#the wraiths having a council meeting of sorts?

[egret-orchids]

for the love of language

Kaz Brekker was stubborn. When he had his mind set on doing something, he did it. No matter how difficult, no matter how simplistic. He wasn't sure what category 'learning his girlfriend's language' fell into.

Kaz lovingly and painstakingly learns precious few words in Suli just so that he can surprise his Wraith with them.

| AO3 | SOC Sideblog |

word count: 948

It wasn't an unknown fact amongst the Dregs and Crows that Kaz Brekker knew one language, and one language alone.

He was stubborn, and though his rough voice and the hints of an accent that stemmed from southern Kerch were normal for him, hearing him reciting words in Suli was... odd. Jesper recognised the language from the few times he'd heard Inej muttering the melodic syllables, although he suspected most of it was just curses and swears, much like Jesper's messy Kaelish.

Jesper didn't want to run the risk of Kaz murdering him for snooping, but he did regale this to Wylan over cups of tea in the merchling's basement workshop.

"I was just walking past- y'know, because he'd asked me to grab a map for a job, and I hear him mumbling in Suli." Jesper said, sighing dramatically. This elicited a small chuckle from Wylan, who sipped his tea and then replied; "I think he has some sort of plan. He's never bothered learning more than basic decencies in other languages, and even then they're not great in terms of pronunciation."

Jesper nodded. "He tried to say hello to my Da in Kaelish and I'm pretty sure he accidently insulted him." Even if the anecdotes his father told him weren't exactly true, Colm Fahey was probably justified in his distaste. Some words in Kaelish were similar to others, and a slight error in wording could lead a pleasant hello to turn into somebody's mother getting called a whore. And it was also Kaz, who would probably do something like that purposefully; fully aware of what he was doing yet still taking the chance to be an ass.

Wylan smiled at this. "Are you going to ask him about it?" he asked.

Jesper shook his head. "He'd probably break my arms and threaten to gut me and leave my intestines for the crows or something like that."

"It's Kaz, of course he'd say that..." Wylan laughed quietly.

"I certainly wouldn't put it past him." Inej said with a smile from the doorway, and Jesper nearly jumped out of his skin as Wylan waved to her with a small, shy grin on his face.

"Saints, Inej, do you have to do that every time?" Jesper complained, rolling his eyes fondly. Inej didn't reply, simply shrugging and stepping towards the two. She sat on Wylan's workbench and looked at both of them with mock-sternness.

"Kaz has a job for you two. Some merchant from Shu Han." Inej passed Jesper a small, folded slip of paper- Kaz's signature way of informing them all of jobs.

Jesper flicked the note open and cleared his throat. "Shu Han merchant ship docked in Second Harbour- Saints, it's like he doesn't want us around all day today- unloading into the Stadhall. Jesper has the map." he read aloud, and the way Wylan immediately hung on the gunslinger's every word with such affection in his eyes almost made Inej laugh aloud.

Wylan hummed in response. "So this merchant if working with somebody in the Merchant Council, then."

"Yeah, and he's obviously going to be..."

Inej slid off the table and walked away, leaving the other two conversing about Kaz's latest job. It didn't need her skills, and she had a feeling that Kaz wanted her nearby.

She pulled up her hood, opting to meet Kaz, wherever he was. She didn't bother climbing the rafters and jutting beams to get to the window or the roof of the building next door and have to climb around searching for him, not in this weather. Besides, she knew Kaz would either be in his office, or somewhere on the Zentsbridge.

As it turned out, Kaz was leaning on the bridge's railings, gazing into the murky grey-green of the canal. He didn't move as Inej's neared his left shoulder, but he did shift his bad leg slightly. "Hello, Inej. Don't you have a job you need to help out on?" he said quietly, though the slight smile in his voice betrayed his joking manner.

Inej breathed a laugh, leaning on the railing next to him, back to the canal. "I wanted to know what you were planning. You normally make sure I'm with Wylan and Jes just in case either of them get distracted, be it by each other of something else." she replied.

Kaz shrugged. "Who's to say I'm planning something?"

Inej rolled her eyes. "Kaz Brekker, do you need to be so stubborn?"

Kaz tilted his head, meeting her eyes. "No." he said simply. "But stubbornness got me where I am today, and it got you out of the Menagerie, didn't it?"

"My stubbornness or your stubbornness?" Inej chuckled.

Kaz didn't reply at first; instead he moved away from the bridge's railing, and turned to face Inej, face almost expressionless but his eyes were less cold then they normally were.

"Volim te." he whispered, just enough for Inej to hear.

She swore her heart stopped beating for a solid five seconds when he said that.

It was a known fact that Kaz Brekker, that Dirtyhands knew Kerch, and Kerch alone. His accent was southern, from somewhere like Lij, but his language was that of someone born and raised in Kerch.

My mother is Ketterdam, he'd said, she birthed me in the harbour.

"What?" Inej murmured, too surprised.

My father is profit. I honour him daily.

"Volim te." Kaz repeated, and Inej can't help but laugh.

"Your pronunciation is awful, Saints."

Kaz glared at her, but it wasn't serious.

Inej moved towards Kaz, about to hug him. She stopped. "May I?" she breathed.

Kaz nodded slowly, and Inej pulled him into a hug.

"I love you too, Kaz Brekker."

[earth-b0y]

TK-684 Council Dossier

For convenience's sake, I'm sharing a quick introduction to everyone on my council! If some things get redacted along the way, it's not my fault! ヾ(ゝω・)ノ

O5-1: Founder (He/him) Founder is a scary guy, he's super old, and we don't see him in person often. The basement is like his lair since that's where all the machines he's hooked to are kept; only Eleven is brave enough to go down there, mostly! When we hear from him, he typically uses Thirteen-ii to send messages to us. Founder is like... the head honcho? O5-2: The Gardener (she/they/it) Two is the grandma of the council! She's the head of the Anomalous Research Department. They're nice enough, but she's still pretty tough! Rai likes to help her out in the greenhouse sometimes. I've been told strange things about Two, like her connection between her predecessor - He Who Waits - and doctor [REDACTED]. Weird! =P O5-3 The Philosopher Scientist. (ze/zir) Ze founded the Ethics Committee and Psychology Department back in the day! Which explains zir... moral disposition. While Three isn't in charge of the Ethics Committee anymore, ze's still involved in it! Zir main role is now with the Amnestics Department. Ze's not around very often. O5-4: The Ambassador (he/they)

Four's our ambassador! He's often away on diplomatic trips to talk to high-profile individuals in Groups of Interest or heads of state, but they're pretty nice when they're around! Sometimes Four and Six hang out and drink alcohol. Oh, and Four can run like Sonic, which is pretty cool! Nyoom! O5-5: Blackbird (Mirror pronouns/use your own pronouns) While Four is in charge of diplomacy, Five is responsible for Department of Paranormal Organization Review, which essentially records and monitors our GOIs. He's cheerful and kind to everybody, as far as I've seen, so I'm not sure why we need someone else to be the ambassador, but yeah! He has five blackbirds, and he likes to wear stuff with bird motifs on them. O5-6: Dogwood (he/him) Six is our security and MTF guy! He reminds me of... a wild west sheriff, like in the movies! He's usually pretty laid-back, but he does have... a grumpy side. I don't talk to Six very much, but Kri gets along with him! O5-7: Teeth (she/they) Teeth!! I really like them; they're kind of weird, in a sort of creepy cryptid way, but they're cheerful and bubbly enough at the same time that it's not a bad thing! Teeth handles godly and extraplanar affairs. They're friends with Liar and The Other Overseer. O5-8: Magnolia (she/they) Magnolia's not so nice or happy, and she can be pretty harsh and to-the-point, not that she chats with us unless she really has to. They're in charge of the D-class program as well as the Foundation Department of Education. She kind of shambles around like a wraith. O5-9: Out of Place (he/they/it) I don't have that much to say about Nine; I've only seen him in person a handful of times, and I don't know much else about them besides that he moves between sites a lot, and it's the head of Research and Development. Nine almost always attends meetings virtually. O5-10: The Archivist (she/him/it/they) The Archivist is an interesting lady! She manages correcting, writing, and archiving Foundation documents, and there are some things the rest of us can't look at. It's kind of... otherworldly, sort of like Teeth, but not at all, and I don't think being a Thaumaturge has to do with it. I want to study him like a neat bug, but he wouldn't let me get very far with anything like that, haha! O5-11: Liar/The Father of Lies/[REDACTED]. (Any pronouns, favours she) The dossier is about to get stranger, now that we're at Eleven. I don't really know what she is. A shapeshifter? A reality bender? A deity? It's the head of our Disinformation Department, and her answers are hardly consistent, which she seems to be amused by. Liar has supposedly also been The Mailman, Jings, and currently still [DATA EXPUNGED]. She wears human teeth as a bracelet, which I think is creepier than anything the rest of us have! O5-12: The Accountant (he/him)

Very straightforward, Twelve is our accountant! He's a mathematics genius, and I've never met anyone that sticks to schedule quite like him! Everything is planned, even his drinking habit. Twelve has expensive tastes, and he's rather calm, but he doesn't tolerate annoyances or... disruptions very much. He's got these strange wraparound sunglasses that he always wears, even indoors, and I don't want to possibly offend him by asking why. Thirteen-ii: AI Construct (it/its)

We have two thirteens, and I'll save the other one for last! This one doesn't vote; it isn't sapient, and it's basically what Kri has described as "a souped-up Alexa." As mentioned before, Founder tends to communicate with us via Thirteen-ii, and it can be commanded to open/close doors, turn lights on/off, and things like that. Which is good! Because I forgot to mention earlier, when Founder is in a bad mood, he can slam doors or make the place really hot or cold. He's sort of... integrated with the Site? O5-13: Death/The Other Overseer (she/it/them, and infrequently him) Yep! We have Death, the Grim Reaper, whatever you'd like to call her, on our council; she's our tiebreaker! Thirteen isn't... here a lot of times? They can just disappear to some other plane of existence; I don't know. But when she's around, she hardly speaks, but she seems to be friends with Teeth and Liar! Its dresses are really pretty! O5-14: Min/The Creator (he/him) Me! My main role is anomalous welfare, though my skills in robotics and programming are sometimes implemented in security systems! My secondary role pertains to specific foreign affairs! =)

[shackledsculs-remade]

“How is it that you seemingly have everything together, Akutagawa-san?”

“I wouldn’t say that. After all, the first person I’ve ever loved in centuries is under the servitude of a man claiming to be the father of all vampires. And even among you all, I stand out like a sore thumb since I was bought back without needing revenge...Well, not entirely. I relate to Serina in such a manner. Which, given her track record...Is rather terrifying.”

“Hey, I’m right here. You might not like my methods, but the fact of the matter is that I gave all the women under my employ a choice of whether or not they wished to continue their jobs under me. I allow them to take the lion’s share of their pay, I hire people to protect them, and most importantly, I kill for them. That’s more than their former pimps would’ve done.”

“While that’s true, you also have a body count in the low thousands. You’re aware that back in Victoran era London, you were something of an urban myth on the level of Jack the Ripper. Something about how you tempted the most noble of men and stole their souls.”

“Respectfully speaking, but...Don’t we all have a kill count in the low thousands? Even Shiori-kun has managed to rack up a body count with how many bandits she froze solid.”

“Why did we all agree to a cease-fire of sorts? Was it not prudent that we destroy Serina before she can add more people to her list?”

“I ordered a cease-fire because each and every one of us is capable of leveling entire cities if we fought. Not to mention that with Serina and I tossing the void around, there’s a chance something awful happens. We’re all centuries old. The least we can all do is hold civil conversation.”

“That and if you have a fight at my inn and destroy it, I promise to freeze every last one of you solid for the next three centuries.”

[acradelius]

Now I need a talon with moiras husband y/n cards against humanity night

"Cards Against Gabriel"

Fandom: Overwatch

Pairing: Moira x Husband!Reader

Rating: Lime [🟢] (Equivalent to PG-13)

Warnings/Mention Ofs: Vulgar Language, Alcohol Consumption, Intoxication, Cards Against Humanity, Arguing, Attempted Fighting, (Y/N) Slander, Gabriel Reyes Slander, BANNED!

Word Count: 688 Words

Author's Note: At this point there's no safe games for Game Night with the Talon besties.

Someone come call the authorities on this imposter because either Gabriel was kidnapped and cloned while he was out or he’s taking some new illegal drug of “joy”. Why? Because this man decided that he would rather play Cards Against Humanity and make (Y/N) the “Handler” than play Call Of Duty or Wii Sports: Golf for this particular Game Night. Even an audible gasp escaped (Y/N), eyes squinting as he stared at Gabriel, calling him suspicious. “Now, you know we definitely won’t stop just because you get offended, right? Just letting you know that’s a symptom for old, scraggly ass men like you?” (Y/N) questions, glancing over at Olivia whenever Gabriel muttered under his breath before downing his mixed drink of ‘Jack and Coke’. Yet, it could also be possible that it was Grabriel’s sixth drink or whatever. 

“Alright, we’ll start with the first one then.” (Y/N) announces, shuffling the black statement cards all while glancing around at the other members that were either watching or actually participating. “First one to win ten statement cards wins, okay?” After some moments he pulls out the first card, laying it down out in front of everyone, snickers escaping past his lips. “Okay, okay. So, first card: “My favorite sex position is called “blank” style”. I’ll give y’all a couple of minutes to choose your answers.” After some more moments those participating give their response card, all giving everyone some chuckles. In the end, (Y/N) decides that the card that makes the statement the funniest is: “Denying climate change”. Obviously not any favoritism towards his wife as she’s playing as well. 

Round after round, someone wins the statement card, but no one has won yet. Scores are coming close though, as those who are close to winning are Olivia, Moira, and Akande. With each round, Gabriel becomes more frustrated, mumbling under his breath with a pouting expression on his face, arms crossed. “This game sucks complete ass.” He complains, his voice loud and his tone being whiny, only making (Y/N) chuckle. “Told you old man, you got to have some sort of humor to win this game.” Lord behold, (Y/N) just said the words to make Gabriel explode. It becomes a mild visual of what World War 3 could possibly look like. Cards fluttering throughout the air, drinks being spilled across the table, food being thrown at those across the table. Of course, Gabriel’s main target being (Y/N).

“YOU KNOW WHAT? IF THERE WASN’T FAVORITISM ALL BECAUSE YOU’RE GETTING SOME PUSSY THAN MAYBE SOMEONE WOULD ACTUALLY WIN THE GAME!” Gabriel screeches into the air, flinging one insult after another towards (Y/N), his form becoming something considered monstrous as his body was going through some form of his own wraith form. “AT LEAST I’M GETTING SOME PUSSY YOU OLD, SCRAGGLY PRUNE LOOKING ASSWIPE!” Another insult echoing off the walls of the Council’s meeting room, probably being heard by passerbyers outside of the room. Moira had some hold onto his hair, soft gasping noises leaving him due to Olivia having her arms around (Y/N)’s neck to prevent him fully launching himself onto and then bolting across the table to strangle Gabriel. “WELL, YOU KNOW WHAT?! IF YOU HAD ANY SENSE OF HUMOR BESIDES “HAHA, GOLF MAKE BRAIN GO BRRR” YOU’D ACTUALLY WIN A ROUND, BUT NOOOO. SANJAY HAS MORE HUMOR THAN YOU DO AND HE’S LITERALLY THE EMBODIMENT OF A SQUIRREL WITH THE BRAIN OF A DAMN IDIOT!”

It wasn’t much of a surprise to anyone when game night was deemed over way earlier than it usually happens to be. Moira escorts (Y/N) out of the meeting room while simply giggling at the banter the two men continue, before (Y/N) eventually starts the same pouty behavior that Gabriel started with. “He’s such a rotting meanie, Moira! You see how he purposely antagonized and verbally attacked me?!” Needless to say, Cards Against Humanity is one of those games that has to be discussed with everyone before playing again, but mostly ends up being banned. Cards Against Humanity? Nah, Cards Against Gabriel.

[exquisitley-obsessed]

Fiancés, Firebirds, Foxes and Fawns: 6

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: A few weeks after Briallyn’s attempt at uniting with Koschei, Lucien opens the door of Lockhart Manor to find Elain, cold from the rain and holding a note from the High Lady of the Night Court demanding her to assist Lucien in building alliances with the human councils. Forced to work together by their exhausted High Lord and Lady, Elain is able to convince anyone to do anything, while Lucien has the acquaintances to go anywhere he likes. Together, they attempt to unite the fae and mortal lands and unravel the deal made between Koschei and Vassa, while Lucien remains haunted by his own promise to Elain’s father. ELUCIEN, POST-ACOSF

Pairings: Elain x Lucien, Elucien

Warnings: None.

A/N: I’ve added a tag list for those who wish to stay updated with this story! Just message me if you wish to be added <3

MY MASTERLIST

THIS FIC’S MASTERLIST

AO3

Chapter Six: Moonlight Meetings

The contracts were beginning to make sense. Turns out, there weren’t nearly as many for Elain to sort through as she first expected. It seemed that the Band of Exiles had had a pretty stagnant first year whilst staying in the mortal lands, with their biggest success lying in the Declaration of Peace Between Fae and Mortal Realms achieved on the anniversary of the Hybern War.

Elain had gone through each contract and made a note of it in her own diary: the contract between the Spring Court and the human lands to organise trade routes in the future, the agreement of a ceasefire on trespassing fae in favour of imprisonment, etc. There had even been copies of contracts between other humans that had most likely occurred at these weekly meetings: such as the Nolan’s agreeing to 100 shipments of Ashwood Weaponry per month to the Darlingtons, and the reinforcement of internal borders.

Elain had sat with Nuala and a few pots of tea in the library, and by the time she stretched her legs to take a turn around the room, the sun was plummeting towards the horizon. She liked it. She liked the feeling of her hand aching from her meticulous note-taking, she liked that the pages of her new notebook (a gift from Rhysand) had slowly began to fill up, she liked that she now had detailed questions to ask Jurian, Vassa and maybe even Lucien.

If anything, she liked that tonight she would sleep, her eyes tired from reading by the candlelight and her brain fizzing with the numbers of stock, armies and debt.

The library was at the back of the house, with delicate yet large glass windows that looked out onto the Manor’s Garden. So far, Elain had avoided the grounds, mostly because one look of the greenery told her that there was nothing for her to do. Whoever tended to these gardens had a similar mind to hers, it was wild and restless. A garden belonging to a true cottage, her father would say.

