#so i guess at least shes not actively having a heart attack

[ainawgsd]

I made the mistake about thinking about the staffing situation at work this morning

[kaisacobra]

Deal - Tara Carpenter

Summary: After a long time apart, you and Tara have to figure out if you can still save what you had or if you are too broken to be fixed.

Warnings: A bit of angst (maybe)

Word Count: 3.9K

a/n: This is officially the end of the whole "second best" saga! Thank you so much for everyone who read it till here, it was really fun to write. I hope you guys don't mind the open ending 🤭

Fourth part/Alternate ending of Second Best

Tara couldn't remember the last time she felt this nervous. She stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror for what must have been the hundredth time, adjusting her bangs again, sweeping them from side to side until they looked almost the same as they did initially. The bright light in the room highlighted her freckles and wide, brown eyes filled with anxiety.

It had been a little over a year since she last saw you, since you accepted a spot for a study abroad program after recovering from the injuries caused by the last ghostfaces attack. You went with Kate, and as far as Tara knew, you and the girl spent that time living together.

She vividly remembered the day you left, as everyone else bid you farewell at the airport while Tara drowned in her own misery in her room. She wanted to go, say something, maybe even plead for you to stay, but she didn't have that right. She had sworn not to get close to you again until she knew she had her emotions under control.

Still, she allowed herself to be a bit more flexible when she noticed that her contact was no longer blocked by you. She let her fingers type an honest and heartfelt message about her mistakes, how sorry she was, and her plans to become a better person in the future. You responded with a heart emoji and nothing more. Nevertheless, it relieved the weight on Tara's chest just to know that you didn't hate her as much as she feared.

Tara remained true to the promise she made, a kind of devotion to you and what you represented in her life. She continued her therapy sessions regularly and decided to set aside some of her pride when trying to find new coping mechanisms, even if some of them required the help of others.

Writing remained her favorite, and she had hundreds of pages to prove it. She would be lying if she said you weren't the most mentioned topic in her journals, but over time, she started expanding her writing, and it became common to see her with a small notebook in her bag at all times, ready to express her opinions and feelings when necessary.

But she didn't have the notebook in hand that day. It was Mindy's birthday, and Tara wanted to be 100% dedicated to her friends, actively participating in games, conversations, and any other activity they needed. She knew she had been a bit absent-minded since you moved away, and it made her friends uneasy, not knowing exactly how to deal with the situation and with Tara herself.

But the day was supposed to be happy and carefree, so that's what Tara was going to appear to be.

Or at least, that was the plan until Tara arrived at Mindy's apartment and heard from the birthday girl herself that you would be arriving any moment. From that point on, Tara only remembers feeling her heart almost leap out of her throat and rushing to the bathroom in a failed attempt to prevent hyperventilation.

She sighed again and gripped the sink so tightly that the knuckles of her fingers turned white. She was anxious to see you, but she had no idea how you would react to the encounter. What if you looked at her with distaste? Or if you didn't even want to look her in the face? Tara knew she would deserve that kind of treatment, but it didn't mean it would hurt any less.

Because the truth is, all this time, Tara just wanted you back in her life.

---

Ringing a doorbell should be a simple task, but still, you couldn't help but stand in front of the door, second-guessing before pressing the simple buzzer.

"You know, if you want, we can turn around and leave, but we both know that's not what you want."

You sighed, turning to look at the girl beside you. Kate Bishop had her hands in the jacket pockets and displayed a fond smile on her face, which you imagined was an attempt to make you feel better.

"I hate it when you're right," you scoffed, but both of you knew your indignation was just a joke, having spent enough time together to read each other's reactions like a book.

This wasn't what you expected when you accepted the offer for a year-long study abroad program at Cambridge, but you also couldn't say you weren't satisfied with how things turned out. You didn't even know you needed this change of scenery, but it made sense after everything you had been through. You needed time away from painful memories.

The British air provided a calmness you hadn't felt in a long time, without fear of seeing familiar faces on the streets or places that would remind you of certain memories or people. Of course, good company also played a significant role.

You could hardly believe it when Kate offered to share an apartment with you near the college. She had already done so much for you, being by your side and supporting you throughout your rehabilitation process after last year's attack. You didn't want her to feel obligated to continue taking care of you.

But Kate barely listened to your concerns, saying that she needed to go to other countries to try to expand her company's contacts and that it would be good to have a roommate to share expenses (even though you were pretty sure Kate had enough money to buy three apartments in central London if she wanted to).

It was one of the best decisions you had ever made, and quickly you and Kate fell into such a comfortable rhythm that it felt like you had always lived together. Your relationship even turned romantic for a while, but it only lasted until you both realized that you were better off as friends, which was agreed upon between the two of you.

"Come on, ring that doorbell already! I'm starving!" Kate lightly pushed you, and you rolled your eyes with affection, feeling a bit less tense with your friend's moral support.

"Starving," you laughed and actually pressed the doorbell, taking a few steps back to wait for the moment the door would open. Your hands were trembling, and you felt as though you were about to sweat even though it was quite cold in New York. Of course, you missed your friends, your family, but that wasn't enough to ease your anxiety.

When the door finally opened, you were faced with Mindy Meeks-Martin, with her signature sarcastic smile and her short, curly hair reaching her chin, much longer than the last time you saw her. "Well, well. If it isn't our new European! Do you only speak with an accent now?"

"You're ridiculous." With a smile, you advanced and enveloped Mindy in a long hug that she quickly reciprocated, both feeling the longing emanating through the touch. The contact lasted for a few long seconds until you both untangled yourselves again. "I hope it's not a problem that I brought Kate along..."

"Pfft! Of course not!" Mindy waved her hand, indicating that she didn't mind the newcomer. "It's even better you brought her because I needed to thank her in person for taking care of you." She looked at Kate with a playful smile. "I think we all know our y/n is too kind to be alone in a distant country. She would try to help a stranger on the street and get kidnapped for sure."

"Hey!"

"Wow, have you heard about the time she took the wrong subway, and then..."

"Okay! Enough about my misfortune! Can we go in?" You interrupted Kate, feeling your cheeks flush a bit. Despite being slightly embarrassed, you were still happy that two important people in your life had the potential to get along, and that was all you could ask for.

Mindy made room, and finally, you entered the apartment. It was new, considering the twin and Anika had recently moved in together, and it was sparsely furnished but beautiful and comfortable enough to feel like a home. You and Kate approached, she with her hands on your back as a silent support, and you greeted your friends with enthusiasm and a longing to catch up.

Chad looked stronger than ever, and he seemed excited about both college and his part-time job as an assistant at a gym. Apparently, he got a discount for training and using the equipment and was clearly taking full advantage of it. He and Kate engaged in a conversation about diets, weights, and workouts that you honestly couldn't follow, but you were satisfied to know that they had gotten along well enough to plan to train together someday.

Anika was happy and radiant, making you laugh as she always did. She wore a cropped top, revealing the huge scar forming a line in the center of her stomach, something she seemed to wear with pride. You never expected this reaction from her; on the contrary, you had imagined that she would want to distance herself from the group, out of fear or trauma. Still, it was reassuring to see that she had stayed for Mindy. They were the kind of couple you hoped would last forever.

Sam seemed somewhat lighter since the last time you saw her, as if a huge weight had lifted off her shoulders. She was smiling, albeit not very widely, and welcomed you with a warm hug that almost made you cry with relief. Part of you always wondered if Sam was glad with your departure because of... well... your conflicts with her sister, but she seemed so happy with your presence that it was almost embarrassing that you had that thought in the first place.

And then, she came. A pair of bright brown eyes that haunted your sleep without permission. It was unfair how she looked as beautiful as the last time you saw her, as if time worked differently for her, and only for her. Your breath caught in your throat, and your heart seemed to beat so fast it was about to explode.

How could it be possible that your entire system changed just by her presence? How was it possible that, with a glance, she could change your heartbeat and make your head spin like a carousel? Maybe she didn't even know she was doing it, but you couldn't comprehend why, even after so many years, your body reacted so instinctively around her.

It was almost humiliating to realize that your efforts seemed to have been in vain. You had gone to another country, met new people, explored new horizons, even had a girlfriend for a brief period. During this year, you had thought so little about Tara that you almost thought you could leave her in the past, that you had overcome your feelings, so pure but so conflicting. All of this, all this effort to come back and realize that you seemed to still be stuck in the same place, like the same foolish girl who would do anything for Tara Carpenter against your better judgment.

You could still hear her screams on that last night you had together when you thought you were going to die, and your biggest concern was that Tara had to leave that room alive. You still remembered the conversation you had before, Tara begging for your forgiveness and saying she loved you multiple times.

Those were memories that left a hole in your chest. You knew Tara had her problems, but you always lost so much when she distanced herself.

She raised her hand in an awkward greeting, and you think you gave a half-smile in response. It was too much. You were still feeling too much, and it drove you crazy. Still, you pretended everything was okay for a few moments, just not to create an uncomfortable atmosphere at the party. You talked to the others, sharing a bit of your experience in England, but your mind always unconsciously turned to Tara, analyzing her reactions and trying to read her thoughts.

Tara was quiet, maybe even quieter than you had ever seen her. You couldn't read her expressions very well, straining to see her only from the corner of your eye, but you could feel her attentive gaze on you, as if nothing in the world was as interesting as you.

Finally, you stopped talking for a while and found an excuse to leave and try to restore some of your sanity. The door to the balcony was open, and even though the view was nothing but New York's industrial buildings, the cold wind on your face helped alleviate some of the nervousness you were feeling.

A gentle touch reached your shoulder, and it was familiar enough for you to recognize the owner. Kate's image appeared by your side as she leaned on the railing, looking directly at your face in deep thought. "So?"

"I thought I had gotten over this. This is ridiculous." You responded with your head down, feeling ashamed to continue in this cycle of liking Tara Carpenter.

Kate shook her head and held your shoulder again, silently asking for your attention. "You can't control these things, you know." A second of silence passed, the faint sounds of the city serving as a soundtrack to your emotional confusion. "If it helps, she spent the whole time looking at you. She seemed... I don't know, regretful, maybe? I don't know her as well as you do."

"I don't even know if I still know her." It was a true confession. Even after everything, even the attacks and the message Tara sent you when you were leaving the country, you still weren't sure if she had the capacity to return to what she was before everything went wrong. You were afraid, and honestly, who could blame you?

While you were away, sometimes you checked your friends' Instagram, just to see what they were up to. Multiple times, the posts contained photos with Tara, and she seemed happy, maybe even lighter. You even wondered if the two of you were just destined to be apart, like a more brutal version of Romeo and Juliet.

"You're not obligated to anything, but don't you need some sort of closure?" Kate advised. "Just to move on, if that's what you really want."

"What do you mean by that?" You retorted defensively.

The blue-eyed girl smiled and shook her head slightly, as if dealing with an irritated child. "I saw how you looked at her when you arrived. I'm not saying you should do anything, especially because I have my doubts if she could really be good for you, but it's clear that you feel something for her that's bigger than you can control."

"Yeah, and that's pathetic."

"Don't be so hard on yourself. I understand that your situation is complicated." Kate placed her other hand on your shoulder, now holding you face-to-face with her. "But you know you'll have to face this someday, right? Whatever the conclusion may be."

"Yeah, I know." You sighed, but eventually a smile broke through, lighting up your expression. "When did you become so wise, Bishop? Last time I saw you, you were trying to put aluminum in the microwave."

"Shut up." She grumbled while also having a smile on her face and pulled you into a hug that you didn't even know you needed. That was Kate, a warm person who always gave her best to the people she loved. You couldn't be more grateful to still have her in your life, even though your relationship didn't work out. 

The affectionate moment almost made you forget your conflict. Almost.

Until the reason for all your doubts appeared standing in front of the door, staring directly at you.

_

Tara regretted going after you.

She should have expected, especially since you came to the party with Kate, especially because you spent this whole year living with her. But that didn't mean it hurt any less to see you embraced with her, looking so comfortable that you wouldn't need anything else in this world.

Especially if it was someone known for hurting you and breaking your heart repeatedly.

She stood there, rooted to the ground like an idiot, until you two separated and noticed her presence. When your eyes met, she looked like a deer in the headlights and immediately started stepping back, embarrassed to have been caught like that.

Tara was already planning how to hide from you for the rest of the party when Kate stopped her. "Hey! No need to leave."

The Latina girl halted her route and looked suspiciously at both of you. You didn't seem to understand the situation, just like her, but Kate seemed sure of what she was doing because she continued. "You two need to talk once and for all. No imminent death or text messages, just eye to eye."

"Kate." You called her, grabbing her arm as a form of protest. Tara couldn't help but wince when she noticed how just how much you were against the idea of being alone with her. Not that she could blame you for it.

"Thank me later." That was all the other girl responded, and with a short nod towards Tara, she returned to the living room, leaving two tormented souls by themselves on the balcony.

Tara took a few small steps forward, analyzing what your reaction would be to the proximity. You seemed to be doing your best to ignore her, looking into the distance as if there were something interesting in graffiti-covered billboards and dimly lit lamp posts. She leaned on the railing, trying at least to have a view of your face. "Sorry if I interrupted your intimate moment; I didn't mean to."

You released air through your nose, but Tara couldn't tell if it was a laugh. "You talk as if Kate and I were dating."

"And aren't you?" The younger Carpenter replied, trying to contain some of the excitement she wanted to show. That had been one of the best news she had received in a long time. 

"No, not for a while. I thought you saw it on my Instagram; I unblocked you." You finally looked at her, and Tara could see that you were analyzing her, as if she were a puzzle to be solved.

"Yeah, I stopped checking a while ago. Thought maybe it would bother you."

"And it wouldn't bother me for you to say you love me and not visit me in the hospital once after almost dying in front of you? It wouldn't bother me that the only news I had from you after that was that message before I boarded the plane, since you didn't even bother to show up at the airport?"

Tara felt the anger in your voice, and she accepted each of your frustrations as a penance. God, she would probably accept a punch from you if that would make you feel better. "I had promised myself that I would only get close to you again when I was better, okay? When I sought help and there was no risk of being an idiot with you again. I didn't lie when I said I love you, and it's because I love you that I knew it was better to stay away until I could be a version of myself that would be better for you."

A minute of pure silence passed, and Tara almost thought the conversation would end there until you spoke again. "And did you? Get better, I mean."

She sighed and crossed her arms as if that made her less vulnerable. "I think so. I don't feel as much uncontrolled anger as before; I also don't feel the need to take out my frustrations in drinks or parties. It's been a while since I argued with Sam, and I think that's good for both of us. And my therapist is nice, even though he's old enough to not know what Twitter is." Tara laughed, even though she was full of anxiety bubbling inside her. "But he advised me to write, and that has helped me a lot."

You looked at her with curiosity. "Write? About what?"

"About everything." Tara shrugged, almost as if she were relaxed. "My day-to-day life, college, my friends... you. Writing makes what I feel not stay trapped inside me, so I have no reason to explode. Everyone wins with this, and I must say that my essay grades even increased after that."

A short laugh escaped your lips, and the sound made Tara minimally satisfied with herself. "You write about me?"

"Yeah, actually, most of my journals have something about you. Memories of our childhood or what I feel for you." Tara admitted, feeling her own face blush with embarassment. You didn't seem to notice, or just didn't care, because you continued to look at her very carefully. "But most of it is about things I regret. Things I said, things I did... I'm really sorry."

"I want to believe that. I mean, I believe you, I know you're not lying, but..." You placed your hands on your head and closed your eyes, your elbows resting on the railing. It seemed like you were trying to block your own thoughts. "It's all so complex, and I feel so much... pain."

"I understand. I don't expect you to forgive me, and I'm willing to spend the rest of my life apologizing if necessary." Cautiously, Tara took a few steps towards you. "But if you want me to stay away, just say the words, and I'll go."

You sighed with evident exhaustion. "Of course not, Tara."

She took a few more steps, and now her arm almost touched yours. "I know I have no right to ask this, but... do you still love me? Or do you think you could love me again someday?"

"Of course, I still love you, Tara! Don't you see that's the problem?" You moved away from the railing, raising your voice as the conversation stressed you. "I shouldn't still love you! I shouldn't still want you around! What does that say about me?"

Tara waited a few seconds until you calmed down, keeping the distance between you to avoid making you more irritated. When your breathing started to slow, she continued in a weak voice. "I hurt the person I loved most in this world. What does that say about me?"

You didn't say anything in response. She spoke again. "Why don't we make a deal?"

"A deal? About what?" You replied with sarcasm dripping from your voice.

"Let me prove that I've changed, that I've improved, that I deserve a place in your life again. We can start slowly; I won't force anything and will respect any boundaries you want." The girl pleaded, almost clasping her hands and kneeling at your feet. "And if I do anything, anything at all, that makes you uncomfortable and hurts you, I'll leave you alone forever."

"What's the point of that?"

