what's coming next--

5.6 The Auditor

It's been pointed out that Aud has gotten the most detailed description of the main characters on the show. I try to always keep it vague so everyone can imagine whatever they like , but the Auditor is so weird I just wanted to play a little. I saw this scary looking, lonely monster begging to be seen in all white surrounded by nothing. Even the brick and mortar of the Hotel doesn't seem to want to be around her much. One thing I love about Izzy's work is how well he combines whimsy and fun with actual scary imagery. She looks really scary. That is a scary looking monster he drew.

I also think she kind of looks like this alien from Star Trek IV (hey look Star Trek showed up)

5.9 Tenaj Druh - 004 Moor

Oh how I wish I could have a full set of New Crew postcards from Izzy seeing season 1 from a different perspective (for that matter I'd love a full set of season 1 from Izzy, but one thing at a time). Getting to not only see Janet Hurd, but see the NEW CREW checking her in is so so exciting. And the Manager's TV's re-imagined as giant bloody eyeballs is expressed to it's grossest perfection here. Even the Goosebumps frame is tinted sickly green. (the rest of the season also has Goosebumps frames but I'm trying to show off Izzy's art I want you all to have a good look)

5.10 Tnurb Yrrah - 002 Moor

this one's bonkers. The Hubble's ultra deep field on the left, brains on the right but both halves of one face with the broken illusion between them that is just the building of the Hotel herself?? It's got poster folds and teeth for doors! This is a really stunning one that I feel like deserves a little more attention than it gets. Also maybe I spoke too soon on the Goosebumps frame, I don't...this one doesn't have one but maybe I just saved that file somewhere weird.

5.11 IT'S NEW YEARS EVE, JUDY BLASHY!

This is i think the first one we did that had a Goosebumps frame baked in. You can see the 5 and 11 on the clock give us our season and episode number, but that gets a little lost on the printed version so here it is in all it's glory. Love to get to see Judy here her FACE is so EXPRESSIVE and sharp. Notice how Izzy does NOT draw her with a gap tooth. Is that gap battle damage, or some aesthetic flourish the Hotel likes for her bodies? You'd have to ask Izzy. Also love getting to see him draw the things in her furnace room, which are like huge and imply a much larger elevator inside the box. Always reinforcing that boundaries and rules do not apply at the Hotel

they are also based on the family from Mac and Me

what the fuuuck?? why are they so scary??? why are they like that?? why did they make this movie this way?? I was a child!

5.12 The Reaper's Envy

Finishing up the season is this gorgeous party poster that would be right at home in the 90s. Other than the colors (THE COLOR!) I want to point out the confetti that breaks out of the border that also quietly includes some vermin (all up top, letting your eye drift down to the New Crew being reflected in what hopefully everyone assumed was Judy Blashy's eye. Of course we know now who's eye that is and what it's connected to (nothing its nothing it got cut out)

And that's season 5. Now we have entered the @filthyguts desert and must wait once again for the rains to return. I've got new ideas for season 6 that are gonna completely change how we do the art for the show and maybe we can even squeeze some button designs out of him when we launch the next wave of stuff we're launching.

I've said it before and I'll say it again and again and 100 more times, but Izzy's art is a hugely important part of the show, a source of inspiration not only to the fans who listen but to me myself (especially in my lower moments) and I am so so happy that his art and his style has come to define the show.

[phoenixyfriend]

Slaves of the Senate AU

Do you ever come up with a premise for a Star Wars fic that is just so fucked up--

Okay so if you've ever read the Bleach fic New Order, it's a little bit inspired by that, but also by Jedi Indentured AU, Boundless, and a couple of others. Warnings will be just under the cut and in the tags, so please scroll past if you're not in the mood for That Stuff.

This is not a happy AU and will contain the usually Ugly things from the Indentured AU and similar, namely slavery with sexual elements. From this point forward there will be a lot of references to noncon, dubcon, pregnancy, torture, and so on.

Pre-RotS notes: Ahsoka is still a Jedi, and derailing RotS involved her still being there (keeps Anakin a fraction more stable), and Ventress having been captured at some point shortly before.

Setting start: RotS goes differently, in part because O66 doesn't get kicked into gear. Anakin doesn't Fall, and not all the Council members die, so Palpatine has the clones enact a different brain chip order: taking all the Jedi captive as traitors to the Republic to await an appropriate sentencing from the Senate.

Between Palpatine's emergency powers, anti-Jedi sentiment (enabled by the fact that Even The Clones have turned against them), and the breakdown of democracy, Palpatine does get to be Emperor, and he unilaterally decides on a punishment for the Jedi: Force-Nullifying cuffs on everyone over the age of one, and direct service to the Senate, under clone guard.

(This is actually better than the initial suggestions; Padme and Bail and the rest of their cohort managed to ensure the clone guard element; it's not there to protect Senators from the Jedi, but to protect Jedi from the Senators.) (The clones are still, by and large, under active chip control.)

Any given adult or teen Jedi is 'matched' to a planetary delegation. The Jedi are then 'given the freedom' to decide where to send the Initiates and Crechelings, since there are so many more kids than there are adults, what with the war killing off so many of them.

Palpatine has a goal with all this: putting the Jedi in this situation increases the general suffering a lot (so, yay, more Dark Side Energy for him), but also it gives him a way to directly impact Anakin.

Palpatine claims Anakin, Ventress, and Mace Windu to his own offices as his new Jedi Criminal Support or whatever they choose to call them. No younglings, just these three incredibly dangerous and important people that he can show off as having both won the war and subdued the Jedi uprising.

I think he maybe does a Dark Side thing to anyone who found out he was a Sith, to force them to keep their mouths shut. That way, some of RotS could still happen, leading to less "uhhhh let's figure out some plot? how did this even happen?"

The Senate is given leave to squabble amongst themselves to 'claim' Jedi. For his own entertainment, Palpatine 'suggests' that the Jedi are paired up to planets or senators they already have connections with, if possible. It's seen by the public as a kindness, to let Bail pull Obi-Wan, for Padme to claim Ahsoka, and so on.

It's meant to put them with friendly faces that can help 'rehabilitate' the Jedi to being law-abiding citizens who support the glorious new Empire and all that. Palpatine's handling of the Jedi and the Senate, even after declaring himself Emperor, was always at least partly a matter of balancing public perception.

I didn't really decide on who goes where elsewise, except that Yoda either ended up escaping and is biding his time, or he's with the Wookiees, and most people ended up at with the delegation of their planet of origin, when the numbers worked out. They are also generally guarded by clones they know. The clones don't necessarily act like the people they knew, but most Jedi do not know about the chips, so...

In public, the Jedi just look like. Servants/slaves. They're the latter, but they're all criminals, so does it really count? Look, they were even allowed to keep their children!

(Yes, it would count as slavery even if they were actually traitors.)

In the Senate Dome, Palpatine makes a habit of having Anakin and Ventress kneeling at either side of his throne, wearing a fancy gold collar and fancy gold cuffs that link behind their backs. This is very much a show of wealth and power, ostensibly. (In reality, it's less about showing off his power and more about humiliating these two.)

Some of the Senators do bring the older Jedi with them to the Rotunda. Some do it to be cruel (look how far you've fallen, look how futile it is, look at your fellows chained and tortured), and some do it to be helpful (Bail is hoping for Obi-Wan to pay attention and act as a sounding board to him to help reverse all of this)

Palpatine very rarely allows any clones to be active without their chip to tell them the Jedi are bad. When he does, it's temporary and very much meant to make everyone feel worse about the situation in general. He taunts them all with forcing the active-chipped to do things while the inactive watch in horror and helplessness.

In other areas, the clone guards on the Jedi are generally preventing the Jedi from being sexually assaulted by the less scrupulous Senators... usually. If Palpatine has decided a Jedi is causing too much trouble, or a Senator is worthy of a reward under the table, he can make sure the clones are looking away. (He can even have them do the deed, if the Senators aren't on his side. Nothing quite like the Emperor telling one of your best friends to rape you and then your best friend having to do it, right?)

Rex is actually chip-free, and slowly working to dechip some of his brothers, but that's a very, very small number and the spread is slow. He's been allowed to work under the Naboo delegation to guard Ahsoka. This is, again, meant to be a false kindness, and nobody can figure out what the catch is.

Padme has twin infants in her rooms, and Ahsoka's actual usual day-to-day is keeping an eye on Luke and Leia, and riding herd on a bunch of Initiates who are almost old enough to actually understand what's going on.

It's a very tense situation overall, but the actual horrors are, for the most part (so far), happening up in Palpatine's offices.

He knows that Anakin no longer trusts him, and is actually coming quite close to hating him, and so he doesn't try to pretend he's kind. He has Mace, but mostly just forces him to stand around and watch what's actually going on, which is usually... commanding Anakin and Ventress to have sex, and then shocking them with the collars or threatening Anakin's loved ones if they refuse.

He doesn't stay around to watch--it's not of any interest to him--but he does command chipped clones to ensure the two complete the deed, and that Mace watches from the wall without interfering.

(Mace does not want to watch, but even if he closes his eyes, he can hear, and he's the one that gets to apply bacta or cleanup when the incident is over.)

The three of them are not provided any contact with other Jedi, so nobody really knows what's going on with the three of them other than that Mace is never seen, and the younger two look deader in the eyes with every passing day.

(They're trophies, and at least a few Jedi are trying to make plans for Anakin having a far more complex relationship with this situation than most of them, on account of both his history with this trauma and his connection to the man who ushered it in.)

At one point, Palpatine decides to introduce a new element on a random schedule, which is Alpha-17 and the order to "visit some revenge upon the wretch who tortured you with Kenobi, won't you? There is what you may recognize as a 'breeding bench' in the next room, should you want it."

Alpha-17, for the record, does not want to do that. Alpha-17 does not have a choice.

Even without a chip in his own brain, there are brothers here, and Palpatine threatening to kill Fox if Alpha doesn't take him up on the offer to violate Ventress kind of makes the decision for him.

(So does Ventress catching his eyes and giving him the subtlest nod she can, because they're ALL fucked right now, and there are only so many ways to please Palpatine enough for the tortures to remain at a minimum.)

Palpatine is having a lot of fun finding out how close he can push Anakin to Falling like this.

At one point, a reporter of some shade catches Ahsoka in an off moment and asks if she's had any contact with the disgraced Skywalker. She says that no, she hasn't, and nobody else has, either. "Weren't you civvies all really upset about the whole 'child-stealing' rumor, by the way? Wasn't that a big part of the reason you were angry at the Jedi? Skyguy hasn't even gotten to meet his babies because of the Emperor's punishment. Why should his family be getting torn apart when that's one of those things you guys are always mad about in the first place?"

This hits the media trail and does rounds, but doesn't really have an effect.

Anakin isn't aware of it, of course, because his life is currently hell.

He and Ventress have been bonding over a lot of things, like how they were both slaves from a young age until a Jedi freed them, and the more recent bullshit, which they share with Mace (and sometimes Alpha). Ventress's wartime crimes are still a major horror for all three of the Rep-side guys, sure, but it's kind of fallen by the wayside considering everything going on in the moment.

The Senators who aren't pro-Jedi are getting more and more bold, and Palpatine is letting them push what few boundaries were set at the start. They are dressing up their Jedi in more revealing costumes, having them kneel at their feet in the pods or in the center of their offices. Many of the more attractive Jedi are put in next to nothing and made to serve drinks in a way that, to those in the know, is not dissimilar to a Hutt's court. They are asked to dance, or pose and hold as decoration, or to lay by the Senator's feet and suffer their affections like a pet.

(Senator Taa has not yet had his way with Aayla, but she hates him for how she is sat by his feet so he can caress her lekku and call her a good girl.) (She is finding it ever harder to convince herself that it is wrong to kill an unarmed sentient.) (Most of the Jedi are.)

In some cases, when there is an awareness of who a Jedi might consent to sex with--often a clone or a fellow Jedi that there have been rumors about--those Senators will arrange a show. Sure, the clones are meant to keep them from assaulting the Jedi, but there's nothing in those patchy rules the Emperor gave them about watching a Jedi get railed by her clone commander, right?

(Bly wishes it could have happened differently.)

After all, the Emperor always invites his favorite Senators to come up for drinks when Ventress and Skywalker are putting on a show, gagged and bound and blindfolded. Clearly, it's fine to watch. Sometimes, the Emperor even makes sure the two are in ever so humiliating outfits. It's almost cute!

(Sometimes, it's not the favorite Senators that are invited, but the ones that are the most horrified. Padme isn't, because he's still playing at keeping her and Anakin apart. )

(Bail is, because someone needs to ensure Obi-Wan knows what's going on, and Palpatine can almost taste how delicious his horror at his padawan's suffering will be, when the Senator of Alderaan reports back.)

Sometimes, Fox or Thire or whoever is on guard that day is asked to enact some humiliation, such as cuffing them up and waxing them bare, or binding them in some mutual predicament bondage where neither can escape, an act that is humiliating but not directly sexual so much as enabling the furtherment of Palpatine's enjoyment of the 'show couple' that he's made... and then the clone commander has their gun confiscated and their chip deactivated, and they are left in the room with the full weight of their actions and no weapons to even attempt a revenge on the man who's doing this to them.

They are left to sit with that horror, desperately trying to apologize to Anakin and Mace and even Ventress, maybe, and just when they start to bring themselves back together, the chip is reactivated.

(It happens repeatedly. Sheev thinks it's funny, after all.)

Then, because Palpatine wants to dig all these knives deeper, because incremental increases to the psychological torture truly do give him joy, Ventress is confirmed pregnant.

(It's not like Palpatine ever shied away from nonconsensual body modification in canon, and removing some birth control is nothing compared to what he does to Vader.)

The news leaks, probably by way of clone, but maybe it doesn't, and people just don't know or even suspect until Ventress starts showing, or a non-human delegation with particularly sensitive noses can tell by scent. Bothan, maybe.

The baby is probably Anakin's. (It might be Alpha's.)

This sets off gossip and tabloids like none other, and then Padme demands custody.

The Emperor claims that the child's parents are both terrorists or traitors or felons or what have you? Fine. They can't have custody of any child until they are released? Okay. In that case, the newborn should go to the nearest living relative, and since the Empire--by way of inheriting laws from the Republic--still has a rule on the books and in precedent that prioritizes keeping siblings together whenever possible, one that has not yet been overturned, Ventress's child should be with Luke and Leia, as half-siblings. Padme, as Anakin's wife and mother of his children, is thus the nearest living individual with a right to claim them.

Palpatine lets that happen, because he has precisely zero interest in having a wailing newborn in his living or office space, and it's probably going to really fuck up Ventress to have her child taken away only minutes after it's born.

The media starts clamoring a bit and asking if, since they can't take Padme's children away, and Anakin should be with a Senate member anyway, why not just transfer his sentence to the Naboo delegation? And since Ventress is carrying his kid, presumably, shouldn't she go with him too? It's far more in line with galactic policy, right? You'd still have the Head of the Order, Emperor. That's quite the person to have as your own resident Jedi Criminal!

Palpatine decides to let it happen, for now. A touch of happiness in the moment will make the later horrors when they're ripped apart again so much harsher, when there's been a chance to build up some fragile bonds again, and even in the meantime, Anakin's marriage will be on the rocks from the (forced) infidelity, the new child, and the circle of horror that's going to happen whenever they talk about what they've been going through.

(And they can't even mention Palps is a Sith.)

The family is somewhat happily reunited. Padme pastes on a fake smile--she's trying REALLY hard, you guys--for Ventress, and asks if she's had any prenatal care, because Padme wasn't too great about that herself, and she wishes she'd tried harder to discretely see a doctor. Threepio knows how to make a variety of pregnancy-friendly foods, by the way, do you need a snack?

Padme has to put in a lot of effort to not be jealous of how close Anakin and Ventress are now, how well they know each other, compared to Anakin and Padme after their snatches of time here and there over the course of three years. It's patently ludicrous to be jealous of their situation, so she shoves it down deep and decides to deal with it later.

Anakin gets to hold Luke and Leia, at least. He cries. So does everyone else, especially Ahsoka.

(The Guard show up one day. They need to 'borrow' Anakin and the very pregnant Ventress for an event the Emperor is hosting. He'd like to display them, you see. All above-board, promise.)

(They are met by Alpha-17, and they all know the rest of the night is going to be nothing but bondage and unwanted sexual activity.)

(Anakin ends up fucking into Ventress while speared on Alpha's cock, and it's... he might have enjoyed it, in another situation. Here... no. Nothing.)

Their 'reward' for cooperating is that Alpha gets to move into Padme's apartments with them.

It's deeply awkward, for all the same reasons, except also because Rex was kind of in love with Anakin for the last bit of the war, Anakin who has now been fucked by Rex's big brother apparently, and that's not romantic but it is trauma and bonding through sexual horror, and also Rex refuses to make a move while Anakin is in this specific shape of hell and flinches from even his own wife, so what can he even do? The web of relationships with just the four people actually doing sex things is already complicated enough, he can't do anything about it.

Alternately, Rex isn't interested in Anakin but has been having his own horrible situation going on with the Emperor 'encouraging' Padme to put Ahsoka in her place with the help of Rex's dick, which is all kinds of weird and uncomfortable since they were sort of dating, but also not.

IDK where I'm going with this as a plot, other than the idea that some of the Jedi who escaped capture try to save their family after regrouping in the Outer Rim. It involves Cal and Merrin, mostly because I need Merrin and Ventress to somehow compound their powers the second the Force-nullification cuffs and collar come off.

Other option is that, between Rex's spreading of the chip removal and Ahsoka getting temporarily possessed by a magic owl from outer space, the revolution starts from 'inside the house,' so to speak.