“Lord Lucien is home,” Nuala’s velvet voice swam into the air as she spoke without looking up from her book. The shadow wraith’s always had been Elain’s closest friends, and she liked the side she got to see of them, the one she was sure no other had yet had the privilege.

“Oh…good,” Elain said non-committedly, forcing her eyes back to her notes which she’d already preened to perfection. Sighing, Elain looked over her and Nuala’s make-shift joint desk, and without thinking, she reached for a local map.

It was strange, to look over a map of lands which felt both so familiar and so foreign. With her finger, Elain could trace the path from her first childhood home, the Manor down by the lake, up and up to their runt of a cottage so close to the border, and then a little east to their other home. Elain’s hand recoiled from the paper. That home was cursed. That was the home from which she had been stolen from.

“Do you miss it, being human?” Nuala asked. Elain peered at her. She’d always found the term ‘lesser fae’ to be entirely unbefitting. Nuala was perhaps the most gorgeous person she’d ever seen; her skin was a deep grey and her hair a shifting black in which shadows seemed to fall in whisps as it moved. Her eyes were uncannily wide, and her irises were of purest black and filled her entire lids.

“I don’t think so,” Elain answered softly, her finger running back to that first home. The home in which her parents were alive and well. “But I avoided coming here for a long while because of that reason.”

“You wanted to go back?” Elain nodded, a small shift of her head.

“Becoming fae didn’t make sense to me for a long time. I didn’t understand how to be fae, despite the body. When I looked around all I could see were my sister’s, who fit in so well at the Night Court and I just…didn’t.” Elain looked at her friend. “I feel terrible about it. About how I tried to come back to Graysen. It was the first time in my life I’d made a stand and it was for something so, hollow.”

“You’re not a terrible person for feeling as though you don’t belong, and wishing that you did.” Nuala tilted her head, her pin straight hair falling with a trained precision across her bare shoulder.

“No, but I feel terrible because…I still feel that way, to some extent.” Elain sighed, tucking up her legs on the chair and leaning her head back.

“I got into a fight with Jurian today – I slapped him -” Elain peeked a look at Nuala and was pleased to see her mouth slightly ajar and her eyes bright with amusement. “I know. But what he said was true, and I can’t stop thinking about it. He saw me during the war and saw how I was so desperate to be human again, and he thinks I’m here for that reason-” Nuala opened her mouth to protest, “I know, it’s stupid, but…what if I am here for that reason, and I just don’t realise it yet? Because Nuala, if I am, I can’t – I can’t forgive myself for that, I can’t do that to-”

Elain cut herself off by biting her tongue. She’d only spent a day and a night in Lockhart Manor, but Elain was sure she could feel the bond. Often she didn’t, then every couple of months, something would happen, she would feel some emotion that wasn’t hers or have dreams of places she’d never been to, and she’d just know that it was him. But being here, actually being around him, she felt herself turning towards him the way flowers turn to the sun.

“I don’t think it’s strange, if you feel you do not belong in the Night Court, to want to belong somewhere else,” Nuala spoke carefully, slowly, as though every word carried weight, “But just because you feel you do not belong in the Night Court, does not mean your only other option is the human lands.”

“What? I might belong somewhere else in Prythian?” Nuala stretched and leaned back in her own chair.

“Prythian is a large place, and you have an eternity ahead of you. You do not need to rush in finding somewhere you can settle, travel around for a bit, see the world. There is not the same pressure for you to be a wife as you had when you were human, maybe you could try just being Elain for a while?” Nuala yawned after she spoke, a sign that she was well and truly relaxed. Elain just hummed, her mind whirring as she looked back at the map, her finger drifting back to that last home, the one she had been ripped from.

Just then Elain noticed how the sun and well and truly dipped behind the horizon, casting the world in shadow. The night sky looked unbearably dull compared to the thriving chaos of the Night Court’s evenings, but there was something familiar in the mundanity, something that allowed Elain to be the magical thing in the world, not the other way around.

“Vassa and Jurian are preparing to leave,” Nuala said without opening her eyes.

“Ugh, teach me your ways.” Elain joked, and a sly smile pulled at the shadow wraith’s lips.

“No, because then you won’t need me, and I won’t get to come with you to see the world.” Elain paused, and looked at her friend.

“You’d come with me?” It was now Nuala’s turn to peer at her.

“Of course, don’t tell the High Lord but, since being Under the Mountain, I’ve rather missed the world, and I’d very much like to see it.”

“I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like,” Elain shivered. She’d never bene able to truly comprehend what had occurred in those 50 years. The idea of her friend being subject to such atrocities for a time longer than she had been alive, it was unfathomable.

“I remember your mate being there,” Nuala said, tentatively. Every muscle in Elain’s body went rigid. She’d assumed, somewhere along the line, that Lucien must’ve been there with Tamlin when they’d been taken, but Feyre had never confirmed, she’d been surprisingly elusive of the specifics of what had occurred. She couldn’t think about it. Because the instant she considered the torture Lucien must’ve faced, she began to feel herself lose control.

“Speaking of your mate,” Nuala murmured, and Elain didn’t miss the slightly pleased look in her friend’s eye at having gotten a reaction out of her.

Just then a knock came from the door casing Elain to turn in her chair sharply, by the time she turned back, Nuala had already disappeared into the shadows.

“No, but thanks for the offer,” Lucien ground out through his teeth. Waiting on the cartographer had taken all day and it turns out the maps he wanted hadn’t even been done correctly. It had been so much of a waste, that some part of Lucien was grateful he’d managed to send Elain home, he didn’t want her thinking that the extent of his life consisted of pathetically waiting on map-makers who can’t even make the right, damned map.

“No, but thanks for the offer,” Lucien ground out through his teeth. Waiting on the cartographer had taken all day and it turns out the maps he wanted hadn’t even been done correctly. It had been so much of a waste, that some part of Lucien was grateful he’d managed to send Elain home, he didn’t want her thinking that the extent of his life consisted of pathetically waiting on map-makers who can’t even make the right, damned map.

“No, but thanks for the offer,” Lucien ground out through his teeth. Waiting on the cartographer had taken all day and it turns out the maps he wanted hadn’t even been done correctly. It had been so much of a waste, that some part of Lucien was grateful he’d managed to send Elain home, he didn’t want her thinking that the extent of his life consisted of pathetically waiting on map-makers who can’t even make the right, damned map.

“Oh come on Luci, it’ll be fun,” Vassa goaded, looking a bit more like herself than she’d been the past few days. Her hair was iridescent, and her gown was of deepest emerald, with golden gemstones that matched the simple, modest tiara upon her head. Lucien snorted.

“Oh yeah…fun. Well you can have fun for me, but I’m not going.”

“You might as well go for the free whiskey. That’s the only reason I’m interested.” Jurian grinned, throwing a far too casual arm over the queen’s shoulders, who huffed a laugh and shook him off.

“No touching Jurian. This dress is worth more than your head.”

“Ooh – not sure about that love.” Jurian grinned back, and Lucien observed the way the two mental mortals bounced off each other.

“Ugh, I don’t know who I feel worse for, you or the Nolan’s.”

“Oh it’s not just the Nolan’s going,” Jurian grinned, “I have it on good authority that Delilah will be there too.”

“Oh, Delilah,” Vassa hummed, twirling her hair and batting her eyelashes.

“Shut up the both of you,” Lucien rolled his eyes.

“Well if it doesn’t work out with the mate, just know you have a small army of humans who wouldn’t mind a piece of you,” Jurian chortled.

“Men and women,” Vassa smiled at Jurian, “I heard that Lord Smith wouldn’t mind warming himself by the fireling.”

“Yeah, yeah, I trust you got her home safe then,” Lucien pointed at Jurian, hoping his easy smile covered the anxiety that had been growing over the day as he became convinced that something terrible had happened to Elain now that she’d been removed from sight.

“Oh, the Archeron is home safe alright,” Jurian said in a tone Lucien couldn’t quite read.

“Good…well then, you two bests be off,” Lucien turned back to the house. “Don’t stay out too late kids.”

“Alright dad,” Vassa scoffed.

“Oh and Luci,” Jurian was halfway down the garden path, “Don’t make us regret leaving you home alone with your mate!” He winked at him that time and then he and Vassa were two colourful blurs in the summer evening, their laughter making music with the chirping of cicadas.

Something cold ran the length of Lucien’s spine. He would be home, alone, with Elain, for an entire night.

Fuck.

***

“Come in?”

Elain already knew it was Lucien before his head of fiery hair, now unbound, peered at her from around the door.

“Good evening, Lady, um…may I come in?”

Elain looked at him over the papers she’d randomly grabbed and was now pretending to read. Nuala certainly could have given her a little more warning.

Lucien looked so shy, half standing behind the door, and Elain found all her anger at him having sent her home evaporating. He was just as confused as she was about this whole bond thing, it was something they’d have to figure out together.

Elain gave a small nod and Lucien seemed to let loose a long breath before he walked into the room, turning around to shut the door and then turning to face her. Lucien glowed in daylight, out there in the woods it looked at though the sun were always reaching for him, as though it, like so many others, adored him. But there was something so alluring about Lucien by candlelight. The shadows and the orange light that moved over him, he seemed darker somehow, more dangerous. More intoxicating.

Lucien cleared his throat, standing with his hands held behind his back, and Elain adverted her eyes.

“I’ve come to apologise, Lady.”

“Apologise?” Elain repeated numbly. She hadn’t been expecting this, to her knowledge, men didn’t apologise.

“For how I spoke to you, earlier today…” Lucien seemed to shift slightly, “It was entirely unreasonably for me to send you home when you wished the know the way. I got spooked with the trap and, and-”

“It’s fine. Thank you,” Elain smiled at him, setting the papers down and leaning forward in her chair. Lucien looked bemused.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes I, uh…it’s not your fault I got upset, not really. I’m just quite on edge recently,” Elain began to fiddle with the threads of her dress.

“Is something wrong?” Pure concern laced Lucien’s voice as he strode a little further into the room.

“No, just…I think it’s just being around you…” Elain trailed off and Lucien’s eyes widened. Never before had she brought up the mating bond. Not with him.

“Oh, yes, it’s...uh, quite annoying isn’t it.” He grinned easily, and Elain felt something inside her relax.

“Not annoying just…things get to me easier.”

“Yes,” Lucien nodded, “When we’re close to each other the mating bond will be more…demanding. You’ll probably be more aware of it, as I am.”

“You…you feel like this, all the time?” Elain blinked at him, and Lucien shifted awkwardly, he did not want her to pity him.

“You get used to it after a while,” He grinned at her again. Elain quickly became lost in thought and Lucien could practically see her mind working, her eyes becoming distant. He took this moment to look her over, just checking for injuries, of course.

She’d changed her dress; the other one no doubt having being stained with grass and mud. It was a pale yellow, one that he found suited her hair greatly. Layers of skirts and a corset bodice, and with her hair pinned up and away from her face she looked every bit of the goddess he thought her of being.

It was then that his eye caught on the dainty necklace around her throat, a single pearl hanging at its end and…

Mother, that was a low neckline.

A low neckline for Elain of course. But still. The dress allowed him to see the beginning curve of her breasts where that single pearl lay, nestled-

Lucien snapped his eyes away and dug his hands into his pockets, digging his nails into his thighs.

He was sure that by now, Elain could read scents, and he really, really, didn’t want to make this more awkward than it was. Mother, he’d just been talking about how he’d become accustomed to controlling himself. But perhaps the beast within hadn’t been tamed, maybe it was just resting.

As though they’d been called by his arousal, the base mate desires sang through his blood. Touch, smell, taste…The last one was strangely powerful today, but maybe it was because the more time he became familiar with her scent, the more he could imagine what she tasted of. Sweet but in the way fruits are sweet, like his own personal nectar-

“Are you alright?” Elain’s soft voice sung into the air and Lucien realised that he was digging so hard into his thigh that tears had sprung up into his eyes.

“Yes, sorry,” He sniffed before huffing a laugh, “I’m just tired is all.”

“Of…” Elain prompted softly, and for a moment their eyes met and something enigmatic passed between them. “I um,” Elain sprang from her chair and began to gesture, unable to meet his eye. “I was about to go to the kitchen and steal a pot of tea and sit if the garden if you wished to, if you wished to-”

“Yes,” Lucien blinked, and Elain nodded furiously before meeting his eye and giving him a shy smile.

“Lead the way,” Elain said softly, and Lucien felt his heart skip a beat, and from the way Elain’s smile grew, he knew she’d heard it too.

***

Since it was well into the night, Elain and Lucien had to make the tea themselves, Lucien trying not to puff his chest too much when Elain gasped at how he heated the kettle with his fingers.

“It’s about as useful as it gets I’m afraid,” he grinned at her as steam started to pour from the spout.

“Well, being a seer seems far more pointless.” God she looked good in the moonlight.

“I wouldn’t say that…” It seemed that that part of Lucien would always protest at Elain being insulted, even if it were her dishing out the affront. “You knew to find Vassa, your visions before the war were invaluable, we most likely would’ve lost without them.”

Elain poured the tea, her brows furrowed in thought. If they were truly mated, if the union had been accepted, Lucien realised that this was a moment where he’d be able to reach for that bond and feel what she was feeling. He could understand, in a millisecond, what was going on behind those honeyed eyes.

Elain moved to the kitchen’s backdoor, which looked out onto the path leading down to the road which led to town, arching through the gardens. To his surprise she settled in the doorway, tucking her skirts so that they spilled out onto the gravel path.

“What is it?” Lucien prodded, as he settled down next to her, making sure that he was leaning against the left doorframe and that no part of his body was touching hers.

“Compared to the likes of Feyre and Nesta,” Elain began in a dreamy voice, “My powers are pointless; you can’t deny it.”

Lucien didn’t know what to say to that. It was all kinds of wrong. As he thought about how to exactly tell Elain she was quite insane for thinking such a way, he looked out on the moonlit gardens. The sky here was duller than the Night Court, but there was something peaceful in these lands, something innocent. A warm breeze caressed his face, and just as he was about to speak, Elain beat him to it.

“I should’ve been there, tonight, Feyre and Nesta would’ve gone.” Lucien’s hand paused as it carried his tea to his lips. Fury jolted through him.

“I don’t know about that,” Lucien proceeded in sipping his tea, trying to cool the flames within.

“If Feyre could handle seeing Tamlin, then I could’ve handled tonight,” Elain said simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. Lucien considered what she had said, trying to slow his heartbeat as he thought, especially now that he knew she could hear it.

“Are you so desperate to be like your sisters?” Elain cocked her head at the garden.

“Of course…they’re brave and I…I don’t know, how could I not?” Elain appeared as genuinely confused, and something inside Lucien’s chest ached.

“No offence,” he flashed her an easy grin, one that seemed to tell her that everything was going to be okay, “But I don’t think the world would recover from having another Feyre…and especially not another Nesta.”

“You know what I mean…” Elain huffed, bumping into his shoulder slightly as she flashed him a shy smile, one that made him feel like glowing. “They would’ve gone tonight. They would’ve marched into that manor and sat down in the Nolan’s chair and if Gray so much as looked at them wrong they would’ve burned the house to ashes.”

Lucien ignored Elain’s nickname for her ex-fiancé, and took a moment to cool the raging part of him that sought to seek out the boy and erase him from history. Elain was poking fun at her ex-lover, she was wrinkling her nose and shaking her head, it was obvious she wanted nothing to do with him. And yet that nickname stood like an island in the stormy ocean, a reminder that at that moment, some unevolved, bastard, human fae-hunter had a firmer place in her heart than he.

“What the hell is the Nolan’s chair?” Lucien asked after a moment, batting the vitriol from his mind.

“Oh,” Elain’s eyes lit up, “It’s some stupid, big Ashwood throne which they have in this weird trophy room, apparently it’s been passed down through generations of fae-hunters. I couldn’t touch it of course because I hadn’t been initiated into the family and that would be sacrilegious or something.” Lucien tipped his head back and huffed a laugh, and Elain felt something inside her sing to answer. She’d noticed Lucien’s beauty more this past day, but that moment right there, had been the loveliest he’d ever been. His eyes shut, his grin wide. He seemed happy. It was beautiful.

“Oh Gods, let me guess, they have it behind some sort of curtain and they do a grand reveal whenever guests come for tea?” Elain blinked at him with those brown saucers.

“Have you visited?!” Both of them titled back and let out genuine laughs, no one to interrupt them but a warm breeze making the plants rustle.

“You know, it’s funny,” Elain sighed, curling her arms around her knees and looking out on the moon-lit shrubbery, “When you stop loving someone, it’s almost like you see them for the first time.” Lucien shifted awkwardly, trying to ease the itching across his skin. He’d never talked so much about the boy before, and it was making his powers sing.

“And what do you see now?”

“I…I can’t say a bad word against him. I don’t know why. I think even if he were standing in front of me right now I would just politely ask him to leave.”

“I think that says more about your character than his.” How could the Cauldron have thought him worthy of this female? In the face of her abuser, she chose pacifism.

“It’s strange because now I guess I see him how everyone else has always seen him. But when I was human…” Elain’s speech faltered and she flashed her eyes to him, “I’m sorry you probably don’t want to hear about this.” Lucien took a deep breath before setting his cup down.

“Elain I…I want to be your friend, and I want to know everything about you. If that includes your weasel of an ex, so be it.”

“Be nice,” Elain half-told him off with a laugh as she reached out and shoved his shoulder. Lucien saw stars.

“When you were human…” Lucien found his voice after a second, and prompted Elain along. She curled her arm back around her knees and her eyes drifted off to some far off place.

“I…I just wanted to be loved, so badly. I wanted a fairy-tale romance and, I don’t know, someone who would want me, you know that kind of romance you only read about in novels where the guy walks into a room and only sees her.” Elain huffed a laugh and Lucien bit his tongue. “I just assumed that it would never happen, not with us falling into poverty, but then, we weren’t in poverty anymore, and Nesta and I were back looking for husbands. Graysen isn’t…special…I know. But I never wanted special, and for a girl who had grown up believing she’d have nothing, what he gave me seemed like the whole world. Things like sneaking out to meet him without a chaperone, or, or, sneaking away from family dinner’s to hide in the gardens. It…it felt like falling in love…”

“When you having nothing,” Lucien began tentatively, “And someone shows you an inch of kindness…well, that becomes invaluable.” Elain hummed softly in agreement.