"To stop this doubt that I know we both have. Stop us from wondering about the 'what ifs' and really put to the test if I've changed. That's what you want, isn't it? To know if there's any chance the old Tara can come back? Well, that's all I want too."

You stared at her, clear doubt and apprehension in your eyes as you thought about the presented arguments. Tara's foot tapped rapidly on the floor, demonstrating her nervousness.

A few seconds passed until you spoke again. "What does this mean for us?"

Tara's expression softened as she understood your caution. It was understandable, your fear. "I don't know, but we can find out together. Do we have a deal?"

A few more seconds, and then, a nod.

"Deal."

[extasiswings]

Okay, SO! In the category of "I think it's possible that Eddie has a brain tumor/is sick in some way":

Eddie is acting weird. Eddie has been acting weird from the beginning of the season, and I know there has been discourse about "it's just that we haven't seen him so happy before" but I respectfully submit that multiple things can be true at the same time. Eddie can be happy AND it can be out of character for him to impulsively drop everything to take a helicopter ride with his new friend he met two seconds ago to see a fight in Vegas (the last time we saw Eddie be truly impulsive I'd argue was S3, buying a truck while in the midst of a serious crisis). Eddie can be happy AND it can be out of character for him to ask his girlfriend of five minutes to move in (and I recognize that we were given an explanation from Eddie in the episode, but Eddie is an unreliable narrator and his explanation also doesn't totally square with what we've seen previously - him rushing introducing her to Christopher tracks, him jumping into moving her into his house without knowing basic information about her life does not).

Then there are the Eddie-coded calls. The guy with the alien hand who is all about rigid self control and being the master of yourself - his body turning against him not because the control failed but because of a blood clot in his brain. And now the guy with encephalitis (the same condition that ultimately caused Chim to hallucinate dead people), who has amnesia and has forgotten the marriage that ended in divorce but recalls the happy time before that when his wife was just his fiancee, the guy who was experiencing chest pains that he thought was a heart attack only for Chim to say he was having a panic attack. They had Eddie be so open about his own experiences with panic attacks and coping mechanisms in 7x01 for a reason - he's genuinely doing better with his own mental health and isn't ashamed or afraid of talking about his mental health struggles. But looking at these two calls, the underlying reason for the call (alien hand, amnesiac/presumed stalker in vent) theoretically could have had mental health explanations, but instead both resulted from physical ailments in the brain. [Tangent: I also think there's something really interesting in the potential callback to S5 and the way Eddie and Maddie were sort of mirrors - Eddie with a seemingly physical problem that was caused by a mental health issue, Maddie with a seemingly mental health issue that turned out to at least in part be the result of a physical problem]

Then there is whatever they're doing with ghosts. Shannon's ghost has lingered over the narrative and was actively put on screen in 7x01. For Chim in 7x06, the ghosts were hallucinations because there was something wrong with his brain. For Bobby, I'm guessing his arc with the burn unit nurse from his past will be more of a metaphorical haunting, bringing up any number of old ghosts (but I'm also going to guess his wife will be one). For Eddie...unclear. Ryan was filming with Devin (ostensibly for 7x09 but if they're doing anything with Shanon's ghost I'd be shocked if it wasn't introduced in 7x07, "Ghost of a Second Chance"), but she didn't exactly look like Shannon. Is she supposed to be Shannon? A dream or hallucination of a different or older her? Is she a real woman who just happens to look like her? If Eddie is hallucinating, then something is clearly very wrong. If it's a random woman and he's, idk, pursuing her in some way because he's drawn to her/the fact that she looks like his dead wife, that's still another point in the "Eddie is acting weird" column (because Eddie is a bad boyfriend and wasn't the greatest husband, but what he has never been is a cheater, even when he and Shannon were separated).

And then of course there's the will of it all. The will that Buck and Eddie haven't talked about since the shooting. Now, it's no secret I love the potential of a trapped dads experience circling back to the will, but I also think there is an argument to be made for a callback to "You're the guy who likes to fix things, maybe this isn't something you can fix." Because usually, when Eddie is in danger, Buck can do something about it, take some actionable step even if a futile one - he can dig through mud, he can drag Eddie's body out of the line of fire and into an ambulance and keep him alive. And for someone who, I would guess, still thinks of himself and the will as a backup plan/contingency, who if put in a trapped dads situation may not be able to stop himself from trying to save Eddie or, if necessary, sacrificing himself to do so, because in his mind, Eddie is Christopher's dad/who Christopher needs most, it is deeply compelling to imagine what happens if Eddie is in danger from something Buck can't fix, can't fight, can't save him from. And Eddie being sick in some capacity does that.

Anyway...I just think it would be Neat.

[syndrossi]

Can we get a caraxes and vhagar POV of them meeting the lil babies in regnal au pretty pretty pleaseeee🥺🥺🥺 I can just imagine them crooning and gushing over how cute they are and how they're not fully hatched yet ksksksk and them bragging to other dragons about how amazing their dragon riders' hatchlings/grandhatchling are 🤩🤩

When the actual hatchlings come along are they gonna imprint on vhagar like they did caraxes and think that's their mother?

In regnal au what's the craziest thing teen dad!daemon does with the twins that gives rhea almost a heart attack compared to older, more mature father daemon in reverberate au?

I feel like Caraxes will be puzzled at how round and egg-shaped Daemon's hatchlings are, while Vhagar rolls her eyes, all "of COURSE have you not seen a fleshling before?" And then Caraxes grumbles that not everyone is 150 years old. Also if the little one is called Aemon, why is he being taken on VHAGAR for a ride, ahem? He has dibs on all the Aemons. Wait, and she gets the BAELON too? Unfair!

For the hatchlings, it'll probably depend on where Vhagar is and how often she's around relative to Caraxes. I could see Vhagar being the ultimate grump about still more hatchlings and she agrees with Caraxes, they smell wrong. Like the sickness that took Balerion. She settles into a reluctant grandma role, with a suspicious eye on them, and it's Caraxes who ends up defending their oddness to her. So, ultimately I guess they don't view her as a mother? But some kind of relation at least, despite her protests.

Oh goodness, Daemon shenanigans. I think for the first six months, he's incredibly careful with them, since they were born so small and that imprinted itself in his mind: that they're fragile, and he has to be careful. But as soon as they start getting active and crawling/rolling and they've got all that baby fat on their cheeks, Daemon finally feels secure enough to do things with them. Riding is the first heart-stopping activity (from Rhea's perspective), but Baelon beats him to it, so it's not even Daemon being reckless there. And he's definitely a baby-tosser, as he demonstrated with Rhaenyra.

I could see him thinking it's totally fine to give Jon his first knife at an absurd age, like, four. And Rhea has to confiscate it, reminding Daemon that he's a CHILD and he could accidentally cut himself or his brother!

Daemon's also close enough to his Flea Bottom days that he thinks it's perfectly safe to take two baby princes through the more dangerous parts of the city without a single household knight, because he has Dark Sister, they're fine. Baelon and Jaehaerys are both aghast at that one.

Ultimately, I'm guessing it's something fire-related that showcases their fireproofness while Rhea is all THAT DOES NOT EXCUSE YOUR CARELESSNESS YOU CANNOT ASSUME TODDLERS DO NOT BURN WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!

[iconuk01]

The heroic Spectral Knights and corrupt Darkling Lords invoking their magic powers... can you guess which one's are the heros and which ones the villains? (The answers are unlikely to surprise you)

Plus a shoutout to the vehicle drivers, who sadly never got to use their spells at all, as the cartoon never made it clear that only a specific person could activate a specific vehicle (Because of plot purposes I guess)

Spectral Knight Feryl's Capture Chariot:

Which could throw fireballs from the two passenger modules it could also launch

Feryl's spell (never heard or used on the show) was "Fire", with the cantrip:

"Draw upon the breath of stars, And scorch the sky with fiery scars"

So the vehicle had the same magic, the cartoon just never used the spell.

Likewise the Darkling Lord's Dagger Assault, piloted by Reekon

Which had a holding cell in the back which could suck out any magic users power

The cantrip for "Magical Extraction" was

"Flay the flesh, lay bare the bone Upon this field, let grief be sown"

(Actually, I think I can see why that one wouldn't have been allowed anyway, I mean "flay the flesh"? Most kids would have to look that up and if it was an illustrated dictionary... ouch!)

We also had the Spectral Knights "Lancer Cycle" which was piloted by Ectar, with the spell Protection, and the cantrip

"Shield this craft from one and all! Reflect, deflect, depose and fall!"

And finally, the Sky Claw, piloted by that most toadying of bootlickers, Mortdredd

Given some of the other vehicles could fly (or at least bits of them could) it seems odd that the spell for this vehicle was simply "Flight" with the cantrip

"Wings of steel shall ride the breeze, Invade the air, the land, the seas!"

But in the cartoon they sort of got round this (even without the spell being used) by having the behicle be able to manifest dragon beasts to attack chosen targets.

And we shouldn't forget the ladies, who didn't have action figures, or spell staffs, or vehicles (Because... boy-targetted toy lines in the 80s, even cool ones, could be staggeringly sexist), but who did show up in the cartoon, and the comics.

We had the Spectral Knight Galadria, with the totem form of a dolphin, and the Darkling Lord Virulina, who took the form of a shark. (Since they had almost no aquatic adventures, it was convenient workaround to not have to animate them using their powers very often)

The comics did try to ameliorate this in it's short lived, and cancellled halfway through the first major story, publication history.

And here they are in action...

"By warmth of heart, your pain I feel, Grant me the power, your wounds to heal"

Which heals pretty much everything within range, from sick people, to damage trees, but at the cost of some of Galadria's own life force, so she can't keep using it.

Galadria she gains the power to spread a blight, which can target a single person or an entire group.

A shame the whole thing was over in a year, this series was serisouly fun and deserved more time to grow, especially when they had already designed and prepared the second years worth of toys (Which STILL didn't include Galadria and Virulina, mind you...).

[mcwonaldsemployee]

so I rewatched the gunntech au video by elmushterri and I had an idea for an OC and decided that posting it was a good idea

ik the art isn't that good but I wanted to give an idea of how she looks to go with the oc backstory

ok anyway meet Mariana Joslyn. Her name was originally Annabeth or "Beth", but she ended up changing it. She was one of GunnTech's earlier experiments, because I assume Grayson wouldn't have risked Greg as one of the first experiments (at least earlier/pre-series Grayson). As you can imagine, the earlier experiments didn't go too well. As an example, Mariana/Annabeth was meant to be combined with a chameleon, and while she did get most of the desired traits (camouflage, panoramic view, etc.) she also had these like glitch-attacks where she like, glitches out, and like kinda lost her mind during them??? I also imagine she's able to change her hair colour, skin colour, and eye colour. idk, I just know that they screwed up, dumped her on the side of the road, and told Grayson she'd gotten herself killed in one of her episodes. Her meltdowns became less frequent because she was in a less stressful environment, and during the like 2-month period after getting left on the side of the road she kinda became like a toned down Nori. By that I mean she was still like messing with GunnTech, but not actively breaking out trainees in the dead of night. Like, if she saw one of their vehicles, she'd pop the tire, break a window, etc or something like that. I feel like she'd have called herself Entropy (mainly because I thought it sounded cool and also worked with the chaotic outbursts). Anyway, she eventually realized that she kinda needs to make a living so she just focused on that instead of screwing with GunnTech after that. Timeskip, now she's a broadway star/musician/actor!!!!!!! She's really sweet and generally kind-hearted, but she's not without her flaws. Transitioning from one toxic workspace (gunntech) to another (the acting industry) definitely made her need to adapt. Because of this, despite usually having good intentions, she's not exactly above using and manipulating people. Additionally, she has a fear of being yelled at because of... you guessed it, the scientists at gunntech. As for how she'd play a role in the story... I don't really think she would. I mean, maybe after GunnTech was abolished she'd give the protagonists some money because their parents/guardians are probably in jail now. I guess if she were to be an important character she'd move back to wherever this takes place and start working with Nori to break kids out or something. Even then, I doubt she'd appear in more than a few scenes or mentioned more than a few times. Maybe Greg met her before she got abandoned on the curb, but she probably still wouldn't end up being that important of a character. She's still pretty young by the time the show would take place... probably like around twenty-three? Early twenties? Anyway, I'm over-sharing. Bye-bye now

(i have some other ideas for other earlier experiments, and some headcanons. should I share em?)

[use-your-telescope]

When Everything's Made to be Broken - Chapter 18: You Were in the Darkness, Too

Summary: The aftermath of the attack on the Metropolitan Museum of Art. 

Author’s Note: So… I meant to post a chapter two days ago, then Sunday morning I woke up and was like “nope I need to re-do some of this because I think it’ll be better if a certain event happens ‘on screen,’ so to speak.” Long story short, two days later, here we are! I feel like Oprah - “you get world building, you get back story reveal, you get plot progression, you get super self-indulgent hurt-comfort (maybe a bit more hurt in this chapter, but have no fear there is LOADS more comfort where this came from)!” 

Another random note - back when I started posting snippets on the beloved hellsite, this song initially was set with an entirely different chapter. Then I concluded it worked much better here. So if you have been around for long enough that you’re like “hold up a minute!” when you see the song and what happens here, that’s why. Tbh, I think most of the songs that were paired up with chapters have changed since I initially posted snippets. That’s the beauty of drafts, I guess? Anyways, thanks for your patience, and hope you enjoy <3 reblogs are always appreciated, and lmk if you want to be added to the tag list!

Contents: Descriptions of vomiting, in relation to describing a migraine. Nightmares. Tears. Loki being the actual MVP. 

Word Count: 5,913

Read on AO3 | When Everything's Made to be Broken Masterlist

Song: Cosmic Love - Florence + The Machine

A falling star fell from your heart And landed in my eyes I screamed aloud as it tore through them And now it’s left me blind

Some types of pain could be relieved with medicine.

Others… not so much.

From the moment Theo found Chris outside of the Met, standing amidst the crowd of attendees in a makeshift triage area that had been set up by blocking off 5th Avenue, she could sense a difference in the way he looked at her. He didn’t rush towards her; instead, he approached slowly, scanning over her appearance with wide eyes and the color actively draining from his face. When they met in the middle, Chris reached out as if he wanted to embrace Theo, but he froze with hands hovering inches away from her body, as if he was afraid to touch her.  

Even as Theo promised she was fine and that Chris shouldn’t worry – even as she checked him over, asking if he was okay, the short, half-hearted answers and the cold, wary look in his eyes didn’t diminish; instead of embracing her, he lowered his arms and stepped back, putting even more distance between them. 

He looked at her the same way the council looked at her: as an abomination, a curse. 

The exchange, however, was cut short - one of the medics employed by Stark to work with the Avengers spotted Theo and rushed over to request her help treating some of the most critical patients, who otherwise would not survive transport to the nearest hospital. 

So, Theo pushed the raw ache that settled in her chest to the back of her mind, ignored the churning of her stomach and the pounding in her skull, and set about treating the worst of the injuries, even if it meant she would blow past her limits and pay the price later on. There was a physical cost to using magic, and with healing that cost was much higher - particularly when the scope of healing required was practically bringing someone back from the dead. 

However, between someone dying or inducing a migraine from overexertion of magic, Theo would choose the migraine every time. At least when she healed, some good could come from her magic. Did it make her suffer? Yes, but she probably deserved it after everything.

And boy, she was suffering.

By the time she left, the only people who remained beyond the emergency response crews were paparazzi, lurking around the perimeter like predators stalking prey as they attempted to capture glimpses of the aftermath. They pounced at the sight of Theo, bloodied and drained after what was meant to be a celebratory occasion turned to a nightmare. Each burst of flash felt like an icepick to her skull and left her wishing she had enough energy to teleport herself home. Theo lifted one hand in a futile attempt to block some of the light, only for the shouting of the photographers to ricochet through her eardrums and into her skull. 

How Theo survived the ride back to the tower without throwing up from motion sickness, she wasn’t sure. By some miracle she made it back to her suite, only to make it a few steps inside the door before the nausea and sensitivity to light and sound made her beeline for the bathroom, scolding herself for her earlier recklessness as she dove for the toilet and prepared to empty the contents of her stomach. 

Over the sound of her retching, Theo didn’t hear her phone ring. Because her head was buried in the porcelain bowl of the toilet, she didn’t see the screen light up with Chris’s name. 

As the nausea faded, Theo remained firmly in place, bent over the toilet bowl with both arms stretched across the top of the toilet seat. Once she knew she wasn’t going to be sick, Theo carefully eased herself down to lay on the floor, having spent the last of her energy throwing up. 

Laying in her bed would have been more pleasant, but the thought of moving sent waves of churning heat through Theo’s stomach and made her entire body ache. Besides, the cool tile felt great against her uncomfortably warm skin and it was tolerable enough for her to pass out without even realizing she’d done so.