[rivalkieran]

domestic life 1, 9, 12

pre-relationship 5

love 7, 9, 12, 13, 15

this is. a lot so Im putting it under a cut :P

domestic life:

When they move in together, who gets the most say in decorations? What do they each have to have in the house? I think theyd have like an equal say in the decorations. they dont really coordinate themes or color schemes for the rooms or anything like that I think they just get whatever they like which results in their apartment looking like an absolute mildly overstimulating patchwork mess. and they like it that way :) barring the obvious Battle Stuff both of them would like posters kieran maybe a little moreso (they diverge in like. the specific interests those posters reflect? florian has alot of game merch and kieran has band merch) and also I think florian would like collecting figurines and plushies and stuff. oh also I think kierans various masks he carves would be used as decor around the whole place :3

How do they celebrate holidays? dependssss on the holiday I think. for most holidays (a la xmas halloween new years) its probably more like a big friendgroup hangout session. I dont think either of them would really give a shit about valentines day. HOWEVER they would absolutely go all out for the festival of masks every year. they fly out to kitakami, kieran makes custom masks for them every year, they have a little picnic date night on oni mountain etc etc. yes both of them make jokes about that field trip. mostly kieran though LOL

Who likes to dance with, or sing for, the other? honestly I dont think either of them are very inclined to sing for eachother I dont see that happening. at most I think florian would threaten to burst out into song and kieran would go "dont do that." and thats the end of that bit. DANCING THOUGH... I can see that happening during the more mellow hours (blacklight has those? surprising I know) and it would be initiated by mostly florian aswell. overall shes probably the one that specifically references the swordfight more between the two of them. except it would be actual dancing for all of maybe 5 minutes if theyre being generous before it inevitably devolves into an elaborate game of tag

pre-relationship:

What would their lives be like if they had never met? alot worse! neither of them would get that push from eachother to break out of their shells and both of them would slowly rot inside of those shells having never gotten the chance to bloom into their own person leaving both of them as hollow husks of themselves :D also this would butterfly effect into the continuation of the protag/rival feedback loop so Everyone would be worse! fun!

love:

Who is better at comforting the other? How do they usually comfort each other? kieflos communication style is veryyyy. telepathy image. so I dont think their type of comfort would be like verbal atleast not in the traditionally 'comforting' way? kieran especially would Not like the traditional verbal comfort LOL. their brand of comfort is probably just providing a distraction of some kind or like just Being Around. no need for words. I wouldnt describe either of them as being 'better' at the comforting thing either... idk its hard to judge since theyre so Weird about it

What reminds them of each other? honestly it might be an easier question to ask what DOESNT remind them of eachother. like if theyre not in eachothers direct presence theyre probably still on eachothers minds to some degree so basically anything is fair game here. if I had to point out something specific though I think theyd go "oh theyd like this" alot at stuff that pertains to the others interests. like. kieran picks up a plushie from the arcade when he passes by bc florian likes them. florian picks up a cd of that new album from that band kierans been enjoying lately. etc. you get the idea

Who remembers the little things? both of them! its thematically important to both sides that they get to see Everything from eachother so both of them would hang on to every little detail about eachother <3 theyre so disgusting can we put them down please

How do they make up after an argument? Who is the first one to apologize? They Don't! kieflo toxic-to-everyone-except-themselves moments. they have a lot of arguments yes but its nearly almost always stupid shit that theyre arguing about for the thrill of the debate itself. theyll get passionate about anything if theyre pit against eachother. so like. no need for apologies. if the argument actually WAS something substantial, then... well for one theyre both too stubborn to apologize and also tbh I dont think either of them would Want to be apologized to? verbally atleast. ...ok well florian would enjoy getting apologized to but then she'd feel grosser about That than the actual argument but kieran would rather die. they work on like a karma system I feel like. instead of saying sorry they just have to repay the other through like a pokemon battle or something

What gifts do they typically give each other? actually I kinda already half answered this in the what reminds them of eachother question. their gifts to eachother are just stuff they know the other likes. its a very casual arrangement like 'oh they mentioned they wanted that' go in and buy it no biggie

[chibishortdeath]

General Simon brainrot sketch page :3, as per usual, explanations under a cut. Apologies if my posts tend to be kinda huge and difficult to scroll past, I try to do the cuts to make sure they do the least inconvenience to anyone! (>-< ;)

Just the whole page in full ft. My thumb lol

Expression practice! Simon is feeling the weight of his situation rn alas :(. I’ve always imagined him being panicked the whole game; the overarching entire game timer really gives a pretty good feeling of dread imo. The two doodles at the bottom were attempts at multiple ideas I’ve seen floating around about the curse, but they’re kinda bad in execution looking at them no tbh. But the first one is based on the idea that the curse gives some vampire traits like sharp teeth and would probably lead to proper vampirism if he were to die from it. The second was general attempt at like skull practice and comparing facial features to skull structure, but oh my god the page kept smudging and I tried making it look ok with some random blood on there but it just made it look even sillier 💀.

These next two are based on two random like liminal space images I ran into on Pinterest and I drew them mostly because I suck at backgrounds and idk Simon’s Quest itself is like Castlevania: Liminal Space Edition a lot of the time, so it fits X,,,,D. The first one I really liked the composition of the path on the far side contrasted to the trees. Imagine the water is the purple cursed swamp :3. Hopefully Simon has laurels just standin around in there.

This second liminal space for Simon to be in was this neat nighttime photo of a graveyard! Trees are HARD TO DRAW, especially just in pencil and a solid black background. There’s blood on the ground and stuff cause he was just fighting some monsters, probably those two headed lizard guys. It’s the awkward stillness after clearing out an area of enemies.

The pose for this one is based on the LOL~lots of laugh Miku figure lmao 💀💀💀

Simon is very fun to put in exaggerated poses! Especially cause you have to exaggerate them more to get the same ratio of pose to negative space because muscles and armor. I had no idea how to make metal belt armor thingies sit in a like legs up floating sort of pose like this so they kinda bend a little weird but eh he looks cute otherwise. The other doodles present are one that says “brainrot” which is kinda making fun of my own dedication to an NES character 💀 and also cause haha rot like the curse. Also, teeny tiny Simon with a heart!!! :3

Yippie! Simon posing again! I think the first pose was inspired by this like random old anime style angel figure??? Idk I think she was just an original character figure and the pose was pretty different, I just used the reference mostly for the arm position. Anyway, he’s vibin, just sitting curled up and momentarily comfy. Alas, the horrors persist in the second doodle that was an attempt at showing how the curse kinda deteriorates him but he just kinda ended up having a scarily snatched waist and it looks more stylized than like sick. Also the armor kinda bends around him in a way that makes it look like it shrunk with him which is so dumb lmaooooo (XwX). I’ll have to revisit the concept eventually idk, just look at his face for this one XD. Hahaha tiny doodle based on Larval Rin on the left there, nothing to see here—

The main doodle is just Simon looking into the distance bewildered and holding the whip, standard stuff. There’s also a side profile doodle and an attempt at drawing crying again cause I was getting kinda rusty at both of those things.

Simon Belmont but if he was 2000s anime lol. A fun little style experiment, I might keep this as like another secondary art style. There’s also some doodles of a hanged man skeleton, the eyes of Vlad, a skeleton hand, and a couple little chibi Simon’s of various expressions.

More 2000s anime Simon, but in a more silly way like the art style change for joke sections. One is him just goofily holding up Dracula’s head, but it’s contrasted immediately with a more gritty usual art style doodle of him with harsh shading lol. Get you a man who can do both I guess 💀

I gotta practice more on backgrounds and composition and stuff, probably also get some curse effects consistent augh. Lately I’ve been on and off working on random things or just staring into space tired, getting back to using social media is hard and an exhausting uphill battle unfortunately (_ _ ;). Sometimes I feel like I should probably split these up into multiple posts to make things more visible and to put more focus on specific drawings, but idk I don’t really want to, it just feels weird to me breaking up a doodle page like that, if that makes sense??? Eh idk.

[autumnalfallingleaves]

Could I ask for some Frilda fics recommendations? I'm brain rot over them since last friday night and I need more Frilda content! I would appreciate anything Frilda-related, really.

Also, do you know if there is any kind of Frilda fest or fic exchange or anything like that?

Thanks a lot in advance!!! :D

I don't know of any fests or exchanges sadly (though I would love to participate in some...) but here are some recs!

Put them under a cut to conserve space :P

Building a Better Cabinet of Curiosities by BlackEyedGirl-- Future Fic, Pre-Slash, finished

Summary:

Frida looks up from her cataloguing slowly, eyes taking in bright red boots all the way up to wild blue hair. Having Hilda descend upon you unexpectedly is just as startling at twenty-one as it was at eleven, and just as wonderful.

This one is very sweet, with 21-yo Hilda, Frida, and David. Hilda and Frida try and educate the residents of Trolberg on the actual history of spirits and trolls, not just what prejudice wrought.

-

The Trolberg Chat by SunsetCorvid-- Chatfic, unfinished

Summary:

Kaisa: well anyways Kaisa: which one of you checked out Homestuck from the library Hilda: WHAT Hilda: THERE'S HOMESTUCK IN THE LIBRARY??!?!!? Kaisa: yes Kaisa: sadly TW for: Homestuck references /j and some swearing.

Older characters, not exactly focused on Frilda but it's definitely there. The kids are around 14/15 and this fic is so fucking funny.

-

Puppy love is hard to ignore by mandaree1-- Short oneshot, finished

Summary:

Frida has questions about Familiars. Kaisa knows a confused gay child when she sees one.

Sweet little fic on how Frida is afraid of losing Hilda. Kaisa is a good older sister.

-

Mitten Memories by posm_24 (posm24)-- Oneshot, finished

Summary:

Posted on tumblr as @/swaggyotterz24  Johanna and Hilda have a chat about crushes.

Hilda asks Johanna about something that's been bothering her. Little Sketchbook at the end, as well. Cute little read :)

-

I have a bunch of Frilda stuff that I've written, too (I'm CascadingSilver on AO3) if you're interested in any of that (I do a lot of Troll Hilda stuff), and my sideblog @frilda-archive has a fic tag that I try to keep on top of! If you're interested in anything else, just let me know :)

[random-ln-stuff]

My thoughts and theories on the LN Podcast: Episodes 1 and 2:

Putting all this under a readmore because spoilers for Episode 1 and 2 of The Sounds Of Nightmares:

General Stuff.

The way people talk and the way things sound make me think that the story is talking place in the past, I’d date it to somewhere around the Late 40s or Early 50s, so that’s another point to Little Nightmares taking place in 1948 specifically.

This whole thing is very interesting. The world isn’t corrupted. Children and Adults don’t hate each other. Otto acts like a human being. The corrupted stuff is in Noone’s head, but I don’t think it’s all a dream.

I think the dreams Noone is having, showing the actual world of Little Nightmares, are either visions of another world, or are visions of something that’s going to happen. Either this non-corrupted world is a separate one from Little Nightmares’ world (which I will call Nowhere for now thanks to the Little Nightmares 3 Description) or my personal theory that I will be going with until it’s disproved: The Non-Corrupted world IS Nowhere, but before everything goes to hell. Noone’s dreams are prophetic.

My reasoning for the Prophecy Theory was started because of 3 things, and there’s more evidence to come in specific episodes.

Names for people and places follow a very similar pattern to in The Nowhere. The Place the story takes place in is simply called: The Counties, similar to places like The Nest, The Maw, or the Pale City. Otto (an Adult) is supposed to be referred to as “The Counsellor”, but doesn’t mind being called by his real name, and Noone (pronounced Noon) is mentioned to have chosen her own name, which is implied to be the origin of most child names.

In Little Nightmares, many of the dreams that children have are prophetic, showing events that will eventually happen or vaguely warning of future events. Six has a dream of the Lady the same day she encounters her, Mono dreams of the door before he ever starts seeing it and begins heading towards it, RK has a nightmare related to The Granny and RCG has a nightmare about barricading a shed door with something banging on the other side, which happens later exactly as she dreamt it.

The dreams Noone has are rather symbolic. The first episode is the better example of the two, but both aren’t really real locations in Nowhere. They’re symbolic representations of The Maw and Guests specifically.

Ep 1:

In this, Noone ends up inside a massive stone giant, and encounters the Ferryman for a brief moment. Like literally just the Ferryman. Fully described in the coat, hat and melted face and later referred to as the Ferryman (and the Candleman, a reference to the cut Wax Bellman from LN 1, who was initially cut from the game and then was remade Into The Ferryman and got put back in).

After that she goes deeper inside the giant to find a giant clockwork structure that keeps the giant alive and maskless shadow children working on it, keeping all the gears moving. After that she finds a starved, rotting man chained inside a bedroom and then she encounters A Tall Lady wearing chains with a face that’s been purposefully stretched out to remove any wrinkles or signs of age.

After that is more travelling before Noone and a Child she encounters in her dream find a courtyard where thousands of screams can be heard from other people, chained up and starved in their own rooms like the one Noone saw before. Then the Lady in Chains shows up again, kills the other kid and Noone wakes up.

Like I said before, this dream is heavily symbolic, but it’s obviously about the Maw and The Lady.

First off, the Ferryman is here. No symbolism, no speculation, he’s here and that immediately draws connections to the Lady.

Then there’s the Shadow Children, or the Workers, who I don’t actually think represent Shadow Kids found in the Maw. The workers represent Nomes, who keep the Maw (or in this case the Stone Giant) running. Despite being seen as antagonists, the Workers don’t actually do anything to Noone in the dream. They head towards her when she draws attention to herself, which scares her, but they never actually attempt to harm her. They just want a closer look at Noone in all of their appearances and they immediately back off once Noone’s dress tears and a piece gets stuck in the gears.

The Lady in Chains is very, very, VERY obviously the Lady. They’re a tall woman who is desperately trying to appear younger, stretching their skin to remove wrinkles. The chains that the Lady can seemingly manipulate may also represent her powers, and I’ll get into that in a moment.

Then there’s the chained man and the thousands of others just like them. They may represent Guests or something like that, but I think they represent something else: The souls of both Guests and Children alike that the lady has consumed after countless Maw Feasts.

My logic for this is that both the chained people and the Lady’s representation in the dream specifically involve chains. The Chained People are chained to walls in specific rooms, rotting and starving, and the Lady In Chains is constantly surrounded by chains, with chains literally coming off of her clothing and flowing underneath her dress. The Lady In Chains can also control those chains, manipulating them however she wants to and using them to ensnare a child, pulling them away to kill them. Now if the Lady In Chains is The Lady, then the Lady In Chains’ ability to control chains probably represent the Lady’s own ability to control her unique soul stealing shadow magic. And if chains in this dream represent the Lady’s Soul Stealing Magic, then it makes sense that the rotting, starving, tortured souls all chained up throughout the Giant in the dream are people that the Lady consumed. That’s what the Lady stealing your soul feels like. You are chained up by magic, starved and tortured by the Lady slowly breaking down your consumed soul until you no longer exist.

And the Lady In Chains has THOUSANDS of people chained up. Think about that in relation to the REAL Lady. Horrifying.

Also with the revelation that the Chained up people are souls that the Lady consumed and is slowly digesting/using up, you can make the claim that the Giant in the dream may ALSO be a representation of the Lady. After all, those people are chained up and imprisoned INSIDE the Giant, and Nomes may keep the Maw running, but by doing so they also keep the Lady running just as much.

Ep 2:

Here we hear a tiny bit about Otto’s beloved Cici (Sici? Sissi? It’s pronounced See-See), who could honestly be a lot of things right now. A lost lover, a lost child, a lost friend, a lost family member, but the important part right now is that Cici had similar dreams, or at least encountered the Ferryman in some them. Definitely going to be important later.

This dream is a lot more straightforward. Noone finds themselves in a town with another Child she’s never seen before named Jester. They wander for a short while before Noone sees the Ferryman again, exactly as he was before, and runs, separating from Jester in the process.

Also while in this town, Noone sees “Contraptions that resemble fish carrying large, extremely fat people wearing wooden masks and brown robes towards a Market and Bathhouse” (Seems familiar, right?)

When Noone enters the Bathhouse, she finds dozens of monstrous people washing themselves, and finds one of them using Jester to scrub themselves. When that monster sees her, it immediately forgoes cleaning and goes straight for her, chasing Noone until she accidentally brings a bottle of cleaning chemicals down onto both of them, killing them both and waking Noone up.

If it wasn’t immediately obvious, those are Guests. Extremely fat, Masked people wearing brown robes. The masks are wooden instead of whatever the hell actual Guest masks are made of, but everything else matches. Even the fish shaped contraptions moving the Guests towards the Market and Bathhouse make sense once you realize that the Bathhouse represents the Maw.

In this dream, Guests are brought to the Maw to feast, but some things are slightly off. Instead of food and gluttony, the Guests we see are obsessed with cleaning and cleanliness, but they’re still very clearly guests, endlessly heading towards a place that claims to be able to fulfill their endless needs.

Even their behaviour when seeing Noone matches with real Guests. When a Guest sees Noone it immediately forgets about cleaning itself or the child it’s carrying and goes straight for Noone, just like how real Guests always go for the freshest meat they can see, forgetting about the 5 star meal right in front of them when they can see meat that’s even fresher and harder to come by (a live child).

Prophecy Theory:

But then, why is everything slightly different and more symbolic than any other child dreams we see. Most of them are pretty straightforward? And what’s with the Ferryman? If these are all prophetic dreams, why does the Ferryman seem to be aware of it all?

Well, first I want to point something out.

In all Child Dreams in the games, the most powerful entities seem to have have some sort of awareness or control of some sort over the dream. In Six’s dream, the Lady turns towards her before she wakes up, seemingly aware that Six is looking in her direction, and when Mono dreams of the Door in LN2, the TV next to him turns on, possibly because either the Thin Man or Broadcaster (two separate, yet similar entities) was aware of what Mono was dreaming about.

Now with that in mind, The Ferryman IS as powerful as the North Wind, another extremely powerful entity, so it makes sense that in a prophetic dream, the Ferryman could be still aware of things.

As for why these dreams are so symbolic and hard to understand when most prophetic dreams are pictures and images of what’s to come, it’s because these events are VERY far away from happening. The Lady doesn’t appear as THE LADY despite possibly having awareness because The Lady doesn’t exist yet. The world hasn’t fallen under the influence of the Eye, and we KNOW that the Lady and the Maw only start everything they do AFTER things like the Signal Tower are built, which happens presumably AFTER or RIGHT AS the world goes to shit.

Noone’s dreams are all symbolic because her dreams don’t even know how to process or comprehend what’s coming. It can’t show the Lady or the Maw because Noone’s dreams can’t look that far and that accurately into the future, so they create the Lady In Chains, The Stone Giant, The Workers, and a dozen other representations of what’s coming because it can’t say for certain what things are going to look like. Only a rough guess at the eldritch horror that’s coming. Vague representations of The Lady and The Maw and the Nomes that keep it running. Somewhat accurate but still slightly off depictions of Guests heading towards the Maw in droves, etc.