“I didn’t want much – I’ve never wanted much - but that’s because it always seemed greedy. I just wanted my own garden, and then Graysen promised me 12 acres of land, and he did seem to care for me. Well…at one point he seemed to care.” Elain shivered, and that age-old anger flashed in his eye. He didn’t know what Graysen had said to Elain when she’d come to the Noland Manor during the war, but by the way the entire Inner Circle seemed one bad day away from cleaving the boy’s balls from his body, he got the idea.

“Now that I can see him clearly, and I can see all the terrible things he did and said, to me and…and about me…” Elain turned to look at Lucien and found him already looking at her, his expression soft, but something made of steel in his eyes, “It’s easy to not love someone when you don’t like them, but I am afraid.”

“Of…” Lucien said gently, his voice as soft as the wind in the leaves.

“How can I…” she was looking at him directly now, “How can I do it again,” she whispered in a voice that reminded him of a petal. “I was so blinded by love; how can I trust myself? You know, sometimes it feels like I’ve felt enough heartbreak to fill several lifetimes.”

Lucien surprised himself by huffing a soft laugh.

“I know how you feel. But that’s the thing about being immortal. They say time heals all wounds, and it does. But most of us, and I suppose particularly humans, don’t get the chance to wait out our pain. But being fae, well, you’re convinced you’ll never get over it until one day you wake up and, you just are.”

Elain had never heard him speak for so long before, and she realised she could’ve sat here and listened to him talk all night. There was an aged wisdom behind his words, like a promise that everything was going to be alright. A small silence settled on the two as they both looked up at the moon, glowing like an eye of the Mother, winking with contentment.

“Graysen is a bastard isn’t he.” Lucien laughed, loud and brashly, and even though it was nearly midnight, Elain was sure he’d momentarily lit up the world.

“No comment,” Lucien held his palms up to face her to show his pacifism.

“Oh come on, you must not like him if you’re sitting here with me rather out there at the Nolan’s sipping, oh, coffee liquors.” Lucien wrinkled his nose.

“Gods, they sound awful.”

“Oh. They are,” Elain moaned with a smile. Then she peered at him again, “You’ve really never been.” Lucien shifted slightly, sitting a little straighter.

“Yes I, uh, I hope that wasn’t an intrusion or-”

“No, no!” Elain rushed, before sighing heavily as she bit her lip in thought. Lucien’s eyes, one metal one fae, roved over her. Oh how he wished to know her thoughts.

Then, Elain was reaching out for him, putting her small hand on his shoulder and looking up at him with those dark, sultry eyes.

“Thank you…for having my back,” she practically whispered. But Lucien wasn’t quite sure he’d heard her given that his entire focus had been zeroed onto that single palm pressed against his shoulder, how he could feel the warmth of her skin through the thin linen of his shirt.

“I…no problem, Lady…It’s no problem at all.” Elain smiled at him softly, but her hand stayed where it was.

Lucien wondered if she felt it too. The electricity that was flowing through his blood. The bond that seemed to glow from between his ribs, buzzing with contentment at their contact. He wondered if she felt the squeeze in her chest – the possibility that this wasn’t just a bond at all.

Suddenly, voices from the hall erupted into life. Brash singing, and a cackling laugh that startled Elain enough for her hand to lift from his shoulder, before she slowly pulled it back in her lap. Lucien was dangerously close to running into the hall and carrying both his friends back out into the garden and dumping them in the flower beds.

He’d had two stolen moments with Elain today, and the secret seemed to lie in their solidarity from the rest of the world. Sighing Lucien leaned back on his hands.

“It seems that Jurian and Vassa have made it home.”

Tag List:

@ladyelain @chloepereyra @exiledelain @bow-dawn​

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #246: GATHERINGS

August, 1984

Family feud! Guest-starring SERSI of the Eternals!

She comes!

A portent of times to come! I hear a faint rumbling of leather jackets from distant years...

Also, hey! She-Hulk! I missed you!

The Avengers have been through the Secret Wars and participated in the Wraith War! What’s next for our band of heroes?

Maybe parties? The cover makes it look like a party is going on before some Kirby-looking guys crashed.

But also? Vision’s vague scheming to raise the Avengers’ profile continues as he and Scarlet Witch take a trip to visit President Reagan and First Lady Reagan at the White House.

Weird thing is that we don’t get an unobscructed view of Reagan’s face. He’s either back to the ‘camera’ or cropped on the panel border. Weird, since this wasn’t a problem last time he appeared in this book. Y’know, the time some plant people tried to hold him for ransom? That time?

President Didn’t-Pay-for-the-Likeness-Rights thanks Vision for taking time to personally brief him on all the biz the Avengers have been up to.

President Reagan: “I wish we could talk like this more often! The National Security Council keeps me posted on your missions, but there’s nothing like getting the news firsthand.”

Vision: “I quite agree, Mr. President. In fact, I have a few suggestions for making the lines of communication between Avengers Mansion and the White House more... shall we say... direct?”

He suggests they speak in private which Reagan gladly agrees to, shooing Scarlet Witch and Mrs. Reagan out. To Scarlet Witch’s surprise because he sprang the trip on Washington on her and now he’s sprung this on her.

Also, every time Vision meets someone in private and the conversation takes place off-panel, they suddenly come around to his point of view so.... uh...

Well, I’m sure it’s fine.

Meanwhile, we get back to Captain Monica Marvel Rambeau’s subplot. Remember how she worried after getting back from Secret Wars that she had no explanation to give her family for being missing for several days? And was thinking of telling them about her secret superhero thing?

Well, she calls home to New Orleans and her presumably firefighter dad answers. I presume he’s a firefighter because there’s a firefighter hat and coat hanging up prominently in the background. We call that environmental storytelling.

Monica’s mom isn’t home so Monica asks for her parents to call her back when they’re both available.

Monica: “In a way, I’m glad momma wasn’t home. That gives me more time to figure out how I’m going to tell them that their ‘little girl’ is leading a double life... as an Avenger called Captain Marvel!”

... Geez, her costume looks so weird when there’s nobody in it.

Monica ponders just bringing it up casually by RECAPPING HER ENTIRE BACKSTORY! Which, in fairness, would be an appropriate way to handle it. But she decides that just going ‘yeah I was helping old family friend Professor LeClare investigate a secret lab on an oil platform, punched a machine, got powers, and then joined the Avengers’ would sound crazy and that there must be a better way to tell them.

I say, take it slow and ramp up. Start from ‘I have superpowers’, do a little pew pew flashlight beam and let their questions guide your explanation.

Meanwhile again but elsewhere, Wasp van Dyne is just chilling at Avengers Mansion, bumming herself out rereading the World According to Garp, and receiving a phone call from West Avengers Chairman Hawkeye.

He tells her that he found a great HQ for the new West Coast Avengers, some old silent film star’s home, and he’s overseeing renovations now.

This ongoing Hawkeye real estate subplot is to get you excited for the upcoming West Coast Avengers series. Are you?

I dread it.

Anyway, Starfox comes in after the phone call and recognizes that Janet is in a Mood. A very bored mood. A post-chairperson funk.

Wasp: “It’s just that Wanda and the Vision are in Washington... Hawkeye and his new wife are setting up a new team in California... Cap and Thor are away on missions of their own... Everybody’s doing something! Everybody but me! It’s funny, after all we’ve been through lately, especially with that horrible Magneto, you’d think I’d appreciate a little leisure time. But instead, I’m bored out of my mind!”

Magneto kissing her really teed her off if that’s what she’s focusing on from the whole Secret Wars thing and not having died.

Starfox has just the answer for Wasp’s post-Magneto-kissing blues though.

PARTY.

He was on his way to a great party and Wasp can be his plus one!

Meanwhile, on the Washington to New York plane, Vision and Scarlet Witch.

She’s confused why they didn’t just take the Quinjets that they have instead of flying on a commercial airline but Vision says that getting out among the people is just good public relations.

I mean, he’s not wrong. But also flying in public, in your costumes, seems like it runs the risk of aggroing a supervillain attack.

It doesn’t happen but I wouldn’t have been surprised if it did.

The flight attendant asks Vision if he drinks before course correcting into asking him if he wants a drink.

I don’t know what’s more amazing here. Wanda going ‘he never has coffee at home’ like that coffee ad that Airplane spoofed.

Or Vision patting himself on the back for connecting to the common man with his drink order.

Simply superb.

Back at the casa Rambeau, Maria Rambeau returns and then returns Monica’s call. Monica says she’s going to come over for dinner and then a panel later, she’s knocking on the door.

Her parents are confused because it’s a twenty-minute drive between Monica’s house and theirs but that’s just part of what Monica wants to explain to them.

I see Monica decided to just jump into her explanation.

Back in New York, Janet frets over whether she’s dressed right for the party but Starfox just dismisses that as one of Earth’s weird mores. Why, he only wears the one outfit and that’s just gonna have to be good enough.

They arrive at the party and it seems to be a hobnobbin’ sort of event, with people discussing court settlements and acting. Also, She-Hulk is there. Hi, She-Hulk!

Glad Stern found another excuse to include you after Byrne stole you away to the land of the Fantastic.

She-Hulk says she met the host at an exotic bakery shop just last week and that’s how she scored the invite.

I wonder what made these baked goods so exotic. And I’m wondering if it wasn’t actually erotic. Do I think that She-Hulk would purchase a butt cake? Yes, yes I do.

She asks Starfox how he knows the host and, well, he doesn’t. He heard about the party and decided to invite himself (and Wasp) along. I.e. crash.

But the host...

ITS SHE!

SERSI!

SHE COMES!

But the host, Sylvia Sersi, isn’t too bothered by the pair of party-crashing Avengers and has She-Hulk introduce them.

Starfox is enchanted to meet Sersi and she likewise but they’d best not be too enchanted to meet each other because I’m pretty sure they’re not too distant relations.

Mentor founded the Titan colony of the Eternals and the Eternals have all been around a while so there’s not that many branches between Starfox and Sersi, I don’t think.

Anyyyyyway.

A drunk man pauses before a mirror to tidy up his tie and gets a startle when a Watcher-looking guy that isn’t the Watcher because he has hair appears in the mirror instead of his own face.

When Sersi comes over to investigate she tells him he must have imagined it and sends the guy away for some air but then interrogates the mirror face man and calls him Domo.

Domo, in the mirror: “We need you here in Olympia! Everyone is needed for the final decision!”

Sersi: “I told you before, I don’t care! Go ahead and make your big decision! It won’t affect me, because I intend to go right on doing as I please!”

Then she turns the mirror into a picture of penguins??

Her powers are great indeed.

Although her investment in the community is less so.

Whatever this mysterious decision everyone is voting on, it is clearly less important than this rockin’ party. This party has a She-Hulk!

Back over at the Rambeaus, Monica decides to just rip off the band-aid and tell her parents that she’s Captain Marvel. They find it hard to believe so she just pulls out her costume and lightspeeds into it.

Harder to hold doubts when your daughter glows with an awesome power.

Frank Rambeau: “It’s true... my little girl’s an Avenger. Hey, that means... you’ve met Captain America!”

Frank jumping right to the important points.

Thankfully, Monica’s parents are very supportive. And actually like the Avengers. You have cool parents, Monica.

Frank Rambeau: “Monica, I don’t know what to say! The Avengers are heroes... like Cap and the Black Panther and Thor... They’re like a legend! To think that you’re one of them -- !”

Maria Rambeau: “We’re very, very proud of you, dear... Prouder than we ever thought possible!”

Very cool parents.

Meanwhile, back at the party, mirror spooked guy (apparently Harry) goes out for air like Sersi suggested and then sees something else which spooks him even harder!

He runs from the party babbling about seeing things or not seeing things and not sticking around to sort out which.

Then a bunch of goons crash the party by flying through the terrace doors.

Look at these total goons.

Starfox steps forward and tries to defuse the situation both by words

Starfox: “Easy, my friends! I’m sure you don’t want to hurt anyone!”

And by shooting pleasure beams from his mind.

Predictably, his pleasure beam, besides being creepy, can’t be allowed to be too effective.

If it actually worked we wouldn’t have conflict and plot.

So like the Hulk in Incredible Hulk #300, these dudes called Delphans just slap Starfox out of the way.

Then superhero number two steps up.

One of the Delphans say that they need to get “that witch” before she can cause them any grief and She-Hulk was in proximity and assumes they meant her and takes exception to that.

She-Hulk: “‘Witch’, huh? You wouldn’t mean me, would you? That’s a bad choice of words, but you’re right about one thing... I can give plenty of grief!”

The Delphan just immediately hits her with an energy pole which just pisses off She-Hulk and ruins her party dress. Thankfully she had the unstable molecules FF costume on underneath.

She dresses in layers.

Delphan: “You’re still standing? But that photon-burst would have stunned the mighty Karkas!”

She-Hulk: “You stupid jerk! Do you have any idea how hard it is to find nice things in my size?!”

She-Hulk and Starfox start beating on the Delphans but its Sersi’s party and she can shoot eye beams if she wants to, eye beams if she wants to.

Sersi: “I should have known Domo would send you Delphans after me! Well, it won’t work! You’re not taking me away without a fight!”

Not just eyebeams but apparently a piggifying beam!

A singing piggifying beam!

Oh, sure, the Delphan says that its a transmutive ability but I know whats what.

Her name is Sersi, which is like Cerci, and she can shoot pig beams at people, especially Greek soldiers.

Unfortunately, like other witches before her, she needs some wrist range of movement to do her business and grabbing her by the arms will just nullify her.

Sigh.

If only he didn’t have armored outpanties, she could kick him in the business.

But fortunately, Wasp “can blow up a small house” van Dyne won’t be stopped by armored outerwear and shoots the Delphan grabbing Sersi right in the butt.

That is, Wasp shoots him in the butt, not that he’s grabbing Sersi in the butt.

Meanwhile, over in the Vision and Scarlet Witch subplot, their plane lands at LaGuardia and they’re instantly accosted by journalists who wants Vision’s take on rumors that the president is going to make chairmanship of the Avengers a cabinet-level post.

Vision coyly tells them that he and the president discussed many things but he’s not at liberty to confirm anything.

Hmm.

Then Vision excuses himself, saying that he and Wanda have to get back to Avengers Mansion.

Scarlet Witch: “We certainly do!” And when we get there, we are going to have a little talk!

Seems Wanda is annoyed at all this being left out of the loop.

Back at the A-plot, where A stands for Avengers go to a party and then get into a fight, Sersi gets fed up with these shenanigans and threatens to turn the Delphans into worms but she gets grabbed by the wrists again, this time by power-dampening chonky handcuffs, and dragged away by the Delphans to their spaceship that was hovering right outside the party.

Starfox and Wasp fly out in pursuit, with non-flying She-Hulk complaining about being left behind.

Wasp: “After them, Starfox! We mustn’t let them get away!”

Starfox: “I quite agree! Hostesses such as Ms. Sersi are all too rare!”

Wasp: “No kidding! Once we rescue her, I want to find out how she does that trick with her eyes!”

... Really.

The eyes specifically? Not the singing pig beam?

Huh. To each their own.

The ship takes off shortly after Wasp and Starfox stow aboard and the two heroes resume beating Delphan ass to try to save Sersi.

Lead Delphan: “We have the advantage in number, but they’re still making us look like idiots! We can’t let them beat us now! Have to initiate transport... while there’s still a chance!”

The ship then disappears with a FWOF!

And reappears above the mountains of Northern Greece.

Apparently, Eternal transportation is like the kind in Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy because Starfox and Wasp are discombobulated and nauseated by the transport.

The Lead Delphan seizes the opportunity while the bull is hot and pulls the lever to make the ship just completely disassemble.

The Delphans take advantage of the heroes startlement to beat the shit out of Starfox in midair.

Clever. But rude.

Sometime later, Starfox comes to in Olympia to discover that he and Wasp are completely surrounded and in the shit.

Domo: “Citizens of Olympia!! At last, we all stand together... reunited with our Polar and Pacific cousins! Our destiny beckons! But before the ritual may begin, we must first deal with these two... who have intruded into the affairs of the Eternals!”

Hey, dick! They don’t come to a party you’re crashing and slap the host!

But I guess we’re going to meet all the Eternals next time.

What a fun coincidence that I’m hitting this point of the story when the Eternals movie is just a few months away.

Follow @essential-avengers​ because one day I’ll read comics about Sersi wearing a leather jacket. Like and reblog for the same reason or for different reasons.

[unholyplumpprincess]

Claudette Sandwich

Commission for someone who would like to be left anonymous. The basic idea was Huntress and the Plague making a Claudette sandwich and having a sorta silent war over her. And oh, don’t we all wish to be adored by two massive lady killers with kissable faces?

Summary:  In which the Entity is tired of its killers and survivors not taking its games seriously and gives them a break. A break in which many survivors use to go fuck their respective lovers. Claudette takes this time to spend with her two favorite women.

Reblogs > Likes. Please Reblogs if you hit Like! :D

!!!Minors and ageless blogs dni or you will be blocked on sight!!!

Fandom: Dead by Daylight

Relationship: Claudette/Huntress and Claudette/Plague

Warnings: R18+/NSFT, Both Claudette and Huntress are trans women with lingo being cock/dick, Claudette has autism and there are notes of it, Mentions of taking E and the side effects that come with it, possessiveness, outside sex, but for the most part p tame! No ‘out there’ kinks here!

Words: 4.2k

___________________

Each trial was made just right, just so, just enough to be a challenge and to provide the Entity with what it wanted.  Bloodshed , fear, screams, anything to feed its sadistic desires.  

When it came down to it, the survivors were getting better at surviving, and the killers were losing their patience. The void and stretch between the two separate teams of pawns in the Entity’s  never-ending  game were starting to get tired. Some survivors would mock its killers, and the killers would equally taunt back- neither hitting the other.  

Well, the Entity supposed a game was only fun with variety and breaks, were they not? All of their pawns had been mortals at some point with...feelings- the spidery creature could gag at the very thought. Feelings.  

How unfortunate.  

~Rest under the cut~

It’s not as if it does not notice how its killers play the game either. As long as they bring a necessary amount of sacrifices and play the game in a way involving blood and screams, the Entity is normally pleased. No, recently, its killers have gotten...attached to certain survivors. Not in the fun way of obsessions like The Shape, The Nightmare, or the Demogorgon had, where their paired survivors were in their blood to hunt down first.  