It was the vibration of Theo’s phone rattling on the floor that dragged her back to the world of the living, only to find she somehow felt even worse than when she passed out earlier. In her half-asleep stupor, Theo clumsily grabbed the phone from where she had tossed it as an afterthought. A wince snuck out as the light of the screen stabbed through Theo’s head; she squinted, trying to make sense of the contents on the screen.

The culprit was a text from Wanda, stating “you okay??”  and then including what looked like a link. But Theo didn’t open the text right away - a different notification on her lock screen caught her eye. A voicemail from Chris, from right around the time Theo got back to the tower, elicited a sense of foreboding dread from Theo that she couldn’t ignore.

With shaking fingers, Theo unlocked her phone and went to her voicemail. She selected the message, relying on the speech to text feature to read the contents of the message instead of listening.

“Hey, it’s Chris. I’d been hoping you would answer, but I guess it is what it is. Look, I’ve been thinking - I don’t think we should see each other anymore. I know it’s cliché, but I mean it when I say it’s not you - it’s me.”

Even if Theo knew it was coming, reading the words still made her sick to her stomach. 

“I know that you’ll always have to put your work as an Avenger first - I’ve always known that. I wouldn’t ask you to try and choose between being an Avenger and our relationship. But tonight, I saw you fighting, and I realized what it really means to date an Avenger, and– it’s too much. I can’t do it. If there’s stuff you left at my apartment, I’ll send it back to you. I’m sorry, Theo. Take care.”

Theo barely finished reading the transcription before bile clawed up from her stomach. She gagged, scrambling to her knees and barely managing to get into position before she threw up, this time expelling nothing but stomach acid in the process. 

Between the cramping of her abdominal muscles, the burning in her throat, the pounding in her skull, the uncomfortable heat of her skin, and the aches radiating from her bones, Theo was miserable enough. The voicemail, however - that was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

A gasp escaped from Theo before she could stop it, then a whimper. Her eyes were leaking - no, water poured from them. She tried to cover her face with her hands as a whine escaped her throat, but she couldn’t stop the sobs that shook her entire body. Moving was painful - crying was painful - but the ache inside of her was far worse than any physical discomfort.

She should have known it would end like this. This was always what happened when people got to know her - they realized she was no good, and then they abandoned her. Thinking this time would be any different was stupid. Even if she told herself that whatever she had with Chris was nothing serious, it didn’t make the fact that he saw her for the curse she was, and he left.

They always leave.

And the worst part? Theo wasn’t angry at Chris for leaving. As much as she hated when the council looked at her like the curse she was, she could understand why. Her family deserved better. The Aneterrans deserved better. They all deserved better than her. 

Chris didn’t know the extent of the bullet he dodged, but he knew enough to make the smart decision and leave before he got hurt.  

By the time the tears stopped, Theo felt like a mess through and through. She didn’t even want to think about what she looked like - eyes swollen, hair tangled, makeup smudged, her skin still sticky with dried blood, and her armor torn from fighting. 

She needed a shower, and then a real bed.

As tempting as it was to lay back down on the floor and continue to wallow, the desire to feel less disgusting won out. 

Theo sat on the floor as she peeled the layers of armor off her body, only standing when she absolutely had to in order to remove her pants. The addition of vertigo meant that she spent most of the short time beneath the spray of cool water leaning against a wall, eventually sliding down to sit on the shower floor when her legs grew too tired to support her weight. 

The process of drying and dressing in pajamas required multiple pauses - one to be sick again, the others a result of aching limbs and muscles trembling from prolonged exertion. It took a herculean effort, but Theo finally made it to her bed, falling asleep before she even had a chance to pull the covers over herself.

The stars, the moon, They have all been blown out You left me in the dark No dawn, no day, I’m always in this twilight In the shadow of your heart

Once a bustling metropolis, Meridia had been known for its opulence and innovation. The streets were packed with vendors peddling their latest inventions and entertainers attempting to woo the staff of the royal court in hopes of securing an audience with the king and queen. 

That Meridia was no more.

Theo stood in the center of a barren flagstone street, blanketed in the dark of a new moon. Broken glass clung to the window frames of weathered stone buildings long-abandoned, just one trace of the city’s descent into madness. Adjusting her mask, Theo pressed forward, relying on muscle memory to carry her into the underbelly of the city she once called home. 

Theo used to sneak onto those very streets with her cousins, placing bets on which performers would successfully charm whoever was tasked with the day’s errands. Sneaking amongst the city was how Theo first learned her governess had a crush with the Apothecary’s son, always traveling to him whenever she needed some sort of potion or supplies for Theo’s lessons. Theo also once caught Ravenna performing to a crowd while in disguise, though Theo immediately recognized her sister and used the knowledge as blackmail. If she listened close enough, she could hear faint traces of musicians’ voices in the wind.

A chill wracked her body. 

Throughout the streets, navy fog shimmered, emitting an iridescent glow as it weaved in and out of the alleys around her. When she left, this neighborhood had yet to be tainted by the arcane fog that had come to be known as the haze.  An orange glow and billowing smoke in the distance highlighted the silhouette of a broken skyline.

Even after all these years, the ruins had yet to stop burning.

The city was but a shadow of what it once was.

This was no longer the Meridia that Theo remembered, much less the Aneterra that Theo hoped to one day return to. 

Instinct led her down alleys and side streets, through what once were lush court gardens bursting with exotic blooms as she reached the rear of her destination. Dead vines of Ivy still clung to once-pristine stone walls; cracks in the weathered glass window panes only hinted at what Theo might find inside. Careful to avoid drawing attention to herself, Theo lurked in the shadows as she made her way round to the front of a building she once knew in and out, the place that she reminisced about on cold nights when the winds of winter rattled her windows as a girl in Michigan. 

Somehow, the front door - crafted of thick lumber and held together with intricate metalwork that reflected the status of the home’s former residents - hadn’t been destroyed in the massacre. 

Theo started to push the door open, but stopped short. She hadn’t been there since the night of the massacre, when she thought she lost everything. Even if Fury was right - even if Theo’s parents and sister were alive - they weren’t the only people Theo lost that night. The possibility that Theo might discover their remains just beyond the door was one she had to be ready to face.

Theo drew in a deep breath, steeled herself, and pushed the door open.

The creaking of worn hinges echoed through what once had been a grand foyer. A thick layer of dust coated the overturned furniture and picture frames along the walls, askew from the chaos of the massacre.

Theo’s boots clicked along the marble floor, each cautious step percolating through the air. The further she ventured into the room, the stronger the sense became that she was not alone.

Before her, a grand staircase curved up to the second floor, drawing the eye towards the massive windows which previously made the foyer feel particularly grand. In the dark, however, Theo couldn’t even tell if the glass remained in place, or if fighting had destroyed those windows too. 

Without consciously thinking about it, Theo crept towards the stairs and began to climb. Halfway up the stairs, Theo swore she saw a silhouette amongst the shadows cast by the window frame. Curiosity spurred her forward, past the top of the stairs.

Someone stood just in front of the window, looking out onto the ruins with their back towards Theo. They wore a black cloak, its cape brushing against the stone floor as it obscured the individual’s identity. 

As Theo drew near, they made no effort to look back and see who was there; as far as Theo could tell, they didn’t even seem to recognize she was there. With only a few feet between them, Theo opened her mouth and took a deep breath, ready to speak–

“...So…” The figure turned around, hands adorned with runes reaching out from beneath the cloak to lower the hood and reveal themselves to Theo. “... You are alive.”

Theo knew that voice like she knew her own name.

Ravenna stood before Theo, piercing lavender eyes filled with ice as she regarded her younger sister. Inky black hair tumbled over her shoulder, stopping just below her chest. Despite the lack of light, her skin cast a soft glow.

���Rae—“ Theo took a jarring step forward, only for her sister to step back.

“After all this time, you wander back here.” A bitter laugh escaped the elder sister. “What, are you here to save the day? We needed that years ago.”

“No, Rae–” Theo tried, “I had no idea—“

“No idea – what, we would still be here? Still fighting?” Ravenna spat, taking another step back. “Of course you wouldn’t - you brought this on us, why would you bother to try and fix it?”

She was the curse.

“No, Rae, please–” Theo extended a hand to her sister, desperate to plead her case. “I’m trying to get back so I can help–”

And in the dark  I can feel your heartbeat I tried to find the sound But then it stopped And I was in the darkness So darkness I became

Theo awoke with a jolt, drenched in sweat and gasping for air. The sudden movement sent a wave of aches rolling through her limbs while her pounding heart throbbed between her temples.

Dreams of Aneterra were nothing new, but the nightmare was different from anything she had seen before. This wasn’t seeing the world from someone else’s perspective, or watching like a third party; it was as if she had actually been there.

It was just a nightmare. It was just a nightmare - she had experienced plenty of them before. It didn’t take a witch to know that this wasn’t a premonition or a vision - this was a manifestation of her worst fears. There was no reason to give this particular nightmare any merit - her anxieties were unfounded, at least according to Memere.

But this one felt particularly vivid, and it was hard to shake.

Just the thought of her sister’s anger brought another round of overwhelming nausea. Throwing off the covers, Theo nearly tripped over herself as she bolted for the bathroom. She shoved the door open and stumbled inside, wincing at the crash of the door handle slamming against the wall. Collapsing to the bathroom floor, she barely managed to get her head over the toilet before throwing up. 

Despite the minuscule amount of bile, she continued to retch and gag for a couple minutes; it was as though her body was convinced something else was still in there, even though there was absolutely no way in hell that Theo hadn’t already emptied her stomach many times over. 

Completely spent, Theo closed her eyes and slumped against the toilet, temple pressing against the cool porcelain of the tank. Even without her eyes open, the ground beneath her tilted and swayed like she was on a boat during stormy seas.

God, she was a mess.

“Are you alright?”

Theo’s head snapped up towards the voice, only for her to wrench her eyes shut and groan as a fresh round of misery bashed in her skull. When the worst of it passed, Theo cracked her eyes open, blearily peering up through the dark to find Loki standing in her bathroom, staring at her as if she was a ghost.

“What’re you doing here?” The question slipped out, her exhaustion and malaise resulting in a far too blunt delivery.

“I had been on my way to the sitting room when I heard crashing come from inside your quarters; when you did not respond to my knocking, I grew worried and came inside…”

It took a moment for Theo to register what Loki had said, but when it finally clicked, she burst into uncontrollable tears. 

I took the stars from my eyes And then I made a map And knew that somehow I could find my way back Then I heard your heart beating You were in the darkness too So I stayed in the darkness with you…

Of all the things Loki expected in life, attempting to console a truly distraught Theo at three in the morning while sitting on her bathroom floor was nowhere among them.

And yet, that was exactly where he found himself - cross-legged on the marble tile as he cradled Theo in his lap, her face buried in his chest as she wept with such vigor that her entire body shook. 

Loki replayed the series of events that led to his present position. 

Like many nights, it began because of his inability to sleep. What was rare, however, was that his insomnia was not the result of some night terror, some monster that left his mind running in circles as if it were a dog chasing its tail. 

No, he had been quite content when he settled into his bed, his well-worn copy of The Eye of the World in hand for some light reading. Yet, instead of dozing off to thoughts of Moiraine Damodred and her search for the Dragon Reborn, his mind wandered back to the attack on the Met Gala.

Theo had been the only one to successfully defeat one of the mystery beings that had been discovered, revealing an ability to control the shadow creatures that continued to antagonize Midgard. The carnage left behind, however, indicated that the being proved to be quite a challenge - beyond the mess in the gallery, Theo walked away from the exchange with no shortage of wounds that would require a healer to address.

Still, she hadn’t returned to the tower with the other Avengers. Instead, she insisted on ensuring her beloved actor was safe and seeing if any victims needed care - all the while acting as if she herself was not actively bleeding from multiple parts of her body.

Selfless, stubborn creature.

From there, his mind shifted to the being who had wrought such havoc. In the immediate aftermath of the attack, there had not been much opportunity to examine the corpse before it was whisked away by SHIELD agents for further study; what he had been able to discern remained fairly generic. Humanoid in form, though the shriveled appearance of their flesh gave the impression of some type of undead creature. Spider-like black veins stretched beneath their skin, as if they had been poisoned or cursed in some manner.

Yet, he hadn’t seen anything quite like it.

At that point, Loki accepted his fate: he was nowhere near sleeping. 

With that in mind, he scoured his book shelves for one of the tomes he rescued from Asgard during Ragnarok - one that he referenced from time to time, usually when SHIELD requested his insight regarding creatures that Midgard had never seen before. Leatherbound book in hand, Loki began the familiar venture to the sitting room for a sleepless night of research.

Until heavy, syncopated footsteps and a muffled crash from the next room over stopped Loki dead in his tracks.

A heavy thud, as if multiple heavy objects had been dropped simultaneously, followed. The sound came from within Theo’s quarters - a realization which only brought an increased pulse and a festering sense of dread.

Loki approached her door, rapping his knuckles on the dark wood. “Theo?”

He pressed his ear to the door, listening for any signs of movement. If he strained, he thought he heard some sound - coughing, maybe? - but nothing indicating movement.

A twist of the doorknob indicated that it had not been locked. Before he fully thought the decision through, Loki pressed the door open. He slipped inside, carefully navigating the pitch black as he began to search for Theo. 

Though Theo’s space was never perfectly clean, the sitting room appeared as if nothing had been knocked over or disturbed. The sense of urgency grew as he explored further, knowing that such a racket followed by such silence never had benign origins. 

A painful-sounding retch came from the direction of Theo’s bathroom, followed by a groan.

Loki strode towards the sound, careful to remain quiet in case something foul was afoot.

He rounded the corner to find the bathroom door wide open, revealing Theo hunched over the basin of the toilet as if she had just been sick to her stomach. 

The pieces fell into place - he must have heard her running to the restroom and throwing the door open.

When she finished, she slumped down a bit, eyes closed as she laid her head along the seat, breathing as if she had finished a grueling training routine. 

Though Theo had clearly showered since her return, she somehow appeared even worse for wear than the last time Loki saw her. Her complexion rivaled that of a ghost. Her eyes, though closed, appeared red and swollen, lashes glistening despite the darkness. Wrinkled pajamas twisted around her body in a rather unnatural fashion; combined with an absolutely disheveled braid, Loki guessed she’d been tossing and turning in her sleep.

Loki stood there for a moment, completely dumbfounded. Should he say something? What would he say? After waiting this long, would it scare her? Would saying something make things worse? If he didn’t say something, would she think he was a creep? Should he just leave?

At one point, he stopped himself and nearly laughed. He was Loki, of Asgard. How a Midgardian would react to him should not have been of concern. 

However, this was no ordinary Midgardian.

He drew in a deep breath.

“Are you alright?”

The way Theo’s head shot up confirmed she had no clue he was there, or at least he had startled her. A brief moment of horror flashed across her face, only for a grimace to take hold as she clutched her head and groaned.

Loki cursed himself for startling her with such a pointless question - of course she was unwell, she would not be in such a position otherwise.

Theo lifted her head once more and cracked her eyes open, squinting up at Loki as she blinked slowly. Something about her gaze seemed… Off. 

“What’re you doin’ here?” The question came out half-mumbled and a bit slurred; she listed back and forth ever-so-slightly, almost like she could not keep her balance.

“I had been on my way to the sitting room when I heard crashing come from inside your quarters,” Loki replied, frowning at Theo. “When you did not respond to my knocking, I grew worried and came inside…”

Unsure of how to conclude his statement, Loki trailed off, running his fingers through his hair.

The predicament he found himself in was well outside of his area of expertise; comforting people was something Maximoff was far better with. He briefly debated leaving to fetch the Scarlet Witch – she would know the perfect solution in a moment like this.  Yet, Loki remained frozen in place, mind reeling over how to proceed. Should he try to locate a healer? Should he try to soothe her? Should he leave her alone?

The silence stretched as Loki stared at her, frantically running through different ideas in his head and dismissing them for all the reasons they might not work. Loki found himself frozen, unable to make up his mind about what he should do.

In turn, Theo simply sat there, blinking slowly as she stared up at Loki…

… Until her face crumpled and she caved in on herself, a small, hitched breath giving way to a heartbroken sob.

Such a desolate sound had no place falling from Theo’s lips.

Spurred to action by Theo’s tears, Loki lowered himself to sit on the floor beside her. He may have been an Avenger, but he certainly was not a perfect hero. Despite bravery being in the job description, he had to dig up the last of his courage to pull her into what he hoped would be a comforting embrace. 

At the new touch, Theo tensed, gasping quietly as her trembling hands flew up to cover her mouth and stifle her cries.

Loki froze. 

Yet again, Theo had startled, all because of him. Loki cursed himself - of course he would make a mess of what should have been a simple interaction. With his luck, she wouldn't have a thing to do with him after tonight. 

It was too far to turn back now; after all, in for a penny, in for a pound.

Just before Loki lost his ambition and pulled away, Theo settled beneath his touch, shifting so her face pressed firmly against his chest; hot tears dampened the knit fabric of his shirt as she somehow began to cry even harder. Her arms slipped around his waist, clinging to him despite the way her entire body shook. 