But the thing is, the Ferryman is there. And the Ferryman is unchanged. And the Ferryman is aware that Noone is dreaming. That means that Noone’s prophetic child dreams are depicting the actual Ferryman.

And that means that the Ferryman actually exists somewhere out there in either Noone’s world or whatever dark corner of the universe that the Eye resides in.

We know next to nothing about the Ferryman besides the fact that he’s as powerful as the North Wind and chooses to work for the Lady (mean that the Lady is probably just as powerful). And now we know one more thing about him: He’s existed longer than any of the other monsters besides maybe the North Wind. Probably created by the Eye itself.

And keep in mind, in the actual games, There’s evidence that a world was here before us. Viewers couldn’t exactly have built the Pale City after all. And in those buildings, all over the place, you can find evidence that the Eye has been here for a VERY long time, it’s symbol found on many things from before the world presumably went to shit. The Eye has always been here, it’s just that relatively recently it went from “passive influence of various types” to “Plunge the world in chaos and darkness”. So the Eye definitely exists at the time that the podcast takes place, and so does the Ferryman and presumably the North Wind.

Also: The Ferryman has apparently been in ALL of Noone’s recent nightmares, and he wants her to “give in to this world”. Does he want Noone to give in so he can drag her further into it and probably claim her soul for the Eye, or does he want her to give in so he can escape THROUGH her, possibly bringing the Eye out along with him?

Anyways that’s my somewhat coherent rambling. Enjoy.

[p3rry-pi3]

Pin pooooost!

Updated: 11/11/2024 :3

I cannot believe I didn’t bother making a proper one sooner

Anyways, info under the cut cause this thing is long as heck, and I didn’t mean to make it that way.

Uh. I shall give a gold star to whoever reads the whole thing, but DO NOT SKIP the DNI part.

I also want to clarify that I have a section with Palestine content, I know people aren’t willing to always look under the cut to actually look for that kind of stuff (I’m saying this as, most people not generally, but sometimes I do the same thing, as shitty as our attention spans are, I think it’s still important that you check these posts out and reblog them. I have been DEATHLY terrified to reblog and post on this account but that shouldn’t stop anyone from at least reblogging this stuff seeing as this stuff is 1000x more important.)

I’ve copy linked posts where you can find: journalists to support and follow, how you can help Palestine donations or not, what you can do to prevent the voting for more weapons in Israel <- this could be outdated!!, and what to boycott.

Do not, and I mean DO NOT skip that part. I can’t control your actions but YOU can control YOUR OWN. I trust you to reblog, like, and share the posts I link.

Let me know if I should make this a separate post for you to reblog, but I hope this makes it GLARINGLY CLEAR on where I stand.

TW; teeth as header in the start and end :]

🪐🥞🪐🥞🪐🥞🪐🥞🪐🥞🪐

Main info

Hey! I’m Perry! Short for Peregrine :)!

I’m a minor (above 10+, I wanna keep this a 13+ space cause of the cussing and my interests in horror art and other scary games. You kind of have to be 13+ to be on here anyway.)

I’m pretty spiritual

I’m a 4w5 intp. Idk what this says about me to others but uhhhh yeah.

I study the Paranormal and psychology

I like making headcanons and theories :]

I genuinely enjoy character analyses and overall enjoy video essays on media like indie horror and video games

I love hardcore horror and gore arts of all sorts. So beware of some of that. Ofc I’ll put warnings, just lemme know if I missed something. I also cuss a lot on here! So beware of that :)!

It’s come to my attention people have been posting real life gore of stuff like hyenas and actual victims so…That’s not the gore I meant. Fictional gore; FICTIONAL!

I’m new to the tagging system even now, so figuring stuff out is hard, but I’m equipped with enough knowledge on it and will put warnings in tags and captions since I recently learned you can block tags. Which helps loads.

Please be patient with me!^^

I’m trans, transmasc, and genderfluid. My pronouns are he/him, ve/ver, and rot/rots

I’m also working on getting a career or two in film :)!

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Extra info

My favorite colors are purple, red, black, white, and neon pink.

I’m multifandom

Reblogs are much more appreciated but I’m grateful for likes.

I like mixed media.

Pls use tone tags :]

Please reblog artwork! Shitposts are fine for just likes. Text posts to.

I usually stick to canon ships because certain fandoms make it weird, but I haven’t seen anything in the main fandom I’m in, so I like to ship some.

I’m a multishipper. (Again, this applies to certain fandoms.)

I’m generally inactive here and there, but I like posting most of my fanart here when I can or remember I also post stuff on here.

I cuss on here so beware of that ig

I am half Samoan :]!!

I speak fluent English but I am learning some German.

I have social anxiety and anxiety so posts can sometimes be slower than usual since I’m almost always on my own toes. And because I have anxiety, if I’m being awkward, it’s nothing you did or said, I’m just like that in general.

I have horrible memory so if I post twice on the same day or hour it’s prolly because I forgot about it.

I reference lots of lemon demon and jack stauber.

I blame the jack stauber fanbase for my lemon demon obsession.

I’m the oldest of two brothers so you might hear about them here and there but rarely so.

I’m kind of an idiot, so please be patient if I ask you a third time to repeat what you said.

I have ADHD took a lot out of me to confirm I do. So posts may come later or at the same time due to this.

Biiiggggg undertale and fnaf nerd.

I’m an over analyzer who loves theories. Did you know I’m also an overthinker? (<- sarcasm.)

I don’t dream. I have nightmares instead. That’s where I get most of my OCs.

None of my stuff has age ratings unless it’s like tough topics to touch on or something horrifying.

I ramble lots and ramble even more in tags, so there’ll be lots of tags of just me rambling

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Free Palestine! 🇵🇸🍉

DO NOT SKIP THIS PART!!!!!!!!!

It’s a genocide not a war!!! Z//onists FUCK OFF!!!!!!

I tried to make little watermelon emoji borders so they wouldn’t be confusing, but idk lmk if the borders help section it

I will also continuously update it if needed, and I take constructive criticism if I need to change anything, and no, ‘the only criticism I have is the fact you support Palestine’, or something, isn’t valid criticism. I’ll block you, and it’s not even a funny thing to joke about.

Links I have so far (I wanna remind ppl that if you don’t like seeing your link here just lmk and I’ll take it down, I’m just tryna share the word and I’ll soon make a post on its own abt this cause I think it’d be really important to make a separate post on this)

🍉🍉🍉🍉🍉🍉🍉🍉🍉🍉🍉🍉

Help Heba!!!

https://gofund.me/7a794018

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(This one is sort of just based off someone else answering an ask but I wanted to copy link this one anyways since by the looks of it, they have a lot of pro-Palestine posts)

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How YOU can help Palestine.

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Palestinian journalists.

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No more weapons for isntreal, ceasefire now.

This could be outdated or time sensitive.

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What to boycott.

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Places you should go

My unvale

Instagram

https://www.instagram.com/ratt3nkonig__?igsh=NzA1NGpxYjZ1bGF2&utm_source=qr

Yapping account that won’t let me link for some reason

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Pfp creds:

https://pin.it/1Jt3pb5eS on Pinterest :3

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Tags I think u should check out on here!^^ /nf

Some doodles :) (doodles that are 9 times out of ten fandom related)

Bugsnax ramblings (I ramble about headcanons, theories, characters, in game stuff, etc.)

Mind rambles (theories, it’s a new tag I’m working on updating soon.)

Rambling about shit (shits and giggles at 3 AM)

Bugsnax shitpost (mother load of idiocy from yours truly)

Some doodles (not aware this existed prolly isn’t even from this blog, not used as much. At least I don’t think I dunno.)

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Hyperfixations

Bugsnax

Lemon demon

Jack stauber

Mother Mother

Indie horror art

Analog horror

ARGs

Minecraft

OCs

Spiderverse ITSV & ATSV

Franbow

Sallyface

Undertale

Undertale AUs

DHMIS

Mr. Plant (from Ashur Gharavi)

CoD MW2, Cold War Black ops (18+ content CoD blogs DNI)

Venom (Mostly the movies, but I also enjoy the comics.)

TF2/Team Fortress 2

Death Note (anime) (pray for me…)

Attack on Titan (anime) (I’m revisiting my anime phase, clearly…)

Gravity Falls (thanks, the book of bill)

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DNI!!!

LGBTphobes

Furry haters/anti-furrys

Proshippers/comshippers.

Ableists

MAP (not the art collab meaning, but the other meaning)

Anti-antis

Racists

Z00ph1les

Zi0nists

Anti-microlabels (it is extremely important to me that you understand this is something that’s part of me to a spiritual level. I will fight you.)

Stancest, and fontcest. I don’t care if you claim not to be a pro/comshipper and still ship these two. (Seriously. Why is this a thing.)

In terms of the fandoms Death Note and CoD, I’d like it if you’re not a 18+ CoD blog. I am a minor and since 18+ is unwelcoming to minors - pls do not interact. Mello x Near shippers are thin ice but it’s not like you can’t interact. They just make me uncomfortable when shipped together cause I view them as brothers more than anything and I see them as L’s little honorary brothers (or his kids as canon was originally gonna be) too. So any Meronia shippers are not unwelcomed but I am hesitant to accept any interaction from them. Matt and Mello shippers are fine. Same with Matt and Near.

If you’re anything of the above, please get off my page/blog.

I don’t have much of a DNI, just be respectful and mindful.

Might expand if needed.

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Did you read it?

Did you read the whole thing or at least the “DNI” parts?

Here’s a gold star, as promised: ⭐️

Alright. Go nuts. Be respectful.

[momo-t-daye]

Full text under the cut for folks who like to read on Tumblr instead of on Ao3!

I had hoped I'd be able to add annotations in hover text, but, alas, I am not sufficiently tech savvy. Oh well!

Sirius was bored.

Boredom bore down upon him, he was burdened with boredom, buried by boredom, bored of his boredom!

James, blast him, was busy with his paragon of virtue act helping Peter revise for the Charms O.W.L. before his scheduled detention with McGonagall (who, blast her too, had cruelly scheduled their detentions in shifts to spitefully deprive them of the comfort of camaraderie whilst they wrote dull moralistic lines about the appropriate uses for the owl post and why geese did not belong inside parcels). Peter, blast that chump twice over for good measure, was behaving like such a lump, fretting about the upcoming exams and moaning so piteously for James’ patient explanations that Sirius couldn’t lure either of them out of the library.

Ennui ate at him, until, at last, in dire desperation for James’ company, he deigned to trespass into the dusty bookshelf realm of the studious wretches.

Sirius poured himself over the books, dipped his toes into reference texts, sluiced into a study guide, and cascaded over old coursework.

“Sirius, mate, come on,” James sighed, struggling to roll Sirius out of the books and off the table.

“Are you really reviewing the elementary theories of balance and cost underlying spell duration and agonizing over switching spells and color changing charms?” Sirius demanded, irked at his failure to kick over Peter’s inkstand on his way down to the floor. “Peter, Peter, Petey-Pete, Petey-pie, please! This is all such kid stuff, why are you both fermenting indoors over this rot?”

Sirius’ tutors had tried to hammer anything and everything the O.W.L.s would cover into his skull before he’d experienced his eighth birthday. They knew what he would need to know; why, many of his former tutors would be administering the O.W.L.s!

Old Griselda Marchbanks used to make him eat a spoonful of honey with every lesson under some misapprehension that making him associate sweetness with studying would encourage a scholarly attitude. It was almost a pity that his appetites had always leaned more carnivorous and all her sweet bribes had quite failed to bind him to bookishness. Still, she could hardly give him anything less than an “Acceptable”; she couldn’t, she wouldn’t, it would reflect quite badly on her tutelage if her former pupil was anything less than “Acceptable”.

Peter looked to James for an opinion and a decision with the same pathetic fawning face Reggie wore whenever dear mother felt like putting thoughts and ideas into his empty little head. At least James had better thoughts and ideas and opinions that Walburga. At least Peter could, occasionally, come up with a spark of brilliance all by himself.

“Lay off,” James sighed, hauling Sirius off the floor. “We didn’t all have the opportunity to suffer through intense scholastic preparation from infancy until the Hogwarts invite arrived. Besides, a bit of a refresher and a review can’t hurt.” Peter’s face completely failed to hide his obnoxious gratitude with a hint of triumph that only managed to grate on Sirius’ nerves.

It wasn’t as though Peter was the first Pettigrew to qualify as a Pureblood, there were several generations of Pettigrews between Peter and any muggles. Perhaps Peter’s particular parental Pettigrews hadn’t sprung for the top-class tutors Sirius had been subjected to, but there were always plenty of freshly minted Hogwarts graduates of middling breeding who needed to establish themselves socially and would have been happy to play the role of tutor in exchange for room and board and proper introductions.

Remus would probably do well on the tutor circuit, particularly for History or Charms, even if Potions and the more odoriferous aspects of Herbology or Care of Magical Creatures were a bit too much of a headache for the old fellow. He’d probably enjoy tutoring more than introductions into adult society and the crowded gossipy parties that entailed. Remus could thrive as one of the top-class and full-time and high-demand tutors like old Griselda Marchbanks.

Of course, Remus’ furry little problem would, probably, make live-in arrangements, a typical perk for a prized tutor, a tad tricky.

Ugh. Remus.

Remus was still acting all aggrieved and churlish and curt. Even though it had been weeks and weeks and absolute weeks since that one little incident with Snape in the willow back in March. Even though shunning company from Padfoot and staying locked up in the Shack had left Remus looking all the worse for the wear after the last full moon. Even though he had agreed to help with their little owl post experiment earlier and was dutifully serving the first sentence. Even though Sirius had been exceedingly devoted to keeping Remus, and Dumbledore too, safe by sticking right inside the lines of Narcissa’s draconian new rules despite Snape offering up opportunity after opportunity to contravene her commandments.

Snape. Right.

As far as Sirius could gather, anyone sensible and sane would be grateful for Cissy’s unilaterally negotiated truce and stay safely ensconced beneath her watchful eye. But Snape had not gone about skulking around the dungeon depths nor did he stick to Narcissa’s side like a particularly unpleasant barnacle. Rather, Snape had taken to intruding on Sirius’ morning ablutions, sashaying up to the Gryffindor heights without an escort just to paint strange cosmetics across his face while his former tormentors were forced to watch without recourse or comment (it was a test, of course it was a test, because Snape never showed up to class with kohl dripping down his face or caked on his lips). There was definitely something deeply wrong with Snape, Sirius had sensed at least that much on their first Hogwarts Express ride. Nevertheless, the brazen audacity was astonishing.

“Look, Sirius, mate,” said James, “I’ve only got about ten minutes before I’m due to meet the tartan for my hour of toil. Can you let me help Pete with his color changing charms? He’s almost got it if you want to stick around and lend us a hand.”

Sirius groaned, a wordless and primeval distress at the horrendous chore of sitting around in the library for the sake of reviewing and overthinking the absolute basics. If Peter’s brain got any more mushy and muddled and overheated he’d start forgetting how to make his heart beat or his lungs breathe, and then what? Sirius wasn’t so sure James would still be down to hide a body.

“You could run some time trials if you’re bored,” Peter offered, clearly eager to avoid another round of Sirius condescendingly condense complex magical theory instead of providing practical preparation.

Sirius considered the suggestion. Peter, cowering under the intensity of Sirius’ riveted attention, began to babble. “Binns is on the patrol duty for tonight, right? And he’s so predictable and he wouldn’t notice if you ran right through him! And Dumbledore and Sluggy are at some Ministry thing with Professor Meadows, McGonagall and Flitwick are running detentions, and the squib is busy fixing the Cadogan canvas after the thing with his cat in the armor yesterday! So, thing is, no one is going to stop you from running in the halls, right? You, uh, you did say we needed to be confident in our timing so we could synchronize the fireworks next time Gryffindor wins, you did say a premature release would be mortifying, and, well, there’s less than a month until the big game against Slytherin…”

“You always come through with the gossip, don’t you, Peter?” Sirius beamed, trying to ignore how his little friend deflated in relief. “I think I might just run a few laps, get the blood pumping, good plan.” “Don’t have too much fun without me,” James said heartily, as though he feared Sirius might do something disastrous again. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Jamie,” Sirius vowed, more earnestly than was strictly appropriate between friends. “Toodle-oo!”

Sirius heard a routine “ta-ta” from James and a bright “pip pip” from Peter as he swanned out and started to sprint.

*

The leg from the Great Hall to the Gryffindor tower was, by dint of familiarity and muscle memory, the fastest. Sirius’ feet knew the pattern of the moving staircases and a running start made leaping the widening gaps much easier.

Sirius tapped his hand by the target window and spun on his heel to race back down the stairs while the portrait of the Fat Lady yelled at him for waking her up.

The route from the Great Hall to the Ravenclaw tower was trickier, if only because the blue and the bronze had all been infected with the habit of getting distracted and plonking down in middle of the hallway to read or debate or scribble some thought down. Still, if they were planning to set off fireworks, Ravenclaw’s roost was a better launch site than the owlery even with the shifting obstacle course of distracted scholars. Owls had all sorts of distasteful responses to unwelcome disturbances and could hold grudges better than any Ravenclaw. No one wanted that sort of trouble in their breakfast.

Sirius vaulted over a startled seventh year who was attempting to absorb his textbooks face first via osmosis and knocked over a little blond firstie.

“Don’t you know who I am?” The tiny twit squeaked out in fury as Sirius galloped on.

“Don’t know, don’t care, Lockhart!” Sirius shouted back, tagging the planned launching pad and spinning around. He even managed to knock the squawking Gilderoy back on his bum on the way down the stairs again.

It was the little things in life.

His legs were burning by the time he made it up the North Tower, lonely without the enthusiastic company of Sir Cadogan racing through the portraits on the walls. Hopefully Filch would finish fixing the shredded sections of canvas sooner rather than later.