No, examples being like how The Trapper would never miss anyone, and yet Meg Thomas always just barely escaped his clutches. And if she WAS in his clutches,  somehow,  she’d always escape. How curious, the Entity had thought, until it had watched closer as she taunted the big beast and went so far as to pull up her top and flash him and leave its most skilled predator at a loss of what to do.  

No. No, no, no, these games would need a break just like any other game.  

So, what’s an all-seeing Entity to do?   

It sneaks into the survivors’ dreams to let them know what the new rules are. It requests a council from its very own group of killers to explain the circumstances without letting them know who it had seen becoming ‘merciful’ to who.  However  its killers played their game and got their own satisfaction was their own interests.  

The situation was simple. Survivors and killers would be allowed to mingle for two weeks, and then the games would begin again.  

And oh, how did the Entity love the thought of the inevitably delicious taste of agony and betrayal when they would become friendly, only to realize in the upcoming matches they would be downed by the very hand they held. Whether out of duty, or the thrill of the kill.  

What it can feel currently, however, is the joy coming off specific survivors in their dreams when it alerts them to the changes.  

Sweet little Claudette had always been a favorite of the Entity’s. She had come into this world meek and kind, and still was ever so kind, even when she bared her teeth and held her ground against killers. How kind, she was, standing in the way of a hit to rescue her fellow survivors. Or take the last few daring seconds to finish a generator, just to buy her team some time. Always there to be the optimistic sunshine in the time of fog and gloom.   

So kind, and so idiotic, if you asked the Entity.  

Yet, it seems her kind, sweet nature had gathered the attention of two of its killers.  

The Huntress was a woman that the Entity adored for her simplicity. Her own agony in inability to carry child had been delicious all on her own, then the desire, the hunger to kill anyone who stood in her way. And yet, she found some sort of requiem in Claudette. Somewhere where her mortality and morals lie. Claudette brought something out in her that was protective and...human.  

Claudette liked to explain various herbs and insects to Anna, holding a book she had gotten in reward for escaping one day. She holds it up high for the taller woman who points at the pictures and then to her mouth to ask if they are edible. In small ways they bond in the small moments when they are not running away or at each other. In these small ways, they grow to adore each other.  

And a newer killer, yet still old enough to not be considered a new addition; The Plague. Oh, how her agony was worn on her cheek for all to see. The acts of killing were acts of devotion in her eyes- the Entity her new god to appease and to serve. She had no Disciples to guide, no need for her selflessness from the past. She devoted herself into each kill and looked to the Entity like a god from her realm and served it as such.  

Yet with Claudette, the kind survivor had held her hands as if they had not been scarred. Kissing each fingertip with murmured words of sweetness that had left Adiris speechless and shy. A new look for her, since the devotion became more interesting whispers as she was on her knees. Words that others may not know the tongue of, but to a god of many voices, the Entity could make out the...love.  

It could gag.  

But truly, was the Entity not the god of this realm? In the end, it didn’t matter who thought what, as long as they all played the game and gave the Entity what it always wanted. Who was it to matter if a god played a role here?  

As always, it would keep playing its game. For now, the Entity lets its presence stop overwhelming the surrounding area of the survivor’s camp. Paths lead into the forest all around, marked with wooden signs stating the area it would lead as well as a dirt or cobblestone path leading in that direction.  

There is no sun to be provided, the overhead still dark and clouded with a full moon serving for most of the light. Fireflies blossom in surrounding areas, orange rather than their  normal  yellow glow.  

At first, most survivors are wary. Claudette can’t blame Nancy and Steve for not being too thrilled to move from their cabin, nor Laurie or Quentin for avoiding the areas marked with familiar realms that make their skin crawl. She could almost laugh at the eagerness from Nea and Jake, however, both eagerly talking of the Wraith as if he were some shared boyfriend that they were  gossiping  about.  

It almost felt normal.  

Almost.  

The first day, Claudette finds herself wandering into the woods through a split path. The Red Forest splitting into a grounded area, wet, muddy area with a wooden path leading there. Small flowers sprout from the wooden planks beneath her feet, the pleasant aroma being revealed of the forest that never seemed to stop sprinkling small amounts of rain. The heavy treetops overhead almost acted like their very own light, filtering deep blues through the area.  

Anna is a territorial  woman;  It is no surprise for her to find Claudette before the survivor can find her. There’s a quietness that edges between them, a  good few feet of distance  as Claudette waits patiently where she’s at, shuffling her feet a bit.  

Claudette was not a person who spoke very many words. She found it hard to get it out, preferring to delve into books and be in her own little world. Bugs, botany, rocks-  those  she could talk about for hours, hands fidgeting as she could show and tell without Anna being upset. Anna thought it was interesting how she could go from not saying a word to suddenly exploding over her interests. It was cute.  

So, Claudette does not speak, merely letting her shoulders fall from their tight position and taking a step forward just as Anna’s arms outstretch and bring her into her arms. Their height difference makes Claudette nestle against her breast, smiling in a way that makes the killer’s heart stutter and a warm smile to find her scarred lips.  

Anna makes love to her that day, in her very own home. Strong body framing Claudette who had held her arms around her neck and pulled her closer with the softest of sounds from her throat.  There are  soft murmurs from Anna that Claudette does not understand. She kisses over her neck, brushing Claudette’s curls from her sweaty, warmed face and watching her get overwhelmed with each and every thrust into her smaller frame.  

Claudette can’t meet her eyes- eye contact was a big no. Nor did she seem to enjoy the stimulus of kissing when Anna was inside her.  So,  they compromise. With Anna’s forehead to hers, both sets of eyes closed, and Claudette’s hands pawing at her back or one clutching the back of her head to draw her closer.  

It made them feel more alive than either had been in what felt like ages.  

--  

The following day, after a day well spent with Anna and explaining to her quietly that Claudette would be seeing Adiris tomorrow, Claudette makes her way towards the path of the Red Forest again, the next pathway seeming to be made of fallen stones set firmly into the ground. It led a path to an open forested area as well, but instead of a warmed cabin, there was a temple. Broken down from age and time, moss growing along its walls and  left-over religious memorabilia scattered.  

Adiris is a calm and quiet woman. Her way of caring and speaking was soft spoken and gentle, English heavily accented with each word and one of the languages she struggled with. That was fine by Claudette, who wasn’t very verbal herself- whether that was from lack of wanting to speak or the killer stutter she got on single syllables was up to anyone.  

Though it did amuse her on end how Adiris seemed so stoic, yet the simplest hand on her cheek or a hand on her own would make the firmer flesh of her face flush red. Stoic, yet so easy to fluster.  

Adiris was a beauty that was different than the woman who ran in a rabbit mask. She was slightly taller than The Huntress, but certainly not even comparing in physique. Her  physique  was  leaner and willowy  with a soft, curving flare out of her hips. It made her entire sense of self seem like a walking goddess. Her face she preferred to hide with her headdresses- kissing was always a nervousness of her own.  

Claudette supposes that’s who she was before all this- or a loud devotee. But, now, she takes to sitting with Adiris and tracing the scarring on the backs of her hands. Mummified was a good word for how her skin was, almost scabbed up and burned. Yet, Claudette touches her just as she would anyone else with utmost care.  

Now, Adiris finds herself sitting with her knees off to the side, propping her side up on a rock as well with her arm. She lets Claudette sit in front of her, the girl on her knees as well and finding her palm resting on Adiris’ warmed cheek. There are no words to share, but Claudette still lets her eyes flicker to Adiris’ to get the message across.  

The first kiss is gentle. Adiris feels herself squirm to sit up fully on her knees to match, height overtaking as her shaking fingers gingerly cup Claudette’s cheeks warmly. The softness of her lips is supple against Adiris’ scarred ones. They can only peck, the headdress’ sharp edges coming down into two slots over her lips, but they still find ways to touch. With Claudette’s cheek against her own, feeling the warmth of her skin, able to inhale the earthy scent of her- it's almost too much for Adiris.  

In a moment where both parties both desire the other and both are too shy to proceed, one has to make the next move. It’s not as if Adiris’ religion had been surrounded by purity- no, polytheist was the ideology around it with multiple gods. It was not her religion that stopped her, but her own fears. She’d seen her followers naked, when they bathed in the communal rivers- but seeing someone INTIMIATELY naked would be new. Let alone...herself being bare before another.  

“Please,” Claudette murmurs so quiet against Adiris’ cheek she hardly hears it. There’s a moment’s hesitation, the shaky breath exhaling from Claudette as her warm hands brush down Adiris’ shoulders just as Adiris’ own arms slide around her neck to hold her closer. “Let me to-touch- touch you?”  

It must be hard for her to ask, a woman of few words, and even  then,  it’s a forward question. But, Adiris would expect nothing less of someone more interested in sciences. Her words fail her, so she nods, lying herself back on the grass floor as if she were to be her lover’s offering underneath the full moon. The forest’s winds shaking the treetops gently and creating a soft  ambiance  that would leave a blushing maiden breathless.   

If this were perhaps the mortal realm, perhaps Adiris would feel the need to be more modest.  

Claudette is almost methodical in her touching. She strokes over the flesh of her thighs, sitting between Adiris’ legs and warming her up. It must look ridiculous for such a smaller woman to kneel between her thighs, but Adiris can’t help the breath that leaves her when Claudette’s hands climb. Skirting over the swell of her hips, up her slender frame and to her breasts. Her clothing is loose, easy to push down her shoulders with curious fingers dipping into the fabric of her tunic and gently pulling it down.  

Her breasts are smaller and not as perky as someone with a bra might have had- as bras were way after her time. But Claudette doesn’t mind, even when one has scarring edging the outskirts.   

Adiris’ nipples are a dusty color, perked and easy to brush her thumbs over. Claudette should have expected her sensitivity, but the gasp makes her freeze, only spurred on when she looks up and sees Adris has raised a hand to cover her mouth and her burning face.  

More brazen at the situation, Claudette allows herself to lie overtop her, sealing her lips over a bud and suckling. The reaction is instant, slender hips coming up into her own and making Claudette hum softly in appreciation. Adiris’ other hand comes to rest on Claudette’s hair, pressing gently as if to urge her to continue.  

When Claudette switches and raises her hand to squeeze at the now neglected breast, Adris lets out such a soft sound, her hips coming up again as if she doesn’t notice her own body doing it. Her hips naturally roll and press up in small humps, pressing herself to the front of Claudette’s jeans with desperate little ‘nnhhh’s  leaving her throat.  

It was difficult for Claudette to get hard so quickly- in the mortal realm she had been on E since she was a teenager. The side effects she had discovered were that it was harder for her to get hard, that her breasts developed to about a B cup, her cock had become smaller from what it had been, and producing cum had once been something she could no longer do. Yet, in this realm, she could produce cum. An odd side effect, but she assumed that the Entity somehow knew of aspects of their survivors and gave them what it assumed was correct or wanted.  

Regardless of her own unsexual thoughts of the moment, she finds herself filling out and pressing against her zipper. Having been focused longer than she thought she had been when she can make out how Adiris whines now, hips firmly trying to hump up into Claudette without yet noticing.  

When Claudette releases her breasts, there’s protests and needy hands grabbing at her, but she shushes softly. Letting her hands fall to Adiris’ waist and methodically pulling her robes up and to the side. No underwear either, she finds quickly. She finds that Adiris has scarring on her upper thighs, her cunt covered with thick hair and the slit parted open like a blossoming flower. Allowing Claudette to see how wet and flushed she was, her flesh still  supple  here with her clit engorged and wetness sticking to Claudette’s fingers when she experimentally brushes her slit with two fingers.  

The sharp reaction of Adiris humping upwards and letting out an echoing ‘ah!’ will fill Claudette’s dreams. She offers a smile of comfort when Adris flushes, covering her face with her arm, but Claudette doesn’t stop her.  

Scientific research on bodies that were different than her own had been conducted in the case of something like this happening. With Anna, it was easier since their bodies were much alike. With Adiri , she had, well, to put it bluntly- a pussy. One that Claudette was now inspecting, pushing her lower lips apart and then sandwiching her clit between two fingers. Dipping her fingers down to feel at her hole and prod just a bit and then circling back up.  

Through methodical testing she finds quickly what Adiris likes. Ending up with two fingers inside her, stretching her out with her own mouth back on Adiris’ chest. Suckling and letting her teeth scrape across the hardened, abused bud in her mouth.  

When Adiris cums, the sound she makes is quiet and overwhelmed. This sound like ‘ nnnhAH -’ leaving her and making her hand smash over her mouth. Her hips convulse, humping up into Claudette’s hand as she moves her fingers inside of her, scissoring and experimenting with pressing different areas.  

When Claudette can find it in her, she finds herself sitting up and almost frantically pulling off her boots so she can pull off her jeans. She stays in her shirt and flannel, but only once her pants and panties are off  does  she  pause , looking down at Adiris with flushed cheeks. “May I? I-I-I mean- can--” Claudette’s gesturing again, hands moving with her words despite one being covered with cum, fingers and palm shiny with slick.  

Adiris’ eye that has yet to be sealed over with scar tissue narrows in amusement. A little braver, she lifts her hips up in a show that she wants her.  

Claudette bites her lip at the gesture, carefully scooting up to be aligned with her. Her cock was about four or five inches now, still a good girth around with foreskin that covered a small portion of the flushed head. When she strokes, she pulls the skin back to reveal the flushed, shiny head, sliding it through Adiris’ lower lips and making both women shudder.  

It wasn’t often Claudette wanted to penetrate someone else. But when she’s fully sunken in and lying on top of Adiris and clinging to her? She can’t imagine it any other way. But, she’s overwhelmed, tucking her face into Adiris’ neck and shuddering as she tries to adjust to the heat around her.  

That’s when Adiris makes a sound, not of pleasure nor pain, but of surprise. A gentle embarrassed sound and Claudette figures out why when a calloused hand brushes her hip, sliding down over her ass and making her cheeks burn.  

“Anna-” She breathes out, turning her head to peek back and up at the Huntress. Anna stands comfortably behind her, having snuck up. Her mask remains on her face, the veil behind her head offering clarity to see the way her head tilts at her name, scarred lips forming a smirk.  

“Shhh,” Is the reply she gets back. Claudette’s face burns when she realizes what’s happening once Adiris’ arms go around her neck possessively and holding her tighter. Just at the same moment Anna gets on her knees behind Claudette, cupping her ass and sliding slicked fingers between the swell to tease at her hole.  

Overwhelmed enough already, Claudette takes to burying her face in Adiris’ neck with a choked noise. One finger  slides  inside of her and her entire body jerks. She feels almost like a prize, Adiris now boldened by the competition lets her hands slide down Claudette’s body to grab her ass, pulling gently to bare her to the killer behind her.  

“God-” Claudette sobs out, hips jerking forward despite having no space to move.  

When two calloused fingers sink into her, Claudette swears she’s going to die. She squirms atop Adiris, who has now taken to stroking up her back, her nails lightly scraping across the soft flesh Claudette had to offer.  

After a few moments there’s a shift behind her, her ass thoroughly stretched and her head dizzy with pleasure- Claudette is sure she’s drooled into Adiris’ shoulder by now. There’s shuffling and then Anna’s much bigger body is crowding her into the woman underneath her, making Claudette effectively sandwiched between the two women. Anna takes her cock, lubed up and a good sizeable amount.  

A speculation Claudette had was that Anna was unable to take E or any supplements in life, so the Entity rewarded her with however she wanted. Perhaps not the best time to ponder when she’s holding her breath now as Anna sinks into her with a melodic groan behind her.  

When Adiris presses her cheek to Claudette’s, her voice is gentle as she whispers, “Breathe.” A simple word that sends shivers down Claudette’s spine as she quickly  lets  go of the breath she was holding. A shuddering, shaking one escapes her, nosing at Adiris’ neck with a broken sob escaping her.  

Too much, too much-  

Then Anna starts moving, rocking her with a possessive grip to Claudette’s hips to angle her better. Forcing her to start rocking a bit into  Adiris  as well and effectively making her head spin. Claudette’s body quakes, soft whines leaving her body as she clings onto the woman underneath her for dear life.  

The war she does not feel over her shoulder is, however, brewing. Adiris has her chin tucked on Claudette’s shoulder, making her soft noises as she’s rocked into, but her one good eye trains up at Anna. Anna, who is smirking cockily and her eyes narrowed behind her mask, going so far as to hum in pleasure as she slams her hips hard into Claudette to make her cry out.  

They would share, oh, they could share, but both women were trying to be the best. To be the one making Claudette whine like that.  

Adiris  focuses on holding Claudette like a lover, arms wound around her, legs spread and turning her head as much as she can with her headdress to kiss adoringly at her neck with encouraging sounds to follow.  

Anna focuses on yanking and moving Claudette like a doll, fucking into her hard enough that her body bounces with the effort. Claudette’s body responds willingly to the motions, trying to keep up and fuck into Adiris at the same time. You really can’t blame her when she’s suddenly sobbing out and sinking her nails into the dirt beneath her when she cums. Hips stuttering and filling up Adiris, her internal walls fluttering around Anna until all three women are gasping.  

Normally, Claudette just needs the one and she’s exhausted, but she quickly finds that the killers she’s sandwiched between aren’t going to let just a ‘one and done’ be the end of this.  

She vaguely hears a snarl beneath her, followed by a taunting little hum behind her. She’s vaguely aware of it with Anna still fucking into her like a rabbit, hips slamming home and cock practically never leaving Claudette’s body. It makes her shake, whimper, beg for no more, that she can’t take it, it’s  too much -  

“One more,” Anna manages to get out with a low groan, nails sunk into Claudette’s hips. “One more.” She repeats, a small chant under her breath that Claudette nearly sobs with. But, she nods, frantically into Adiris’ shoulder and mumbling it back helplessly.  

Adiris is the second to cum with a cry. She’s never too loud, soft noises, but she makes a  high-pitched  sound akin to a squeak into Claudette’s neck. Her nails press into Claudette’s flesh, digging in uncomfortably but the way she squeezes around her? Claudette can’t find it in her to complain.  

When Anna cums, Claudette manages a dry orgasm not seconds after. Body trembling, overstimulated, eyes glassy with tears and her head foggy. She’s shaking by the time Anna pulls out, calloused hands  appreciatively  spreading her ass to watch her cum undoubtedly spill down onto the grass.  