Loki cupped one hand to Theo’s neck, the pad of his thumb slowly brushing against her unusually heated skin. This time, Theo did not recoil or freeze at the change, instead melting into the touch.

Perhaps there was hope.

Motivated by a surge of courage, Loki shifted from simply holding Theo close to tracing gentle, unhurried circles along her back. 

With every new circle, the smallest hint of tension slipped from Theo’s muscles; as more of her body relaxed into Loki’s embrace, her cries slowed and grew softer. Even when Theo had loosened her grip and the only sounds she made were shaky, slow breaths, Loki had no intention of stopping his ministrations. 

“Theo?” He murmured, nose brushing against her hair as he looked down at her.

“M’m s’rry…” With her face fully buried in Loki’s shirt, Theo’s almost embarrassed response came out almost charmingly muffled; however, she made no effort to move.

“It’s alright.” Loki used the hand on Theo’s neck to sweep her messy braid aside, flattening his cool palm against the overheated flesh. “I take it you do not feel well?”

She weakly shook her head. “Feel Awful.”

“How about I help you to your bed so you can get some rest?”

“No, please – I can’t – ” The force with which Theo shook her head the second time caught Loki by surprise, as did the rising panic in her tone. “– Can’t go back–”

“Darling, you need rest if you’re to feel better,” Loki gently tried to rationalize, though if the heat radiating from Theo was any indication, her ability to rationalize likely had been impacted by some level of a fever. “The floor is no place for someone who is ill. You ought to rest in bed.”

“Not mine,” Theo begged, ”I can’t–” 

“Would you like me to bring you to the infirmary so you might rest there?”

Theo shook her head, tightening her arms around Loki.

“I’m not sure what other options there are, as I do not think I can bring bring you to your actor—“

“Broke up.” A new pair of damp spots on Loki’s shirt accompanied the two-word interruption, punctuated by a sniffle.

“Pardon?”

Theo blindly reached to the side, drawing Loki’s eye to her mobile. He unfurled one arm to retrieve it for her. Theo didn’t even pull away from Loki to look at what she was doing as she unlocked the device before handing it back. Loki accepted, eyes scanning across the screen. 

The most recent of Theo’s voice messages was from her lover, not long after the events at the Met Gala. White, hot fury shot through Loki’s veins as he read the transcription; despite what Loki had been told of the Midgardian’s supposed kindness, the message he left Theo was short, blunt, lacking any sense of care for the recipient. If anything, it was downright cruel.

Perhaps it was for the best that Loki needed to ensure Theo was cared for first, as he otherwise might have tracked the bastard down and made him regret his callous behavior. The first thing to sort out, however, was where she might be amenable to resting, since her bed and the infirmary were, for some unknown reason, unacceptable.

An idea came to mind; though it might cause others to talk, it was, up to that point, the best he could manage without waking anyone else and dragging them into the conversation.

“How about you come with me to my quarters?” Loki cautiously suggested. “You can rest there for a while, then decide later if you’d like to return to your own bed or seek out the infirmary. Would that work?”

A slow, almost sleepy nod brought a swell of tenderness to Loki’s chest and a soft smile to his face. 

Loki carefully adjusted to cradle Theo in his arms before slowly rising to his feet. In what almost seemed to be instinct, Theo pressed her forehead into space between Loki’s shoulder and the crook of his neck, letting out a strained breath before settling in. Though Loki had already established the presence of a fever, it wasn’t until carrying Theo that he noticed she was not simply trembling, but downright shivering.

Careful not to jostle Theo as he navigated the tower in the dark, Loki made the return journey to his quarters with restrained haste, relying on his Seidr to help with managing doors and other environmental obstacles that otherwise could have slowed or complicated the process of getting Theo to bed. 

Upon arriving in his own quarters, the dim, golden glow from a nearby lamp provided the first opportunity to take in Theo’s appearance under any sort of light; Loki paused for a moment to confirm his prior assessments regarding Theo’s condition. Much of what he discerned in the dark remained accurate, though he did find the smallest relief that it seemed she had fallen asleep while in transit and appeared almost peaceful… Were it not for the tell-tale signs of tears previously being shed, one might have been fooled into believing all was well. 

With a hushed sigh, Loki brought her from the great room to his bedchambers. A flick of one finger and shimmer of emerald seidr later, Loki lowered Theo onto the bed, carefully tucking her beneath the silken sheets and the plush duvet which Loki had crafted from the finest Asgardian textiles, pausing for a moment when a soft, breathy hum snuck out of Theo and she shifted, snuggling further beneath the covers. 

A few minutes later, Loki had placed a bin beside the bed in the event Theo became sick to her stomach once more, procured a glass of water and set it on the closest nightstand, and drawn the drapes shut so the morning light would not wake her.

With nothing else to distract him, Loki now had to answer the question he had yet to consider: where was he going to sleep?

The proper answer, of course, would be to find alternate sleeping arrangements, lest anyone make inappropriate assumptions about the circumstances. 

But doing so meant leaving Theo by herself, essentially abandoning her when she was in the midst of a particularly vulnerable moment. Surely, she would understand if he remained close by; after all, she trusted him up until this moment, enough to abandon her own quarters in favor of staying in his. Besides, he had stayed with her once before when she felt unwell. Precedent had been set to ensure no one mistook him for less than noble intentions, given the circumstances.

Yet, as Loki crawled beneath the covers on the opposite side of the bed, the distance still felt as if he were abandoning her. What if she woke up, delirious from fever, did not see him beside her, and panicked at the lack of familiar surroundings? If Theo laid with him, Loki would know the moment she woke and could ensure she had whatever she needed; even better, he could use his Jötun heritage for benevolent means, combining it with his seidr to reduce his core temperature so he could serve as a sort of full-body cool compress. 

Amidst warring thoughts, the weight of an arm draped across his chest ripped Loki from his indecision. Theo had rolled over in her sleep, curling into Loki’s side with her head resting atop the dip between shoulder and chest and one leg wrapped around his as if second nature. She nuzzled into him, oblivious to the waking world, her breath slow and deep in contrast to Loki’s racing heart. 

For a moment, Loki found himself dumbstruck by just how natural it felt to lay with her tucked into his side in such a manner. In her most vulnerable moments, she found solace in his presence. In her sleep, she sought him out. And though he could make any multitude of excuses as to why - she was not aware who she curled herself around, she was not of sound mind from illness - the excuses did nothing to dispel the pure awe that resulted from realizing the trust Theo placed in him.

In the morning, he would locate Maximoff and determine how to proceed; until then, he would embrace the trust placed in him, and hopefully repay it tenfold.

He willed his seidr to work, cooling himself to offer Theo some relief from her fever, then allowed himself to drift into a pleasant sleep.

The stars, the moon, They have all been blown out You left me in the dark No dawn, no day, I’m always in this twilight In the shadow of your heart

[sixhours]

Chapter 13 - The Ghosts of Babylon

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut and violence Series tags: Joel Miller x You, Joel Miller x Reader, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, LGBTQ+ characters, y/n is bi/pan, y/n is ~45, violence, pregnancy, abortion, medical trauma, emotional trauma, panic attacks, sex work, suicide, smut, slow burn, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, romance, no use of y/n, reader has longish hair, Joel can lift you, smallish age gap (~11 years), I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

~*~

You’re staring at the blurry ultrasound screen again. It’s worse than the last time you used it with Joel’s heart, except now you’re looking at the uterus of a 14-year-old girl. At least, you hope that’s what you’re looking at; the screen flashes and wavers like television static, making it difficult to tell.

Emily, the girl on the table, stares at the ceiling impassively as you move the wand over her lower abdomen. Eventually, you sigh and wipe it down, tucking it away and handing her a clean cloth.

“You’re pregnant, but I can’t get a good read on the size of the fetus. Do you know when your last period was?”

Emily shakes her head.

“I’d say you’re anywhere between seven and ten weeks out, then.”

No response.

“Do your parents know you’re here?”

The girl had shown up at the clinic alone, claiming to have a stomachache. When you’d sat down in the exam room to ask about her symptoms, she’d pulled out the plastic pee stick and handed it to you wordlessly. Drugstore pregnancy tests were mostly accurate, even 20 years past their expiration date, and the positive result was plain as day.

You should have stopped the examination right there. You were way past the ethical boundary for treating a minor without their guardian’s consent, but the girl had begged…and if you were being honest with yourself, the sight of the positive pregnancy test hit a little too close to home.

“I don’t have parents.”

“Who looks after you?” 

She shrugs. “The Wilsons, I guess.”

Right, the Wilsons. They’re an older couple if you remember correctly. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself.

“Do you know who the father is?”

She shrugs again, and you close your eyes. “Has anyone in your family touched you inappropriately? Is there a chance this could be–”

“What? Gross, no,” the girl says. “No. They’re strict, but they’re not…he’s not…like that.”

You breathe a silent sigh of relief. “So…do you have a boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” she says softly.

“And you’re sexually active with him?”

The girl squirms and wrinkles her nose at the question, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“It’s a little late to be shy about it now,” you murmur. “Did he force you?”

Her eyes widen, suddenly understanding, and she shakes her head vehemently. “No! No, he…I wanted to do it. I told him to. I swear.”

The kid was too damn young to be consenting to anything, you think, but you put that aside for now.

“Look, kid, I’m going to be straight with you, because I think if you’re mature enough to have sex, you’re mature enough to deal with the consequences. Okay?”

The girl swallows but gives a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.

“Pregnancy is dangerous. It’s dangerous for fully grown women, and it’s especially dangerous for kids. Your body hasn’t finished growing, and your pelvis is tiny, so there’s very little chance you’ll be able to give birth naturally.

“We don’t have anesthesia for c-sections like they show in the movies. So if you choose to keep this baby now, and the baby can’t come out when it needs to…you both die.”

This seems to have the intended effect. The girl’s stoic recalcitrance gives way to abject terror and her eyes fill with tears. “I don’t want to die.”

“That makes two of us,” you say, softening. “And it’s my job to make sure that you don’t. We need to have a discussion about your treatment options and to do that, we need to tell your guardians. They have to give consent for me to continue treating you. Can I call them now?”

The girl looks miserable, tears dripping down her cheeks, but she nods and gives a little hiccup. You push the button on your walkie. 

“Hey, I need someone to find Mr. and Mrs. Wilson and tell them to come to the clinic. I’ve got Emily here.”

~*~

When the girl and her parents leave, you sit at your desk, poring through a medical textbook by lamplight.

The good news is they’d all agreed an abortion was the best decision. The bad news is the only two doctors in town have never performed one. Even if you and Eric had the experience, the clinic doesn’t have the right equipment.

When you find the section in your textbook on reproductive medicine, you grab a pen and start circling things in red ink, writing them down on a pad of paper. After a second’s hesitation, you rip the pages out of the book entirely, folding them neatly and tucking them into the notepad.

Next, you head to the library in search of more reading material…and a phone directory.

~*~

It’s well past late when you arrive at Tommy and Maria’s house, relieved to find the lights still on. Maria answers the door holding Gwen on one hip, looking tired.

“What’s wrong?”

“May I come in? I have a request for the council.”

She narrows her eyes, but opens the door and beckons you inside. You’re too keyed up for formalities; you’re talking before she can close the door behind you.

“I have a patient. A teen girl. She needs an abortion.”

Maria blinks, taken aback.

“I have permission from her guardians to do the procedure, but I need supplies.”

You pull out the notepad. “I’ve written down the addresses of three Planned Parenthood centers in Colorado and Utah. I’m sure they’ve been picked over for antibiotics and painkillers, but I doubt anyone would have grabbed dilators–”

“Whoa, hold up. Come in. Sit,” she gestures to the living room. “Do you want tea? Little miss here has decided we’re having a late night.”

“Tea? No, thank you. I’m–I have to–”

“I know,” she soothes. “Let me grab a cup and I’ll be right back. Then you can tell me everything from the beginning.”

She puts Gwen down on the rug, and the little girl immediately makes a whining noise, then crawls after her mother. Maria comes back with a steaming mug of something fragrant and herbal, deftly dodging the baby on the floor before picking her back up and setting her between you on the couch.

“Tell me.”

You do, explaining how your patient’s age and size are not conducive to carrying a pregnancy to term. You tell her how you’ve treated more pregnancies in Jackson than ever before in your career, and that without some more reliable forms of birth control, you’re looking at an unsustainable population boom. You even tell her about the kids you and Joel saw from the roof of the stables…although you leave her brother-in-law’s presence out of the story.

“We’re going to have more cases like this,” you say. “Most of these kids have been forced to grow up too fast. They’re reckless. We don’t have enough options, it’s not like we can just put every girl in Jackson on the pill. I know our assault rates are low, but they’re not zero,” you swallow, thinking of the jackass who cornered you at the Tipsy Bison. “If there was a rape–”

Maria winces. “No, I get it.”

You nod, taking a deep breath. “I’ve written it all in here. I even have pictures so they know what to look for,” you say, pulling out the torn pages of your medical textbook. “I just need someone who can find the stuff. Soon. If I wait too long with this kid…it gets risky.”

“Right.”

“Oh, and there’s some other stuff on there if they can find it. IUDs would be amazing. Diaphragms, although I doubt the latex is any good, but maybe they can find something silicone, a shallow menstrual cup might work–”

“I understand,” Maria cuts you off, looking at the list, then back at you, resignation in her eyes. “I’ll bring this in first thing tomorrow. The next supply run isn’t scheduled until spring, but…I can probably convince the council to grant an exception for a medical emergency.”

You breathe a silent sigh of relief, feeling a faint spark of hope in your chest.

“I wish we’d found you sooner,” Maria says after a pause. She’s looking at the baby between you, lost in thought, or perhaps just tired. “Eric has done his best, but he’s…old-fashioned in some ways. I should have seen this coming.”

“Well, I’m here now,” you say, all forced cheer, but your mouth is suddenly dry.

For how long?

~*~

Two nights later, you’re chest-deep in your tub, trying to slough off the week’s events with a bath so hot it’s turned your skin the bright pink of a peony.

“I’m so glad you fixed the floor, Miller,” you murmur, sinking deeper into the water.

“Don’t know how you can stand it,” he mutters at your back. “Feel like a boiled crawdad.”

You smile. “Suck it up, tough guy.”

He grunts. You’re pressed back to his chest, wrapped in his legs. You’re vaguely aware of the washcloth he draws across your skin, under and around your breasts, down your stomach, down…

“Again? Christ, Miller…you’re insatiable.”

“Uh-huh,” he growls at your ear, nipping the lobe, one hand coming up to rub the hardening peak of one nipple as the other abandons the washcloth and slips between your thighs, thick fingers almost delicate in their ministrations as your back arches involuntarily, opening yourself to him.

“Want me to stop?” he murmurs.

His fingers are circling, fluttering, sending little sparks of pleasure to your core, inner muscles clenching, desperate to be filled. You’re already halfway to your orgasm when his fingers slow, teasing, and you remember to answer.

“Don’t you dare stop,” you moan, reaching back for something to hold onto, finding the damp curls at the nape of his neck.

You feel his smile against your ear, the rumble of his soft words as he massages your clit, then slips two fingers inside you. “Good fuckin’ girl.”

You tilt your chin up and his lips find yours, messy and wanton, licking roughly into your mouth as his fingers coach you toward your climax. You groan when he curls into that soft, aching core inside you and flutters his fingers against it, applying just enough pressure to make you ache and throb and writhe between his legs, but not enough to find release.

“Joel! You here?”

The voice calls out from downstairs, and your eyes fly open.

“Shit,” Joel whispers, then calls back. “Yeah, yeah, hold your damn horses.”

Footsteps on the stairs. “Joel?”

You scramble out of the tub, grabbing for your robe, knotting it around your waist. You slip out of the bathroom and close the door behind you to find Tommy standing in the hall at the top of the stairs.

“Hey,” he says, brow knit in confusion. “Sorry, I thought you were–Joel said you were workin’ tonight. Said you had somethin’ for him to finish up here?”

“I, uh–” you clear your throat. “They didn’t need me after all.”

“Oh, uh…is Joel here? We’re short a patroller and I know he’s–”

You hear the bathroom door open, Joel’s footsteps at your back.

“...free,” he finishes as understanding dawns. “Oh–shit.”

Joel’s hand finds your shoulder and gives it a light squeeze. “Yeah, I can go. Give us a minute.”

“I really stepped in it, didn’t I?” Tommy says, ducking his head. “I’ll, uh, let you get dressed. Maria wants you for the next shift, there’s been a lotta activity out there. Need all the help we can get.”

“Tommy,” Joel says sharply. “Don’t tell Ellie yet, okay? I need to be the one…to…” he trails off.

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Tommy says, embarrassment giving way to a grin and a wink. “Good on you, brother. Maybe make it longer than a minute, though.”

