#these last few episodes have been GRUELING

[yoichichi]

I will die thinking of Komugi and Meruem.

[rebelspykatie]

Steve comes from a long line of only children. He’s the last one standing after his mother dies, left alone on a barren family tree. This deep longing for an extended family made a home in Steve’s soul at a young age. For so long, it was only Steve and his mother. She raised him as best she could, but Steve never wanted that lonely existence. 

Finding someone that would want that life with him didn’t pan out the way he thought it would. Dating in Hawkins was limited and if he wanted to be truthful with people, also dangerous. Robin was the best dating app mishap turned best friend Steve could’ve hoped for, and she encouraged him to look into solo parenting, promising to be his platonic coparent every step of the way. 

Before his transition, he started a grueling IVF journey. Wanted to quit more times than he wanted to carry on. It didn’t take the first time, and Robin was there to hold him when he wasn’t sure he could handle another round of it. They didn’t know how lucky they’d get the second time. 

Dustin was born just after Thanksgiving that year, and he turned into a precocious toddler faster than Steve could blink. He had this mass of hair that Steve was in awe of, the height definitely coming from him but the curls were a mystery gift from their donor. Steve loved his chubby cheeks and toothless smile more than anything on earth. 

Everything about Dustin brightened up Steve’s world, even when his screams kept Steve and Robin awake all night, or he spit up on Steve’s shirt right before work and he had to change into a questionably dirty shirt because he hadn’t had time for laundry. Steve loved it all. He especially loved how smart his kid was, shooting straight to the top of his class, reading above grade level, doing math equations faster than Steve could comprehend. Robin joked that the donor must have some strong nerd genes to come from Steve and be that much of a math genius. 

He doesn’t actually know much about the donor, other than the recording he has from the interview and a brief profile of his family’s medical history. It might be silly, but Steve ended up picking this donor because of his laugh. It was melodic, ringing in the air long after he finished laughing, and something about it pulled at Steve’s heart in a way the others didn’t. 

Steve doesn’t hide much from Dustin, there’s no point really when your kid’s a genius, but he doesn’t give Dustin the file until he turns 11, doesn’t even hint at it. While Dustin is a curious kid, he’s also got a knack for knowing when to press an issue or not. He had a lot of questions about the process, but always shied away from asking more about how Steve chose or who his donor was. When they finally talked about it as Steve handed over the file to Dustin on his eleventh birthday, Dustin said he always knew Steve chose to have him and that was all that mattered. 

But once he gets his hands on that file, the curiosity voyage sets sail and Dustin’s chasing leads on who this man is like he’s in an episode of scooby doo. The agency will only give them the contact information they had on file 12 years ago. It’s a long shot, expecting someone’s number to be the same, but it’s all they have. A single phone number. 

When a gruff voice answers the phone and Steve explains the situation, the man on the other line agrees to meet them. The address he gives is for the Munson ranch about an hour outside of town. He knows about the ranch in the same way everyone in a small town knows of each other. He’s never been there, but the owner brings a lot of money into the town and mostly keeps to himself. His nephew was a few years ahead of Steve in school, but they never crossed paths. 

It turns out there’s only one Munson left in Hawkins, and Steve’s pretty sure the bald man that’s twice Steve’s age and looks down his nose at Steve and Dustin, isn’t the donor. Recognition sparks in his eyes, though, when Dustin starts talking, some of that defensiveness melting off his face. It’s softening into the same fondness Steve has when looking at Dustin, that inescapable way he pulls you into his orbit and snatches your heart right up. He lets Dustin take the reins, watching Wayne fall under Dustin’s spell.

His first words after Dustin’s long rambling opener about their predicament are, “Your hair looks just like his at that age.” 

Hope blooms in Steve’s chest. He’d been afraid that they wouldn’t find anything, or what they found might disappoint Dustin. But there’s someone out there that’s half of Dustin. Someone that might have given him all these little quirks that Steve’s so fond of. Someone that might want to be a part of his life, even if Steve isn’t sure he’s ready for that. 