There’s a pull and she’s vaguely aware of being pulled into Anna’s embrace and away from Adiris. Her cock feels cold out in the air, wet and no longer warmed inside of the killer. She makes a sound in her throat akin to a complaint, but quiets down when she’s settled across Anna’s lap with her heavy arm across her lap. It grounds her, the weight of it, and even more so when Adiris comes crawling over and rests their foreheads together. Nothing more.  

Claudette smiles her tired, silent thanks. She near falls asleep in this realm, if it weren’t for the two women soon seeming to argue over who could hold her.  

Ah, the Red Forest, truly a beautiful place.  

[the-last-ghost]

Okay everyone, here it is! Part 7 is up and i hope you all enjoy it! I am sorry for the sudden, extended hiatus that I took but i should be able to work on this with more frequency now. Thank you all for the support; you’re all amazing! As always, please let me know if you have any questions, comments, or concerns!

Part 7

           “It was a time of wonder, of glory, of pride and yet, will remain as one of the most shameful things we have done. As I have said, we set out and turned our entire focus to war and the ability to wage it better than any species in existence; and we succeeded. We learned from our own past, from our wars with each other, and adapted it to our new advancements. Captain, we have learned the value of “shock factor” and “total war” during our history. We knew that sometimes you must commit an atrocity beyond what seems possible in order to prevent something worse from happening. We knew that sometimes in war, everyone is a target, that sometimes even the civilian populace will turn on you and thus become an enemy… sometimes it becomes better to level a city, simply to make a statement to everyone else. What is worse is that we no longer had our home; our government was gone. We became a pure militaristic society for the sake of vengeance. By the time we set out to crush the Xulrata, we had built nearly a quarter million Capital Frigates of various classes and countless billions of warships, freighters, frigates, and more of various classes. We had learned from the battle in which we lost Admiral De Maré that the concept of overwhelming firepower was drastically needed… and overwhelming it was. The Capital Ships, Endless Void, and her sister ship, Mournful Wraith, were two of the grandest that we ever commissioned. The Void, which you have heard of, was a behemoth of astonishing scale. I never served upon it but I have seen it a handful of times and am still astonished at just how large it is…” Vilantis goes quiet remembering and I cannot help but wonder myself… The ship that now follows us through the void is massive, larger than nearly every ship in the Federation! And the sheer number that he says were built… What kind of foe could possibly warrant this kind of response… What kind of rage would drive them to go to such lengths…

           “For scale,” the Sage spoke up, “I can only tell you this; the Void had 14 hangars on board, 7 per side. 10 of them could fit the Shattered Moon but it would be tight; the remaining 4 however, could fit vessels much, much larger with ease. The Void was originally made to be a diplomatic ship that could host representatives from every world in the Federation on board with ease; and she did. However, she was commissioned well before the loss of Terra. We wanted to make a statement when we joined and so built her to show our intent at cooperation and desire to bring everyone together. Yet when war broke out, we took the template for the Void and modified it; instead of hangars for several hundred kilometers, it was given armaments to fill the space. Diplomatic rooms became barracks, storage rooms turned into ordinance bays, and décor became armor. Thus, the Wraith was born; a vessel designed and built for war and war alone. We lost our home, our symbol of what we were and we all came together to mourn and then seek vengeance… Terra fell, the Wraith was born, and our entire species was out for blood. Try and imagine it Captain, every Terran was there. Every single one of us prepared and willing to do what must be done to avenge those lost to us. Untold billions of starships, frigates, warships of every class, and fleets from across the entire system came to set out on this path. Never before has there been a gathering of such magnitude and I pray there is no need for it to be seen again. What you must know is that we were seen as a race that was kind and good. Yet there we were, amassing every ship we could reach and preparing for war on a scale never before seen. Your Council was terrified and so too was the rest of the Federation. When we set out on this path for war, we knew they would never support our actions. There are many reasons for this but foremost was their concern for the well-being of their people. They did, and still do, not have the necessary capabilities to cope with the kind of conflict a war of this scale would create; we did. Aside from this issue, there was the political one as well. There was no doubt in our minds or theirs that this war would lead to outright genocide and no matter how needed or warranted it would be, they could not support it; it didn’t help that many of the populace would not be able to understand it. So, they publicly denounced us and ordered us banished should we undertake the aforementioned actions; secretly however, they informed us that they understood our reasons and would not oppose our actions, so long as we kept them away from Federation controlled space. Much was discussed and more still is classified on both sides; however, the end agreement made was that we would scour the stars, claiming nothing but materials from the worlds we would cleanse. We would claim no worlds as our own but we would travel once again and, where necessary, subdue any threats posed to your growing Federation. We have waged our war with the Xulrata for ages and have no doubts that we will be fighting for ages to come. They are not the only threats we have encountered that could pose catastrophic to your people should you encounter them; as such we approached them, per our agreement with the Council, and bid them seek you in peace, either to join or ally with them but remain separate. Many have come to your side over the years but many more have taken up arms against it. Those enemies we have quelled long before you have come to them and they have submitted themselves to you but others still have fought to the bitter end…” As he trails off, no doubt remembering such conflicts, I can’t help but wonder if some of the worlds I have seen over the years had been laid siege to by his people. “Wait, if your people have been interacting with those races for so long, how come we haven’t heard about it?” I ask, thinking that such involvement would not have gone unnoticed. “That is a good question, with no short or simple answer but I will say this, those we have interacted with have had a long time to forget just who or what it was that came to them heralding the rise of your Federation and those with whom conflict occurred, well… history is written by the victors.”

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           “So, you’re telling me that these Terrans Krii’utz is with, some are survivors while the ship they travel with was coming to their aid?” Commander Mash’tola asked, effectively summing the situation down to the bare minimums. “That and they are still requesting the Priority 1 Jump and to meet with the Commander of the Harn’we Sector, Sir.” Major Hawthun confirmed, “How would you like us to proceed, sir?” The tactical room was silent; everyone anxious to see how they would be required to proceed, as there was no real guideline for this. First contact protocols were well known, if infrequently utilized but contact with a race presumed, at best, lost to the stars? That was rare enough… let alone a response for contact with them. “Get me a link to Harn’we Command, we need to advise them of the situation at the very least and see if they have any information as to why they are back. Then, relay to Krii’utz’s ship that they are to establish visual contact here and prepare for quarantine protocol until further instructions. Let it be known that we are willing to accept them into the sector at the given coordinates but they must submit to our authority; any failure to comply or act of aggression will be dealt with swiftly and without hesitation. Ensure that the sector is cleared and that all systems are ready to receive them. We must be ready for anything, and remember, they were banished for a reason; do not underestimate them.” Commander Mash’tola ordered. Everyone started to scramble to ensure the orders were carried out, all reserves were ordered to stand ready for deployment, ships were armed and refueled, and Station Batteries were brought to readiness. “All this for one ship… let us hope it isn’t needed…” I hear the Major mutter to himself. “And if it is, then let us hope that it is enough, Major.” The Commander says, though not in reprimand; but the look in his eyes however, didn’t seem to share the belief that it would be. “Lieutenant Tu’the, how is the redeployment of non-coms going?” Hawthun asks me. “Steady as can be expected, Sir. A few of the larger craft will take a while to break anchor but they should at least be out of the Stations orbit by the time the Sanru arrives in Sector. Only one ship so far appears to be having drive issues, but we have a boarding party en-route to assist, Sir.” I inform him, though I can tell his mind is elsewhere, no doubt thinking about the coming vessel. It has been countless generations since anyone has seen a Terran ship; now we were trying to prepare a defense for something out of legend.

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           We sat in silence for a while; I was simply trying to process the implications of what has just been said to me but before I can ask more, I am interrupted by word from the bridge informing me of our required stop in the Andari Sector and the quarantine we will be placed under. As I relay the news to the Terrans, I can’t help but notice that I still have yet to discover their reasons for returning; even I know escorting my ship back safely is hardly their real objective. “It’s just protocol,” I say to them, “There is very little advice on how to proceed with you so they are just being thorough.” Though the threat of conflict seems to have us all on edge; the Shattered Moon is very clearly a highly capable warship, not the sort of vessel one would expect to be making peaceful contact with and we can only speculate as to how that will be interpreted. Still, the only thing to do is follow the orders and proceed with caution and patience. I give the orders to my crew to, upon entering the Sector, to have all weapon batteries stand down, the shields be lowered, and to expect boarding. I advise the same be done to the Terran vessel as well. “I understand the concern Captain,” The Sage replies sincerely, “however, Admiral Elona Santiri and her task force were sent to hunt the remnants of a Xulrata war-band that had fled to this sector. They managed to decimate her forces and flee before we arrived. I do not know what condition they may be in, nor to where they may have fled but while the threat of their existence in this sector remains, I will take all the precautions available.” He says this firmly but apologetically, knowing I still have my duties to uphold. “We will however, allow any boarding parties they deem fit. I would advise them of this and to increase their reconnaissance patrols; you never know where the Xulrata may end up.” I relay his response back to Command as he starts to issue orders to his crew. Now the only thing we have to do is wait. “Admiral, we are expected to reach our destination in the next three of your Terran-hours. I must go and prepare for our arrival on the bridge. Please, make yourselves at home and rest. I will call for you before we arrive.” As I make my way to the bridge, I keep thinking back to what was said; the Admiral Santiri and Gunner Vilantis. If their foes make their way into USF space, then I cannot begin to imagine just what will happen. I have already witnessed the ferocity Vilantis and his crew showed at the possibly of conflict... Now there is a full warship prepped for battle and hungry for blood... and now I’m the one bringing them home.

[clansayeed]

Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 24: Better the Devil You Don’t (Epilogue)

PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽

Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he’s tripped into.

Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Someone does right by Cadence.

note: And with that Bound by Circumstance is ended! I’ll start posting book 3, Bound by Choice, in a day or so! Book 3 is the only book in the series not based off of an existing Choices book, and follows the story of the Trinity in a series of flashback vignettes. Taylor and the Nightbound gang will return in book 4!

Also, Bound by Choice is currently in-progress, as opposed to books 1 & 2 which were completed at the time of posting. Once I catch up on the last chapters posted, my updating schedule will go to the weekly update my AO3 is on.

[READ IT ON AO3]

A few weeks later…

[TEXT]: hurry up [TEXT]: where r u??? [TEXT]: ur loss I’m not waiting [TEXT]: BUZZKILL!!! [TEXT]: pic.jpg

The picture does it — finally draws his attention away from his computer to where his phone screen changes from 01:07 to 01:08 as if to taunt him.

It takes Cadence a moment to realize the woman next to Kathy in her (blurry) self-taken photo is supposed to be Ivy. So used to seeing her true form in person — but glamours don’t fade on digital recording.

And who else do they know dresses like she’s always ready to attend a Victorian funeral?

In his friend’s defense Cade was supposed to be at the Shift over an hour ago.

She’ll hear his excuses and his apologies, pretend as though he’s committed the greatest sin in history — but come sunrise and sobriety he’ll be forgiven. The Nighthunter likes to make everyone think she’s the picture of cool nonchalance; the human equivalent of a cat.

But anyone who feeds strays knows just how affectionate cats can be when they so choose.

He shuts down his work, fighting the instinctual habit to leave most of it out and make his space look clean by pushing it to the sides of his desk — actually putting things back in their folders and boxes.

Tap-tap.

His head jerks up quick enough for his glasses to threaten flight. Working in this particular space for over a decade now, there isn’t anyone who doesn’t know about Odd Cadence and his odd hours; how he refuses to work in the daylight due to a debilitating allergy.

Even Gary from night maintenance wouldn’t bother.

Tap-tap.

He listens for a heartbeat. Can hear everything from the rush of water through old plumbing to the coo of pigeons scavenging on the outside Square.

Tap—

Isadora de la Rosa doesn’t get to finish her genteel knocking; pale hand hovering just shy of the taller vampire’s collarbone as he holds the door open.

She looks a little dumbfounded for him to have answered. That’s silly, though, since she was in his territory now.

The air is thick with a tension not felt since Mardi Gras those weeks ago. She looks ready to turn and leave without a word between them. He almost lets her.

“Izzy,” by way of greeting, and even though she now runs the dynasty her father built he struggles to call her anything but the petulant youthful human woman he first met her as, “I was just heading out.”

He gives her a chance; sees the opportunity for escape that flickers in her weathered eyes no longer young but no less defiant by nature.

Some people were just born ready to stand their ground. He always admired that about her.

“This won’t take long.”

One step forward, one step back. A familiar dance neither acknowledges as Isadora invites herself into his space. She’s not the oldest thing in the room by far, nor the most expensive. Still she commands the air around her to whisper softer, for the floorboards under her heels to wait until she passes to creak.

“Sure, come on in…”

She makes a point of trying to keep an arms’ length between her body and any clutter. He won’t apologize for it, not to her. She was half the reason he’s like this.

“I’m glad to see the Museum is treating you well.”

“Uh-huh.” He’s never met a de la Rosa good at small talk. He still hasn’t.

But she keeps trying. It’s hard not to cringe at every forced word, how she purposefully finds something to look at and mention; “New project, I see.”

Cadence doesn’t answer. She switches a black leather briefcase from one hand to the other; a poised woman’s version of shuffling her feet.

“You always were best kept —”

“I have somewhere to be.”

Her quirked brow says it all; how she definitely doesn’t believe him but calling him out on it is somehow counterproductive to why she’s here.

Why is she here?

Because the only reason he can conjure up has to do with the Coven, and the Council, and that’s why they’re enjoying nights like these at the Shift. To forget about everything that happened — to move on.

“Look, Izzy — if this is something that can wait, can it? I’ve got office hours tomorrow night—or hell, I’ll even come ‘round to the family house. But I do have somewhere to be, and I’m already late.”

When she takes stock of the room again he understands. It’s a tactic — and not a very good one — to allow her to think.

They’ve never been like this before. So why now?

It’s a brief flicker; blink-and-you-miss-it type. But Cadence doesn’t miss it — how Izzy stares at the chair claimed by Katherine in permanent marker.

“You’re going to meet her, the Nighthunter.”

“My friend Katherine, yes. Among others.”

“She treads dangerous waters in this town.”

It sounds a little too much like a threat for Cade’s comfort. Makes it a real effort to keep from letting it get to him.

“I think the same could be said for any hunter.” For Katherine, for Ryder.

“Yes, you would know,” she clasps the case handle with both hands over her front; a shield between them, “though this one — she’s different, isn’t she? She’s well-connected.”

Like he’s been fumbling around in the dark of his head — he finally finds the lamp chain and tugs. Lets the light flood through with an “Ah” of understanding.

So that’s what this is about.

“Contrary to what you may believe this isn’t the same world Carlo built his dynasty in. Humans — even Nighthunters and especially out-of-towners — they don’t whisper the rules to one another anymore.” Then, with firm conviction; “Katherine didn’t know she needed to ask your father for permission to bring Adrian Raines into town.”

“But you did.”

“Yeah, I did.”

If she’s here to enact some sort of delayed punishment, Cadence can’t promise he’ll stay civil. “I weighed the risks carefully,” he continues, “and decided it was best for everyone that no one knew who didn’t need to know.” Not that it had been a good choice. Maybe it could have saved Raines at his trial.

Sometimes he wonders why the two of them didn’t work out — especially when she was Turned. It wasn’t because of her perceived age, and obviously being his boss’ daughter hadn’t stopped them from getting involved in the first place.

He always remembers not a moment later. There’s a reason the term is ‘opposites attract.’ They were too similar — too hot in the head and both prone to speaking and acting without thinking ahead. Without considering the consequences.

So when she isn’t sneering an insult at him on the heels of Cade actually admitting to his wrongdoing… he knows something is very wrong.

“Izzy…?”

And the smile she offers is too forced, too fake. Sends shivers down his spine. “I’m glad you see things that way.”

“What way?”

She unclasps the briefcase with a flick of her little fingers. “That sometimes, in rare cases I think, withholding knowledge from someone is for the best; for all parties involved.

“I had prepared to give you this the night of the Minotaur’s championship fight…” The leather bound folder she pulls free is familiar only in that he’s seen the de la Rosa lawyers carry them like extensions of their hands. “And I have spent many hours since debating whether or not I made the right choice in keeping it close. Watching you in the cage — that made it easier.”

“Something’s happening, Kath—”

“Don’t fight it. Let it swallow you whole.”

Let it swallow you whole.

Katherine couldn’t possibly have known just how accurate she had been.

How it felt to stand at the edge of a yawning abyss no one else could see… and how it felt to have the ground fall out from under his feet the moment he decided to jump.

Memories of what happened after his meeting with Isadora still only came to him in clusters. It was less the act of remembering than feeling the same way — sensory triggers like the smell of blood or the tinny grate of a chain link fence.

Of course she had seen the fight. There were members of the underground community still who approached him on the street with praise for his ‘performance,’ or thanking him for standing up to the illegal deals Persephone covered with velvet and glitter.

But there’s a difference between knowing something and knowing it. Knowing the same hand he used to caress her cheek had also torn off the Minotaur’s horn. Knowing she was witness to it…

Isadora’s touch is solid, without the heat humans bring or the chill they feel. It simply is as she gives him the folder with no other choice. Whatever secrets rest inside they are his burden now.

“What you see here… I ask that you please not think less of me for keeping it from you. I was…” she doesn’t give an excuse — not a single one, “I was doing what I thought was right. But I cannot be the one to make that choice anymore. It’s too much Cadence; it’s far too much.”

He means to find comfort or some understanding in their hands. But there’s none to be found.

They pull away as intimate strangers. The space between them cavernous and echoing — and it only grows wider as he realizes she isn’t the one creating it.

He doesn’t need to ask what mystery he now holds.

What other mystery is there but the thing that has plagued him from their first “hello” to this their last “goodbye?”

Cadence’s voice is calm, even to his own ears. “Is this everything?”

“All that my daughter could find among his possessions.”

“And if I have any questions…”

“No,” she interrupts, “no you may not bring them to me. I would rather meet the sun than invite the conflict this will bring into my city, to my family’s doorstep.”

He wants to call her selfish but can’t say he wouldn’t be the same way were their roles reversed.

It’s a nice fantasy—altruism, kindness, doing the right thing so as not to hurt someone close—but it is a fantasy.

So what if he carried the ring she returned to him for a decade in mourning?

And intuition is a very separate thing from mind-reading; that he knows. In Isadora, though, the lines between them have always been a little smudged.

“In case you have any ideas of this meaning…” she breathes and tries again, “just know this has nothing to do with our past, Cadence. Consider this to be an act of release. Beyond what the Council will ask of us, I wash my hands of you.”