“Jesus, get outta here,” Joel snaps, and Tommy’s laughter carries down the stairs and out the front door.

Joel is holding a towel around his waist, chest dewy with bathwater, cheeks pink from the heat. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Actually, I think that was a best-case scenario,” you say dryly. “Ellie carries a knife.”

~*~

He takes more than a minute.

When Joel is gone, you wrap yourself in your robe and climb the stairs to the attic, distracted, thinking of his hand on your shoulder as he not-so-subtly claimed you in front of his brother. 

“Don’t tell Ellie yet.”

Yet.

You swallow hard at the sight of the light on the radio, indicating the recorder has been running. FEDRA seems to have awoken from its winter slumber, and you sink into the chair at your desk with a resigned sigh. You rewind the tape and press Play, but you’re barely listening to the playback.

…suspected Fireflies…Salt Lake City…

You’ve been in Jackson for almost a year, your longest assignment yet, and you’ve given FEDRA everything you have. You don’t ask why you haven’t been ordered to return to Boston, but it’s the question that keeps circling in the back of your mind.

And the longer you stay, the harder it is to consider the consequences of your inevitable departure.

~*~

“Emily? Still with us?”

The girl’s voice rises from the head of the exam table, groggy and faint. “Yeah?”

“You’re doing great, kid. Almost done.”

The girl’s guardian, Mrs. Wilson, is holding her hand, whispering soothing words. You’ve asked one of the nurses to observe and assist. You hope they don’t notice the slight tremor in your hands.

While you’d waited for the council’s answer, you’d studied everything you could get your hands on in the town library, cramming for the abortion procedure like it was a test, acutely aware of the ticking of the girl’s biological clock.

Within three weeks, a box of tools and supplies were delivered to the clinic’s doorstep. You’d opened it like a Christmas present, overwhelmed at your good fortune. They’d found a working portable aspirator, dilating inserts, and forceps, in addition to a bunch of copper IUDs, individually packaged and showing no real wear despite the years gone past.

Then it was all on you, and you just had to try your hardest not to fuck it up. You hadn’t felt this nervous since your first mission out of Boston.

And now, it was done. Tears are leaking down Emily’s face and she’s pale and shaking a little, but she’s not pregnant anymore. And once you finish placing an IUD, she won’t need to worry about it happening again for a long time.

~*~

Later, you flop back on your bed after a shower, relief and something like elation blossoming within you.

Your mind races, already thinking about the IUDs the supply run had procured. You’re ready to propose a sex education program for the school–you’ll volunteer to teach it if you have to.

You smile–no, you grin –and realize you haven’t felt like this since you were a fresh-faced resident. This must have been what it felt like to have a calling, to have hope that you could do something to make the world just a little bit better.

Then you think you hear the click-whir of the recorder kicking on in the attic above you, and the truth reasserts itself, settling over you like a heavy cloak. You’re planning for a future that doesn’t exist.

You’re still lying naked in your bed, ruminating, when you hear him knock. Groaning, you make your way downstairs and open the door, ready to meet your perfect distraction.

~*~

A few minutes later, you’re pressed into the softness of your mattress as his fingers play your body like a treasured instrument. One hand cups the back of your neck and the other runs a torturous loop down to the V of your thighs, caressing and stroking, back to your breasts, and your throat, teasing you into a puddle of pure need.

He hasn’t even removed his clothes. Seeing you standing in the doorway naked and lithe against the frame was all the impetus he needed to take you to bed.

When he finally slips his fingers between your legs with intent, the ferocity of your cry surprises you. His calloused fingers rub the nub of your clit in deliciously slow, lazy circles. Your hips match his movements, and you grasp his arm, feeling the muscles tensing under hot skin as he pleasures you.

“So fuckin’ good, beautiful,” he growls, the vibration of his words against your skin only serving to heighten the sensation. His hand moves lower and teases at your entrance, finding you more than ready. One finger slips inside, then two, his thumb replacing them at your clit. It’s a practiced dance at this point, and he knows all the moves.

But there’s something about the low light and the scrape of his fingers across your cervix that trips a wire in your brain. Your legs splayed, your fingers gripping the sheets, and suddenly the pain is back, so blinding you can’t breathe.

He’s nuzzling into your neck, whispering into your ear, but you can’t feel it; only the sensation of being scraped, of being impaled and dissected and undone, the pounding rush of blood in your ears. You pull away from him with a strangled groan of terror, the sudden absence of his fingers inside you is painful, until you’re gripping the edge of the bed and heaving over the side.

He’s calling your name. You’re dimly aware of him leaving the bed, kneeling next to your side, peering at you through the curtain of your hair, but all you can think is this is how it happens, this is how you die. Bleeding out in this cold, gray room, the winter light fading on the ruined city outside.

“Breathe,” he says, his voice reaching you from a great depth, so gently it cracks your heart. “Breathe, baby.”

You struggle against the tightness in your chest, the trembling of your limbs, the clench of your gut that threatens to turn you inside out. His hand finds yours at the edge of the mattress, but you barely feel it.

When it’s clear you’re coming back–back to your room in Jackson, back to yourself, back to him–he leaves and returns with a glass of water, encouraging you to sit up and drink.

“Better?”

You nod weakly, handing back the glass, and pulling your knees to your chest. He doesn’t attempt to touch you. At some point during the panic attack he’d wrapped you in a blanket, covering your nudity, and the simple kindness of this gesture floods you with gratitude and shame.

“Wanna talk about it?”

You shake your head tightly, unable to give voice to these feelings even if you want to. When you finally speak, your voice comes out in a hoarse whisper.

“Can you stay?”

He glances at the clock, and you remember that he has someone else to take care of, somewhere else to be. It’s getting dark, Ellie will be waiting.

“Yeah,” he says. “I can stay for a bit. Be right back.”

You hear him talking softly on the walkie in the hall, telling Tommy to go check on Ellie and that he’ll be home late.

You should call him back and tell him to go home to his kid. You’ve been through these before, and the worst is over. But the light is fading fast, and your body is suddenly wracked with a shudder. Your chest tightens, threatening. You close your eyes hard, focused on your breath.

In. Out. In. Out.

He returns, and you curl on your side under the quilt, facing away, not bothering to peel back the bedclothes. You’re tired and embarrassed and your abdomen aches. You feel the mattress shift when he lays down, curls around you. “This okay?”

You nod, and his arm comes around your waist, gently pulling you against him. You burrow into that feeling; the soft quilt, the warmth of his stomach against your back. The exhaustion is bone-deep, but you’re still wide awake ten minutes later. You think he is, too, the way his fingers are absently playing in your hair. You close your eyes and let the words flow.

“I was pregnant. Before.”

He shifts at this. His arm tightens around you slightly, as if to hold you steady, giving you something to grab onto.

“I…cheated…on my girlfriend. This guy…he was an old friend, but it wasn’t like that. We had too much to drink, things went too far, I…never told her. But then…”

You stop, momentarily unable to form the words. 

“Then,” he breathes the word into the back of your neck. Then.

The quiet is deafening. There is Then and there is Now , and you’re caught somewhere between, in a state of permanent loss.

“We were working a double shift when it…happened. This guy comes out of nowhere and attacks her and then, she’s…she was…was…”

You can’t speak around the lump in your throat. You wipe at your eyes, surprised to find fresh tears.

“I loved her,” you whisper. “I loved her but we never said it, we were so young, we had…our jobs and…it just wasn’t…but I was a shitty person, such a fucking slut –”

“Don’t,” he cuts you off gently. “Don’t do that.”

“I knew I couldn’t have the baby,” you continue after a while. “But they wouldn’t…FEDRA doesn’t…”

“I know,” he says. “I remember.”

Right.

You take a deep, watery breath. “I was fifteen weeks along, it was risky, but I didn’t…didn’t know what else to do. I had a…friend, she was a nurse. I asked her to help me. We did it in my dorm room.”

His hand finds yours under the quilt and grips it.

“It went bad,” you say softly. “I thought I was going to die. I think…maybe part of me did that day.”

“You wanted kids?”

You snort. “No. I don’t…I don’t think so. But it was the…I wanted…the option. I wanted the choice.”

He hums into your neck, pressing a kiss there. Something about getting the words into the open makes you feel lighter, helps the constriction in your chest loosen.

After several minutes, his even breathing at your back tells you Joel is still listening. Taking a shaky breath, you risk turning this newfound peace upside down.

“Ellie said…you had a daughter once.”

He tenses behind you, but his voice is soft. “She told you that? Why?”

You shrug. “What was her name?”

A long pause, so long you’re not sure if he’ll respond, but eventually, he does.

“Her name was Sarah,” he says, the words spoken like a vow, like an incantation to something sacred.

“Sarah,” you whisper, the name rolling heavy off your tongue. He makes a rumbling sound of acknowledgment in his chest.

“Y’said you had a girlfriend? What was her name?”

Oh , you think, oh oh , and it hurts somewhere deep and raw and tender. You haven’t spoken it aloud in years.

“It was Jo. Joanna.”

“Mmm.”

He doesn’t say she would forgive you. He doesn’t say you would have made a good mother. He doesn’t treat you like a broken thing to be fixed. He just holds you until your body feels like a safe place again, because that’s all he can offer…and for now, it’s enough.

~*~

You pretend to be asleep when Joel takes his leave, pressing a too-gentle kiss to your forehead before he does so. When you hear the front door latch shut, you slip into your robe and pad downstairs. You can’t stay in bed without thinking of him, without remembering his hands on your body, and it’s too intimate, too real.

You’ve crossed a boundary, you see that now. You had a full-on panic attack and spilled your guts and he told you his dead daughter’s name.

You asked him to fucking stay .

You’re sending messages in the dark of night over the airwaves, knowing someday you’ll have to turn and betray him and everyone he loves. Shame is a dark shape taking root in your core, spreading like a fungus, keeling you over with its weight.

You ball yourself up on the couch, cheek pressed to the scratchy fabric, and for the second time that night, you try to remember how to breathe.

[indeedcaptain]

Spirktober 2023, day 25: Pon Farr

Rite (write ;) ) of passage for star trek ficcers!! Yes I made the same joke on my AO3 but it was too good to only post once!! I am very behind on Spirktober but I'm having too much fun to stop now so here's my accidental 6K fic about spock's first pon farr.

Also posted on AO3 here!

Archive warnings: explicit sex ahead! ahoy!

☆☆☆

After three years of having a direct line into Spock’s emotions, Jim was reasonably accustomed to his bondmate’s daily moods. There were, usually, very few surprises. So when the bond between them lit up with an unexpected one-two punch of lust and anxiety with no apparent cause, Jim was concerned, to say the least.

He shifted in the captain’s chair and thought down the bond, Everything okay, love? 

There was not an immediate response, which was not necessarily a problem except for that the anxiety had not abated in the slightest and the lust was starting to make Jim’s skin itch. Spock? Hello?

Are you on the bridge? Spock’s mental voice was ragged, slightly breathless, and Jim’s own concern ticked up another notch. Are you safe?

Yes, I’m safe, he thought back, and pushed the image of what he was seeing to Spock. Sulu and Chekov at their stations ahead of him, the blackness of space and the occasional distant star on the viewscreen, and the general air of relaxation around him. Uhura was humming to herself. Are you okay? What’s wrong?

I do not know, Spock said, and that answer frightened Jim more than anything else so far. I find that I cannot logically pinpoint the source of this emotion nor can I compartmentalize it. 

Spock, are you having a panic attack? Why do you feel like you want to jump my bones?

At “jump my bones,” Spock’s half of the mental link contracted so suddenly and painfully with arousal that Jim bit the inside of his lip to keep from gasping. 

Refrain from considering such subjects until I leave the laboratory, Spock said, and his voice was strained. 

You’re meeting me in Medbay. Head there now, I’ll be down soon. 

Captain---

That’s an order, love. I’ll see you in a minute. At the promise of their meeting, Jim felt Spock’s stress decrease fractionally. He rolled his neck and stood. “Sulu,” he said. “You have the conn.”

“Sure, captain,” Sulu said. “For how long?” 

“Ah,” Jim said, and scratched the back of his head. “I don’t know yet. Until I come back, I guess.” Sulu shrugged and stood to replace Jim in the captain’s chair. Jim walked into the turbolift and said, “Medbay.” 

Spock was pacing the hallway in front of the Medbay doors when Jim arrived. “Hey, you,” he said as he exited the turbolift, smiling at his bondmate. At the sound of his voice, Spock whirled and was on him in a second. He slid his hand into Jim’s hair, tight enough to pull,  pressed his face into the crook of Jim’s neck, and inhaled sharply. Through Spock’s hand against his skin, Jim could feel the trembling in his arms. Spock’s nose was pressed hard against him; he could feel the fluttering of his eyelashes against his neck. 

“Hey,” he said again, soothingly. He ran his hands down Spock’s back, resting on his ribs. His heart was beating entirely too hard for anything short of active combat. “Hey, now. It’s okay. Everything is fine. Let’s go see M’Benga, okay?” 

Spock took one more deep inhale against his skin before straightening. His cheeks and ears were flushed, like he had a fever, and he tucked his hands behind his back for only a moment before he released them to touch Jim again. Jim took his hand, despite their usual moratorium on PDA, and that seemed to steady him, before pulling him to the Medbay doors. As soon as they slid open, Spock pulled Jim behind him and stood between him and the rest of Medbay, eyes flicking from side to side like he was expecting an attack. The only person Jim saw over Spock’s shoulder was Christine, who sat with her legs stretched out in front of her on an unoccupied biobed, surrounded by a stack of padds. 

She looked up as the doors opened. “Hey, boys,” she said, smiling. “What can I do for you today?” She frowned as she registered Spock’s face. “What’s wrong?” 

“I think he might be, uh. Having a panic attack?” Jim peered around Spock’s arm.

Christine immediately swung her legs down from the bed and approached, palms up like she was soothing an animal. Her eyes narrowed as she took in Spock’s defensive stance, the flush on his face, his unsteady breathing.

“Everything okay, Spock?” 

“I do not know,” Spock said. His voice was tight. Christine took another step towards him, and his grip on Jim’s hand tightened as he crouched slightly. “Christine, please. I know, logically, that you are my friend. But do not come any closer.” She stopped immediately where she stood, and Jim saw her put something together. 

“Oh, shit,” she said. “Is it that you don’t want me to come near you? Or near Jim?”

“Jim,” Spock said immediately, and pulled him further behind him. 

“I’m gonna get M’Benga, because he can help more than I can, and then I’ll be right back. Okay?” 

When Spock nodded, she spared Jim one nervous smile and vanished behind the partition wall, into M’Benga’s office. Spock ran his thumb compulsively over the back of Jim’s hand, and slowly Jim put together the pieces. He pulled Spock to face him, putting his free hand on his chest, making Spock look at him.

I think it might be your time, Spock. 

No, Spock said immediately, but with no conviction. M’Benga said that I would sense it coming for a few days first. 

He was taking an educated guess, love. He might have been wrong. 

I fear for you, Jim. I am not ready. I do not want to hurt you. 

You’re not going to, he said, but he privately made a note to call his mother-in-law as soon as he could. We’ve talked about this. We have a plan. It’ll be okay. We’ll just speed up the timeline a little bit. 

M’Benga stepped out from his office with Christine, but maintained a healthy distance between himself and Spock. 

“Doctor,” Spock said. “I think I must request leave.” 

“Yes, I think you must,” M’Benga said, and he crossed the room to pull a medical kit labeled in Vulcan from a locker. “You and the captain are both on leave from duty for the next six days. If you need more time, it’s yours. The captain’s quarters have a replicator, no?” 

“Yes,” Jim said.

“Go there, then. Captain, you must ensure your own nutrition and hydration. I’m not sure if Mr. Spock will remember.” A flash of guilt came over the bond, and Spock’s hand flexed compulsively around his. M’Benga placed the bag on the ground and shoved it, so it slid across the floor to them. Spock picked it up without releasing Jim’s hand. 

“If there’s anything you need that isn’t in the bag and can’t be replicated, call us,” M’Benga said, and now he was talking to Jim. “We’ll bring whatever it is. Captain, I mean it. Whatever you need. Do not prioritize your privacy over your health.” 

“Got it, doctor,” Jim said. Spock did not respond. “Thank you.” 

Let’s go, sweetheart, Jim said, and when he pulled Spock by the hand, he followed. M’Benga and Christine watched him go, and she crossed her arms over her chest. When Jim looked back over his shoulder as the doors slid shut behind him, she mouthed, “Good luck,” and winked. 

Well, at least one person thought he was going to have fun. He wasn’t so sure, himself. 

☆☆☆

Jim had been sitting on the closed toilet seat for forty-five seconds, composing the most intimate and embarrassing padd message he’d ever written and bracing himself to send it to Amanda, when he felt the anxiety flare again. Three seconds later, Spock overrode the bathroom lock. He panicked, hit send on the message, and stood. 

“Hi,” he said. “Okay there?” 