One more tower, Sirius told himself when he made it back down to the Great Hall for a third time. Maybe he shouldn’t have left the Astronomy Tower to the last, but he didn’t have a Time Turner so there wasn’t much point in regrets. He had at least forty minutes before he had to report to McGonagall, but Sirius found stopping always made it harder to get started again. Besides, the run was doing him good, lifting his mood even as his calves complained. So, with momentum on his side he spun around yet again and charged up the tallest tower.

Perhaps if he hadn’t been so driven to conquer the final tower, he wouldn’t have been so heedless and grateful to gravity on his way back down. Perhaps.

As he sailed down the spiraling stairs and swung around the corner, Sirius collided with a pile of elbows and knees and charts and a telescope.

With reflexes honed by years of James practicing his Quaffle passes in the dorm, Sirius caught the tumbling telescope with his right hand while his left hand reached out and captured the other student by the robes before they could topple backwards to break their neck. It was quite the athletic feat for such a narrow stair and, for a brief untroubled second, he rather hoped his collision companion might recognize and congratulate him on his impressive talents.

Severus Snape, notes and charts and almanacs scattered, was clinging to Sirius’ left arm like a cat dangling above a bathwater perdition. Sirius froze. Snape had the sort of fearful expression that had almost stopped being familiar after a month of mornings spent watching the git primp and preen and pout at the mirror.

“Hullo to you and good evening,” Sirius said, hauling Snape safely upright onto the step.

Snape stared.

“Your telescope, I presume?” Sirius asked, pressing the instrument towards Snape. He wasn’t going to disappoint James, he wasn’t going to break Narcissa’s prohibitions on pranking, he hadn’t done anything to Snape in the last three dozen days despite the ceaseless rounds of temptation offered as reliably as the dawn.

Snape stared. Rather like a deer, transfixed by an oncoming disaster.

“Fancy running into you up here,” Sirius added, feeling a tad desperate. “This is a bit outside your normal range, isn’t it?” He’d watched Snape on the map often enough, waiting for those rare moments when the target strayed from the flock, and he’d never spotted Snape’s dot make the trek up to the Astronomy Tower outside of class. Everyone knew that anyone sneaking up to the Astronomy Tower really meant to get a good bit of snogging in and no one harboring hopes of hanky-panky could possibly be bothered to lug a telescope up to their trysting; such a smokescreen would just be silly.

Besides, who would want to snog Snape? His nose would probably get in the way of amorous intent and his thin lips were generally chapped and gnawed on and there was unattended acne on his chin.

Besides, who would Snape want to snog? He had to be some sort of ascetic, there wasn’t the slightest smokey whiff of unseemliness or impropriety around Snape with either Evans or Cissy. No one with eyes and a pulse could be quite that oblivious, and he spent more than enough time around the girls for any sparks to catch.

Snape continued to stare.

“Doing a spot of stargazing are you?” Sirius attempted, wincing at the edge of manic cheer creeping into his voice. If only the blighter would take his telescope already!

“Lovely night for it, marvelous sunset over the Quidditch pitch just now and the moon won’t be up for hours!”

Really, it was amazing how incredibly annoying Snape could be without speaking a word. He just stood there, staring, listening, forcing Sirius to fill up the crushing silence with frenetic blathering.

“Your telescope, here, yes, thank you.” Thank goodness.

“Why don’t I lend you a hand, help you get your books up the tower? Would you like that, Snape?”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Snape demanded, finally, as soon as Sirius knelt to graciously gather the fallen notes.

Sirius considered the question. Sirius considered Snape. Snape was hardly a simpleton, but he could leap to conclusions like a rubber frog with springs on. With the way his scrawny body seemed to be trying to meld arse first into the stone wall, he had probably hopped his head right into some dire soup. His shoes were scuffed, clearly second-hand, and his green stockings had been mended rather clumsily (Cissy really ought to buy her little pet project some new stockings).

“I am collecting your notes and books,” Sirius said. The loose parchments were worn thin and covered with the ghostly stains of older essays. Snape, driven by thrift or some magpie impulse, had probably fished discarded assignments out of the rubbish and scrapped the old ink off the salvaged skins.

“So you can toss my things off the tower and laugh when I go outside to find them while you lock the Great Hall door behind me?”

That was the most iniquitous of accusations! Sirius hadn’t tossed Snape’s books or notes or bag or other belongings over any balconies or down any stairs or into the lake since probably October. Sirius hadn’t locked Snape in or out of anything or anywhere since early February. Sirius had been a perfect little penitent over the past five weeks, Sirius had even been polite to Snape since his little talk with Cissy after that small snafu under the willow and whatnot.

Sirius had—

Sirius had not been left alone with Severus Snape since— Since he’d cornered Snape behind the greenhouses. Since he’d asked about that ridiculous new hex Snape had pulled off; the one that had made such a mess of Peter’s toenails, and had guessed, correctly, that Snape had managed to reverse engineer the Rapunzel curse. Since he’d praised Snape’s ingenuity and asked to see the hex again, offered himself as a target, insisted he wanted the challenge of unravelling Snape’s brilliant upgrade to a classic curse rather than free instruction. Since he’d convinced Snape, flustered and flattered stupid and so pathetically starved for praise, to meet him somewhere they wouldn’t be interrupted. Since he’d hinted he might be amenable to sharing a few of the more esoteric jinxes his family had collected, or, perhaps, other knowledge Snape might find of interest. Since he’d explained how Snape could get into the Whomping Willow, suggested meeting at the far end of the tunnel an hour or so after sunset.

After all, there would be plenty of moonlight to see by.

They had never intentionally spent much time alone together before. There was the occasional double-detention, the incidental crossing of paths around the toilets, the sporadic hit-and-run jinxes when James was busy with Quidditch practice and the other two were too lazy to help hunt down Snape, a few minutes here and there while they waited for Narcissa. Snape and Evans were generally joined at the hip and Sirius preferred the company of his friends.

Every morning Snape had pranced up into Gryffindor territory to scribble on his face, James or Remus or Peter had been there too. Sirius had thought Snape irrational, intentionally seeking to put himself in situations where he would be outnumbered. Maybe he’d really expected James or Remus or Peter to act as witnesses, to intervene if the goading and provocation became too severe for Sirius. Stupid. Probably right too.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Sirius said. Snape’s expression slipped from frozen fear and Sirius braced for offended outrage, yapping machismo, some tedious “I’d like to see you try”-flavored bravado.

“Why?”

Snape’s voice had gone crashing down out of the childish soprano over the last year, sinking steadily into something decadent deep and hypnotic dark. But the tiny question, the baffled word, came out in the voice of the titchy kid with the funny accent on the first train ride.

“Cissy said not to.” That was the safe answer. That was the easy answer. Narcissa would be delighted to claim every credit and accolade for Sirius’ noble behavior and self-restraint. “We’re not enemies. Can’t be. Not anymore. Because Cissy said so.”

“Oh. Just that easy for you, is it?” Snape sounded so bitter and brittle.

No. “Naturally,” Sirius lied breezily. “Now, do you want a hand lugging all this up the tower or are you going to pretend you’re on the way to meet someone else and send me away so I won’t ruin your rendezvous?”

“Lily went to bed,” Snape said, as though Lily Evans was the only possible person he’d consider meeting up with. “She stayed up too late working on her Charms project yesterday.” “—and you’re such a swot you’ve got to go review the stars?” Sirius suggested, schlepping Snape’s stack of study notes up the stairs.

“It hasn’t exactly been…” Snape hesitated, a fascinating little furrow between his eyebrows trying to unearth the right emotion, the exact words. “…safe. For me. To wander around alone. Or study in isolated locations. Especially at night.” That was definitely a dig at Sirius, at the Marauders. “I thought, perhaps now, I could devote some time to preparing for the Astronomy practical.” “Of course you’re safe,” Sirius said. “Seems a bit silly, though, to worry about Astronomy out of all your courses. The stars haven’t changed their paths or patterns. I know old Lulu Malfoy and darling Cissy like to act as though they plucked you out of some miserable muggle gutter, but even so, you should’ve been able to look up at the stars from down there.” Sirius couldn’t imagine how anyone could get less than an “Acceptable” in Astronomy but Snape was squinting at him as though he’d mangled some profound parable into terrible parody.

“Cokeworth’s got plenty of gutters,” Snape said slowly, “but the industrial pollution is a bit much for the stars to get through.”

Sirius had never seen a night sky without stars. The stars would always shine on the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Even at Grimmauld Place, besieged by an ever-growing ever-glowing muggle-London, the night sky stayed clear and dark whenever Sirius went out to look.

“Are you telling me you don’t know your stars?”

That made Snape bristle.

“I have studied the textbooks and I am thoroughly acquainted with the current celestial reference almanac and I read a lot about space as a kid,” Snape snapped, as though ‘space’ had something to do with ‘stars’. “I just need to get some practical experience with the telescope before the O.W.L.s.”

“I’ll help you,” said Sirius, before he could say something that might offend Snape enough to displease Narcissa, before he could say something that might encourage Snape to tell that utterly implausible story about muggles walking to the moon, the actual moon in the sky, yet again. “I’ve got an hour of lines with McGonagall at nine, but I can give you a few pointers before then and you can check your charts to see I don’t lead you astray.”

Severus Snape had such tar pit eyes. The gaze was dark and inexplicably sticky as he studied Sirius. There was no escape from that sort of stare.

“You’re offering to help me because,” Snape said, “…we aren’t enemies anymore?”

“That’s right,” Sirius agreed. “I can think of worse reasons to help someone, can’t you?” Snape considered his shoes, silently trailing Sirius onto the open tower roof.

“Since we aren’t enemies,” Snape’s voice was deliberate, careful, pondering the possibilities of the strange new world he’d stumbled into. “Then, yes, I should warn you.”

Oh, spectacular. That wasn’t ominous at all.

“Warn me about what, Snape?” Snape didn’t have his wand out, so he probably wasn’t going to try to fling Sirius off the tower. He seemed too preoccupied with the loose connection between his second-hand telescope and the wobbly stand to be plotting an attack.

“Jorkins, in your house, she’s a seventh year, I think?” Snape fumbled with the telescope as two of the tripod legs collapsed inward.

“What, busybody Bertha? She’s a nuisance, but she’s pretty harmless.”

“She wanted to give you a love potion,” Snape proclaimed. “So, you should be careful.”

Sirius relaxed. He could have laughed.

A love potion?

For all Snape’s dire tone, the little git was issuing a warning about something as paltry and banal as some barmy girl fantasizing about slipping him a love potion again.

Sirius should probably give Peter a heads up. Dimwits like Bertha Jorkins saw Petey’s angelic baby face and assumed they could use him as an innocent little dupe to get to Sirius or James. Peter appreciated any forewarnings, it gave him time to calculate the price he could extract from the assorted aspirants in exchange for delivering spiked chocolates to the intended victim. He could probably get a few galleons off Jorkins, and it was hardly her business if the laced candies went right into the rubbish once delivered.

“Well,” Sirius said cheerily, “I suppose if you did her brewing, I won’t have to choke down another bezor to survive!” There had been a dicey few weeks at the start of the school year, after Slughorn introduced the idea of Amortentia to his sixth years and they all started thinking about love potions. Bezors were disgusting.

“I didn’t���!” Snape spluttered, “I— I wouldn’t! I don’t. I don’t make love potions.”

“Really?” Sirius had been under the impression Snape would brew most anything for the right price.

“I don’t make those. Not for anyone, not for anything.” Snape sounded defensive, and he’d stopped trying to put his tripod together upside down. “People ask me to, because I’m good, you know, at Potions.” That was an understatement. “I’m good at Potions and everyone knows… knows I’m skint. But I don’t. I won’t. I don’t care if people want to take mind-altering substances for their own fun, but doing that to someone else, drugging them and messing with their mind for, you know, sex reasons and stuff, without their consent is, Lily says it’s evil, and she’s right. So, I don’t, we don’t, don’t do love potions.”

“That’s jolly decent of you,” said Sirius, plucking the tripod away from Snape’s inept assembly attempts.

“I told Narcissa,” Snape said to his empty hands. “So you probably don’t have much to worry about. She’s very efficient at handling this sort of thing.”

“You tell her about ‘this sort of thing’ very often then?” Sirius asked lightly.

“Yes. Usually once a month or so, since last year. Sometimes more.”

That was interesting. Pete tended to be flush with cash around Valentines, but his extra money tended to fizzle out outside of holidays and after Sluggy moved on from love potions.

“Narcissa is our friend. You’re her cousin. She cares about you.”

Narcissa cared about the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, she could recite the lineage back at least a thousand years before the Romans arrived (probably longer, but Sirius tended to doze off), and she dutifully accepted Sirius as part of the package deal and thought his marital prospects were entirely her business. That was all.

“It would upset her if someone did that sort of thing to you. So, when they ask me or Lily to brew that kind of potion, we tell Narcissa. And Narcissa handles everything before it can get messy.”

“Oh, yes, Cissy does hate anything messy,” Sirius agreed, annoyed as the telescope refused to lock into position for him. “But she doesn’t have to get Jorkins expelled or sabotage the ninny’s limited career options. I’ve had girls trying to dose me with that crap since second year. I’m not oblivious, I’ve got James and the others watching my back, and we know how to take matters into our own hands.”

There was a screw missing from the connector plate, that must be why Snape’s downright prehistoric telescope wouldn’t stop wobbling. Sirius would have to tell Narcissa to tell Snape to stop scavenging for school supplies in dumpsters. There were smarter ways to economize.

“Second year?” Snape sounded scandalized. “We were twelve!”

Why had his mouth said that? To Snape, of all people? It had to be those stupid beautiful fathomless eyes watching him. Observing, absorbing, witnessing, whatever. Severus Snape’s full attention was intoxicating. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, drowning in those lightless eyes. His bones could rest with all the other skeletons buried down there.

“I was thirteen, thanks.”

Carefully carefree, deliberately dismissive.

“It was right around Christmas and it wasn’t so bad. Trudy Netherwart, you remember her? Hufflepuff, half-blood, seventh year back then? She had the biggest fucking tits I have ever seen in my life.” Snape recoiled at the vapid vulgarity, nose wrinkled with prudish disgust, and that appallingly appealing attention released Sirius before he could become hopelessly addicted. “Nothing happened, James and Peter got me up to the Hospital Wing and Madame P fixed me up and Remus kept me company for the night and we all learned a valuable lesson about watching our drinks instead of looking down girls’ shirts.”

He made it a joke, to show he could take a joke; to keep James from freaking out. He’d still been glad to hear that Netherwart had hopped on the Knight Bus that morning, to get out of the castle for the rest of break.

She hadn’t come back.

The Aurors still hadn’t found all the bits, but they’d found more than enough to stop looking for her. It had probably been Bella (it had definitely been Bella). Sirius hadn’t known Andy’s new address back then and he wasn’t about to write to his mother. Two days later, Bella and Roddy had sent him a bag of bezors and a ring carved out of unicorn horn and set with amethysts. The ring wasn’t even cursed. He’d assumed it was whole marriage thing that was making Bella go soft, but there had been the card. There was that mandatory message about how much they all missed his company at home and how lovely it would be to see him in the summer but, under Bella’s lipstick stain signature, she’d added a quick postscript assuring him that: “Aunt Wally doesn’t need to know a thing”.

Sometimes it was hard to hate everything Slytherin.

“But—” Clearly Snape couldn’t understand.

He wasn’t the premium grade cut of fresh meat getting put up on the marriage market, he wasn’t even a wilted vegetable. Snape was just the scraggly son of a muggle with a nose that took up too much of his face and a habit of responding aggressively to small talk with fun facts about parasitic worms and brain-eating amoebas or by pulling out heliocentric heresies.

Not a vegetable. Maybe he was some sort of a fruit. One of those all covered in spikes.

“You’re going to need a sticking charm to keep your telescope in place,” Sirius interrupted. “You really should get a new one next time you stop in Diagon Alley, do try to borrow something better for the O.W.L.s.”

“What?” Snape looked as though he had no idea where the telescope in question had come from.

“Focus, Snape! We’re looking at the stars,” Sirius said. “My time of terrible torture with the tartan tartar is coming right up and you’re the one that needs help with the heavens.”

“Right, okay,” Snape said, as though he was the one humoring Sirius. “Stars. Astronomy. Studying. Yes.”

“It won’t be proper dark for another hour or two,” Sirius warned, “—but it won’t be proper dark any night in June. Because the Ministry is run by morons, they’ve managed to schedule the Astronomy O.W.L. two days ahead of the full moon, so the sky will be unsuitably bright.” Snape let out a huff that could almost pass for laughter, which was more than enough encouragement for Sirius. Remus and Peter, dutiful sons of Ministry employees the pair of them, got all ‘hem-haw’ whenever Sirius complained about the Ministry. Lately, even James had started frowning, like he half-expected Sirius to pull out Reggie’s nasty little political scrapbook and slogans, whenever Sirius so much as grumbled about decisions from the Wizengamot.

It was nice to have an appreciative audience.

“Knowing old Tofty, he’ll want us up alphabetically. Poor bastards like me are going to be called right after sunset while you’ll get to wait until midnight. Luckily, Tofty likes to think he’s a fair man, so, what with the moonlight and the lingering dusk, he won’t ask for anything particularly faint and he’ll probably keep his questions focused on the northern side of the sky.”

“…and you are certain this Tofty person is going to be conducting our exam?”

“Unless something dire happens to him,” Sirius shrugged. “Even then. I expect Tofty wants to take a page out of Binns’ book just to supervise the O.W.L.s post-mortem. He wouldn’t trust anyone else with the job. We used to host him for a few months in the winter, but mother always had to schedule around the Wizarding Examinations Authority planning committee meetings.”

“Oh,” Snape said sourly. “And are you also going to say the O.W.L.s are more about who you know rather than what you know? If the examiners have known you since you could talk, they can’t possibly let you fail, is it?”

“Since I could talk? Please, Snape, don’t underestimate the length of my acquaintance with old Tofty. Since I could talk indeed! My parents probably hired him to chart the most auspicious times for my very conception,” Sirius scoffed theatrically, watching the jealous tension in Snape’s shoulders. “Obviously it matters who you know, Snape, and right now I am offering you a peek into the particular psychology of your proctor, knowledge on his opinions and most adored celestial bodies you can’t find in a book. You can have all of my insight on the inner workings of our invigilators without enduring the inevitable mortification of Marchbanks pinching your cheeks and remarking on your height or Tofty telling the entire Great Hall about the most adorable things you said or did in the days before you even wore breeches.”