Isadora’s decision is as clear now as it was then. She will always choose her family over him. He can’t begrudge her that in the least.

“If only it were that simple.” But it’s probably for the best.

She leaves as abruptly as she arrived. Somehow with the ability to disrupt everything in his space without touching a single thing. As he looks around the office now it feels tainted with secrets and lies; all the things he still doesn’t know that now rest in his hand.

He need only look.

The chair is less than five steps away but he can’t muster the energy to move both his legs and arms; chooses the latter because what comparison is comfort to answers?

Cadence opens the folder and begins to read.

[wolfromate]

The Teen Wolf Rewrite

I couldn't sleep so . . . Yep The first and second seasons could stay the same as they are except for little things. First of all, the Hales would have survived the fire somehow, Kate would still be involve -EW NO- but Derek and Laura could somehow save their family and pack, Derek would be bitter even though his pack is totally fine because of GUILT and plot and drama and stuff. They are rich and live in a massive wonderful house in the woods because their magic is tied to the land and the trees and the wild.

But other than that I think almost everything could stay the same, and maybe Peter's mate died of illness that year or some hunters cross them badly or something before and had gone feral ever since. Scott would be more willing to join their pack and Stiles could learn so much about werewolves and the supernatural world while making friends with everyone except for Derek cause he is a jerk.

Derek could ask his mom and sister about what to do with the Alpha power he got from his uncle to save his sister’s throat. He would train Erica and Boyd and Isaac with his mother watchful eyes so he wouldn't mess anything up otherwise, he would get the help he needs.

The third season though . . . we could just start from scratch here. Before everything let's say that the Alpha Pack storyline was never that good to me because of so many things: 1. Killing Erica and Boyd. What the hell? No. 2. Deucalion was never that scary anyway . .  3. There is no way in hell Scott could EVER survive against him and the Alpha Pack, let's alone turn into a True Alpha. 4. Poor sweet Stiles doesn't need to deal with the Nogitsune. 5. Derek Hale deserve some kind of happiness somewhere in this universe. 6. Papa Stilinski need a break. 7. Peter Hale stays DEAD. 8. The Alpha Pack doesn’t exist.

There could have been some Hunters Council of some sort -I stopped watching after almost finishing the third season so I don't know if there is anything in the show of what I am gonna say from now on- who would send some of their people to the Argents because of their "friendly relationship" with the Hales and Alison's relationships with Scott and Isaac, and at the same time there could be some witches who wants to take the Hales power of the land because magic and stuff but Stiles somehow stop them saving everyone, including Derek -HUH in your face Sourwolf- discovering that he has magic inside of him. Papa Stilinski knows about werewolves and magic and supernatural and get a headache.

The Argents would travel to go into trial infornt of the Hunters Council in France for their deal with the Hales and for not killing Peter Hale but they are innocent so they get to go but the Hunters Council doesn't trust them fully now so they send some of their elite hunters with them to observe and report back to the Hunters Council and act as they see fit.

Stiles can't control his magic, so Talia ask some of her old friends if anyone can help, so Stiles get send away to learn from a powerful mage how to control his magic over the summer break, Scott get sad, Isaac and Erica and Boyd too, but Derek is sadder for some odd reason.

Laura start bugging Derek for his grumpy mood asking why he is such a Sourwolf and Derek snaps at her and she just smirk and hums away to tell every member of their family about this new development. Scott bonds with Isaac and Erica and Boyd and Derek as they have some peace to do so before some weird daemon come into their home and start sucking people souls so it could be more powerful than even Lucifer and become the King of Hell when he gets back there, and as it start sucking the Hale Pack souls while smirking and laughing manically Stiles shows up and saves everyone with his clan.

Scott is over the moon that his bestfriend is back, Isaac and Erica and Boyd and everyone is around him saying hi and asking about him, but Derek stay behind, clinching and unclinching his fists as he watches Stiles getting hugged by everyone in his pack, and he smiles a little bit as Stiles smiles at him while he hugs Cora back.

The hunters who got back with the Argents are just disgusting, Alison hates them for their sexism and anti-wolvesness and badmouthing and everything, but her dad ask her to act as if they don't exists, and to stay away from the Hale Pack for now, which is hard because they are her friends, but she does as he asked.

The hunters goes out of their ways just to make the wolves snap at them but they hold it, until one day they cross Stiles thinking that he is a wolf because he is in the Hale Pack, but he threaten them of what would the Mage Clans Council do if they find out about the harassment one of their own was having so they back away just a step or two. Talia and Laura goes to the Alpha Annual Gathering in Lebanon -not from the state so I don't really know if this is a city there or not lol- for more than a week in the last week of October and leave everything in Derek's hands . . Cora invites the school to a Halloween party, Derek is so unhappy with her, but he doesn’t stop the party, because the pack looks happy, and Stiles looks happy too.

A group of friends get to the woods and start fooling around and one of the boys start playing with the Nemeton and a wraith get out accidentally and kill the wohle group. At the party int the Hale's house Stiles feels the uneasiness of the woods and tell Scott and Erica who are near him that he will go and check something out. After a while Derek notice his absence and start tracking his scent with Boys and Cora -because she doesn't get to enjoy the part she started- and go into the wood after the young mage. They find Stiles fighting the wraith which is big and strong after taking the lives of the bodies lying around the Nemeton. Stiles almost dies, Derek lose it and shift to a full wolf and kill the wraith before howling triumphantly at the night sky for saving Stiles.

Derek makes Cora and the rest of the pack clean the house before his mom and sister comes back and let's Stiles sleep for a couple of days straight -there is nothing straight in this- after all of his magic was almost drained. When his mom and sister comes back though, things get so awkward he wants to die, he tells his mom what happened with the Nemeton and that he has evolved, then she gives him the MATES TALK. AGAIN. He wants to claw his ears off, Laura laugh at him the whole time.

Stiles looks at Lydia, who is smiling at Cora. He thinks of how much his life have changed since he last THOUGHT of her, which is so weird, but he smiles to himself and walk to class thinking that everything will eventually changes somehow for better or worse.

The Hunters get restless as they find nothing to the Hales which make them unpleasant to be around and unpredictably dangerous. A mage comes to the Hale house when the whole pack is there, Stiles tries to stand infornt if his dad as he feels the dark magic inside the weird smiling man, he ask for Talia's help, to give his sick dyeing daughter the bite, Talia agrees after a long conversion, the daughter die anyway, the mage looks at them for one second before he unchains his power open them, Stiles pushes his dad away from harm and pounces to shield the Hale house with his magic as Derek roar after him. He hold it until the mage stop, then everything goes black. Talia kills the mage the second he stop whatever mumbo jumbo he was doing then looks at Stiles, who was unsurprisingly in Derek arms, who is snarling at Scott for trying to come too close with blood-red eyes. The sheriff is looking worried and concerned with both his son and the way the young Alpha is behaving. Talia sigh and start talking to her son that everything is fine and that his pack is here to help him, Derek doesn't listen first, but he doesn't snap at Scott when he steps closer afterward. Taila doesn't think Derek would have reacted violently if the sheriff was the one to get closer, but she doesn't want to test her theory. Derek whines anyways as he noses at Stiles’s temple before the sheriff take his son into his arms. 

The hunters see it all. They report to the Hunters Council, who ask for a gathering to hunt down the Hale Pack. 

Stiles sleep for a whole day. Derek stay with him, even thought he feels awkward by the way the sheriff is staring at him. The sheriff says suddenly to the dark after the night have come “If you hurt him . . “ and Derek doesn’t let him go on. Because he can’t even think of Stiles being hurt without feeling like his heart ache, so he tells the sheriff, and the sheriff just nodes and say “Good to know”. And that is that.

Stiles finds out about a novel Derek have been writing for a while and freak out, because he loves it, Derek freak out when he knows that it is his novel Stiles have been reading in the living room at the Hale’s house, Stiles hushes him so he can finish the chapter he is reading and then tells Derek all of his feedback on the story, and they talk about the young quite prince who is obviously in love with the snarky stable boy.Then Stiles ask Derek if he is bisexual and hums when the Alpha says yes, and he says demisexual when Derek ask about his sexuality.

The Argents warns the Hale Pack of the hunt. Alison say goodbyes to each one of them before going to France for good with her dad. and the Hale pack start preparing for a war with the hunters if they need to. And they inform the White Wolf in London of what is happening Cora tells Scott that the White Wolf is their royal family like when the beta ask about them, Stiles chock on his own spite while Derek smiles fondly at him as he rub his hand up and down the mage’s back. 

The White Wolf answer back to them and send some of their betas. Derek doesn’t like them, at all, and he makes it perfectly clear to everyone, Stiles snaps at him one night after a meeting when they are alone and demands answers for what the Alpha is doing and Derek keep saying that he doesn’t trust them with his pack and family and Stiles tells him that he didn’t trust him too at the start and Derek shake his head saying “Not the same.” and Stiles doesn’t leave until Derek promise him that he will be such a good boy next time, and he run laughing to his jeep to get away from Derek’s fangs and crimson eyes.

Derek tries to behave but can’t really hold his grumpiness when one of the betas starts flirting with Stiles, who smiles shyly at the beta without saying anything. Derek storms out of the room and Laura comes after him when he takes so long to come back. She finds him shifting into a full wolf and running all over the place just to get the anger out, she just sits there until he come and put his head on her lap, she pats his head. They sit there quietly.

The hunters comes charging at them when the moon is nothing but a black smudge in the night, and the wolves are at their weakest, but they have Stiles, and the training the White Wolf betas have put them through is paying off in the fight with the hunters. But the lack of moonlight still affect them and Derek gets hurt badly and Stiles tries to help him but magic doesn’t heal lethal wounds, and he start crying holding Derek in his arms as the wolf whisper to him kind words to make the pain gentler, and Stiles feels like his soul is being torn apart. He has everything to lose now.

Stiles puts his hands on Derek’s chest and let his soul go into the Alpha’s body, searching for the wolf soul, which comes to him slowly and warp itself around Stiles’s soul weakly, Stiles get them both out of the dark and back to their bodies. Derek is unconscious, but the pack is still fighting, so he kisses Derek’s forehead and leave Boyd to protect his Alpha.

Scott, is bleeding, Isaac is thrown away and doesn’t move after, Cora is roaring at a hunter who is holding Laura down, Talia is drowning in blood, Stiles doesn’t know if it is hers or no, and the rest of the Hales is bleeding or almost dyeing. Stiles doesn’t know what to do to help them. He start thinking of something so bad to do so he can help his pack, he think of asking the Nemeton to for help, he almost touch the tree when the wolves start whimpering around him and crouching down hold their heads in their hands and he panic, his friends, his family, his pack is dyeing just before his eyes. And before he can do anything the whimpering stop and a woman come out of the dark with couple of people at her sides and says “Now we can talk.” 

Stiles notice that even the hunters are unmoving, he looks at the woman who smiles at him, and he breathe as relief fill his heart with warm feeling of peace. The Mage Clans Council Head is here to protect them. The Head of the Mage Clans Council start threatening war against the Hunters if they don’t retreat back and leave the Hales and the young mage alone as they were. The hunters are unhappy but they do retreat leaving the Hale Pack broken and in need of so much rest. 

The mages help Stiles healing the Hales as much as they can, but the wolves sleep for almost a whole day, except for Derek, who sleep for an entire week. When he wakes up, he finds Stiles sleeping in the chair next to his bed, and his mom smiling at him from behind him. she kisses his head and tell him that she would bring some food. and he hums for an answer. He keeps looking at Stiles for a long time, before the mage start mumbling and then wake up with a scared voice. He looks at Derek with wide eyes for a moment before jumping at him and hugging the shit out of him, Derek holds Stiles back and noses at his neck breathing his scent happily. His mom closes the door after leaving the food on the table nearby.

Stiles let go of Derek who bites his tongue so he wouldn’t protest the sudden cold on his skin. Stiles start reproaching Derek of how dumb he was and what give him the premonition to get hurt and how dare he almost dies on him and that he can never ever do that to Stiles again, ever. And Derek let his mouth tag on a small smile, so Stiles ask him why he is smiling like an idiot, and Derek just breathe “I love you” whispering it almost, and Stiles’s eyes tears up and say that he take it back take it back take it back because it was always him who say it first in his fantasies, but Derek say no and that Stiles should live with it, and he does.

The pack finds them cuddling later that day. 

[ask-echo-and-marissa]

After receiving the permission from Rozen, the alien archaeologist was accompanied to the communications console of the Slave Wraith where, for a couple of hours, she tried to contact her nation. After that, she was escorted back to Rozen. "Good news, I have made contracts with a Council trough a nearby trade vessel... and they said a small task force will be arriving in a nearby system to retrieve me and make first contact with you!"

“It’s good to see we’ve made a peaceful first contact so far. I’d like to keep it that way, so let’s meet them without military vessels armed to destroy one another. Science ships of the sort will do. It should only take us a few days to a week to prepare and arrive at the rendezvous point.”

“In the mean time, we need to report our findings to hive command. They will send a messenger to meet with Corvidian leadership.”

[curufins-smile]

Owl

Part 5

“My friend! It has been far too long!” Ingwë cries, rising from his seat to enfold Finwë in a strong hug.

“Technically, you saw me at the feasting last night,” Finwë says, smiling, “but we were barely able to speak so I’ll allow it.”

“Pedantic as always,” Ingwë replies, but there is no bite to his words. Finwë lets Ingwë usher him to a chair where a glass of the sharp white wine the Vanyar favour is waiting. They are in Ingwë’s solar, which has spectacular views of Taniquetil from the large windows.

“What would you prefer, Finwë?” Ingwë asks, motioning to the wines laid out on a nearby table. “I had these prepared for us so that we would not be interrupted.”

Finwë is grateful for his forethought. It is so rare that they spend time together these days, unburdened by ceremony or duty. He’s been very much looking forward to catching up with one of his oldest friends.

“I would enjoy that red, I believe,” Finwë says, and Ingwë pours him a glass.

“So!” Ingwë says brightly, when he finally sits down, “it feels like an age since I’ve seen you!”

“It was the celebration of the birth of Olwë’s daughter, I believe,” Finwë replies.

“That long? It’s a wonder I didn’t forget what you looked like!” Ingwë laughs, and Finwë finds his joy infectious.

It is an easy camaraderie that the pair share, and Finwë really has missed it. They fall back quickly to their old friendship of light banter and warm conversation. Even small talk is not a chore with Ingwë.

Ingwë is just finishing a very amusing anecdote about Ingwion’s first attempts at the harp (“Honestly, Finwë, I thought his tutor was going to rupture something!”) when there is a noise at the door.

“Atya!!” cries a voice.

They both turn to look as the handle rattles a little, then turns, and the door opens to reveal Finwion, who has clearly jumped to reach the handle. He wanders into the room clutching Owl by one ear, its plush body trailing on the floor behind him. He is followed by a harried aide.

“I’m so sorry, your majesties! I tried to keep him from leaving the nursery, but he’s like a wraith at vanishing and escaping!”

Finwë waves off the apologies and stands to scoop up a smug Finwion. “It is fine, you can leave him with me.”

As the aide departs, Finwë sits back down and deposits Finwion in his lap. “Sorry about this, Ingwë,” he says, “he’s got terrible separation anxiety at present. He keeps interrupting me in court and council meetings so much that I’ve just started to bring him with me.”

Ingwë laughs. “It’s fine, I recall that Ingwion was similar with his mother at this sort of age. And it’s lovely to see Finwion anyway!”

Another child might have hid their face shyly against Finwë at this point, but Finwion meets Ingwë’s gaze head-on. “Your son is dumb.”

Finwë stares at his rude, rude son. “Finwion! You cannot say that- Ingwë I am so sorry-“ but Ingwë is choking on peals of laughter.

“And what,” Ingwë asks, once he has calmed himself, “has Ingwion done to cause such offence?”

“All he wants to do is play a dumb board game and he says Owl is a little kid’s toy and also he says that his atya is better than mine which is wrong so he’s dumb,” states Finwion.

“A grave list of offences,” Ingwë agrees. “Finwë, I don’t mind him staying of course! We may talk over his head a little though.”

Finwë sighs. “Thankyou for being understanding. I’ll flag down someone to get his drawing supplies, that should keep him entertained.”

In short order, Finwion is drawing busily, still sat in Finwë’s lap, and Ingwë and Finwë are free to speak once more.

“An owl?” asks Ingwë.

“Yes, Míriel made it for him,” says Finwë. They both know what Ingwë isn’t mentioning, the inherent symbol Finwion carries with him.

Owls were special in Cuivienen. Not worshipped, but revered as powerful and wily night hunters. They were celebrated along with many other creatures as animals to be imitated to bring home a successful hunt in the blackness of the treeless East. When Oromë arrived, many of the elves had immediately stopped anything to do with these practices, but a lot had still held on. Míriel especially had been one of them.

“He looks a lot like her, doesn’t he?” Ingwë says abruptly. “He has her smile.”

Finwë feels Finwion stiffen in his lap, and moves his hand to stroke his son’s hair comfortingly. “He shares both her features and mine, and I am most grateful for it.” If there is any wavering in his voice, Ingwë is kind enough not to comment.

“No, more than that,” Ingwë continues. “He has her fëa.”

Finwë swallows down the lump in his throat. Ingwë always has been perceptive. They have never spoken of this before, but perhaps they should have. Míriel was Ingwë’s friend too, after all. “She named him for it.”

Finwë can sense the incredible curiosity emanating from both Finwion and Ingwë. Finwion’s hand is still as he listens closely.

“You didn’t mention his mother-name before,” Ingwë presses gently. Finwë cannot be angry at him for this, it has been bottled up inside him for far too long. But he wishes Finwion were not here. He does not want to cry in front of him.

“Fëanáro,” Finwë finally says, hoarsely. “The spirit of fire.”

Ingwë seems to remember himself, and sees he has crossed a line. “Finwë, I am sorry-“

“No need!” Finwë says, as firmly as he can. “I needed to speak of it at some point.” He stands suddenly, arms moving to hold a silent Finwion to his chest. “If you will excuse me-“

“Go, Finwë, I will see you later,” Ingwë says, standing too. “I’m sorry for bringing it up.”

“It’s fine!” Finwë says, as brightly as he is able, juggling Finwion to one arm so he can pick up Owl with the other. “I’m fine!” Then, he leaves as quickly as he can.