Wayne explains that his nephew is out of town with his band, touring somewhere until the end of the month when they come home for the holidays. That’s only two weeks away and it doesn’t give Steve long to prepare for meeting someone that helped bring the best thing into his life, but it’s enough time for Wayne to welcome them into his home with an open heart.

It’s just long enough for Steve to find out that Eddie grew up on the ranch with Wayne and his father, who abandoned them when Eddie was about Dustin’s age. To find out that Eddie always loved music more than the horses and took off the first chance he got once he had the funds. To see pictures along a mantle of another precocious kid with a wild mane of hair that looks about as unstoppable as Dustin. 

Robin comes with them the night they’re going to meet Eddie. It’s a few days after he’s returned from tour. Wayne wanted enough time to prepare him before getting Dustin’s hopes all the way up. When they got the okay, Steve wasn’t sure he could do it alone, so Robin is glued to his side when they pull up at the ranch and come face to face with Edde Munson. 

But Steve relaxes when he sees the same wide grin on Eddie’s face that he sees on Dustin’s every day. And he doesn’t know it yet, but maybe he’s finally filled out that family tree and found the home he never knew he needed, with branches for Robin, Dustin, and maybe two Munsons.

[scoobyrooster1]

She's Mine [Part 1]

Qimir x (she/her)!reader

Summary: Events take place after episode 8 of the acolyte. You are Qimirs new acolyte after agreeing to train under him. But, first you both must escape to the outer rim and outrun the Jedi who now hunts you. A precarious situation arises when you suddenly owe a debt to the local gunrunner... but it could be just the opportunity you've been hoping for. Now you have to break the news to Qimir... Shit. Warnings: Angst, Angry Qimir, cursing Notes: I plan for this to be a slow burn story between you and Qimir. Haven't officially decided on a permanent title yet. And yes there will be plenty of future smut but I wanna do this right!

*Im trying my best to use canon history but high republic era is a little difficult so there will be discrepancies and times where I have to improvise... bear with me!

She's Mine [Intro] She's Mine [Part 1] She's Mine [Part 2]

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

The Republic's influence and reach were stronger than ever, and with that came the ever-present shadow of the Jedi. Since narrowly escaping Vernestra on Brandok, the last few months had been a blur. You were never truly safe. Settling down had been more a matter of necessity than comfort, and even then, "settling" was a stretch.

You were still trapped within the confines of Republic space. Your ship's transponder was a liability, a beacon that couldn’t slip past any checkpoints unnoticed. The only real refuge was the Outer Rim, far from the vigilant eyes of the Jedi and the ever-watchful Republic. But the closest jump to Hutt space was out of reach, forcing you to land on the barren sands of Jakart.

The Jedi were already scouring the galaxy for any sign of force discrepancies, even in the most remote backwater planets. And you both couldn't very well lead them back to Qimirs home. So, you made the choice to hide in plain sight, settling in a place where the noise of a thousand other lives could drown out your presence. Jakart, with its swarms of thugs, scavengers, and criminals, was the perfect cover. Here, you could disappear into the crowd, becoming just another face. But you knew that this was a temporary solution; the longer you stayed, the more you pushed your luck, and the longer you went without proper training.

You didn’t know when—or if—another opportunity like Ian’s would come along. Passage to the Outer Rim on a ship that could evade Republic scouts was a rare gift, one that you couldn’t afford to lose But now, you had to face the hard part: breaking the news to Qimir.

As you scanned into the small, cramped building you and Qimir now called home, a wave of exhaustion washed over you. The door slid open with a hiss, and you stepped inside, the faint hum of the city’s underbelly muffled by the walls. You pulled off your cloak, shaking off the fine layer of dust that clung to it, a grim reminder of the harsh environment outside. Your eyes stung from the grit of the sand, and you rubbed them wearily. It had been a long, grueling day.

The dimly lit room felt stifling, the walls pressing in with the weight of the choices you had to make. You tossed the cloak aside and took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself before the inevitable conversation. Qimir wasn’t going to like what you had to say, but there was no other option.