Spock looked between the padd and the closed toilet seat and to him. “I do not wish to be apart from you right now,” he said, voice mostly even, but Jim felt his anxiety spiking through the bond. “Is… everything alright?” 

“Yes,” Jim said. He stuck his padd in his pocket and crossed the room. I’m worried about you, he said through the bond. And about me. I messaged your mom for advice. He wrapped his arms around Spock, and Spock dropped his forehead onto his shoulder. 

I am in control now, but I do not know what will happen when the blood fever comes. I am terrified to hurt you. 

I know, baby. That’s why I don’t think you will. But… just in case. I wanted to tap in the only other human I know who has done this before. Spock rolled his head to press his lips against Jim’s neck and wrapped his arms around Jim’s waist. 

Let’s lay together and watch holovids for a while. No rush. If it starts, we’ll already be in bed, Jim said. He stepped forward, pushing Spock backwards out of the bathroom, back into his quarters. He stripped out of his clothes before flopping onto his bed. Spock methodically removed his own uniform, folding it carefully, and placed it on his desk. 

His padd dinged from where it had been abandoned in his pants. Spock retrieved it and handed it to him before climbing into bed beside him. 

“Do you want to see what she says?” Jim asked. Spock rolled onto his stomach, face buried in his pillow, and mumbled, “No.” Jim stroked one hand over his bondmate’s hair before tapping on the notification from Amanda. 

He closed his eyes, breathed in, and opened the message. 

My dear Jim, 

I’m so glad that you reached out to me, even though I can feel your embarrassment through the screen. Please do not be embarrassed. I wish that I had been able to ask anyone about what the plak tow was going to be like for our first pon farr together, and I’m glad that I can be that for you. 

I am going to let you in on a secret, one that I hope will set your mind at ease and bring you and Spock closer together during this time. Vulcans are so private, and have been for so long, that I think they’ve forgotten the damage that their privacy causes to those who aren’t in the know. I know that the idea of this time terrifies Spock --- it has since he was small and first learned of it. I hope this message assuages his worry as well as yours.

Here is the secret: because you are already bonded, and because you love each other, it is going to be wonderful. Do not be afraid. The secrecy with which all Vulcans hold this time has only served to perpetuate the worst rumors from the worst situations. 

Be prepared --- certainly be smart, and safe, and drink more water than you think you need --- but do not worry. He will take care of you. 

I love you both. Talk soon. 

Amanda

“Oh, my god,” Jim said. He read the message again, and then a third time. Spock, he said. His bondmate was still facedown in the pillow, with one hand spread possessively over Jim’s stomach. Jim threaded their fingers together. Spock, listen. He read Amanda’s message aloud through the bond. 

Slowly Spock picked his head up and propped himself on his elbows. Jim handed him the padd for him to read for himself. He scanned the words once, and then again, before returning the padd to Jim and meeting his eyes. The worry that had clouded the bond since the first flare of anxiety this morning had not totally dissipated, but it was greatly lessened. 

I knew you wouldn’t hurt me, Jim said, and he pulled up a Terran movie from the 2050s on his padd, propping it on his thighs and sliding down the pillows to lay on his back. Spock curled around him, head on his shoulder, arm across his middle. 

Thank you for asking her, he said. I am less concerned for your safety now than I was before. 

Less concerned? That’s all? 

I do not understand. 

Come on, you’re not even a little excited? 

Excited? To behave like an animal for a week? 

Have it your way, Jim said, trailing his fingers over Spock’s forearm. 

After a few minutes of watching the movie in silence, Spock said, Are you excited?

In response, Jim pushed one of the fantasies he’d been nurturing ever since Spock had explained the pon farr to him along the bond and felt Spock’s arm tighten across his stomach. Only if you’re taking requests, Jim said. 

I will see what I can do, Spock said, but Jim felt his tension dissipate further and the lust from earlier begin to take its place. He settled in to watch the movie and fell asleep with Spock on his shoulder. 

☆☆☆

When Jim woke up, the room was pitch-dark and his body told him he had only been asleep for a few hours. His padd had been moved to his bedside table, and Spock was nowhere to be found. 

My love? He cast the thought out through the bond as he felt around in the bed for Spock. He found no warm body beside him, but heard a shuffling across the room. 

“Computer, lights to ten percent,” he said quietly, and the room illuminated enough for him to see what had woken him. Spock had gotten out of bed --- recently, if the state of his hair and the imprint of the lines of the sheets against his chest were any indication --- and he was digging through the bag from M’Benga, which had been abandoned on the coffee table. He pulled a large bottle of something from the bag and turned back to Jim, whose eyes flicked downward. 

His bondmate was very, very hard. 

You are awake, Spock said. His voice was ragged. 

You’re awake too, Jim said, and sat himself up fully. Spock prowled towards him, tossed the bottle onto the bed next to Jim, and crawled across the bed to him. 

I burn, Spock said, and he cupped the back of Jim’s head and pulled him into a human kiss. Jim opened his mouth to Spock, allowing him access, not awake enough to give one hundred percent but certainly awake enough to enjoy Spock’s attentions. 

What do you need? Jim asked sleepily. Spock pushed him back down onto the bed, laying his weight over him, pressing him into the mattress. He nudged Jim’s head sideways, giving him access to his neck, and licked a strip up to his ear. 

You, Spock said, and his voice was just a growl now, primal and assertive. Give yourself to me and I will give you everything. 

Everything? Jim said, and wound his arms around Spock’s neck, sighing as Spock sucked what was surely going to be an enormous hickey into the skin below his jaw. 

Whatever you desire, ashayam, it will be yours, Spock said, and he ran a hand down the length of Jim’s torso, halting at the waistband of his boxers. Jim felt his hands hesitate, and even though Amanda’s message had eased his concerns, he had not realized that giving his consent was part of the process. He had assumed that it did not factor in. But Spock had never once taken something that Jim had not offered, and it did not seem like he was going to start now.

Yes, he said. I’m yours, love. Give me everything. Spock’s hand slid into his boxers, nails dragging against his thighs, and he felt his hips being lifted and his shorts being removed. The dim lights shone against the darkness of Spock’s hair as he licked and kissed and bit his way down Jim’s body, halting for only a second to kiss the side of his dick, before he felt Spock’s arms twine under his body and flip him onto his stomach, fast enough to knock the wind from him. 

Oh, shit, he thought, dizzy, and Spock was back at his head in an instant, nuzzling against his ear from behind, the heat of his body radiating into Jim’s back. 

Ashayam? 

Still here. Still good. Just surprised me. Not totally awake. Spock kissed his ear in confirmation and then licked a hot wet stripe down his back. Jim crossed his arms under his head and closed his eyes as Spock spread him open and licked from his balls to his tailbone. His body was waking up now, paying more attention to what Spock’s tongue and hands were doing, and it was only a couple of minutes longer before he was completely awake, hard, and grinding against the mattress and Spock’s face. He moaned into the pillow, and before he realized what was happening Spock had flipped him over again. He landed on his back, knees bent and falling open, and Spock put himself between them, grinding their dicks together, kissing the moans out of his mouth. The friction of Spock’s boxers was almost too much, and he groaned. 

In one motion Spock stood, removed his boxers, and recovered the scarily large bottle of lube from where it had landed before crawling back to Jim. He sat back on his knees and flicked the cap open, squirting the liquid onto his fingers, and trailing them between his cheeks. 

Please, Spock said. Jim let his knees fall further apart. 

Please, Jim said, as he felt Spock’s finger trace a line down his hole. He hissed at the cold surprise of the lube, but it warmed quickly between his body and Spock’s hand, and sooner than he had expected Spock was scissoring multiple fingers inside him. Spock pulled his fingers out and Jim groaned. But a second later he felt the head of Spock’s dick push at him, and Spock’s hands around his hips. 

Ashayam? Spock asked.

Yes, Jim said. Spock pushed inside him, less gently than he might have otherwise, sure, but he had been careful and methodical in his preparation and he seated himself inside Jim with no pain. The head of his cock brushed the bundle of nerves inside him, and Jim arched off the bed. Spock slid an arm beneath him, holding him up to Spock’s chest until there was nothing separating them but their skin, and then he began to move. 

Spock was usually careful with Jim. And he still was, mostly--- Jim could feel his love leaking from every inch of the bond and from Spock’s hands on his skin --- but the leash had slipped. He thrust into him harder than he had before, pushing him up the bed against the headboard, driving his hipbones against Jim’s ass until he was sure that he couldn’t take another millimeter of him. 

Jim leaked come onto his stomach, flying towards the edge of climax, but Spock showed no signs of slowing. Love, please, he gasped. I’m too close.

I will have your orgasm, Spock growled. Give it to me. Even as he drove into Jim with that punishing rhythm, he reached up to wrap one hand around Jim’s cock, a question in his eyes. Yes, Jim gasped, and all it took was for Spock to close his hand around Jim and tighten before Jim came like a supernova, spilling over his chest and Spock’s, crying out and digging his hands into Spock’s shoulder as he clenched around him. 

Spock followed him over the edge, and as Jim was still coming down he felt Spock come inside him, muffling himself by biting into the meat of Jim’s shoulder. Spock convulsed once, twice, before pulling out gently and pulling Jim into his arms, cradling him in his lap. 

Good morning, he said, head lolling against Spock’s shoulder. He was covered in his own come and could feel Spock’s dripping out of him, but he didn’t have the bones left within his body to get up and wash off. He was content to lay here in Spock’s lap until otherwise forced to move. 

Thank you, Spock said, and Jim opened his eyes in surprise. 

For what? 

For giving yourself to me, Spock said. Jim closed his eyes again. 

You’re welcome, he thought. That was… nice. Not what I expected from all the stories. He also didn’t expect the chest-deep amusement he felt from Spock in response. 

My James, Spock said. This is only the beginning. Sleep now. 

Despite the come drying on his chest and the awkward curl of his position, he obeyed, and slept. 

☆☆☆

When Jim woke again a few hours later, it was because the mental bond was hot with desire. He opened his eyes to find that he and Spock had not moved from where he had fallen asleep after they had had sex--- Spock sat cross-legged beneath him, arms cradled beneath his legs and shoulders, holding him to his chest. He blinked and lifted his head. As soon as he started to move, Spock tensed.

You awaken, Spock said. 

I do, Jim said, and moved to roll out of Spock’s lap. But as he did so, Spock’s arms tightened around him. 

No, he said, and he sounded contrite even as he refused to let Jim go. Do not be parted from me. 

Even to use the bathroom? Jim could feel and now regret not cleaning up after last night. His skin was tight and sticky. Spock lifted him from his lap, rose to his knees, and uncrossed his legs, all while keeping Jim held to his chest. He carried him across the room and into the bathroom before finally setting him on his own two feet on the cool tile. 

Are you going to stand there while I pee? 

Spock’s face flushed, but he made no further moves to leave the bathroom. I find that I cannot bear to let you out of my sight.

Have it your way, he said, and relieved himself, studiously ignoring the weight of his bondmate’s continued gaze. He finished and crossed to wash his hands, and Spock followed him, wrapping his arms around his waist from behind. Feeling a pulse of arousal through the bond, Jim watched in the mirror as Spock traced the dried evidence of the night before on his chest with two fingers. With every pass of his hand, he felt Spock’s interest grow through both the bond and his erection against his back. 

Will you give yourself to me? Spock asked, and his hands tightened around Jim’s hips. Jim turned in the circle of his arms as Spock leaned down to kiss him.

Always, he said, and Spock lifted him and carried him to the shower. 

☆☆☆

It had been twenty-four hours and Spock had refused to let him go more than three feet from him at any given point in time. After fucking him in the shower up against the tiles, Spock had carefully washed and dried him, toweled and brushed his hair, and then followed him step for step to the replicator. Jim thought that, if he hadn’t already picked up the fork himself, Spock would have insisted on feeding him. Through the bond he could feel the fever, some of it leaking through the connection and spiking his own arousal, and Spock had not said anything but some variation on ‘give yourself to me’ in hours. 

Contrary to his and M’Benga’s fears that Spock would accidentally dehydrate him into a shriveled husk, Jim found that Spock was more attuned to the needs of his body than he was. Before he was even aware of his own thirst or hunger, Spock had stood, acquired whatever he needed, and returned, sliding his hand behind Jim’s head, lifting a glass or fork to his lips. Then, every hour or two, Spock would slip his hand between Jim’s thighs, waves of fevered arousal flooding him from the bond, and ask Jim to give himself to him. He would agree, and his bondmate would take care of him. After four rounds in four hours, his dick had given up on participation for the day, but Spock melded them after that point and he instead rode the mental high of Spock’s relentless ability to climax until his body was rubber and his thoughts slid off his brain like rain off a rooftop. 

But Amanda had been honest with him. The pain that he and Spock had both expected and feared for this time never came to pass. It was true that very little of his thoughtful, eloquent bondmate remained --- there was none of the usual scientific curiosity or quick wit through Spock’s half of the bond. But the bone-deep possessiveness, the love and care and protection that Jim had felt since the first day they were bonded, had been unleashed, and even when Spock left bruises on his hips and ass and neck he knew that Spock would not hurt him. 

In the medical bag from M’Benga he found three more of the enormous lubricant bottles, a truly unholy number of condoms, emergency rehydration goo, nutrition bars, and a strange plastic wand labeled ‘internal dermal regenerator.’ He set the last aside for future use, because the state of his ass after just the first day made him think that it would be highly useful by day three. 

Spock allowed him to nap as long as it was in his arms, and when he awoke near dinnertime to Spock’s hands sliding down his back to grope his ass, he wrapped his arms around his bondmate’s neck and said, before Spock could ask, I’m yours.

☆☆☆

Eighty hours after the last time Jim had left the bridge, the plak tow reached fever pitch. His sense of time had entirely abandoned him, but he felt the itch of want under his skin even before he registered Spock’s uneven breathing and blown-out pupils in the dim light. Spock’s hands against his back pressed hard enough to bruise, and when Jim called his name down the bond he received nothing in return but waves of possession and need.

“Spock,” he said aloud, voice rough from disuse. He grabbed Spock’s face, forcing him to look at him, and as Spock’s wild eyes focused on him the fever flowing from Spock’s half of the bond intensified until Jim was burning with it too. Against all evidence of human endurance he was hardening against Spock’s thigh, and he knew the moment Spock registered it because Spock rolled them, pressing him into the mattress, grinding down against him. He gasped under Spock’s weight, at the sudden friction of skin on skin. Spock’s head dropped against his neck, and he arched up at the feeling of his bondmate leaving another mark on the abused skin there. He had stopped looking at himself in the mirror after finding the necklace of hickeys Spock had left on the second day. 

What do you want? Jim asked, but there was no response in words. He just felt the overwhelming needneedneed from Spock, the bone-deep urge to crawl inside Jim’s skin and live there, the need to make Jim orgasm again and again until he was shooting blanks, the need to claim him body and soul. 

After three days of marathon intercourse he needed very little warmup, and he lost the entire rest of the day to the fever dream of his bondmate’s need. Spock was pressing him into the mattress, pulling him into his lap, holding him against the wall of their room and then the shower, and Jim had given up entirely on actively participating. He clung to Spock’s shoulders, burying his face in his neck, and between them flowed a river of yours, yours, yours and mine, mine, mine until he no longer knew who was claiming whom. 

☆☆☆

At some point in the night Jim had fallen asleep, and he was reasonably certain that that had been the only reason Spock had finally been convinced to stop moving. But the urgency that had flooded the bond the previous day had abated, and Spock was sleeping next to him when he awoke. 

He sat up, trying not to disturb Spock, but Spock’s eyes opened as soon as he had registered the flare of pain from pressure on his ass. He hissed out a breath as Spock sprang up, lifting him from the bed, holding him in his arms so he wasn’t putting any weight anywhere near his tailbone. Spock was still nonverbal, it seemed, but the bond pulsed with question and concern.

Baby, please. Can you grab the regenerator from the medical pack? Jim asked. Rather than set him down to retrieve it, Spock carried him across the room and settled them both in Jim’s chair as he grabbed the regenerator. For the first time in days, he saw a flicker of Spock’s normal disposition in his eyes as he turned it over to read the instructions. He stood, carried Jim back to the bed, and carefully flipped him over to deposit him on his stomach before rereading the instructions. 

Jim slept on and off for the next four hours as Spock methodically and deliberately applied the dermal regenerator to and in his abused ass. The blood fever had abated enough that the lust had taken a backseat to Spock’s worry, and when his rear felt mostly back to normal Spock pulled him into his lap again and let him sleep for another few hours. 

When the fever reared its head again later in the evening, some of the urgency had faded and Spock took his time bringing them both to orgasm twice. They fell asleep wrapped in each other and when Jim awoke again, it was morning. 

He opened his eyes to find Spock watching him fondly, smoothing his hair back with a hand that was no longer shaking with need. 

Hey, love, Jim said.