The walk back to their quarters is a blur, but Finwë mercifully makes it to privacy without losing it. He sets Finwion on the bed before sitting heavily next to him. Then, the dam bursts and he is crying into his hands with big, ugly sobs.

A little hand taps him on the arm and he looks up to Finwion’s concerned face. “Do you want Owl? Owl makes me feel better.”

Finwë tries to compose himself a little, but he can still hear his traitorous voice wavering. “Thankyou, Finwion, that’s very kind of you. But if it’s alright, I’d rather hug you than Owl.”

Finwion obligingly climbs back into Finwë’s lap and allows Finwë to bury his face in his hair. They sit like this for a while. The warmth Finwion gives off is a comfort as always.

After some time, and Finwë’s tears have begun to dry, Finwion speaks.

“You never talk about Ammë,” he says, “but I know it makes you sad. We go see her in Lórien but it just makes you sadder so I don’t ask.” His words are measured, with a maturity beyond his years.

Finwë starts. “I’m sorry Finwion, I-“

“Fëanáro,” Finwion interrupts. He pushes back from Finwë’s chest to look at him. “I want to be called Fëanáro. That’s the name Ammë gave me, right?”

Finwë stares at him. “You... want to be called Fëanáro?”

Finwion nods. “It feels right.”

Finwë cannot help himself, and taps Finwion on the nose to dispel his serious expression. “If that’s what you wish, I’d be happy to. But you’ll have to allow me some slip-ups while I grow used to it, Fëanáro.”

Saying the name is less painful the more he does it. And Fin- no, Fëanáro is correct. It feels right, somehow, as though he is honouring a piece of Míriel.

“I will allow some mistakes,” says Fëanáro magnanimously.

“Oh, thankyou, my liege,” Finwë says, reaching for spot in which he knows Fëanáro is most ticklish. The resulting shrieks are enough to completely dispel any lingering bad mood.

[itsdragoneus]

Here are some book recommendations if y’all want any...

ARTEMIS by Andy Weir

Not crazy, eccentric-billionaire rich, like many of the visitors to her hometown of Artemis, humanity’s first and only lunar colony. Just rich enough to move out of her coffin-sized apartment and eat something better than flavored algae. Rich enough to pay off a debt she’s owed for a long time. So when a chance at a huge score finally comes her way, Jazz can’t say no. Sure, it requires her to graduate from small-time smuggler to full-on criminal mastermind. And it calls for a particular combination of cunning, technical skills, and large explosions—not to mention sheer brazen swagger. But Jazz has never run into a challenge her intellect can’t handle, and she figures she’s got the ‘swagger’ part down. The trouble is, engineering the perfect crime is just the start of Jazz’s problems. Because her little heist is about to land her in the middle of a conspiracy for control of Artemis itself. Trapped between competing forces, pursued by a killer and the law alike, even Jazz has to admit she’s in way over her head. She’ll have to hatch a truly spectacular scheme to have a chance at staying alive and saving her city. Jazz is no hero, but she is a very good criminal. That’ll have to do. Propelled by its heroine’s wisecracking voice, set in a city that’s at once stunningly imagined and intimately familiar, and brimming over with clever problem-solving and heist-y fun, Artemis is another irresistible brew of science, suspense, and humor from #1 bestselling author Andy Weir.

THRONE OF GLASS by Sarah J. Maas

After serving out a year of hard labor in the salt mines of Endovier for her crimes, 18-year-old assassin Celaena Sardothien is dragged before the Crown Prince. Prince Dorian offers her her freedom on one condition: she must act as his champion in a competition to find a new royal assassin. Her opponents are men-thieves and assassins and warriors from across the empire, each sponsored by a member of the king's council. If she beats her opponents in a series of eliminations, she'll serve the kingdom for three years and then be granted her freedom. Celaena finds her training sessions with the captain of the guard, Westfall, challenging and exhilarating. But she's bored stiff by court life. Things get a little more interesting when the prince starts to show interest in her... but it's the gruff Captain Westfall who seems to understand her best. Then one of the other contestants turns up dead... quickly followed by another. Can Celaena figure out who the killer is before she becomes a victim? As the young assassin investigates, her search leads her to discover a greater destiny than she could possibly have imagined.

A COURT OF THORNS AND ROSES by Sarah J. Maas

When nineteen-year-old huntress Feyre kills a wolf in the woods, a beast-like creature arrives to demand retribution for it. Dragged to a treacherous magical land she only knows about from legends, Feyre discovers that her captor is not an animal, but Tamlin--one of the lethal, immortal faeries who once ruled their world.

As she dwells on his estate, her feelings for Tamlin transform from icy hostility into a fiery passion that burns through every lie and warning she's been told about the beautiful, dangerous world of the Fae. But an ancient, wicked shadow over the faerie lands is growing, and Feyre must find a way to stop it . . . or doom Tamlin--and his world--forever.

WARCROSS by Marie Lu

For the millions who log in every day, Warcross isn’t just a game—it’s a way of life. The obsession started ten years ago and its fan base now spans the globe, some eager to escape from reality and others hoping to make a profit. Struggling to make ends meet, teenage hacker Emika Chen works as a bounty hunter, tracking down Warcross players who bet on the game illegally. But the bounty-hunting world is a competitive one, and survival has not been easy. To make some quick cash, Emika takes a risk and hacks into the opening game of the international Warcross Championships—only to accidentally glitch herself into the action and become an overnight sensation. Convinced she’s going to be arrested, Emika is shocked when instead she gets a call from the game’s creator, the elusive young billionaire Hideo Tanaka, with an irresistible offer. He needs a spy on the inside of this year’s tournament in order to uncover a security problem . . . and he wants Emika for the job. With no time to lose, Emika’s whisked off to Tokyo and thrust into a world of fame and fortune that she’s only dreamed of. But soon her investigation uncovers a sinister plot, with major consequences for the entire Warcross empire.

SCYTHE by Neil Shusterman

Two teens must learn the “art of killing” in this Printz Honor–winning book, the first in a chilling new series from Neal Shusterman, author of the New York Times bestselling Unwind dystology. A world with no hunger, no disease, no war, no misery: humanity has conquered all those things, and has even conquered death. Now Scythes are the only ones who can end life—and they are commanded to do so, in order to keep the size of the population under control. Citra and Rowan are chosen to apprentice to a scythe—a role that neither wants. These teens must master the “art” of taking life, knowing that the consequence of failure could mean losing their own.

THE 5TH WAVE by Rick Yancey

After the 1st wave, only darkness remains. After the 2nd, only the lucky escape. And after the 3rd, only the unlucky survive. After the 4th wave, only one rule applies: trust no one. Now, it's the dawn of the 5th wave, and on a lonely stretch of highway, Cassie runs from Them. The beings who only look human, who roam the countryside killing anyone they see. Who have scattered Earth's last survivors. To stay alone is to stay alive, Cassie believes, until she meets Evan Walker. Beguiling and mysterious, Evan Walker may be Cassie's only hope for rescuing her brother--or even saving herself. But Cassie must choose: between trust and despair, between defiance and surrender, between life and death. To give up or to get up.

DA VINCI CODE by Dan Brown

While in Paris, Harvard symbologist Robert Langdon is awakened by a phone call in the dead of the night. The elderly curator of the Louvre has been murdered inside the museum, his body covered in baffling symbols. As Langdon and gifted French cryptologist Sophie Neveu sort through the bizarre riddles, they are stunned to discover a trail of clues hidden in the works of Leonardo da Vinci—clues visible for all to see and yet ingeniously disguised by the painter.

Even more startling, the late curator was involved in the Priory of Sion—a secret society whose members included Sir Isaac Newton, Victor Hugo, and Da Vinci—and he guarded a breathtaking historical secret. Unless Langdon and Neveu can decipher the labyrinthine puzzle—while avoiding the faceless adversary who shadows their every move—the explosive, ancient truth will be lost forever.

SIX OF CROWS by Leigh Bardugo

Ketterdam: a bustling hub of international trade where anything can be had for the right price―and no one knows that better than criminal prodigy Kaz Brekker. Kaz is offered a chance at a deadly heist that could make him rich beyond his wildest dreams. But he can't pull it off alone. . . .

A convict with a thirst for revenge. A sharpshooter who can't walk away from a wager. A runaway with a privileged past. A spy known as the Wraith. A Heartrender using her magic to survive the slums. A thief with a gift for unlikely escapes.

Six dangerous outcasts. One impossible heist. Kaz's crew is the only thing that might stand between the world and destruction―if they don't kill each other first.

SHADOW AND BONE by Leigh Bardugo

Soldier. Summoner. Saint. Orphaned and expendable, Alina Starkov is a soldier who knows she may not survive her first trek across the Shadow Fold—a swath of unnatural darkness crawling with monsters. But when her regiment is attacked, Alina unleashes dormant magic not even she knew she possessed.

Now Alina will enter a lavish world of royalty and intrigue as she trains with the Grisha, her country’s magical military elite—and falls under the spell of their notorious leader, the Darkling. He believes Alina can summon a force capable of destroying the Shadow Fold and reuniting their war-ravaged country, but only if she can master her untamed gift.

As the threat to the kingdom mounts and Alina unlocks the secrets of her past, she will make a dangerous discovery that could threaten all she loves and the very future of a nation.

Welcome to Ravka . . . a world of science and superstition where nothing is what it seems.

I hope you try them!

[one-of-us-blog]

Hell Bent (Doctor Who S09E12)

Today Drew is forced to watch and recap “Hell Bent”, the twelfth and final episode of Doctor Who’s ninth series. The Doctor’s back home, but he’s not exactly overcome with happy childhood memories. He’s been through a lot lately, and he’s decided to take things into his own hands yet again. How far will he go? Can he outrun the consequences of his actions?

Keep reading to find out…

Eli, let me tell you that you did a great job with your latest recap! This episode has one of my favorites moments, with Rose attempting to juggle three St. Olaf stories at once. I think the episode is a lot of fun, but at the same time showed us a vulnerable side of Blanche that we rarely get to see. I agree the whole “mammy” thing feels problematic, and I think it’s just tied to the racial connotations of a southern character. I think the next episode is pretty good, so I hope you like it, too! For now, though, it’s time to close a chapter in this many-chaptered book.

Buttocks tight!

Episode directed by Rachel Talalay and written by Steven Moffat

We start out back in good ol’ Nevada, where we see the Doctor, guitar in tow, getting a lift to a retro diner. To no one’s surprise, Clara is working as a waitress here because of course she’s not really dead. To someone’s surprise, though, she and the Doctor don’t seem to know each other. The Doctor doesn’t have any money to buy a meal, so he plays a song instead. He says the song is called “Clara”, and Clara asks him to tell her about herself.

After the credits, we hop back in time to see the Doctor making his way toward a barn on Gallifrey. Meanwhile, in one of the planet’s massive, domed city, alarms are going off as things called cloister wraiths are roaming around. The Lord President seems to think the Doctor’s going to show up at any moment, but then Ohila and her homegirls from the Sisterhood of Karn arrive. She knows the Doctor’s home, and she just lives for the drama. The Doctor’s not getting up to much drama, though; he’s just sort of chilling out and reminiscing in his old barn. Just then a woman barges in and says he’s not supposed to be there, only to realize she’s talking to the Doctor. The two seem to know each other, and she warns him that his life is in danger here. She serves him some soup while a crowd of what appears to be Gallifreyan peasants gather around him.

A military ship arrives to take him into custody. The Doctor draws a literal line in the sand, much to the delight of the peasants, and the soldier in the ship seems pretty impotent despite their big guns. The Lord President, Ohila and some other Gallifreyan fancy folk are watching all of this, and they seem pretty stumped. The Commander of the armed forces of Gallifrey comes personally to greet the Doctor, but the Doctor doesn’t seem interested. The whole High Council of the planet comes next, but they, too, get the cold shoulder. The Lord President is pretty frustrated at this point, and Ohila says the Doctor blames the President personally for the horrors of the Time War. The Lord President himself finally arrives to speak with the Doctor, and he actually has something to say this time. Specifically, he tells him to get off of Gallifrey and throws the confession dial at his feet. The Lord President tries to justify everything they put the Doctor though while he was trapped in the confession dial, but the Doctor’s not having it.

The Lord President has had enough, and orders the soldiers with him to execute the Doctor. The Commander is decidedly not okay with any of this, but the soldiers fire anyway. Luckily, the Doctor is regarded as a war hero, so they all deliberately miss their mark. They have too much respect for the Doctor to kill him, even if that means disregarding an order from the Lord President. The soldiers all toss down their guns and go to stand by the Doctor, prompting the Lord President to take matters into his own hands. Before he can kill the Doctor with his Single Ladies glove, reinforcements the Doctor had surreptitiously called for arrive. Turns out, by the by, that the Lord President is actually Rassilon, though he looks a bit different from the last time we saw him.

Thanks to the might of the military at his back, the Doctor is able to force Rassilon off Gallifrey and into exile and declare himself the new Lord President. That’s not enough for the Doctor, though, as he plans to exile everyone on the High Council, as well. Ohila meets up with him and questions his motives for all this; is he being just, or is being cruel and in search of revenge for the torture he endured in the confession dial? The Doctor, the Commander and Ohila meet up to discuss the Hybrid, and the Doctor says that if he’s going to keep Gallifrey safe he’ll need to use an extraction chamber to talk to an old friend. He uses this Gallifreyan tech to jump back into his old timestream and snatch up Clara right before the raven killed her. Clara’s a little bewildered about being dead, but the Doctor tries to play off the whole thing. The Commander seems to think this is a temporary deal to get information from Clara about the Hybrid (which she definitely doesn’t have), but something tells me the Doctor is planning on making this a more temporary arrangement.

Here are some important facts: even though Clara is here, she’s dead. Her death is a fixed point in time, and can’t be changed. The Time Lords’ extraction chamber allowed them to pull her out of the last moment of her timestream, but her physical processes are all frozen. Her heart isn’t beating, and she’s only breathing out of habit. How are the synapses in her brain firing? Don’t worry about it. The Commander breaks this all down for her, but then the Doctor jumps in, grabs the Commander’s gun and threatens to kill anyone who tries to stop him from taking Clara out of here. The Commander says that if he prevents Clara from dying he could fracture all of space and time, and Clara says she doesn’t want that. The Doctor’s not particularly interested in what anyone else wants right now, though. He shoots the Commander and kills him, causing him to regenerate into a markedly different form. He steals a human-compatible neural lock, takes Clara and runs. Ohila arrives, hungry for the drama, and says that the Doctor will be in the cloisters. It’s crawling with those cloister wraith things and is therefore the most dangerous place on Gallifrey, so naturally that’s where the Doctor will be.

Clara wants to know what a neural lock is and what the Doctor plans to do with it, and in the present in Nevada the Doctor explains that he needed to wipe Clara’s memory of him. It’s Donna all over again! Back on Gallifrey, Clara and the Doctor make their way through the cloisters. The cloister wraiths are beings which guard the Matrix, where the minds of dead Time Lords are preserved. It’s crawling with all sorts of bad shit, from Daleks to Weeping Angels to sexy, sexy Cybermen. People have tried to break in here before to get at the Matrix, and they wind up trapped and neutralized by the wraiths. The wraiths will only attack if Clara and the Doctor try to leave the cloister, but the Doctor says there’s a secret way out. The Doctor’s been down here before, you see, and he managed to escape, though he claims the experience drove him mad.

Clara can tell the Doctor’s been through some stuff and that he’s not quite himself right now, so he tells her about his experience in the confession dial. He claims he doesn’t actually know about the Hybrid, but he had to convince the Time Lords he did so he had something to bargain for Clara with. The Commander and Ohila arrive, and they clue Clara in to the fact that the Doctor was in the confession dial for about four and half billion years. She doesn’t understand why the Doctor would go through all of that when she was already dead, but he insists he had a duty of care. He’s ready to head out through the secret exit, but Clara says they need to have some words. We don’t get to hear what she says to him, but Clara distracts Ohila and the Commander long enough for him to steal a new TARDIS so the two of them can escape. Ohila demands the Doctor face her, and she tells him that he’s breaking every code he ever stood by just before the Doctor nopes the heck out of there.

Now that he’s gotten Clara away from Gallifrey, she should be fine and fancy free, with a heartbeat and everything, but tattoo on the back of her neck is still at zero and she still doesn’t have a pulse. Clara wants to know whether or not time and space is actually going to fracture because he jacked up the timestream, and he gets frustrated by her lack of trust of him. He’s going to take her to the very end of time, beyond where Gallifrey is hidden in time. Because the universe has basically stopped to exist here, he says he’s no longer beholden to the laws of reality. He’s making the rules now, baby! But even here, at the end of time and with most of the universe dead, Clara’s still stuck in the grips of time and she still doesn’t have a pulse. Despite this being the very end of time, someone knocks on the TARDIS door. They knock four times, and that gives the Doctor a clue as to who’s waiting out there. He tells Clara to stay inside, and he goes out to face Me. Me informs him that all the other immortals are gone now, and she’s the last surviving entity in what’s left of the universe. She’s somehow managing to sustain a reality bubble around herself, and she’s been passing her time by watching stars die. Me tells him that Clara died, and the Doctor needs to accept that. He doesn’t, though, so instead Me asks about the Hybrid. 

She says that he first heard about the prophecy from the wraiths when he broke into the cloister as a boy, and she wants to know why the story spooked him so badly. He says he doesn’t know, so she just asks who the prophecy is about. He says it’s about her, since she’s part Mire and part human, but she’s not buying. She says since the Hybrid has to come from two warrior races, it could be half Time Lord and half human. She asks why he’s always spending so much time on Earth, implying that he’s the Hybrid. That’s not a big surprise since he told us he was the Hybrid in the last episode, but he says it doesn’t matter if he’s actually half human or not. Uh, sorry, but it kind of does, but okay. Me’s just funning around, though, and says she thinks the Hybrid is actually two people instead of one. Specifically, it’s the Doctor and Clara together. They each drive the other to bigger and bigger extremes, and they were brought together in the first place by the Master. The Doctor says he knows he’s gone too far with all of this, so he’s going to drop Clara off on Earth and wipe her memory of him. Clara’s eavesdropping on all of this, and she’s not keen on the idea.