“I see. What a painful price to pay for privilege,” Snape agreed, sarcastic but less sullen. “Well, spill his secrets. The more O.W.L.s I can get, the better off I’ll be.”

“Certainly. As I said, our examiner wants to be a fair man so he’ll concentrate on the northern side of the sky to avoid the moon and he won’t ask for anything too faint. That means Uncle Cygnus is practically guaranteed, and, since he includes Deneb, Tofty will probably ask us to map Altair and Vega and call that an easy bonus. Tofty won’t snub Andy, he’s always had a soft spot for her, so finding her should be a priority. Reg will still be up in June, even if he’ll be sitting low on the west. Oh, of course my grandfathers are a given, Tofty will consider them both soft questions and be pretty harsh on anyone that misses either of them.”

Snape was not taking notes, which seemed rather uncharacteristic.

“Sorry,” Snape said cautiously, as though speaking to someone on another plane of reality. “When you say: ‘Uncle Cygnus’, you meant the constellation that Narcissa’s father is named after, not, er, the man himself.” Just for that tedious bit of pedantry Sirius wished he could bribe his uncle Cygnus to show up on a broomstick and interrupt the last Astronomy practical session.

“Sure, smartarse, since you’re such a clever dick, why don’t you go ahead right now and show me where we can find the constellation Cygnus?” Sirius had a broom. Maybe he just needed to purchase some Polyjuice potion and ask Uncle Alphard to retrieve some hair from Uncle Cygnus…

Snape, jumping at the challenge, grabbed his star charts and started thumbing through the guide to find the April sky. “The constellation Cygnus is going to be low on the northeast horizon,” Snape announced, fishing some flat object out of his pocket and unholstering his wand.

“Whoa, hey, don’t you go casting Lumos, you’ll ruin your night vision,” Sirius said. “Is that a compass? Why do you have a compass?”

“Compasses can be used to find north, and even northeast,” Snape explained with a hefty helping of condescension. “According to these charts, Cygnus, the constellation, is going to be in the northeast.”

“Or,” said Sirius, supremely supercilious, “you look at the stars instead of attempting to read a compass in the dark. How do you not just know where north is? What if you went out looking for your little potions ingredients and got lost in the woods and you had to find a way to get out?”

“I could just retrace my steps,” Snape replied, baffled at the hypothetical dilemma.

“No, you can’t, because you’re lost. Super lost. In the woods.”

“Well,” said Snape, who was pretty damn sure he was standing on top of the Astronomy Tower at Hogwarts and indulging a madman, “I believe in contingency plans. So I’d have a Portkey. Or my Appartion license after next year. So I could just apparate out of those woods.”

“No, you can’t,” Sirius insisted. “Because what if there’s an evil wizard who warded the whole woods against apparation and your Portkey was in your bag with your compass and the evil wizard’s minions stole your bag already. And he’s hunting you for sport. What then, Snape?”

“In that case, I think I’d have bigger problems than trying to find north,” Snape replied. “I think setting up a defensible position, maybe laying a few traps or an ambush, might be a priority.”

“So you’ll just hide in the woods, forever, until you die?”

“No!” Now Snape was getting frustrated. “I will have told Lily where I am going and when I planned to return. If I’m missing, she’ll come find me. And, as you lot may have noticed, she’s been taking a rather dim view of people hunting me for sport lately, so your imaginary evil wizard doesn’t stand a chance. And once he’s dead, we can just apparate out. Tra la la.”

“You’re so stubborn!” Sirius lamented. “You really think waiting for Evans to show up and save you is a better contingency plan than knowing how to find north?”

“Yes—!” Whatever ranting retort Snape was about to serve up was cut short, his attention fixed behind Sirius, beyond Sirius.

“…was that just a shooting star?” All of the irritation and confusion had fallen from him and his voice had gone hushed with wonderment.

“Probably,” said Sirius. “It is a good night to catch the spring star fall.”

“I’ve never seen one before,” Snape whispered, shockingly naked awe making his face almost beautiful.

“Really? What about the summer star fall? Or the winter show? Those are both quite active.”

“Never.” Snape was mesmerized by the vast night sky. “I didn’t even expect this many stars. I thought it’d be too cloudy to see much.”

There was a moment of quiet, of Snape devouring the sky, hunting for another falling star like a child harvesting wishes.

“There was a comet, too, wasn’t there? Or is it gone now?”

“Don’t worry,” Sirius said sourly, mood curdling at the reminder. “That one is long gone and whatever it came to foretell passed without having anything to do with us.”

Sirius had run into Narcissa up on the tower over the late February nights. His cousin had always been more conscious of omens and the unfamiliar streak of light marring their sky had caused quite a bit of consternation.

Regulus had claimed it was a harbinger, portending political victory for that foreign demagogue he’d gone all gaga over.

Sirius, was pretty sure he’d met that man, years ago, at Bella and Roddy’s wedding. Of course foreign wizards would have foreign manners, but the bloke had been so transparently trying to mimic proper pureblood behavior that Sirius had nearly been sent to his room for snickering at failing façade. It had been baffling how his parents and Bella had been able to overlook such bumbling, how they had ever come to invite the bounder to their table, and to think they’d supported his earlier, hilariously unsuccessful, political campaign.

Unfortunately, fratricide was rather frowned on, and so, after Reg, the little fathead, had started parroting lines from the speech Lord absolutely-nobody-cares made at that Ides of March rally, something facile about the wide tail of the cosmic visitor representing his hand come to crush the impure and save their society from contamination, Sirius had avoided the tower until the transient star had faded from the morning sky.

“That’s too bad,” Snape murmured, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a comet.”

There were too many other stars, lesser stars, crowding Snape’s eyes, commanding his attention. Sirius did not like being half-forgotten, displaced by sheer fascination, listening to Snape dream about comets.

“Pop quiz time!” Sirius whooped, shattering the swallowing silence, thrilled to see Snape flinch out of his trance. “Where am I? It’s the brightest star in the sky! Can you find me, Snape? Here’s a hint, it isn’t my greatest time of the year.”

Snape dropped his notes, fumbled, reached for his telescope, his head swiveling wildly as he scanned the sky.

“I don’t know what you’re doing with that telescope pointed at Uranus,” Sirius heckled happily. “But your’e way out of line. Use your eyes, Snape, come on, the clock is ticking and the examiner is getting impatient, what’s your answer?”

“That’s a bright star up there?” Snape guessed, badly.

“Ew, no, that’s grandfather Arcturus!”

“Then—?”

“Capella? Capella?! Do I look like a she-goat to you, Snape? Wait, no, don’t answer that. Clearly your eyesight is terrible from spending too much time lurking underground. Are you going to guess again? Three chances, that’s two more than you’ll get in June! No! That’s Mars. That’s not even a proper star!” Sirius hadn’t had such fun for weeks.

“Look, stop.” Sirius caught Snape’s head in his hands, steering them both to the parapet. “There, on the horizon, just about southwest for your information, that’s me. Sirius. Brightest star in the sky.”

“On the horizon,” the captive Snape said, his voice gone up a tense octave, “doesn’t exactly qualify as ‘in the sky’, does it?”

“It is not on or under the earth, so it counts.” Sirius tilted Snape’s head, pleased to find him so unusually compliant and cooperative. “Moving west, do you see the line of three stars? That’s my father’s belt, Orion, and cousin Bella, Bellatrix, is on the shoulder with the shield. The red star on his other shoulder is Betelgeuse.”

“Another cousin of yours?” Snape asked, only a tiny quavering in his tone. “Or a grandmother this time?”

“Oh, no, the family has long maintained that ‘Betelgeuse’ would be entirely too much name to bestow on a baby. You’d wind up calling the darling squaller, oh, Juice, or maybe Juicy, or perhaps you’d go from Betel to Beetle and wind up with Bug. Can you imagine? Juicy Bug Black. Terrible name. Totally inauspicious and undignified. Of course I’m saving it for my firstborn.”

He could feel Snape trembling, head still held fast between Sirius’ hands, but it was probably suppressed laughter. Sirius had promised he wouldn’t hurt Snape, so he shouldn’t be afraid. He couldn’t be cold, Snape felt so warm, almost feverish, inches away from Sirius’ chest.

“If we turn to the north, after Mercury and past Perseus, we reach cousin Andy, Andromeda. She’ll be up for the O.W.L.s and she always got along with Tofty, so make sure you can recognize her.”

“Bellatrix and Andromeda,” Snape echoed. “Which one is Narcissa?”

Oh no. “She’s not up there.”

Uncle Cygnus had been so mathematically convinced his third child would be the long awaited son, had set his heart on calling that imaginary child Sirius, that he had entirely failed to nominate and appropriately empyrean appellative for a child of the feminine variety. Walburga, never one to skimp on salt when her brother had an open wound, had been more than happy to steal the title of ‘Sirius’ for her own first son two months later. Sometimes Sirius suspected Cissy kept a little record of all the times and ways she would have made better use of his name.

“If we dive into the Celestial River— and don’t call it the Milky Way, Tofty considers all references to bodily fluids vulgar in the extreme— we can find Uncle Cygnus in the northeast.”

“The bright star in Cygnus is Deneb and this Professor Tofty will ask us to map the triangle between Deneb, Altair, and Vega,” Snape recited. “So Altair and Vega are…?”

“Well, look who’s such a stellar scholar, you were listening to me!” Sirius beamed, and then he had catch Snape as the shorter boy stumbled, staggered, knees buckling. He probably tripped over an uneven flagstone in the dark. “Altair won’t be up for another hour or so, but there’s Vega, in Lyra, and Altair will be roughly east around midnight, when the other two will be higher. Those three will be about as close to the moon as Tofty will want to go in June, so let’s just move over to this long line with a hooked tail, which is what constellation?”

“Uh, Leo?” Snape sounded strangled and slightly squeaky, as though he had something else on his mind.

“No, wrong! This one is Draco. But since you’re interested in lions, we can turn around to the south, and there’s Reg up there with the rest of Leo on either side. If we move down the sky, there’s Uncle Alphard in Hydra, he won’t be up for the O.W.L.s, and if we’re back on the southwest horizon, the bright star we’re looking at is—?”

“…Sirius,” Snape said, the name tumbling from him like a snowflake ready to set off an avalanche. “Sirius, the star, the star called Sirius. That’s the star.”

“Nice work, you brainy bean,” Sirius rather liked the way his name tripped up Snape’s normally quick tongue. “As your reward for being such a good student, I’ll show you how to find north before I have to meet with McGonagall.”

Maybe Sirius had been steering Snape around a tad too quickly, rushing through the heavens and leaving him dizzy, because Snape seemed to be having some trouble with his balance. He probably needed to start an exercise regime, now that Cissy had forbade Sirius and his friends from chasing Snape around the castle, to balance out all the time he spent hunched over a cauldron.

“Look up, why don’t you lean on me, and find the plough. Go down the long shaft and follow the tip of the blade. Do you see where it points?”

“Nghrk,” said Severus Snape.

“Right,” Sirius said. “Grandfather Polaris, the North Star, who stays fixed in place as the heavens wheel around his nibs every night and throughout the year. If you trace a direct line to the ground, that will take you north, and now you can get out of the woods and escape from evil wizards without waiting for Lily Evans to save you.”

“Right above the greenhouses,” Snape agreed tightly. “The greenhouses are north. That will be very useful for the exam.”

“That’s only north from right here,” Sirius complained, rocking Snape’s head back and forth to drive the lesson home. “You’re going to get lost in the woods if you try to orient towards the greenhouses.”

It had occurred to Sirius, as he led Snape headlong across the stars, that his hair was not as greasy as Sirius or James had long theorized. It had always looked slightly damp, like Snape had crawled out of some watery depths. It hung in limp curtains and reflected the light with oil slick shades. But, to Sirius’ idle surprise, his questing fingers had informed him that Snape’s hair was almost unpleasantly dry, slightly coarse, and alarmingly crunchy. Split ends, definitely.

And then his wandering hands, absently tangling though Snape’s hair, made a most misfortunate encounter with a mysterious waxen lump.

Sirius could have screamed. He could have recoiled. He could have shoved Snape off the side of the Astronomy Tower and just hoped that Cissy might not notice. But the basal simian instincts screamed instructions up his spine and through his skull and Sirius, no stranger to impulse, obeyed the illogical interest.

“—the fuck?” Snape squeaked, cracking a shrill three octaves above his normal range.

The offending object dislodged and Sirius, with a sudden sneaking suspicion, sniffed.

Bergamot and patchouli.

“Tell me, Snape. How are you washing your hair?”

“The hell—?” Snape sputtered, trying to squirm out of Sirius’ clutches.

“Your hair, Snape, what are you using to wash your hair?” It was, Sirius felt, a subject of near national importance.

“Soap,” Snape spat, prim and pugnacious and perplexed.

“Soap. Hand soap? Is this the soap out of the second floor bathrooms?” It smelled like the soap out of the second floor bathrooms.

“There’s a fresh bar in there every morning no matter how much is used the previous day. That just seems rather wasteful.”

“You can’t wash your hair with hand soap,” Sirius wailed. “That’s terrible for your hair, damages it something dreadful!”

“Soap is for getting things clean!”

“You know you’re supposed to rinse the soap out, right? What do you use for a rinse? Do you even condition?”

“What?”

“What what? Your split ends are atrocious!”

“What?”

A plan, so simple and brilliant, dawned in Sirius’ mind. “Come with me to the fifth floor, the prefect’s bathroom, I got the password out of Remus ages ago. I can’t promise miracles, but I know a bit of relevant magic, and some wrongs can be put to right. Besides, the bath is tremendous, you’ll love it.”

“WHAT?” Sirius wondered if Snape was suffering form an apoplectic attack. His much vaunted vocabulary seemed to have evaporated into mere exclamations.

“We’re going to take a bath—”

The bells of distant Hogsmeade began to toll the hour and Sirius realized his own stellar namesake had sunk out of sight. He was late.

“—tomorrow night, okay? Meet me on the fifth floor, by Boris the Bewildered, why don’t we make it seven?”

“What?” Severus Snape was significantly more bewildered than any Boris had ever been.

“I will bring everything, even the towels. I can have a few useful products rush ordered, so you just need to bring yourself. Now, I really do have to run, I’m late to detention and for every five minutes I delay, McGonagall will add an extra hour to my sentence and claim another night of my life to lines.”

“What.”

“Enjoy the stars, Snape, toodle-oo and goodnight to you!”

Snape, finally stunned into silence, sat down as Sirius sprinted wildly down the tower stairs for the second time that night. His legs twinged something terrible but his heart was warmed by his own generosity and the fuzzy feeling of a good deed done well.

All told, it hadn’t been such a dull evening.

There were no ill omens polluting his sky, Snape had been passably civilized for the most part, and Sirius had enjoyed teaching Mr. brainy-rather-than-brawny a trick or two.

Cissy would surely approve of his comportment and magnanimous instruction. James would be relieved that Sirius hadn’t shoved Snape off the side of the tower or done anything terribly rash. Why, Remus and that dear old plodder Peter would probably appreciate Sirius’ insight into Tofty’s most probable examination now that he’d thought about it. Sirius kept musing over Snape’s open astonishment at a single falling star and the way his name had sounded in Snape’s mouth.

It had turned into a rather delightful evening after all.

Revising Their Stars (8306 words) by Momo_T_Day Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Sirius Black & Severus Snape, Sirius Black/Severus Snape, Sirius Black & Peter Pettigrew & James Potter Characters: Sirius Black, Severus Snape, James Potter, Peter Pettigrew Summary: Sirius is horribly terribly dreadfully bored now that dear cousin Narcissa has prohibited him from tormenting Severus Snape (despite every tantalizing opportunity Snape goes out of his way to provide!). Maybe helping Snape prepare for the upcoming Astronomy O.W.L. will be more fun than Sirius could have expected, Snape certainly seems to be learning something interesting during their tour of the stars. Or Sirius Black is not impressed with Severus Snape’s “#genius lifehacks” for a “#frugal life”

Or

This is the longest fic I've written and I probably spent too much time looking up old star charts and moon phases and comet visibility records but I love stargazing so the research stays in!

Follows "A most wretched raccoon" and takes place before "Bad taste in men"

Should I post the text here as well as on Ao3? I find reading easier on Ao3 for myself, but I do know I'm not very tech savvy...

[secretsofblackthornhall]

Emma to Dru

Dear Dru,

Hey, baby bat! So how’s Shadowhunter Academy? Still having a good time? How’s the roommate — Thais, isn’t that her name? How’s having a roommate? I always kinda wished I’d gotten to go to SA, although obviously the weather was better in California. But you like things dark and gloomy! Just, you know – try to get some sun sometimes, okay? While I know you love your ghostly pallor, vitamin D is a real thing.

Not that we’re getting any sun here in Chiswick, where England is being fully England with the weather. I guess it goes with the house, though. You’re going to love this place when you see it, by the way. It’s the most goth building you’ve ever seen. The whole place is full of crumbling statues and faded wallpaper with creepy stains and a LOT of these dark brambles—

Huh, I guess it makes sense there are a lot of black thorns at Blackthorn Manor. Still, they’re a huge pain to cut back. Why didn’t your ancestors go with something less pointy? This was owned by Lightwoods for years, why no light woods? We may never know.

(I always forget about the Lightwoods because I think of it as Blackthorn Manor but I found a diary of a girl who grew up here, hidden under one of the floorboards. Like way back in the 1870s. She’s just a normal Shadowhunter teenager of the time, complaining about boring history lessons and obnoxious older brothers. Normal stuff! She’s about 13 in the part I’m reading but it goes for a few years. Her name was Tatiana Lightwood, I wonder if Isabelle and Alec have heard of her?)

Anyway, Jules is working hard on de-spookying the place, but trust me, it’ll still be gothier than a ripped fishnet whenever you get to see it. It’s going to be ages before we’re done with all the hallways full of empty birdcages and decaying books. This house is big. And extremely busted.