Ashayam, Spock said--- his first actual word in days--- and bent to kiss him. Kissing had fallen by the wayside in favor of wantonly gasping in each other’s mouths the past few days, and Jim was content to lay here and neck like teenagers for a while. 

He eventually asked, Is it over? 

Almost, Spock said, and Jim could feel through the bond the difficulty he had thinking in Standard. Jim curled up to him, wrapping his arms around his neck, and Spock sat up and pulled him into his lap. Spock mentally tapped on the bond.

Yeah, honey?

Instead of replying in words, Spock kissed the back of his head and pushed the fantasy that Jim had shared with him on the first day back along the bond. 

Surprised, he asked, You want to? Spock nodded against the back of his head. He turned in his arms and captured Spock’s lips again, sliding his tongue into his mouth. He readjusted his legs to straddle Spock’s lap and ground down against him as Spock’s hands slid up his back. 

He threaded his hands through Spock’s hair and pulled his head back, exposing his throat for Jim to finally, finally leave a retributive hickey on him. He felt the tensing of Spock’s throat as he swallowed. He pressed a kiss to the point of Spock’s ear and asked, Will you give yourself to me? 

Under his lips, he felt Spock’s inhale and nod in response, and he pushed Spock down on the bed beneath him.

Spock had always had a shorter refractory period than Jim did --- just one of the unexpected benefits of his Vulcan-human hybrid physiology. But when Spock had explained the mechanics of pon farr to him six months after they’d accidentally bonded and purposefully married, the first thing that Jim had thought about after the preliminary shock was how he could take advantage of Spock having a virtually nonexistent rebound period for their mutual appreciation. 

He had to admit to himself that, after the fear and reluctance had melted away, he had enjoyed a week of being the absolute and unchallenged center of Spock’s entire universe, with no responsibilities to distract them. But their relationship had always been one of give and take, and he was ready to give as good as he had gotten. 

Jim laid down next to Spock, one leg slung over his, and wrapped his hand around Spock’s dick. Jim had bet that Spock would be hypersensitive, and he was pretty sure he had bet right when Spock arched up, thrusting into his hand immediately. With his other hand he grabbed Spock’s wrist and dragged it to his face so he could slide two of Spock’s fingers into his mouth, and he was rewarded with a choked-off whimper of need. He set a loose pace with his hand, using Spock’s precome as lubricant, and swirled his tongue around his knuckles. Spock slid his other hand under Jim’s head and pulled it to him, pressing messy, open-mouthed kisses to his hairline. After less than two minutes Spock was keening with need, thrusting with abandon into Jim’s hand, and Jim said, Give it to me.

Spock came, wordlessly moaning even as the bond thrummed with JimJimJimJimJimJim. Jim released his hand from his mouth and kissed along his jaw.

So good, my love. He smeared his hand through the mess on Spock’s chest and slowly trailed his fingers along Spock’s dick. Again?

Spock rolled towards him, pushing his hips against his hand, burying his face in Jim’s neck. Jim lazily stroked him until, an absurdly short amount of time later, he was hard again. He crawled down the bed and Spock sat up to follow, but Jim pressed his hand against his chest and said, Stay. 

Spock laid down with reluctance, and Jim laid between his legs and kissed and licked and bit the insides of his thighs until Spock threaded his hand through Jim’s hair and said, Please. Only then did Jim take him into his mouth and suck. Spock arched off the bed again, pushing his dick further into his mouth, and Jim hummed around him. He liked making Spock come; liked knowing that he was the only man to do it, the only one that got to see him fall apart like this. He wanted to take advantage of the pon farr to take him over the edge as many times as he could before Spock insisted on reciprocating. He had wondered how many that would be.

The answer, as it turned out, was six. 

☆☆☆

When Jim awoke, it was because Spock’s half of the bond lit back up with the conscious and curious feel of his bondmate’s waking mind at 6:30 in the morning. 

Good morning, Spock said when Jim opened his eyes. 

Hey. You’re back online, Jim said, and caressed Spock’s face with the back of one hand. 

So it seems, Spock said. He rolled over and stretched like a cat, exposing his back and the scratch marks Jim had dug into his skin over the course of the week. Jim ran a fingertip over one of the deeper green lines. They replicated breakfast and lounged in Jim’s bed together, and eventually Jim worked up the courage to look at himself in the mirror again. 

He gaped. His neck was virtually one entire bruise, very little of the tan of his skin visible between the mottled purple and green love bites. He was supposed to be on the bridge again tomorrow, and though he did not think his team was under any illusions regarding where he had been, he wasn’t sure how much proof they needed. He stared at himself with chagrin until Spock kissed one of the marks apologetically and pulled him away from the mirror. 

When he sat back down on the couch, he pulled out his padd and composed two messages. 

Amanda, 

Your message was a lifesaver. We can’t thank you enough. It made a huge difference in how the start of the week went. Everyone survived, with way less damage than originally feared.

We love you. Talk soon. 

Jim and Spock 

The second message was a group message sent via the inter-ship instant messenger. 

>JTK: Hey

>JTK: Can one of you please bring a normal regenerator to my quarters? Preferably before my shift tomorrow?

>MBenga: Yes

>MBenga: Anything else? Bandages, antiseptic? Do you need a full physical?

>JTK: Appreciate it, but no

>JTK: I’m actually in perfect health. Honest

>MBenga: So the regenerator…?

>CChapel: omg 

>CChapel: on the way 

>CChapel: i want to see your historic hickeys 

>STS: You will not be entering the quarters.

>JTK: Real professional, Christine

Jim set down his padd and pulled Spock down to rest against him. He kissed his forehead and said, We survived.

Indeed. With far less physical trauma than I had envisioned.

Do you think you’re going to be on a seven-year cycle? Or no?

I do not know. Why do you ask, ashayam?

I have ideas for next time. 

Spock’s indignant and aloud, “Already?” was worth every bruise. 

[sorrowsofthepast]

The Last Time We Met

Tw for panic attacks and fights (I guess?) Also deadnaming and misgendering, and also a bit of transphobia, also mentions of gore (only very minor) and death

The last time we met, we had a big fight. Camilla and Ezra were shouting loudly at each other. A discarded picture frame lay on the ground with glass shattered. The picture was one of four people, two children who looked almost identical, and a father and a mother. The children looked to be about four years old.

"You don't have any right to be talking, Emma! At least I try to understand what you go through, but you never ever see things from my point of view!" Camilla's words were loud. They seemed to ring in Ezra's ears.

"I do try, but you make it so impossible! And my name isn't Emma, it's Ezra!" Camilla scoffed and rolled her eyes.

"Oh please, Ezra isn't your real name, it's Emma. That's what your name is, and it's going to stay that way. You can't change what you're born with, Em, that's just the way things work out."

"You know what, I'm done with dealing with your stupid bullcrap every day! My name is Ezra, not Emma! I'm leaving!" Ezra turned around to storm off.

Camilla grabbed his hand, though, and activated her ability. Ezra's eyes widened as they felt the familiar feeling of dread and guilt creep up on them.

"Camilla what have you-" They tried to speak, but they were cut off. Ezra could suddenly see the body clearly now, blood splattered on the floor. He yanked their hand back, stumbling into boxes that had piled up since packing before their family would move.

Camilla crossed her arms and glared down at Ezra. "Oh please, whatever you're remembering right now can't be that bad. It's probably just something about how you used to get called names." She could be cruel sometimes, well, most of the time, especially to Ezra. Many thought of Camilla as mean, and they weren't wrong about her at this time.

Ezra took shaky breaths in, though their breathing was still fast. He could feel his heart pounding in their chest. They dug his nails into his palms. Before Camilla could object, Ezra ran out the open door. Camilla didn't try going after them.

They were ten years old when that happened. Camilla now regretted every single word she had said to Ezra. She thought that she could have been more nice, and that she should have ran after them. It was too late though.

Now she stood in the streets of Yokohama, determined to search for her twin sibling. Camilla wasn't sure if she would find him here or not, but she would try to search for him.

Uhhh, idk who to tag in this but I guess @fromtheberrybush

[ambrossart]

I have trouble understanding how bullying works in Paper Man. Are the Bowers gang really a bunch of bullies or is that just their reputation?

Vic clearly doesn't like to fight, although he does when he has to, he clearly seems annoyed with all the trouble the gang brings him.

Belch the same, he seems nice and doesn't seem to fight when it's not necessary, he uses his reputation and his scary/imposing build to get people to leave him alone or get what he wants (like the burgers lol), but he doesn't seem like the type to bully (maybe I'm biased by my vision of the character).

Patricio is just carrying around his reputation as a weird guy who kills animals, so he's enjoying it, but is he actively a bully?

For Henry it is another story. We saw it the day he returned, he was ready to attack a freshman because he was dressed differently (Evelyn's legs saved the poor kid that day)

I really love your story, I jump on all the chapters as soon as they come out on Ao3, thank you for your work.

Are they bullies? I guess that depends on who you ask 😂

I think most students, especially the upperclassmen, view them as a nuisance, nothing more. Henry and his friends don't run the school. They're not popular. They have little influence over the greater student body. They're just... there, basically.

For example: Liz Mueller, a senior and the most popular girl in school, didn't even know who Henry Bowers was until she thought about it for a while, and even then he was reduced to: "The kid who always looks like he's gonna stab somebody?" Henry's not even on her radar. That's how insignificant he is.

See, Henry and his gang mostly target the underclassmen and the less popular upperclassmen (like Paul and Lenny, the geeks and the nerds). To these kids, they absolutely are bullies and they make high school really annoying, especially Henry Bowers. When he's in school, all the vulnerable students need to be on high alert. They need to watch what they say, what they do, because anything—anything—can set off Henry's temper. He's been compared to a landmine and I think that's pretty accurate. One wrong move and kiss your ass goodbye, right?

But do students spend their lives cowering in fear of him? No, because they're used to it now. This is their reality. Henry's not going anywhere. Nobody's gonna stand up to him and stop him. So all they can do is adapt and try to survive high school as best as they can. Some have even developed a sense of humor about it. They place bets against each other. They have streak records. It's almost like a game.

Now to answer your question more thoroughly, Paper Men takes place in the 1988-89 school year. The boys are a lot older now (15-17, with Patrick being the oldest), so they're starting to outgrow that schoolyard bully phase of their lives. They're less interested in bullying little kids and more interested in going to parties, drinking, dating, etc. I'll speak about each member specifically below:

— We see this the most with Belch. He's the one who seems to be trying the hardest to move on to the next stage of his life. Right now, he's working really hard to better himself. He's got a job. He has a girlfriend. He's doing everything he can to support his mom. Out of everyone, he's the most sociable (at least with his classmates), but he still slips into old habits occasionally, which is why we often see him stealing students' lunches (sorry, Donny). Basically, if he's not with Henry, Belch is an okay guy—not a saint, but not terrible—and he's very polite to all the girls. His mother would never forgive him if he wasn't.

So, yes, Belch has no interest in being a bully, at least not anymore. It's his loyalty to Henry that keeps him in the gang. Belch feels responsible for him.

— With Vic, I agree that his heart has never been in it. Bullying takes too much energy and he's tired enough as it is. Vic absolutely hates school. It's annoying and exhausting for him. He just wants to get through the day and go home. So is he violent? Not really (although he did punch Lenny Arkins in the kidney once, hard enough to make him piss blood), but he's still far from friendly. Vic is very moody and withdrawn, and he has a razor-sharp tongue. I wouldn't be surprised if some curious girls have learned that the hard way. He still has a lot of secret admirers, though. Next to Patrick, I could see him being the most popular among girls. Just saying.

Anyway, Vic had his reasons for joining the Bowers gang, sure, but we can definitely see his patience wearing thin. He has expressed this several times throughout the story. I think hanging out with Henry used to be fun for him (he speaks fondly about their past in Ch. 12, for example); perhaps it was even a little therapeutic; but now he's feeling incredibly empty and lost. Vic's deeply dissatisfied with how his life has turned out, but he doesn't really know how to change that. He's just... stuck.

— With Patrick, I wouldn't consider him a bully, and he was never really, truly, part of Henry's group either. Yeah, he hangs out with them occasionally, when they're doing something interesting, but never for very long. He just sorta comes and goes as he pleases. He also hangs out with Martin Davers and his group.

Patrick had a nasty reputation because of what he did when he was younger, but now he's mostly known for his flirtatious/lecherous behavior. Patrick prefers it that way. Very much. Right now he's trying really hard to stay under the radar. So unless Henry is doing something deliciously violent (which Patrick would never be able to resist), Patrick prefers to quietly pursue his other hobbies. Bullying little kids doesn't interest him. He has better things to do.

— Lastly with Henry, I think we all know where he stands. He's a bully through and through. He likes to pick on people smaller and weaker than him because it makes him feel powerful. It gives him control. While everyone else is growing up and moving on with their lives, Henry seems to be getting worse. It's getting harder and harder for him to control his anger. Bullying kids isn't enough anymore. Hitting people isn't enough anymore. And I think everyone knows it's only a matter of time before he snaps.

tldr; yes they're technically bullies, especially to the underclassmen, but most of them have started to outgrow this behavior.

[oneatlatime]

More season 1 thoughts

I like Katara better in the second half of the season than the first. I found her less annoying. Is that because she has evened out as a character, or is that because there was less of her? I don't know. I'd love to see a quantitative analysis of the number of lines per character per episode. Still, Katara handled the whole Pakku problem with fewer explosions than when she was handling the pirates and the waterbending scroll, and you can argue that the Pakku stuff was much more of a direct attack on her, so I'm going to call her reduced annoyingness growth.

Poor Sokka has been consistently my favourite character since episode one, and that hasn't changed at all. He just got royally stomped on in a way specifically designed to cause as much pain to him personally as possible in the finale, and I'll be interested to see if that causes any long term change. My boy is good at repression, so I doubt there will be obvious change, but this show is good at gradual stealth character growth. I'm looking forward to trying to ferret out the subtle changes to him in season 2.

Aang is lovely. I think he appears to be the least changed of our main cast at first glance, but like Sokka, I expect that getting used/possessed/actively participating in mega fishman destruction in the finale is going to have some effect on him (Still not clear on exactly who possessed whom / who was in control. Don't know if I'll ever know, or if it really matters). Aang is a lovable island of fun in a sea of century old war trauma. When he's not being stupid because he's 12, he's being consistently kind and open hearted, with an unshakable core and sense of self. Congrats to Gyatso on raising such a self-possessed boy. And you know what? He's entitled to stupid 12 year old moments because he is 12.

Poor Yue. Kind of a one note character at first glance, but because she's a mirror of Sokka, she feels just as deep as he does. That's clever writing.

Appa continues to be both team transportation and team dad. I think Sokka is team mom. Katara may be feminine, but it's Sokka who's keeping them fed and going in vaguely the right direction. He's the practical one. While Katara's or Aang's actions often drive the story, it's Sokka who's on clean up duty to make sure that the impulsive and bighearted decisions made by his sister and adopted brother blow up in their faces as little as possible.

I am convinced that Momo has no awareness of the main quest. I think Appa knows that his human and his human's friends are trying to save the world. I think Momo knows that these humans and their big furry thing feed him and keep him warm while going to lots of different places.

I loved that the season finale couldn't be predicted. The end game that the show set up was a showdown with the firelord. I expected that the firelord would make his first appearance in the season finale. Instead, we get a conflict I didn't see coming in a location I had honestly forgotten we were going to. Even if you had watched episodes 1 through 17, could you predict the conflict and location of the finale beyond something something fire nation? I like that I couldn't predict it. Too often shows spend so much time building up to the season showdown that it's almost anti-climactic because you've pretty much guessed the shape that the conflict will take. Not this show.

I think my favourite episode of the second half of this season is Bato of the Water Tribe. I loved having a glimpse into non-war water tribe life. It gives us a look at what it is that the people fighting the fire nation are fighting to preserve/get back. It also gives us a rough outline of the kind of person Sokka and Katara's dad is, which surprisingly adds a lot to Sokka's characterisation. And I love an episode where Sokka gets the A plot. The fight scene was really entertaining to watch, although I do feel sorry for June's big beast.

I think the best (as in the most skillfully executed) episode in the second half of the season is probably The Blue Spirit. It's a character episode disguised as an action episode, and not to get too much into fanfic speculative territory, but I feel like it lays groundwork for a couple of possible paths for the characters that certainly weren't available to them before. Also I love the melancholy note it ends on. I don't like unhappy endings as a rule, but I make an exception for contemplative endings, like the Southern Air Temple, the Summer Solstice Part 2, and the Blue Spirit.

I find I prefer the 'problem of the week' type episodes more than the episodes that serve the larger plot, because honestly I just want to hang out with these guys. High stakes adventures are both important and necessary, but it's also cool to have a problem presented and solved in 23 minutes. I feel like the characters act more like people and less like servants of the plot when they're in 'monster of the week' type episodes.