Me and the Doctor head into the TARDIS, and the Doctor prepares to wipe Clara’s memory. She lets him know she overheard his plan, and she refuses to accept it. She says she used his sonic shades to reverse the polarity of the neural lock, meaning that if the Doctor tries to use it his memories of her will be erased instead. Clara demands that she be allowed to keep her memories, and she won’t give them up to keep herself safe. The Doctor knows she’s right, but he’s not sure if she actually managed to reverse the neural lock. When he uses it, either he’ll forget her or she’ll forget him, and he says either way one of them has to go. They tell each other good luck and press the button together. For a moment nothing happens, then the Doctor collapses as his memories are whisked away. He gives Clara some life advice, comforts her as she regrets making him forget, and asks her to smile for him one last time. She can’t, though, and he passes out.

Fast forward to Nevada, where some random dude finds the Doctor in the desert. The guy says someone named Clara asked him to look after the Doctor, but the Doctor doesn’t know any Claras. Fast forward a bit, and the Doctor is venting to Clara in the diner. He says he knows he traveled with this mysterious Clara and that they had two-and-a-half series’ worth of adventures together (not to mention some specials), but he can’t remember anything about Clara herself. Clara asks if he’s looking for her, and the Doctor’s saying he’s trying, but that’s difficult considering he hasn’t recognized her while he’s been telling her this whole story. He thinks maybe he was in this diner with her, but then realizes that was when he was with Amy and Rory. Clara asks about the Doctor’s TARDIS, and he says he doesn’t know where it is. Clara leaves him as he strums his guitar, and it turns out this whole diner is actually the stolen TARDIS. She and Me take off, leaving the Doctor in the desert with his own TARDIS in front of him. Me and Clara run off together, with this TARDIS stuck looking like a tacky diner instead of a police box. Me says Clara has to go back to Gallifrey so she can face her death and Clara agrees. But, of course, they’re going to take the long way around, and have all sorts of adventures along the way, I’m sure. Neither of them are getting any older, so what the heck, right?

The Doctor takes in his TARDIS, which has been painted with flowers and a portrait of Clara, and heads inside. The TARDIS comes to life as he enters it, and he sees Clara’s classic catchphrase, “Run, you clever boy,” waiting for him on one of his chalkboards. The TARDIS spits out a new sonic screwdriver for him (took it long enough), and he sets off for destinations unknown.

The End

~~~~~

Well, we’ve come to the end of an era! I couldn’t help but view the Doctor as a bit of a Steven Moffat stand-in during this episode… Moffat absolutely refused to let Clara go, just like the Doctor, and in the end still couldn’t bring himself to kill her off, or trap her in an alternate dimension, or wipe her memories or force her to live out the rest of her life in the 1930’s. I’m sure if he had his way there would be a whole Clara & Me spinoff following that dynamic duo’s adventures, but, lemme tell ya, I was more than ready to move on. This show is all about change, and things have too much of the same for too long. It was neat to actually see the Doctor on Gallifrey, but I still have no clue what the deal is with the Doctor and Ohila’s relationship. That might be because I haven’t seen any classic Who episodes, but I’m pretty sure Ohila is unique to new Who so I have no idea. I honestly don’t have a lot to say about this one… Other than the novelty of seeing Gallifrey and there being a ton of callbacks, I don’t think a lot actually happened here. The Doctor saved Clara from dying, realized that was wrong, got his memory wiped and set off for a new series of adventures. I think if I weren’t as burnt out on Clara as I am I might have had more emotional investment and found the episode more engrossing, but I’m just not there. I don’t think this was a weak episode by any means, as Capaldi put in yet another great performance and Coleman pulled her weight in her final performance as Clara, but after the last episode being so phenomenal this one just didn’t really light a match under me. I’m excited to see what’s next, though!

I give “Hell Bent” QQQ on the Five Q Scale.

Check back in soon when Eli will have to hold tight to his principles with his recap of the next episode of The Golden Girls, “Feelings”, and after that I’ll post my recap of the next Doctor Who Christmas Special, “The Husbands of River Song”.

Until then, as always, thank you for reading, thank you for forgetting (again) and thank you for being One of Us!

[princehec-tor-kur]

The Hordak Complex

2/?

The man looked currious. Odd, in a way. He was thin, skinny. Normally it wouldn't have shocked 'Ro as he himself was a skinny human. But this man was a Horde. A skinny Horde was very rare, unusual, unregular. Most Horde were massive, huge, hulking. This one was the absolute different, a total opposite.

'Ro tried not to stare, his mother always said that was rude, but his brown eyes slipped away from time to time. The Hordeman also seemed incredibly familiar, 'Ro swore he saw him somewhere before. 'Ro pretty much gave up on his paper work, so he just swipped the sheets away.

Crap, he saw him. 'Ro bows his head down to a new empty, paperless workbench. Stupid. The towering man was now above 'Ro, he definitely had the same characteristics of a Horde. Pale skin. Sharp teeth. Nasal cavity. Ingravings on his face, which signified their age, the mystery person was around his late twenties, early thirties, according to his best guess.

'Ro looked up from his fidgeting fingers just to lock eyes with the pale man. The two stayed in silence for an awkward moment too long. Finally he spoke.

"My papers?"

"Sorry?" 'Ro replied confused.

He sighs, "That Wraith Officer over there said I could get my personal belongings from here. I assume you don't just throw away a personal effects after an arrest." The man was annoyed, frustrated. Wait. Papers? Of course, 'Ro finally realised by the man was so familiar, only because he's all over the news. Prince Hec-Tor Kur of House Prime. Probably the most infamous and contravestial person on the face of HordeWorld and all it's colonies.

"Oh, right. My apologies, sir. I-eh, of course. Here you go." He extended his hand, a blue data pad in it. Hec-Tor accepted his own property back. To break the awkwardness 'Ro decided to speak up. "I-uh, I've read your treatise on the state of HordeWorld's society. Some intriguing stuff. I don't agree with everything you said in here, but I do think you'd be a helpful voice in these days."

Hec-Tor looked down to see what page the officer was on, 'Failure of Free Will and The Illusion of Progress'. He understands immediately that some of the ideas might've been hard to digest for a smaller mind. Yet the curiousity got the better of him, he asked.

"Which part did you not agree with?" Hec-Tor looked back at 'Ro.

"Well, I agree with the fact that The Elite Council has to be held accountable, but they're better than the councils before The Folly. And I'm not keen on the whole every society burns itself down eventually and life is a eh... what was the term you used?"

"A highly overrated phenomenon."

"Yeah. But like I said, you seem like you have some good ideas for improvements."

"Well, I knew going into it some wouldn't understand."

"I'd love to.... what eh, what are you doing tonight?"

"Getting my finger prints taken." A smirk creeped on his face.

"Right." The police station wasn't the best place for first meetings, especially those days. All sorts of Wraiths and Weavers of the pre-Folly days getting in trouble. Tring to set the world straight, like the old days. 'Ro was never a fan of the old days, back in them he was a Wraith cadet. You had to do a lot of dirty tricks to keep yourself afloat. It didn't feel right.

"The Sanctum?"

"Sorry?" 'Ro was cough off guard.

"Vix's Sanctum. The bar. It's close, around the corner, next block. It's a neutral bar, good place for a talk. Serve the best drinks too."

'Ro stares blankly at the man, not sure how to respond, "Uh, sure. I'm He-Ro by the way." He extended his hand, this time empty to inisiate a proper greeting.

"Heh, figures... my friend?"

"She's fine. Not a bruse on her. Tough ones those firsts. The Wraith cadets from the bar however, aren't gonna be walking for a while." He gritted his teeth over looking the medical sheet.

"*sighs* I told her, I always tell her, not to get into these things, to stop drinking." Hec-Tor places a hand on his forehead in exhaustion at the though of Hope. "With all these Clinics around, you'd think they'd figure out an 'Anti-drinking implant."

'Ro tilts his head in intrigue, "Soooo?... Are you a cyborg, an implanter, a technoloismist? Is that the proper term for them, or is it something different now?" 'Ro scratched his blond hair.

"Heh, no, but I'm tiddering. This technology the First Ones are so keen on looks like it might take over the magic market. And I believe the term is technolonites, but it'll probably change again soon enough. So that drink?"

"Right after thosee finger prints, come on, it'll only take a few vorns."

[gyrlversion]

Billionaire Chris Dawson switches his The Range store fortune to wife

Entrepreneur Chris Dawson has made no secret of his admiration for Sir Philip Green.

And now the founder of The Range seems to have taken a leaf out of the Topshop tycoon’s book.

For Mr Dawson is said to have saved millions of pounds in tax by reportedly handing over ownership of his main business to his wife Sarah – who lives in Jersey.

Mr Dawson founded The Range in 1989. He now has around 160 stores in Britain and Ireland, with customers including the Duchess of Cambridge.

Chris Dawson, 67, has given ownership of the company behind discount store The Range to his wife, 56

The businessman is believed to have transferred shares in the firm’s parent company to Mrs Dawson after she moved to the Channel Islands tax haven in 2016.

This meant she did not have to pay the Treasury anything when Norton Group Holdings, which owns The Range, paid out a £39.5million dividend last year, according to The Times. It reported that this denied the UK as much as £15million in tax.

Mr Dawson has previously told how he ‘likes to read what businessmen I admire are up to, like Sir Philip Green’.

Sir Philip himself does not own any shares in his Arcadia retail empire, which owns Burton and Dorothy Perkins, as well as Topshop; his wife Tina owns them instead. The Greens set up new companies after they moved to Monaco – another tax haven.

The businessman had previously been known to visit up to 10 of his stores a day via private helicopter (pictured)

Mr Dawson, 67, a former market trader, likens himself to Only Fools and Horses character Del Boy and even drives a Rolls-Royce with the registration DE11 BOY.

He describes his company as ‘a poor man’s John Lewis’ – but that hasn’t stopped it attracting well-heeled customers.

The Duchess of Cambridge was seen doing last-minute Christmas shopping at the Kings Lynn branch near her and Prince William’s home in Norfolk in December.

Mr Dawson and his wife, 56, are worth almost £2billion, according to The Sunday Times Rich List.

As a boy, Dawson struggled academically and was so severely dyslexic that he left school without a single qualification, unable to read and write. He is now one of the most successful businessmen in the country 

The man at the top of the list – Jim Ratcliffe, founder of chemicals giant Ineos – drew widespread criticism when he announced his move to Monaco this year to save money in tax. He had been knighted less than a year earlier. Company filings for Norton Group Holdings show the Dawsons lived in England until May 2016, when Mrs Dawson moved to Jersey, The Times said.

At that time Mrs Dawson owned 40 per cent of the company and Mr Dawson owned 60 per cent. The Times said his shares were transferred to her in March 2017.

He follows the same idea that Philip Green had to given his wife Tina ownership of Arcadia to keep millions form the taxpayer

Wealthy mainland UK taxpayers who own shares pay a 38.1 per cent tax on any dividend – but because the shares are now owned on the Channel Islands this does not apply to any dividends.

This means the UK Treasury will have been deprived of £15million worth of tax from dividends of £39.5million that were paid in January 2018.

A spokesman for the Dawsons told The Times: ‘Their decisions and actions were not at all inspired by Sir Philip and Lady Green.’ They added: ‘Mr Dawson remains in the UK for tax purposes and all UK taxes are complied with.

‘Mr and Mrs Dawson and their companies comply with HMRC legislation. Mrs Dawson’s move to Jersey has no impact on the group’s tax status.’

The Range did not respond to requests for comment.

‘I still am a market trader, it’s just got more noughts on it’: Meet the real life Del Boy worth £1.75 billion who couldn’t read until he was 27

Like all good businessmen, Chris Dawson comes equipped with his own roll-off-the-tongue catchphrase.

The 64-year-old billionaire, who made his fortune through bargain homeware chain The Range, believes there are three ways to get rich. ‘To have a lot of money, you’ve got to either win it, steal it or inherit it,’ he claims.

And if that oft-used phrase sounds like something more likely to come from the Del Boy school of business spiel, that’s because he probably wants it to.

Chris Dawson, billionaire owner of The Range stores in front of two of his homes near to his hometown LYMOUTH

The self-made tycoon – now worth £1.75billion – identifies so strongly with the character that he has a DE11 BOY number plate on his £350,000 Rolls-Royce Wraith coupe.

Chris Dawson, who has made his billions through the bargain homeware chain The Range, models himself on the Only Fools and Horses character Del Boy – and has the number plate to prove it

He is now at the helm of nearly 110 chains nationwide and visits ten per day in his personalised helicopter

He also jokes that he taught Derek Trotter ‘all his best lines’, while there is even rumoured to be a photo of the cast of the long-running comedy in the reception of his HQ.

Speaking about the programme, he says: ‘I actually had that life. You think, b***** me, I’ve said that, done that.’

He also insists he has the same businessman swagger and eye for a deal that made the Only Fools and Horses character so loveable.

‘I still am a market trader. It’s just got more noughts on it,’ he said. ‘Even now, I’ll stop the Roller and pick up a battery from the side of the road. I still love it.’

Like Del Boy, Dawson makes no secret of his unabashed desire to be filthy rich (‘As each person comes in, I think, kerching, kerching, kerching!’). But, having now taken the 58th spot on the 2016 Sunday Times Rich List, Dawson has proved there is more substance to his patter than that of his television counterpart.

His incredible story epitomises the rags to riches tale that seems to dominate the world of British business.

Dawson epitomises the rags to riches tale that seems to dominate the world of British business. He started life on the market stall in Plymouth (pictured) and used to sell upcycled furniture and scrap metal to punters

Despite his new-found wealth, Dawson has not shunned his roots, admitting that he regularly chooses to fly with budget airline Flybe

As a boy, Dawson struggled academically and was so severely dyslexic that he left school without a single qualification, unable to read and write. He is now one of the most successful businessmen in the country

His humble beginnings saw him and his two brothers raised on a council estate in Hooe, Plymouth, with their labourer father Thomas and his cleaner mother, Elsie.

Prospects were bleak – his younger brother still lives in the same house – and money was so sparse that he did not own his first pair of pants until he was 12.

Now, his billionaire lifestyle includes a sprawling 30-acre riverfront estate near Plymouth, which has his own motocross track converted from a golf course.

Despite his new-found wealth, Dawson has not shunned his roots, admitting that he regularly chooses to fly with budget airline Flybe

His numerous garages are home to a Ferrari, a Range Rover and a Porsche and, when he visits London, he stays in the penthouse at the Corinthia hotel, splashing out £14,000 for the two-floor room, complete with a private butler.

Despite his new-found wealth, Dawson appears reluctant to shun his roots, regularly choosing to fly with budget airline Flybe.

While many in his position might use a good business deal as an excuse to splurge on a luxury car or holiday, Dawson – who barely manages to take two weeks off per year -rewards himself with a greasy fry-up, complete with all the trimmings.

The father-of-two is also insistent that people should not credit his success to a desire to escape his destitute lifestyle.

‘People want to say, “Ah, he was poor, his father knocked him from here to there’ — he did a bit, as it happens,’ he told The Sunday Times.

‘But what if we were good at what we done? It’s called ability, I believe.’

Despite wanting to talk about his talent, Dawson admits that those who know him from school would be shocked to see him now.

As a boy, he struggled academically and was so severely dyslexic that he left school without a single qualification, unable to read and write.

‘Dyslexic is a polite way of putting it, I just didn’t have a bloody clue,’ he told the Telegraph.

It wasn’t until he was 27 that Dawson learned how to read. However, even at the age of 64, he still cannot write.

He struggles to understand the Sat Nav on his fleet of luxury cars and admits sometimes pretending to forget his glasses when checking into a hotel so he doesn’t have to fill out his form.

But, it is clear that Dawson’s business brain was switched on from a young age.

The budding entrepreneur started selling ice-creams at the age of seven, before taking on three paper rounds – two of which he subcontracted to friends.

He also earned money by doing early-morning wake-up calls for military officers in his garrison home town of Plymouth and began selling teas to builders on construction sites at the age of 14.

Last year, he told Eamonn Holmes and Ruth Langsford on their Channel 5 show How The Other Half Lives that he doesn’t intend to sell the company or stop expanding

They filmed the interview at the Corinthia hotel, where he stays when he visits London. He pays for a £14,000 for a two-floor room (pictured) complete with a private butler

He later embarked on a career as a scrap metal dealer, ‘borrowing’ leftover scraps from his school technology class. When he was caught, a teacher apparently told him: ‘You’ll end up in prison or very rich.’

Dawson then began branching out in all sorts of trades. He was once asked to join the showbiz circuit as a warm-up act for Little and Large but, when he was told he would earn £500, he replied: ‘I can earn that in an hour.’

He then continued to feed his money-making drive by selling watches from a briefcase on a market stall, later selling everything he could get his hands on from the back of a lorry.

It was with those wheeler-dealing profits that he was able to open his first The Range superstore at Sugar Mill business park in Plymouth in 1989.

It wasn’t long before he had turned the company into a booming chain of retail park shops, which is dubbed as working man’s John Lewis and sells everything from lawn-mowers to scented candles.

There are now more than 100 chains across the UK, complete with a workforce of more than 9.000. Dawson also plans to open a store in Limerick and is mooting an expansion to Germany.

Dawson jokes that he taught Derek Trotter (pictured in Only Fools and Horses) ‘all his best lines’, while there is even rumoured to be a photo of the cast of the long-running comedy in the reception of his HQ

Despite the overwhelming expansion of his business, Dawson insists that he is involved in as many of the chains as possible. Using his private helicopter, he visits up to ten stores per day, ensuring he sees each individual shop six times per year.

Mr Dawson founded The Range in 1989. He now has around 160 stores in Britain and Ireland, with customers including the Duchess of Cambridge

He is a self-confessed workaholic, sleeping only six hours per day and admitting he does nothing to relax, except work. He reportedly does not have a work email and instead communicates with employees in a regular early-morning conference calls, ensuring he is physically and metaphorically everywhere in the business at all times.

‘I’m like Anneka bloody Rice,’ he says.

It was through his wheeling and dealing that he met his wife of 35 years, Sarah, when he sold her a knock-off watch and then chased her for top-up payments.

She works as a buyer for the company, alongside their daughter Lisa, who is in her 30s. Their son Christopher – also in his 30s – works on store refits.

Last year, he told Eamonn Holmes and Ruth Langsford on their Channel 5 show How The Other Half Lives that he doesn’t intend to sell the company or stop expanding.

Asked if he would prefer to be relaxing on a beach or yacht somewhere exotic, he replied: ‘No to all of those. I don’t know how to relax is unless I have had a gin. I will have a go at being a trillionaire.’

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