Also . . . haunted. At first I think we were both in denial. It was just weird moving shadows, cold spots in places — if this was one of your mundane movies, we’d still be arguing about what was going on. But we’re Shadowhunters. We know ghosts exist. And we finally broke down and admitted to each other that there’s definitely one in this house. Somebody’s moving small objects around and playing the piano off in the distance… low, haunting bits of sweet music we can both hear. But here’s the thing — the only piano here isn’t even playable. It rotted through a long time ago.

So, we have a ghost. But they don’t seem definitely or even particularly hostile. It could just be a bitty poltergeist, or a passing unquiet spirit. I’ve just started going through papers and it’s obvious Some Stuff Went Down Here at some point, lots of weird references to demons and bindings. (Oh, I’m putting a thing aside for you, it’s a taxidermied raven covered in flowers, I think it used to be part of a really extra hat.) So the potential for unquiet spirits is definitely there. One more thing to deal with along with the need for all new drains. (What, exactly, are drains?)

Anyway, I can’t wait to see you and oh no, I spent most of the letter telling you about the house but I really do want to hear about the Academy and your roommate and teachers, like is Catarina there? What about Ragnor? Have you seen Jaime lately? Tell me everything!

XOXO

Emma

PS I just found out who Tatiana Lightwood thought was the cutest boy in London. Will Herondale. Wasn’t that the guy Tessa was married to, a long time ago? Would she think this was funny? I mean, it’s kind of funny. Always a Herondale, you know?

[longlivefanfic-net]

Take Me Home Tonight

Part two to this fem! and sub! Steve Harrington fic, as requested by @thatsonezesty13 :) Check the part one for my fav Steve Spotify playlist <3

Summary: You and Steve go buy new lingerie.

Word Count: 6.2k

Content: lingerie fetish, smut, semi-public sex, head, car sex, the tiniest bit of fluff

A/N: Yeah writing these is giving me Steve Harrington brain rot....whoopsies!

He’s still staring straight ahead out the windshield of his car. “Robin can keep buying you your underwear. Or I can buy stuff for you. Or I can go in on my own,” you say, reassuringly. You don’t want him to feel pressured; just because you had referred to the sex you’ve had since he’s started wearing his lingerie for you as “the best sex of your life” doesn’t mean he owes you any sort of continuation. Of course, you mentioned the first night—that time you caught him, bra on top and still in his boxers on the bottom, examining himself in the mirror, God he looked so good—that, maybe, matching underwear sets could be fun for you both. In the weeks that had passed since, you’d found yourself subconsciously scanning the department store catalogs that arrived addressed to “Current Resident” for underwear other than the plain cotton you typically wore. Last night, you had finally brought it up again.

****

“Do you want to go shopping with me tomorrow?” You had asked, lightly, over dinner, stabbing the food on your plate perhaps more aggressively than necessary. Despite the openness—the sheer intimacy—that had grown between you since discovering your shared interest (Steve’s in wearing lingerie, your’s in seeing him in lingerie), you still felt your stomach roll at the possibility of his rejection. It’s not a big deal, you had told yourself, this is far from being the most important thing about our relationship. 

And that was true, absolutely, but the loneliness? The separation you had felt since moving in with Steve? It had all dissipated that first night as your fingers had stroked across his nipples under the delicate fabric of his bra. He waited up nights for you to get home now, and even if he ate dinner before you he would still sit at the table with you. In the mornings, he had taken to slipping back on whatever panties you had pulled down his thighs the night before to wear while he poured grounds into the coffee maker. He had even made breakfast from scratch one sleepy Sunday morning while it was raining outside. You had woken up to Steve Harrington naked in your kitchen, except for a blue lace bikini cut pair of panties and your apron, now covered with little spots of flour and muffin batter, and thought to yourself I didn’t even know I wanted this, and now I can’t imagine my life without it. 

“What kind of shopping are we doing?” He had asked, tone light and eyes on his own plate as he cut up his food. “Lingerie.” His hands had frozen. “For…who?” You could hear him swallow across the table. “Me,” you had said quickly. “Or you. Or both of us.” Slowly, he had begun to move again as he continued to work on his food. “Where are we shopping?” “Jennifer says she buys her stuff at this store two towns over—she says it’s in a mall, but she’s never seen anyone from Hawkins there.” “Oh, and Jennifer is the expert now? What does Jennifer know?” Steve had muttered to himself, his fork movements mildly aggressive. “Look, Jenny’s not an expert—“ you paused as Steve scoffed— “but she is…well, you know. She dates a lot.” Steve had laughed, short and loud. “Yeah, that’s one way to put what Jennifer does.” “Anyway,” you had said, voice rich with passive aggression, “She’s brought guys in with her before. To watch her try on clothes.” Steve had finally agreed—and then spent the rest of the night saying, “oh my god, I said yes already, didn’t I?” when you continued to ask him if he was really sure—and the two of you had gone to sleep that night with a combination of fear and excitement in the air. 

****

Now you’re here, parked in the asphalt lot, Steve’s knuckles turning white over the gear shift. The car’s engine is still running, the soft purr the only sound between the two of you. “Do you want me to go in alone?” You ask again. “No,” Steve says, finally releasing the gear shift to brush his thick, glossy hair up and out of his eyes. “I’m going to watch you try on underwear. No one can say anything about a guy who just wants to see his girlfriend half-naked.” You smile at him, leaning over to his side of the car and press a chaste kiss against his cheek. “Definitely not,” you reassure him. His smile is gentle, his head tilted ever so slightly, and he rolls his eyes at you. Steve jumps out of the car, running over to your side to catch your door as it swings open. One hand extended, he helps you out of the car and you walk into the looming shopping mall together. 

Inside, the neon and shouts of excited families bounce off the pristine white tile. Steve flinches, and you squeeze his hand reassuringly. He’s told you in the past that he lost friends in the Starcourt Mall fire; you know he’s avoided large shopping centers since, a hint of anxiety obvious in his soft eyes anytime he’s in too large buildings. Hand in hand, you and Steve make your way to the small store in the left branch of the building. Steve keeps his eyes down while walking and you’re not sure if it’s embarrassment—the embarrassment you’ve been trying to help him past since the first night you told him there was nothing wrong with wanting things that make you feel good—or nervousness about the families walking through the cool air conditioning. Finally, near the very back of the mall, you find the store Jennifer has sent you to; there are curtains covering the clear glass windows so no one can see inside, and the name over the door is black filigree lettering of french words you can’t even read. No one would know what kind of store this is—you halfway wonder how the hell Jennifer found out about it. Steve pulls open the door, holding it open for you and your eyes hold his for a second. Under his feigned casualness, you see a glint that has become a part of your nighttime routine and smile at him. 

A tinny bell rings somewhere in the back of the store and a door behind a desk opens. From behind the door emerge two women, likely in their mid-40s or 50s—they look like every other mom you’ve ever seen in Indiana. Their over-teased hair, big earrings, and over-sized dresses date them a bit, but the look on their faces are…overwhelmingly kind and excited. One of them—the one wearing glasses—welcomes you and Steve into the store in a chipper voice. “What are we shopping for today?” she asks. Steve nervously clears his throat and you answer, “something blue, I think. Maybe satin?” without looking at him. The other woman claps her hands excitedly. “A wedding set!” “Oh, no,” you laugh, “not my something blue! Just…there’s a blue lace set back at home and I’d like something similar to it.” 

One of the ladies leads you and Steve—still clinging tightly to your hand—to the wall where the color-organized lingerie is waiting in large drawers while the other one vanishes behind the red curtain cordoning off half of the room to “set up” a try on area. You run your fingers off the soft garments; there are more colors, styles, cuts, and fabrics here than you’ve seen in any of the Sears and Roebuck catalogs you’ve paged through. “I want to try them all,” you half whisper. Steve presses the soft planes of his stomach against your back, wrapping one arm around your waist while the other reaches out in front of you to stroke a pair of baby blue lace panties, and says, “these first.” You laugh quietly, and the woman, obviously not looking at the two of you but smiling, asks you your size. Her brows wrinkle for just a second when you tell her you’d like to see everything today in two sizes and give her both your’s and Steve’s sizes. You can physically feel his heart beat pounding against your shoulder blades as he tenses up, but the woman quickly smiles and grabs the blue lace pair of panties in both sizes. “Brassieres as well, sweetheart?” She asks. You give her another two sizes. 

Along with the baby blue lace set, Steve chooses a satin pair of panties that are dyed a soft green partnered with a matching bra that extends down to the midline and has what your mother refers to as princess seams, like the kinds of bras women wore in the 50s, and a light yellow pair of panties that you worry look too comfortable to be sexy, designed to sit high over the stomach. The woman helping you makes a few other selections—“they’ll match your complexion so well, dear,” she says, throwing in colors you would never choose for yourself, as you vaguely wonder if perhaps she needs glasses like her partner. You also request a few things you had never seen made sexual before: a garter belt in cream with a set of white, sheer hose, and a black, satin corset designed to sit under breasts. These items aren’t unfamiliar, but in the glow of the soft lights in the tiny shop they look wholly alien and unusual. The garter belt had always been practical to you, the corset serving plain purposes under too tight dresses. This new purpose, this new idea of sexuality, of exciting Steve as well as yourself with the soft fabrics, has your adrenaline up and your heart beating faster than normal. 

Finally, Steve wraps his fingers around your wrist and gives a gentle tug. “I want to see them on,” he says, a wicked grin twisting his too-soft lips. “Please.” He pulls you towards the curtain where the sales women are arranging the underwear by pairs and sizes. “Ready to try on?” asks the one with glasses, gesturing to the one dressing room, door open. “I think so,” you reply, suddenly nervous. The woman gestures to a black velvet chair, surrounded by three mirrors in the back of the room. “If you’d like to observe, we have a chair for our guests.” In a matter-of-fact voice, she states, “Policy requires we put a credit or bank card on file before any try-on in case of stains.” You feel the blush coat your cheeks—Jesus, where the hell did Jenny send you?—and Steve coughs suddenly. Pulling his wallet out of his back pocket, he slides a card out and hands it to her. She smiles at him, graciously, and the other woman says “We’ll leave you to it, dears!” before the two disappear back to the other side of the curtain. 

Steve is blushing. He is bright red, frankly, a blush like you haven’t seen on his face since the first time Robin teased him about being “pussy whipped” around you and you laughed a little too hard. “Are you okay?” you ask, reaching out for his arm. You give his bicep a slight squeeze through his sleeve, reassuring him of your presence. “Do you think they know?” he whispers. “About me?” You know he doesn’t mean about who he is, his reputation as Steve Harrington. “Maybe,” you say, choosing honesty in this moment, “but I don’t think they really care.” Steve breathes out, long and shaky. Suddenly, he switches into Harrington mode, taking charge and fully believing he is the rational one. Hands on his hips, one hip pushed slightly to the side, he looks at you. “Well,” he says, “Stop wasting time. Let’s go, baby. Get those clothes off.” 

In the privacy of the changing room, your stomach starts to flip and cartwheel. The buttercup yellow panties Steve chose for you sit high on your waist, teasing with how much skin they cover. The saleswoman helped you match them to a similarly colored bra with inserts pushing your breasts up high and almost over the edge of the tiny cups. There are small satiny bows at the top of the cups, resting directly over your nipples. Slowly, suddenly nervous, you pull the door open. Steve is sitting in the chair he had been directed to, hands clasped together and dropped between his knees. His eyes are on the floor and he appears to be deep in thought. Nervously, you clear your throat and his head shoots up, hair flopping with the sudden movement. His eyes meet yours for half a second then travel down—and down and down before sliding back up. His lips part, and you can see his pulse flicker in his throat. “Oh my god,” he says. Your fingers tug nervously at the bow resting over your left breast. “Is it…kind of old fashioned?” “You look incredible,” he says, eyes hungrily watching your fingers pull on the bow. 

This game repeats itself a few different times. There are a few Steve doesn’t like—noting that “you look amazing,” but the colors or patterns or fabrics aren’t to his taste. Surprisingly, he dislikes the green on you, but based on his longing glance at the fabric you think you may take it home in his size. Every time you come out of the changing room, his eyes fixate greedily on a newly exposed body part—your ass cheek that sits just out of the high cut pair of panties, the curve of your waist emphasized by a high waist panty, your thighs. It has become a scene of foreplay: Steve stares, you run your fingers over the spot he is watching, and then you are treated to his reaction. Sometimes his breathing quickens, or he licks his lips, or he sits up a little straighter. Finally, there is only one set left to try on. You know he has been waiting, aching, to see you in this set, but you’ve held out, saving it for last. 

“Finally,” he moans from his seat, sitting up straighter as he sees you pick up the baby blue fabric. You hold up a finger. “Before you see me in this,” you start to say; you are interrupted by his eyes rolling so hard his entire head rolls with them. “Come on,” he whines. “Don’t do this to me now.” “I’ll do what I want,” you say, mock angrily. “And you’ll do what I want too.” His eyes squint slightly as a smile turns one side of his mouth. “I want you to try on one of yours for me.” Spluttering, hands raised against you, Steve is adamant that he will not put on the underwear here. Too public, he says again and again. You, standing in literally nothing but underwear, reassure him. “No one’s going to know; it’s just for me,” you say. You pick up the black satin corset you had the saleswoman pull in his size, as well as a black satin pair of panties with ribbon up the sides. You hold them out to him. “Put these on, please.” 

Steve has disappeared into the changing room, adamant that he will not be seen by anyone but you. Despite his repeated insistence on privacy, you had seen the slight glow—God, the radiance—that had lit up his face before closing the door. There is something about the idea of him in the underwear he has fantasized about for so long, hidden in the privacy of a completely public store, that has your core turning to warm, molten lava under the surface. You slide into the lace panties Steve had picked up for you, noting the snug way they fit over your hips. The matching bra—light blue lace over white satin cups, with blue straps—fits your frame nearly perfectly. You shorten the straps just slightly, and then complete the set with the white garter and hose. Looking in the three mirrors, you can’t help but admire yourself. You do look incredible; Steve had a good eye for these things. You want to admire yourself in the mirror but the chair is in the way; without thinking, you put your knees in the seat, practically straddling the chair to see your top half reflected in the mirror. Your back arches of it’s own accord, and you passively think about how nice it will be to have this set at home to wear while Steve wears his baby blue bra and panties. Your fingers trace the lace over the bra cups, the idea of the two pairs of blue panties rubbing together creating a frisson in your chest. “Wow,” you hear from behind you.

Whipping your head around, you are shocked into silence. It is Steve’s turn, now, to watch your jaw drop, your eyes glint with desire. His tan skin is glowing around the black satin of the corset, which leaves his chest completely bare. His hip scars are completely hidden, and his waist is emphasized into a new shape by the laces he has tied loosely. The panties he is wearing emphasize the broadness of his strong, muscular thighs where the fabric rises, and you can’t help but let your eyes linger where his body hair peeks in between the ribbons on his hips. You look at where his package presses softly against the black satin before your eyes whip up to his. Nervously, he pushes his hair back from his forehead. “What do you think?” he asks. “Do you like it?” You ask, answering his question with a question. “It’s…well, it’s not uncomfortable. I thought it’d be tight, but it’s not. I like the way I look in it too,” he says, blushing lightly. “Yeah,” you say, nodding enthusiastically. “Me too.”

“You,” he says, voice slipping down into a low growl, “look incredible.” His eyes graze down your body, leaving tendrils of fire under your skin. Your fingers pull at the tight elastic holding your white stockings on, snapping it against your skin. “You think so?” Steve answers with a sigh mixed with a moan. “You’re wearing that one home,” he says. His tone leaves no room for discussion and you grin, shrugging a shoulder up to lift the cups of the bra. “Since when do you tell me what to do?” You ask, smiling at him in a way that’s sure to get you in trouble. “No,” he says, skin paling and hands gesturing wildly as he looks at your face, “No, I’m not falling for your shit right now! You’re wearing that home, end of discussion.” You sigh dramatically and run your hands down your sides, lingering over your hips. “Fine,” you agree, “but you have to do something for me too.” 

Your hands rest lightly on the black velvet of the chair as you look down at Steve’s face, turned upwards between your arms. Your knees are straddling his hips, pinning his legs down under you. The satin ribbons on his hips tickles the backs of your knees as you slowly, slowly lower your face to his neck. “Fuck,” he whispers. Your lips flutter down his throat, lingering over his pulse. “Look, you can do whatever you want to me,” Steve says, a hitch in his breath as your fingers skim the top of the satin corset and the skin underneath, “but we have to be quiet. Those women are right outside.” You chuckle a little, voice low and husky with your whisper. “I don’t intend to let you be too quiet,” you say. 

“I want you to sit right here and be as quiet as you can until I’m done with you,” you whisper, mouth pressed to Steve’s ear, “and then I want you to be so loud everyone around will know exactly what we were doing.” Your fingers brush across his nipple which tightens and puckers under your cool touch. You drop your head, brushing your lips feather light over the pert bud poking over the top of the corset as your hands trail down to his waist. Pulling back, you blow lightly across his now damp nipple and laugh quietly at his stifled gasp. Steve has one hand on your hip, just under the garter belt, and the other grasped firmly over your ass cheek. You bite one of his nipples and take delight in the tiny moan that escapes his soft mouth. You look up at him from his chest and feel your heart flip in your chest at the look of pure desire in his eyes. His member is pressing through the black satin over his crotch now, and you can feel the fabric of his panties against your own. The heat between the two of your bodies is becoming too much to stand, and you press up to be even with his eyes again. “Remember,” you whisper, pushing your hand through his hair. “Quiet.” 

You drop to your knees in front of Steve, admiring the soft skin of his thighs glowing against the black velvet of the chair and satin of his panties. You run your fingers down the outsides of his thighs, aware of the muscles under his skin tightening. Slowly, gently, you push his thighs apart. You float your lips down the inside of his thighs, delicately tasting his skin before you bite, quickly, twice. His stifled gasp at your teeth’s contact encourages you. Your hand grazes over his erection, rubbing softly. At the sound of his whimper, you look up at his face. One lip in between his teeth, Steve Harrington is the quietest he has ever been. Carefully, you pull his cock out from behind the satin wrapping of his panties. Without taking your eyes off his, you rub your hand gently down the soft skin and back up. “Is this okay?” You ask. Steve nods, hair flopping down over his eyes. His hands are tense as he fights against the building moans in his chest, pushing into the chair he’s sitting on, and you run your thumb over his tip. Still holding his eyes with yours, you lean closer and gently press the flat of your tongue against his head. 