There were fewer eye-poppingly beautiful episodes in the second half of the season, although the Deserter's forest and fireworks festival was nice. The finale was downright bland, but you can't have lush multicoloured foliage at the north pole. I am so thankful that the show doesn't go for that stupid grimdark aesthetic that movies are still struggling with.

Finally, a word on the blasphemous live action that definitely doesn't exist:

Some of the greatest parts of this show are the gorgeously colourful eyepopping backgrounds, the very well thought out combination of bending and cartoon physics, and Sokka's stupid faces. You know what a live action can't do? Any of those things. So really, why did they even try? I can't think of a show, a world, a story, that is more suited to the artistic liberties and conventions of animation.

[loycos]

Lol can i plz have your Caitvi fic list?

haha, i wrote the tag asking people to ask for this list over a month ago and got that ask shortly after, only to go into my bookmark list and see that i have WAYYY too many saved in there. sorry it took a while.

There are a lot (A LOT) of piltover's finest fics, and a lot of them are good. this last year i've been FED like ive probably never been fed before in my life. that means i have a lot of bookmarks that i honestly don't remember much of other than "it good", but i wanted this rec list to include the fics that really left a (positive) mark on me. they aren't ordered in any specific way, and all are sfw. if you guys want my nsfw list, hit me up (i swear it wont take a month again)

Shadows at sea won't keep you from me - this is rated M but the sex is extremely vague. this one is very dialog heavy and is filled with inner vi monologue, however, it feels like a fresh take. I love the home-y vibes they give off here.

i won't let go (i left my baby teeth in your drawer) - caitlyn experiences a crisis in the shower. sounds like every caitvi fic you've ever read but i swear this one has something special to it. it feels really intimate in a way not many fics managed to capture imo, and caitlyn is written very in character.

High Tide Came and Brought You In - caitlyn's a mermaid, vi's a sailor. i'm usually not a person who actively seeks aus, especially not as extreme as this one, but this way such a sweet little thing, even i couldn't help but get swiped by the simple story.

Don't break the rules (maybe just for you) - "i hate aus! especially high school aus!" i scream again and again in every convo about fanfics i've ever had. so why is battle academia like my favorite caitvi au??? i don't know. makes no sense to me. i actively sought out this specific au tag, so i guess it makes me a liar too. what's so special about this one? idk, it has caitlyn and vi in it, it's well written and adorable, its a goddamn high school au, you know exactly what you're getting yourselves into. do be aware that BA!caitlyn is a different beast entirely than arcane!caitlyn, and so is BA!vi to an extent. (EDIT: i made it sound like im mad at this very cute fic, not my intention at all. this one is on here for a reason)

We Have Never Been Fairweather Friends- in the aftermath of the council's attack, caitlyn comes down with a mysterious disease, and vi is there to make sure she's ok. i, *cough*, might have talked about this one before. this might be my favorite fic, or top 2 at least. really good and in character writing, trippy and surprisingly authentic dream sequences, and a mystery that builds at a perfect rate.

Soaked with Sadness - caitlyn attempts catching jinx by herself, vi isn't too pleased. this is the other top 2 fic. the usual well-written-in-character compliment goes here, but also it's got that special brand of intimacy that i like, plus drunk caitlyn, and you kind of find out things in a non-linear way that make the story feel really... well crafted. i had to read it twice in a row cause i felt like i was missing things on the first go (might just be my dumb ESL brain tho).

the negative space and the pausing of time - aftermath fic. like author said, there are tons of those in the tag, and i have read probably all of them, but this one is really really good. the dialog feels especially flowy and snappy. kinda what i wouldve want to see in season 2, if arcane was just about angsty lesbians, which it sadly isn't. fics like this fill the void of the hiatus in my heart.

[demonslayedher]

Things that ran through my head while watching this episode:

--Dear Ufotable, why couldn't you had included the second half of this episode in your theatrical release? The One (1) time the Kamaboko boys all combine for one attack deserves cinematic treatment. I. Love. This. Scene. So. Much. They went for it so hard, and so obviously that they even had to poke a little fun at themselves in the Taisho Secret. Speaking of, I wish they would had given us more Taisho Secrets (or Stylish Scruffy Democracy) in Yuukaku-hen as opposed to just rehashing emotions that spoke well enough for themselves, as happens here with Tanjiro. I find it kind of funny how quickly the "To Be Continued" curtain fell as if to be like, "ok, yes, Tanjiro, we get it, time's up."

--Speaking of Taisho Secrets, I'm glad Ufotable has had fun breaking form since switching to FujiTV (and what did we ever do to deserve Butt-Chin Nezuko??), but I kind of miss the consistency of the first season's Taisho Secrets and manga panel BGs and limited movements like they're silly puppets. It makes the breaks in pattern more fun, like Inosuke & Zenitsu gulping in the BG while hearing that they may be in trouble with Shinobu, or cramming all nine Pillars in one Taisho Secret together so they can only move their mouths while stuck in their basic profile poses. Now there is no pattern, so getting a dramatic "no Taisho Secret today, too much drama!" thing is… not dramatic. Good thing they fixed that with Nezuko later doing the complete opposite by breaking the tension with a real Taisho Secret.

--Speaking of set forms and framing, while the animation for Gurenge is great for how it shows overall themes of the series and characters in relation to Tanjiro, this OP really says "this is the Yuukaku arc and this is what you're getting." One of my favorite details (I have a lot of favorite details) is how Uzui looks so relaxed and flamboyantly at ease when he's dodging obi, but doesn't show dramatic effort until he's dealing with Gyutaro's attacks.

--I… don't have strong feelings about the filler of the picnic in front of the grave, I do have feelings about it. I guess I fall more on the side of disliking this filler for how inconsistent the relationship feels between Tengen and his wives, like all that restraint they practice before relaxing because it's so ingrained in them to be subservient to their husband, but then Makio turns right around and calls Tengen out for being unfair. We've also never seen any jealousy between the wives, and however light-hearted, the inorganic way it came about with the cherry blossoms seems to take a nuance that Hinatsuru is the favorite and stretch it to a larger proportion than in the manga. That all being said, Makio sticking a bunch of petals in her hair with that "flirt with me too!" face is adorable. Speaking of flashbacks, I do like how Hinatsuru is the one to propose that they retire and live as normal people once they defeat an Upper Moon, as there needs to be a deciding point for when they'll move on. And the part about no hard feelings if they aren't all together? I love how bittersweet that is, and it feels very in the spirit of Hinatsuru to do that; I don't think it's that she's Tengen's favorite, but that she's the heart of this family. Makio looks to Hinatsuru when she feels conflicted, Suma turns to Hinatsuru first to celebrate their victory. They fact that she almost died would had stung the whole family is a way that doesn't just make them feel the hurt and loss, but feel like a tether has come loose.

--Ok so, I love Suma for being a simple bimbo, but I hope Tengen never feels like he's parenting her. I hope that when she's all "I wanna be a dragonfly" and he's like "that's a nice flashy dream" what he's actually thinking is "this woman is crazy and I am crazy about her."

--So for the amount of time that Hinatsuru was in active danger in Gyutaro's clutches, I feel like I could had watched this on at least double speed to emulate the actual pace at which the action took place. Tanjiro & Uzui just do so dang much thinking in such a quick span of time. BUT!!! Tanjiro, our boy, he's so full of good ideas!! Take advantage of being weak and not as carefully watched as the Pillar! Mix both your Breaths to make the best of them both!! Tanjiro has gone through so many levels of thinking and development over the course of this night that he's probably going to pick up from the conclusions he reached once he later wakes up and writes some letters: "Dear Tomioka-san, It's too bad I'm better suited to Hinokami Kagura and can never get very good at Water Breathing, otherwise my sword might not had broken this time. I got a letter from Haganezuka-san…" (and poor Giyuu would be like, "…what is the (future) Water Pillar talking about?")

--You know who I've missed? UROKODAKI. Urokodaki, it's so nice to see you again. T^T Those flashbacks to Tanjiro's training days are so cute. I missed how often Tanjiro flashed back to training with Urokodaki!

--But you know what's also nice? The fact that Tanjiro's not the only one who has worked his butt off to get stronger in the last four months. Look at all these boys, they've come so far since getting together at Kyogai's house. We know that Zenitsu's been polishing and polishing his one move, but Inosuke's been working hard too, ever since losing Rengoku-san! That's so endearing, for it's the first time in Inosuke's life he's ever gone through a loss that gave him a drive like this.

--It is so, so, so much fun seeing Inosuke being the one who is frazzled and Zenitsu being the cool leader. This is the hero of Legend of Zenitsu!! I'll bet that's how all his lines are written! And then when Inosuke gets the inspiration to focus on charging through the small opening in the middle of the obi, that's so satisfying because it's like the moment when someone breaks out of writer's block, and it's not that he can stop at that he thinks there's an opening, no, he makes up his mind to believe that there is!!

--Tee hee hee, Inosuke playing rugby with Daki's head and jumping out of the way of obi is so much fun---oh---wait---until it's not.

--Well… Inosuke's a goner. Uzui's dead. Zenitsu pulled the self-sacrificing push. Tanjiro's falling and apologizing for all his failures. Here ends my rewatch.

--FOR NOW!!!! THE THEATRICAL RELEASE DEBUTS ON SETSUBUN, BABY!! OUT WITH IN THE DEMON, IN WITH THE LUCK!! FEBRUARY 3RD!!! I'm so stoked--------a-a-a-nd with my work schedule I won't be able to watch it that day. T_T

[tempest-toss]

The Call - AMBUSH!

Thorn scampered upstairs to join Maurice. The younger man seemed especially nervous, with him constantly adjusting his glasses and peering out the window more than he did his own weapon. Thorn could guess that maybe he was a newer member of the AWL. Thorn wished to provide at least some sort of advice, but was cut off by the sound of the front door opening and closing again.

"That was Quinley, he has a warding trap outside but it'll take half an hour to work. If he's inside then that means the werewolves are about to attack us." Maurice explained as the howl of werewolves could be heard outside.

"Here they come!" Kirk shouted from below as the sound of glass breaking could be heard. Gunshots rang out from the bottom floor. A ladder broke the top floor window, and a curious Maurice went to check it.

"Wait, a werewolf doesn't need a ladder!" Thorn tried to warn, but it was too late, as a werewolf appeared and clamped down on Maurice's shoulder. Thorn aimed and fired into the werewolf's snout, hitting it and forcing it to let Maurice go. Thorn ran up and grabbed Maurice and hurried him downstairs to join the other three.

For the next 25 minutes it was nonstop running and firing, with Thorn making trips upstairs to knock down any ladders that were put up. Eventually at 28 minutes in Rebecca was pulled out and seemingly devoured by the werewolves. At 30 minutes on the dot the werewolves began to hiss and flee, the warding trap activating.

"Thank the Lord we can-" Thorn began before a loud bang filled their ears and searing pain shot through their legs; they'd been shot!

"The werewolves will come back for you eventually," Kirk sneered as he pocketed his gun. "I'll have Quinley watch you so you can live just long enough to be eaten." Kirk announced as he unlocked the door and left. Quinley pulled out his gun, reloaded it and aimed it at the injured Maurice. Thorn recognized signs that Maurice would transform soon, they just needed time.

"You're scum, you know that?" Thorn asked, prompting Quinley to turn towards them. "You're out here exterminating werewolves for existing, you know that makes you a bigot right?"

"I'm no better than you, Insurgent" Quinley sneered back.

"At least I have some morals. I have limits to what I won't do. You probably would murder the children if you came across them!"

"I would absolutely do that." Quinley spoke calmly as he turned to give Thorn his undivided attention. "In case you missed it, A few of them came to the windows. I still shot them, no hesitation. None died, unfortunately, but next time I won't make the mistake of allowing them to live."

Thorn backed up, to give the illusion of being afraid, although a small part wanted to back up because they were disgusted. "You and your group are monsters. Why would you even do that when they're innocent!"

"Isn't it obvious shit for brains? We can-" Quinley was interrupted as a large clawed hand ripped through his chest and pulled out his heart, still beating. In a mighty grip it burst, and Quinley fell down, dead. Thorn looked up at the transformed Maurice, who was panted in a mix of anger and exhaustion.

"I hear him. Our god whispers to me. He says to spare you, for you will bring safety to the forest. Take Quinley's sniper rifle, and hunt Kirk down.

The werewolf pointed to a stashed sniper, which Thorn took and headed out. The time was about 2 am, and Thorn knew they had to hurry. A moving speck in the distance caught their attention, and they pulled out the sniper to check through the scope.

It was Cindy! The goldpanner and last remaining camper unaccounted for! She was injured and hobbling towards a truck, the same truck that had Kirk. She reached out, thinking he was a ranger to help her. He smiled before pulling out a gun and shooting her in the head, crumpling the single-mother. Thorn was at the brim with fury now, and aimed at the Jeep's tires as it began to move and fired, popping it and causing the jeep to swerve into a tree and crash, the unbuckled Kirk flying out and landing in the dirt.

Thorn limped their way closer as the disoriented and likely concussed Kirk got up and began to stumble into the forest. Thorn made their way to the Jeep as fast as they could. They saw a radio speaker, likely used by rangers to announce for people to clear away. They grabbed it and put on a deep voice.

"Kirk Fellthorpe! This is the Foundation! We are putting you under arrest for crimes against the veil!"

Thorn watched as Kirk, afraid, ran deeper into forest, with them hot on his heels. Thorn could feel the Deep Woods twisting, changing, allowing for the two to be close and heading the same direction.

Soon the woods opened up to a sort of hidden village. Kirk was catching his breath, leaning against an altar of some kind. Thorn had a clear shot. Werewolves could be heard all around. Thorn could kill Kirk right here... or they could wound him, and let the werewolves have their fun.

[drstonetrivia]

Chapter 192 Trivia

Not much this chapter, since it's basically hot potato again with just as much gunfire.

Check out those wisps! I don't think we've seen them before, and there's a tiny line going straight down the middle (Whyman's command, perhaps?)

The lake shown here appears to be Pyramid Lake, which is around 200-250 km away from the Sacramento marker on the map.

I got really excited here that they'd confirm my calculations from last week, but Senku decided it wasn't the right time for math. (It's always the right time for math.)

In half a page, all the predictions I'd heard over the last couple weeks were dismissed. Oh well.

Interestingly, Senku confirms that the bigger the blast radius, the faster the wave is rather than anything to do with the battery!

Chrome doesn't even change pose here (note the position of his finger), so this happened super fast. That's also at least one bottle of revival fluid spilt all over the floor near Senku, so I wonder if that'll affect the speed of his revival (or stop it in its tracks?)

This is the point when the Americans first see the beam: start the timer for 56 seconds!

This is the first time we see Leonard holding a gun. I don't think he's normally a fighter at all, since he's never been shown during any of the other fights and didn't defend against Kohaku's attack on the phone.

Check out Ukyo's arrow! That's definitely used for cutting rather than piercing, and because it's flat like a razor, it was probably easier to sharpen. Historically, true rope-cutting arrows tend to be more crescent-shaped. Also don't look too hard at the angle Ukyo fired from…

I have no idea what this beep sound effect is. Either Ukyo has a receiver of some sort on him and in a single beep he established that the KoS lost their revival fluid, or he simply heard a bottle shatter between all the gunfire and realised they lost the bottle, the beep being irrelevant.

Xeno sure escaped fast! He was tied up and in the middle of the fort the last time we saw him.

I also thought it had only been around 60-80 days since Xeno got taken, as it happened at the end of November/early December and now it’s about mid-February (both estimates), so I guess I was slightly off about that! (Unless Xeno is rounding up a lot ~for the drama~)

Suika needs a new melon. She got shot in the "head", and by the looks of things her lenses are cracked. Hopefully when she revives she'll still be able to use them! (Glass can last a really long time.)

She also lost all her leaves, I wonder if she switches them out regularly?

Stanley, reunited with Xeno, no longer cares about counting bullets or accuracy judging by the lack of circles in his muzzle flash.

Another point about Stanley: he's been sitting with an unlit cigarette in his mouth until Xeno appears, immediately after which he attempts to light it but stops since they discover Suika missing.

Remember this tower has mics set up all over the fort: technically any sound too close to one of the mics will be received by the tower... I don't know how none of these explosions haven't affected this setup yet, if they're planning on using noises like lightning or animals.

It's possible even Stanley himself might activate it by shooting towards the tower before the beam hits, check out all those microphone cables!

Speaking of Stanley, what happened to this trio? They've just disappeared-- did Stanley shoot them?

How a girl who can't see her own feet and needs to feel around the floor to get herself into position is going to save everyone I'm not sure, but I do know Suika is one capable gal.

Also we have a callback to her introduction way back in chapter 20, which just breaks my heart in this context.

This is also the 5th time Ryusui's gotten petrified, so I hope he's having a good time.

I've got no predictions for next chapter because anything can happen at this point, but I do wonder if that single medusa will manage to envelop the whole world, or if the battery will die first. 🤔