You take the head into your mouth, sucking lightly, while your hands continue to rub up and down his length. After a few seconds of this, you dip your head a bit lower, taking more of him into your mouth as you suck. His whispered moan encourages you, and you gently twist your hands as you leave damp over more and more of him. Sucking hard, now, you moan as his tip bumps the back of your throat. “Oh fuck,” Steve whispers, muscles in his thighs tensing. “Mm-hm,” you moan around him, bobbing your head. You can feel his pre-cum starting to trickle into your mouth, warm and salty, and you swallow it down. Locking his eyes with yours, you lower one hand to his balls, tracing your pinky nail down the soft skin as he whimpers. Moaning around him again, you flick your tongue over his head and he suddenly erupts in your mouth. The moan he lets out is not the loudest he’s ever been but in the silence of the last few moments it‘s like an explosion, and his hips involuntarily thrust him farther into your mouth as you swallow what he releases. 

When he’s done, you sit back on your stocking covered heels. “I thought you were going to be quiet,” you laugh. His skin is light pink, flushed with release, and it glows in the soft light of the dressing room. “I tried,” Steve whines. “You didn’t make it possible.” There’s a sense of satisfaction settling in your stomach alongside the arousal that’s been building in you for what feels like hours. “I’m going to go buy these,” you say, pushing up to standing, “Get dressed and bring me what you’re wearing.” You throw Steve’s clothes at him from the changing room. “Just—just don’t take that off,” he says, eyes still watching you hungrily. 

When you walk out of the store, hand in hand with Steve, it is with the blue lingerie set, garter belt, and stockings on under your clothes and a small bag in your other hand with Steve’s corset and black satin panties, as well as the green princess seam bra and a pair of matching panties in his size. There’s still a slight blush over his cheeks and neck, a lingering reminder of the saleswomen’s knowing smiles. They had taken it in stride when you let them know you’d be wearing yours out of the store, and, once Steve had emerged from the changing room with his black set in hand, one of them smiled at you and whispered how lucky you were to have a man who looked and sounded like that. Luckily, Steve hadn’t heard her or he might have burst into flames on the spot. You can’t help but notice as you walk through the steadily closing mall with him that there’s less tension, less anxiety in him now. He’s walking beside you, hand tight over yours, as if he’s enjoyed the excursion you were both so nervous about this morning.

“Ice cream!” Steve says, gesturing wildly with his free hand. “Come on, I need something to eat,” he grins over his shoulder at you, pulling you along by your wrist. Inside the shop, teenagers in ridiculous costumes, boredom plain on their faces, take your orders. You ask for a strawberry lemonade, watching the bright pink liquid arch up and back over the clear plastic dispenser. Steve asks for a cone with strawberry ice cream, “because it’ll compliment the lemonade,” and wraps an arm around your waist while the acne covered teen behind the glass scoops. After getting his change back, coins clinking in his pockets, you go and sit in one of the red leather booths. The girl who gave Steve his change calls after you that they’re closing in fifteen minutes, and Steve doesn’t even look back at her before replying “yeah, yeah, we’ll be done soon enough, kid,” and holds his arms out dramatically for you to slide into the booth.

The lemonade is sugary, sweet and acidic. You take a long sip and sigh, leaning back, and turn to look at Steve. He’s watching you suck on your drink, ice cream starting to melt down the cone untouched. The side of his mouth tilts up and he looks away, shaking his head comically, before starting in on his cone. You know he’s remembering a few minutes earlier and a warm blush snakes up your chest and neck. “Wanna taste?” You ask, innocently, holding out the cup. “Sure,” he says. Steve leans in towards the cup, then angles his neck towards your face, stooping slightly in his seat to brush his lips against yours. His tongue slips out of his mouth, brushing the seal of your lips open and pressing into your mouth against your tongue. He tastes like sweet dairy and artificial strawberry, and you let him kiss you longer than is really appropriate for a public space. Your free hand finds itself in his lap, rubbing his thigh slowly as his hand wraps around the back of your neck. Finally, he pulls back. “Well?” You ask. “How’s it taste?” “Delicious,” he answers, turning back to the front of the store. “Stop staring,” he calls to the teens who are, in fact, google eyed at the display in front of them. 

When he finishes his ice cream, he takes your drink in one hand and holds your hand with the other, leading you back out to the mall court. Most of the stores have shuttered now, and the salespeople are milling around shouting good nights as those who don’t have to close out registers prepare to leave for the night. Steve drops your hand, wrapping his arm around your waist. His hand holds your hip against him as his thumb snakes under your shirt hem to brush the elastic of the garter belt. He’s walking fast, and you assume he’s trying to get out of the mall before any doors lock. “Slow down,” you laugh, “they won’t lock us in!” 

His pace truly picks up when you get to the dark parking lot. “Steve,” you whine, “slow down.” “Move it or lose it,” he returns, throwing a casual grin over his shoulder in the glow of the streetlights. There’s something in his eyes that make you wonder what exactly he’s doing when, upon arriving to the car, he opens the back door for you. “What?” You ask, tilting your head in confusion. “Come on, come on, ladies first and all that,” he says, motioning wildly towards the backseat. You climb into the car, sliding over to the far side, and look back at him. “Steve, what—“ Your voice catches in your throat as he slides in next to you, closing the door behind himself and clicking the lock into place. “What‘s going on?” You ask, your heart beat accelerating. “You didn’t think I was going to let you get away with that, did you?” 

Steve turns back to you, grinning. For a second, your heart flips in your chest as an almost manic glint enters his eyes. Every now and then, something comes over Steve that almost seems inhuman—you’ve seen the look before, in your father’s eyes when men talk about Vietnam. You’ve seen it in the eyes of Steve’s friends as well, this haunted look that suggests the worst evils you can imagine are old news to them. It scares you sometimes, when Steve’s eyes turn like that. But you don’t feel that same animalistic fear around him now, and you know that—even if he’s feeling reckless—he would never hurt you. His wide, broad palm skims the soft skin of your arm, winding its way up to your neck. His calloused fingertips rest gently on the side of your face and he pushes your face ever so gently to the side. His hair tickles the side of your face and then—oh, his tongue is moving, warm and wet down the column of your throat. “I want to see your new clothes, please,” he murmurs against your neck.

“Steve,” you pant, already out of breath as his fingers rest lightly over the racing pulse in your throat. “People might see.” “And?” He says, pulling his soft, warm mouth back from your throat. “They already heard.” You want so badly to say no, to make him wait until you get back to your apartment where you can pin him down on the bed and ride him until you’re dripping sweat and gasping for air while fully stretched out, but the desire that has been building under your skin for the last few hours makes itself felt. “Fine,” you half whisper, and Steve presses his grinning lips against your collarbone. 

His fingers find their way under the hem of your top, lifting the fabric higher and higher. His hands hesitate against the fabric of the garter belt before continuing to push your shirt up, over your head, tossing it on the floorboard. His head dips down to the soft curve of your breasts, peeking out over the edge of the blue lace covered cups, and his hungry mouth sucks the soft skin in between his teeth. Immediately, Steve bites down on the swell of your breasts and you gasp in a mingle of pain and surprise. “Shhh,” he whispers, grinning as he looks up at you. He places a finger over your mouth, and you open your lips. His finger rolls down your mouth, pulling your lower lip down, and he traces the shape of your lips before his hand flutters down to your throat. “My pretty girl,” he says, tongue tracing the bite marks he’s left on your breast. 

He palms your waist, wide hands over the garter belt. His mouth brushes over your skin and you can’t stop a moan from snaking up your throat. “What do you want me to do?” He asks, pulling back from the kiss. “Pants. Off. Yours. Mine.” You’re panting now, gasping as your chest tightens under his hands and mouth. “Yes ma’am,” he says, mock salute and all, before grabbing at your waistband. He helps you wriggle until your pants are around your ankles, and you kick them off as he pulls his own down. Once he is in his underwear, you pull his shirt over his head as well. “Gotta keep it even,” you say, “offer an eyeful for anyone who passes by.” His laugh kindles the charge in the air and suddenly you have him pressed under your thighs again as you position your hips on top of his, pressing his shoulders into the back seat of his car. 

You are desperate for him, for his touch. For Steve to be inside of you, in some way. He’s still got half of a laugh etched on his face, and you pick up his hands. Placing one so it cups against the back part of the lace of your new panties, you take the other and put two of his fingers in your mouth. “Fuck,” he whimpers, as you suck. You take his now wet fingers and move his hand to your soft, lace wrapped mound, pressing the flat of his palm against yourself and positioning his fingers at your entrance. He slips them inside of you and sucks in a breath between his teeth as you groan, the tiniest hint of the release you’ve been begging for finally in sight. Pumping his fingers in and out of you, he grips your backside with his other hand and runs his nose and mouth up and down the space in between your breasts. One hand braced against the roof of the car and the other on his shoulder, you push your hips against his fingers. You’re tightening around his digits, moaning loudly as he pushes back and forth, when he suddenly pulls his hand completely away from you.

He raises his fingers, covered in your need, to his mouth and licks his tongue up each one while watching you watch him. “Fuck me,” you whimper, exasperated with how badly you want him. “Can I?” He asks, a hint of a smile at his own little joke. You nod, and spread your thighs wider over his own, pushing the blue lace to the side. He manipulates his member out of his underwear, and you feel his hand against your skin again as you slide down over his thick cock. God, he feels so fucking good inside of you. You start pushing yourself up and down him, one hand tangled in his thick, brown hair and the other at the nape of his neck. “Fuck me, please,” he whimpers from under you. You toss your head back, mindful of the low ceiling while your back arches, and he moans as your muscles around him tighten. Placing his hands on your hips, he begins to shift his hips up underneath yours, pressing into you in time with your own movements. His eyes lock with yours and you moan loudly, fingers pulling his hair.

Your breath is coming hard now, pants like you’ve been running, as you continue to lift yourself up and down his length. His head tosses back against the seat rest, and you place your hand over the broad plane of his wide chest, pushing him farther back into the seat. “Don’t cum yet,” you moan, and you grab one of his wrists from your hip. Positioning his fingers over your swollen clit, you continue to ride him, sweat dripping down your back to catch on your new underwear. As his fingers rub, slowly then quicker at the sound of your enjoyment, you feel your release budding deep within you. “Not yet,” you say again, as your walls start to tighten around him. “Not yet, not yet!” Your orgasm shakes the muscles in your thighs as you tighten around him. “Fuck,” he cries, and his release shoots through you. Your muscles pull and release, pull and release the wet heat he has pushed inside of you, dropping you over the edge in a freefall. When your orgasm finishes, you stop moving and lean your body over his, letting the sweat of both of your bodies mix together. “Sorry,” Steve says, “I tried, but in my defence you’re rubbing fucking stockings over my thighs.” 

You laugh, tired, and ask, “Stockings huh?” “Listen,” Steve replies, hand brushing your hair. “I wouldn’t have guessed until I saw you in them.” You laugh together, and he presses his palm into your cheek, wrapping his fingers around the side of your face. “I can’t wait to fuck you in my blue panties,” he says. Gently, you pull back, letting his soft appendage slide out of you as you lean back. “Put your pants on and take me home then,” you order, a smile on your lips as you kiss him again.

[mandoposting]

“Come on, Sheev, get 'em!”

A quick thing for Day 4 of Commander Fox Week 2021 - Laughter. Inspired by the rewrite of Bezos I that @parkotedarasuum and I’s rotted brains came up with, which you can read under the cut :)

Nabooian senator

Born in BBY 84

Sheev

Sheev Palpatine

Nabooian senator

Born in BBY 84

Sheev

Sheev Palpatine

Come on, Sheevy, you can do it

Pave the way, put your back into it

Tell us why

Show us how

Look at where you came from

Look at you now

Or-gana and Mas and Padme

Amateurs can fucking suck it

Fuck their wives, drink their blood

Come on, Sheev, get 'em!

[*Sick synth solo*]

Reference:

Taglist: @ct-9904, @xviii-themoon, @twisted-falcon, @findhimfives, @the-dreamy-space, @fake-fullbuster, @parkotedarasuum, @beckettsmeckett, @icanbringyouincold, @limeyartspinningtales, @persaloodles, @puirell, @dagobahbound, @a-disaster-named-milo, @ahsoka1, @1-or-a-0 dm/send me an ask if you'd like to be added/removed (again im not sure who wants to be tagged in just oc stuff or other art so... lmk)

@loving-fox-hours

[hellsvestibule]

Ive gotten a lot of enthusiasm in the tags that made me smile but can’t Not reply to tags this good. please never apologize for analyzing my stuff bc it always brings a massive smile to my face that people even see it as worth that much thought? M also gonna appologize for being verbose and long winded in my reply tho that’s just the way…

I’m happy cuz so much of what you noted Was a deliberate choice I.e. the choice to have him blurring into the background and the deliberate choice to put small details all over the composition that would force your eye all over the place unable to tell what’s him and what isn’t. (In a more practical and selfish sense. It’s fun to work on disorienting images bc if it can hold My attention and make me feel hypnotized then shit I must be doing Something right. Like It keeps me amused when I have to stare at something this long lmao.) I wanted it so no matter where you tried to rest your eye somewhere else in the picture would demand your attention so it would be hard to look away once you start looking and the compounding horror that the most obvious beautiful thing at the front isn’t even special or distinct and that everything you first think is beautiful is kind of gross and decomposed on closer observation the opposite of how he’s usually presented. The figure at the front being the most detailed and realized due to how it’s approached but on closer inspection everything else is a part of it. I had other concepts for this I was give and taking too like having him or his clones have puppet strings or be lying more distinctly in a pool of oil with said strings forming butterfly wings. I opted for the small butterflies instead. There’s a lot of references to little lines in Faust too. Fausts comments that humanity exists like rainbows, as refractions of light. Mephistos comments thst the four elements created pestilence rot and disease, and only the element of fire can purge it. Things like that.

The general approach/ concept I guess. Since he’s a spirit of chaos and pulls you into his horny dreams (theoretically) my logic is everything in said dream has to be fabricated out of himself. But I also wanted to nudge to the implications that he’s not really into being seen as an object of lust just for the sake of lust, since he deliberately presents himself as a grotesque clown corpse and assumes unsexy poses so you don’t see him as such, and actually majorly self sabotaged but potentially pulled some fuckshit back in garden of order when he exploited a paradox to multiply himself then said out of all the mephys he was the only good one and only one capable of change (which among other lines, paralels him to my prior fav #1 worm boy kariya. I could write a lot of analysis about that probably) but I like the idea that he doesn’t forget throwing the whole collective of himself under the bus and mutilating them. My current headcanon is everything Mephy does has massive consequences(chaos theory, he is the butterfly of chaos) and in this case similar to douman he’s not getting that collective back so in terms of incubus, he’s not very sexy, all he has is a bunch of broken dolls to throw at you, a dream/nightmare fabricated out of his broken body with only the front facing one has been given the chance to be good or beautiful, but that the others still have the same base desperation for love as him, if not more so bc their only source of pride has been removed so the one at the front can shine. And that like the similar characters his collective wouldn’t resent him but try to uplift him. They are like his backup dancers but they are still trapped in his shadow/reflection. Bc by his own standards grotesque self mutilation is simply self actualizing and allowing these other versions to become distinct people. But implicitly he in his line to shiki about not cutting his hair, he still sees his beauty as important and on some level massively craves acknowledgement as someone worthy of love, which Kama has also implied when they acknowledged him in their valentines scene when he showed up. The line about being a clown being difficult and he should try being a god of love. Kama cuts past the clownery and calls him for what he actually is, basically someone who pretentiously self mutilates and acts creepy bc his trauma makes him convinced he’s a danger to others. His profile says things like “he Will” put bugs in you but the thing is, he hasn’t done that, at the very least bc one of the core things to Mephistopheles is that he can’t even act bad on his own will, only if humanity wants him to be bad. bc he “wills for bad and works for good.” Making his evil he doesn’t act on feel like decoration to the fact that he’s obviously a mislead victim here and everyone seems to regard him as such. Bc matter how much ill will he harbors towards the world the fact that he can’t and won’t act on it again paralels him more to sakura or kariya than a consciously evil person. Hes implicitly someone amidst a mental breakdown from trying to be good or even properly evil, after seizing the mechanism for exploitation and control. Having read goethe Faust, there are a lot of paralels to Margaret and Sakura in heavens feel, and Mephy due to his forced honesty has cast himself as the victim more adjascent to Margaret or mephistos nameless student, people who were mislead by the old men that aimed to exploit them, and I don’t think you should discount it if only bc kama reacts that way of seeing him as a paralel to them rather than with overt disgust or distrust, same w Moriarty’s hesitant understanding that he’s exactly the type of weird old man who sets off mephy’s rage and obsession, and rather than defending himself or rejecting Mephy, he simply moves carefully around him.

Also I do want to preface my understanding of Mephy as currently being a victim keeping in mind they could pull a kariya or shinji w him and have him utterly fuck up beyond capability to atone too. and you can see that w kamas hesitation and tiredness when acknowledging him too. They’re assessing the fact that there’s like a 50/50 chance Mephy does not come out of this ok and pinpoints his ability to accept love as the key to which way he turns which is rich coming from kamas jaded ass but that’s the irony of the parallel too.

Other than that. It was both a fun low stakes image I wanted to be as erratic and loose with. Bc any content I make of a relatively unpopular character is like utmost self indulgent and for me and the like 10 other Mephy lovers out there. but I did work harder on it than most of what I’ve done lately. the image was actually very carefully staged and posed before I drew it first even though a lot of that was covered up by the mess, maybe I’ll show some of the earlier versions I had bc it changed a Lot and a lot of those earlier versions had their own merits…. I wanted it to have a solid base composition which isn’t always something I think of from the start.

Anyway ty so much and sorry to anyone whose dash i cluttered w the explanation. It just brings me a lot of joy to have someone pick up on things I left mostly to bg level interpretation you could take or leave. And I want to Talk about the clown I just need prompts or excuses otherwise I myself am. Too chaotic to focus lol

Darkness once gave birth to the arrogance of light. Were it not for fire, there would be nothing to this name.

[gffa]

OKAY, I WILL DO MY BEST HERE, but it’s one of those cases where there’s A LOT of information and NOT A LOT of information at the same time!  We have a bunch of details and some good general ideas, but it’s not like it was a set-in-stone process, so there’s plenty of wiggle room if you want it. The Inquisitorius was started in 19 BBY, the same year as the fall of the Republic and the genocide of the Jedi, but seems to have been officially started after the Purge happened.  Sidious had been planning something like the  Inquisitorius for a long time, but this specific version of them wasn’t necessarily always the only version in development. The Inquisitors are all fallen Jedi, presumably ones that were captured by the Empire and tortured into becoming dark siders.  Several of them have mentioned that they were former Jedi, but the only one we’ve seen the process of is Trilla Suduri, who we saw being tortured for a very long time in Jedi: Fallen Order.  (Link of the relevant scenes here.  Warning:  It can be a bit of a tough watch, Trilla is physically tortured and some of it you see from her perspective, as the electricity is jolted into her body, which can be kinda disturbing.)  So, in theory, it’s possible that some of them fell on their own and agreed to join, but the one explicit example we have is where she was tortured into it and, while Cal is walking around their fortress, he talks about how multiple Jedi were broken there. (For another example, Prosset Dibs is a Jedi we saw falling to the dark in the Mace Windu: Jedi of the Republic comic, so he may have willingly joined or he may have healed while he was working in the Jedi Archives but not all the way and still had to be tortured into joining.) The Inquisitors are under the direct supervision of Darth Vader (after he’d discovered the program, he was put in charge of it), who trains them incredibly harshly--in Darth Vader: Dark Lord of the Sith, he’s shown cutting an arm off one of them and basically telling them to suck it up and keep fighting, to remember what loss feels like.

Sometimes they’d work with Darth Vader (the Grand Inquisitor went to the Jedi Temple in 19 BBY with Vader, where they confronted Jocasta Nu, the Ninth Sister went with Vader on a mission to investigate a possible Jedi sighting on Cabarria, Vader took them with when he went to kill Eeth Koth and kidnap his baby daughter, Vader had them with when he went to Mon Cala to confront Lee-Char, etc.), sometimes they operated separately from each other (all the times in Rebels or Jedi: Fallen Order that Kanan, Ezra, or Cal faced them when Vader wasn’t around, etc.), probably based on whatever Vader felt like or whatever Sidious felt like on a given day. The Inquisitorius as a group seem to have some degree of command over Purge Troopers, as they would often be seen leading a group of them (this happened often in Jedi: Fallen Order especially) and they could commandeer military assets (or probably civilian assets as well) if they needed to, so they had a certain amount of leeway when it came to their missions--so long as they didn’t piss off Vader or Sidious. Their main goals were to hunt down any Force-sensitives in the galaxy, whether newly discovered Force-sensitive children, former Jedi (whether they had left the Jedi Order or were Jedi in hiding, it didn’t matter), or even Force-sensitive adults who had never been trained by the Jedi.  They would turn them if they could, but otherwise it was to kill anyone who might possibly be a Force-related threat of any kind.  (What this means for planets like the Bardottens, they’ve never said.) They were greatly successful at their missions, so they wound up killing a great number of Jedi who had made it into hiding, along with Darth Vader being one of the biggest reasons the Jedi were mostly entirely gone by the time of the OT, which was helped along by Vader training the Jedi style out of them.  Part of why he was so harsh to them (including cutting off limbs, etc.) was to force them to be more aggressive and less defensive, to be sharp and quick and fast to overpower Jedi, who were used to a different type of fight. They still had unique talents (as all Force-sensitives are not the same), like Ninth Sister had a great talent for reading emotions (including Vader’s, where she could sense how much he wanted to die),

As well as they weren’t actually Sith.  Only Sidious, Vader, and Maul were Sith, the Inquisitors were dark siders or fallen Jedi or possibly a category unto themselves. They have some sort of headquarters, as seen in Darth Vader: Dark Lord of the Sith, where Vader is seen training them in issue #6 (same scene as above where he cuts off their hands or lightsabers their eye out), which is labelled as being on Coruscant, somewhere in The Works in the Industrial District:

There’s a training arena we see there and at least some sort of communication/strategy rooms that Vader and the Grand Inquisitor walk off into, while they discuss the other Inquisitors. Which means it’s a pretty big complex/building, but (according to Wookieepedia and I’ll trust them on this, instead of digging out my copies of the Complete Vehicles and Complete Locations book), it was a building of Sidious’ that he used as a hideout during the Clone Wars. To what extent Vader and the Inquisitorius took it over (whether they just had a few rooms or the entire skyscraper), I don’t think we know?

Later, in issue #20, we see there’s some sort of break room that Vader storms in on, when he returns to Coruscant, that the Inquisitors were sitting around and hanging out in:

From there, it would be reasonable to extrapolate that this was a base for their operations, the place they returned to after they came back from wherever they’d been sent, possibly even this is where they slept and ate and were sheltered in between missions.  But that’s just reasonable conjecture, not hard canon! There is also Fortress Inquisitorius from Jedi: Fallen Order and it’s primary use was that it was where they took the Jedi they were torturing into becoming Inquisitors.  I wouldn’t say it’s an academy, per se, but it was a place that they likely used as a headquarters. In issue #20 of Darth Vader: Dark Lord of the Sith, two of the Inquisitors rebel against Vader and he winds up chasing them down and cutting a huge swath of destruction in his path (LOL @ ANAKIN), which Sidious is not exactly pleased about.  He says that he’s going to move the Inquisitorious off Coruscant to another world so this won’t happen again:

The comic was written in 2018 and Jedi: Fallen Order came out about 11 months later in 2019, so the above isn’t necessarily directly referring to that the Inquisitorious were moved to Fortress Inquisitorious on the moon Nur, but it’s also a very reasonable (and probably likely) assumption. We don’t have an exact timeline for when this issue takes place, but it’s minimum three years after Revenge of the Sith (the Mon Cala arc earlier in the comic is set three years post-ROTS), so probably around 15 or 14 BBY.   However, Trilla seems to have been kidnapped much closer to Order 66, so it’s likely that Fortress Inquisitorius existed long before Order 66 happened, it was used to torture Jedi once their genocide happened, but it wasn’t the Inquisitor’s HQ until several years later. We don’t see a lot of Fortress Inquisitorious, the limited amount of areas you can play through it in Jedi: Fallen Order don’t tell you a ton about what goes on there, but it’s a pretty huge underwater skyscraper sized building and you do see several prison cells and at least one training dojo.

The galaxy at large didn’t know about Fortress Inquisitorious on the water moon of Nur or even the majority of the Empire itself didn’t know about it, it was a heavily kept secret. This is where Trilla and the other Jedi were taken, tortured, and forced into becoming Inquisitors and it’s likely that’s where the Inquisitors were based after the shitshow on Coruscant.  It’s a big enough building that it’s likely to have pretty much whatever kind of stuff your clubhouse needs for the Inquisitors!  But we don’t have much hard canon about it, no. As for the Inquisitors themselves, they’re complicated--some of them seemed almost loyal to each other, they would work together at times or even seem to avenge each other, but other times they would sneer at each other or mock each other, it seemed like they had a lot of shifting dynamics and probably a lot of it was fear at trying to survive being around Darth Vader. We don’t know for sure how many there specifically are or if, when one of them dies, they’re replaced by another, but it seems like there were at least twelve Inquisitors and we’ve never seen them be replaced, which I think implies that they were only ever meant to be a temporary measure and would be disposed of, as soon as Sidious knew all the Jedi were dead for sure/he could raise a new group of Force-sensitive children from birth. ANYWAY YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN:  LOTS OF INFO BUT NOT A LOT OF INFO.  😂

[whumpzone]

Tomas and Rowe - Part 16

in which everyone has a bad time. except kasia. he's having fun

Masterpost

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CW: pet whump, dehumanisation, force feeding, stress positions, references to mouth whump and burns

-

Rowe took to repeating the affirmations every day, whispering them past the newly empty gaps in his gums. When he did them, he could forget for a little while that he was going to die in his cell. At least he could die as something. He wouldn’t let Kasia turn him into an empty husk.

I have worth.

I don’t deserve pain.

I’m a person.

He was careful, of course, to lock them away when Kasia visited. He tried not to associate them with pain; he said them every day when he woke up, not when he was freshly hurting. He didn’t want to ever, ever, say them in front of Kasia.

He knew if he did it would just get him another beating, but they were his. They were precious. They were a relic of Master that Kasia couldn’t corrupt.

He just had to keep his stupid mouth shut when it mattered.

For the first time since his arrival here, Rowe spent a whole day alone. The hours ticked by as he started to see shapes in the floor, and wondered if Kasia would ever return. Was this it? Had he got bored already? Would Rowe be left to die and rot after less than a week, his capture so recent he could still feel Master’s hands in his?

In reality it only meant that when Kasia did come back the next day, Rowe despised himself for the brief flash of relief. The man he was at the mercy of had returned to torture him another day.

Kasia had brought more chains, and restraints, always in his duffle bag, and Rowe had quickly learnt to shrink away at the mere sight of it. Rowe stayed curled up on the floor as he entered, eyeing him like a kicked dog.

“Did you miss me, pup?”

“Please,” he replied hoarsely. “Please give me f-food. Please.”

Rowe would never have dared beg with his first Master. But he had always known that he would be fed, eventually, once he had learnt his lesson. And of course, he’d never needed to beg Master Tomas. But here, there weren’t any rules. Nothing was guaranteed. So fuck it, he might as well try to prolong his life.

“Today’s your lucky day. I actually brought something. You’ll have to earn it, though. No getting on my fucking nerves, yeah?”

You’re the one who chooses to come here, Rowe thought despairingly.

“Okay, okay, just please-“

“Didn’t you just hear me?” Kasia kicked him in the stomach and Rowe moaned. He nodded, wincing as the burns on his neck pressed together.

“Arms up, come on.”

. . .

Tomas had made it from the shower to the downstairs sofa, and he was content with that. Not proud, no, proud would imply he was happy with himself in some way, but at least he wasn’t completely catatonic today. Luca had texted saying to answer the door if it rang, and a part of Tomas still wanted to impress him, despite it all. So he had showered and brushed the last of the blood from his hair. God, how many days had it been?

A small movement on the floor caught his eye. A spider, out of reach, too far to feasibly get him. He felt acutely aware of his own apathy then, as instead of shrieking or running away, he just stared.

The chance of the spider hurting him was practically zero. And yet he was still afraid. Afraid of it crawling over his skin, afraid that it might come near him in the night when he was asleep and vulnerable, and although he knew deep down that it wouldn’t, there was always the possibility of it deciding to run up his leg at any given moment. Even being near it made him afraid.

He thought of Rowe. He felt like he understood something. He sighed.

Luca arrived not half an hour later, banging on the door and shouting for Tomas as if nothing was wrong.

“Hey! It’s me- don’t leave me outside on this cold night. I’m only an orphan boy.”

Tomas pulled the door open. He couldn’t smile, but seeing Luca felt like the weight in his stomach was lifted slightly.

“It’s not cold. And you’re not an orphan.”

“I am happy to see you, though,” Luca said calmly. He was holding a basket, its contents hidden under a teatowel. “I brought you a pull-yourself-together hamper. Some ready meals, dry shampoo, fruit, and stuff. And the teatowel. ‘Cause why not.”

Already Tomas could feel Luca’s warmth seeping into him. He put a hand over his mouth and nodded. “Than- thanks, thank you, you know you don’t owe me anything-“

“I know, handsome lad. But the thought of Rowe being kidnapped is- god, it’s awful. Don’t worry, I’m here of my own free will. Sometimes you just need someone else in the house.”

Tomas let him inside, feeling guilty about the mess, then feeling guilty because he was the one who allowed it to accumulate.

“Let’s open a window,” Luca suggested, and Tomas sloped over. “Want me to get that spider?”

He shook his head, trying uselessly to hide his face. “It’s fine, it’s fine, you can let it stay, I’m sorry I don’t know why I’m-“

His own voice cracking cut him off but he pressed on.

“I’m fine, I really am.”

“You’re not. It’s okay.”

“Just- how- how the fuck did I let this happen. How did I not, I mean, I trusted him this whole- whole time and now it’s all gone wrong and-“

He sat heavily on the floor, leaning his face into the side of the sofa, not blinking, not seeing. He breathed out and time seemed to slow.

Luca’s hand rested on his shoulder, a gentle pressure to his fingers.

“What’s done is done. You can’t help Rowe by falling apart, and you definitely can’t help yourself like that either. It’s, ah, it’s hard. It’s really hard. But you can collapse and cry and disintegrate when Rowe is back, I promise. Do you know where Kasia lives?”

Tomas nodded. “I haven’t even thought about that. I can’t believe myself.”

“Hey, no falling apart okay?” Luca’s tone was firm, and it made Tomas pull his head up, to look at him. His hair, braided in two chunky plaits, hung asymmetrically, one past his collarbone and one down his back. His eyeliner was winged like the letter V, drawn out in a point that came sharply back over his eyelid. Pretty. “That’s good to know, though. You could catch him on his way in or out, try to strike up a deal, I don’t know. I’ve not exactly had any experience with kidnappings either.”

“Yeah, it’s fucking stupid isn’t it. This whole situation is stupid. Fuck.”

Luca just looked at him, a sad smile ghosting over his face.

“I just can’t stop thinking about all the things that might be happening,” Tomas confessed. “He’s unhinged, he really is. He’s sick. And he’s got Rowe and the police don’t care, no one cares.”

“I care. You care.”

Tomas didn’t reply and the words hung over them. Two people caring wasn’t much. But, he supposed, it was better than nothing.

. . .

Rowe’s arms would dislocate, they would they absolutely would, Kasia was setting him up to dislocate both his god damn shoulders or arms or whatever. Rowe could hardly tell where the pain was located, it felt like it was everywhere, burning through his like a fire burns a taut string.

The food- dog food, but still edible, still something- sat before him, emptied on the floor, and from where Rowe knelt he should’ve been able to lean and eat easily. But Kasia had his arms bound and tied to the bars of the cage door, pulling them back and turning any movement into agony. Not only was he bent out of shape, but the burns along his shoulders were irritated awfully. He was sure his skin would burst open any second.

It had been twenty minutes at most, and already he was exhausted. Sweat rolled down him, dripping off his nose. He could hardly breathe.

Kasia’s heavy boot pressed down on the crown of his head, and his moan quickly became a scream of pain.

“No, no please!”

“I thought you were hungry. I’m helping.”

The pressure doubled, forcing Rowe’s face closer to the dog food, until he was close enough to open his mouth and take a bite. Disgust flooded him, and it only increased when he chewed. He swallowed past the collar, his throat pressing uncomfortably against it, and oh god, it felt so good, it was food in his belly, he was thankful for it despite everything. Kasia seemed satisfied and released his boot, sending Rowe’s head springing back to relieve the pressure on his shoulders. The skin near his burns had ripped and were bleeding, but nothing was dislocated.

“You’re definitely still hungry. How about another bite?”

Before Rowe could speak, Kasia had grabbed a fistful of hair, shoving him down, the sudden pull on his arms a thousand times worse than before, worse than anything, the pain was clouding his mind and he couldn’t think of anything but the barest, most built-in responses.

He screamed.

Spit flew from his mouth. Kasia kept pressing, his fingers curling tighter together, and the burning on Rowe’s scalp joined the rest of his body. His fingers were surely purple with how hard Kasia had tied them. Rowe had lost all feeling beyond his wrists.

“Please!”

Kasia ignored him.

“Please, st-stop, please M-M-Master Tomas help me-“

“He’s not fucking coming you stupid dog,” Kasia growled and pulled Rowe’s face all the way down, cracking his chin against the concrete, a deep shooting pain through his face and remaining teeth. He moaned. More skin tore along his shoulders. “No one’s coming to save you.”

A kick sent him lurching to the side, twisting his body until he was sprawled with his back to the floor, staring up at his bound hands, which were a mixture of blue and purple and were not moving at all.

He turned his head to see Kasia grabbing a fistful of the dog food from the floor and stepping over him.

“Mouth open.” Rowe complied and Kasia smiled mockingly. “Good boy.”

The dog food was shoved in, packing against the walls of his mouth, Kasia’s fingers prodding his gums, and it took everything not to vomit. His stomach heaved but nothing came. All he could do was be a good boy, and eat.

“Tomas isn’t your Master. He’s not coming.”

Present tense, thought Rowe as his eyes watered from the taste. He’s not dead.

. . .

Tomas couldn’t stop his legs from shaking as he stood on Kasia’s street, his hands tucked under his armpits for warmth. Yeah, the shaking was definitely just from the cold. Sure.

By the time Kasia appeared, it was night. He stalked down the street, stumbling slightly, and Tomas realised he was drunk. If he hadn’t had a reason to be there, he would have walked away right now, and fast.

When Kasia got close enough, Tomas stepped out of the shadows, forcing Kasia to stop and fix him with a glare.

“Give him back.”

“Or what?” he asked flatly, as if this meeting was no surprise. “Hah, you look like shit Tomas.”

“Give him fucking back, what do you want for him, money? You’re torturing a human being you sick fuck.”

“I’m having some fun with a Pet,” Kasia smiled. “And if you start whining like this I will just kill him.”

Tomas stiffened. “You wouldn’t.”

“You so sure about that?”

“Let him go.”

“No,” Kasia pushed him once and Tomas stumbled back, hitting a wall. He blinked and Kasia’s face was pressed up in front of his. He stank of booze and cigarettes. “Fuck off or I’ll kill him. I’ll hurt him worse to make up for this, too.”

“No, fuck no just leave him fucking alone-“

Kasia swung once, but mercifully something made him miss. Carelessness, the alcohol, perhaps just the assumption that Tomas was too pathetic to move out of the way. His fist cracked against the wall and as he shouted in pain Tomas considered kicking him between the legs, spitting on him, whatever. But Rowe’s life was at stake so, like the coward he was, he ran into the night, Kasia shouting taunts behind him.

Luca looked up when he pushed through the door, panting. He’d run the entire way. Luca stayed silent; the look on Tomas’s face was telling enough.

“I’m a fucking failure,” he whispered, and started to cry.