The sound of Qimir moving around in the next room broke your train of thought. You squared your shoulders, pushing down the fatigue, and stepped forward.

There he stood. Looking at you through wisps of black hair, slick with sweat. His eyes, which you once thought were brown, seemed almost black now, with a sharpness that felt more predatory than human.

"You're back." He exclaimed.

"I picked up some Jogans." You tilted your head in the direction of the small table in the corner.

"Feeling hungry after that mug today?"

You only sighed in response.

"That thug tried to take my shit... Would you have rather I just let him walk away?"

He tilted his head back in frustration, his adams apple bobbing as he swallowed whatever distaste was rising in his throat.

"How many times do I have to remind you that our survival here banks on our ability to lay low."

"About that..."

His eyes locked on you, demanding an explanation.

"I found a ship that can take us to the outer rim, under the radar."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise "the pilot you found wasn't a bust after all."

You bristled at his tone, almost offended by his doubt. These past few months had shown how strained the relationship could become. It felt more like a game of cat and mouse, and you hated losing.

"Not exactly."

He continued to stare at you through his eyebrows. Why did he always have to stare at you like that.

"A smuggler can get us there."

"who's the smuggler."

He didn't waste any time. You tensed. Ian was the last name you wanted to give. But thats where this was headed anyways. You just had to bite the bullet.

"Ian Skynyr."

Even the name tasted bad on your tongue.

His jaw twitched.

Jeez this was gonna a difficult one to swallow.

"Skynyr." He repeated.

He took a long pause before continuing. "No."

"This is our only shot. You know as well as I do that a freighter like his could secure us both passage safely off of Jakart. I just have to help him out then we can---"

"Help him with what exactly." He cut you off.

You froze.

"Its just a job." You stated casually.

"What kind of job."

"Obtaining and transporting cargo to some client." You brushed it off as if it were a mere fly buzzing past your ear.

"What else."

"Thats all he told me."

"Details matter y/n."

"No they don't matter... because this might be our only chance to get to the outer rim."

"Whatever debt he thinks you owe him... forget it. Skynyr is an idiot. Wherever he goes a blaster target follows him."

"I know, I know. I trust him about as far as I can throw him. But he's all we've got. So, I'm doing it."

"And the deal we made?"

"What about it? I'm not going back on anything. So being your acolyte is following whatever you say regardless? Can you not trust me on this?"

He grimaced.

"No. It means don't fall into a mess I have to pull you out of."

"I can handle myself just fine. I thought Brandok proved that."

"Brandok only revealed how reckless you are right now."

Did the death of your old master, at your own hands, prove nothing to him?

No.

You were bartering with a man that had no interest with the rest of what you had to say. But no matter how much he disliked this plan or how much of a headache your existence seemed to him at this moment... he couldn't resist the appeal of Ians secure passage through Republic space.

"Do you have any better ideas then?"

He sighed, finally breaking eye contact and looking down at the floor. His posture slumped as he leaned against the wall, just as exhausted as you were.

"If you can come up with one, I wont take Ians offer. Otherwise we should take this deal."

You didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, you walked into the next room, slumping onto the small cot that had been your bed for the past few weeks.

You imagined that the only reason he didn't follow was because he knew the truth, which was that you both had no idea when another chance like this would arise. He was just angry it involved working for Ian.

You replayed what Qimir had said to you.

Brandok only revealed how reckless you are right now.

You realized that killing your old master did prove your commitment. But to Qimir it also unearthed how little he truly knew you. And something he couldn't predict or control... that probably terrified him.

Good.

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

You basically had to drag Qimir to the landing platform where Ians team was meeting. The air was filled with hyper fluid and gases that singed your nostrils. It reminded you of your old post fixing up freighters like the one that now towered before you. Although, that life now felt like it belonged to someone else.

Ian practically beamed when he saw you both approach, his voice cutting through the cacophony of the buzzing platform. "Glad to see you made it."

You only gave him a small nod in return face remaining neutral.

The rest of the crew were people you recognized from around the bazaar.

The Transdoshan known as Kiro. His presence was intimidating, standing at an imposing 6'7", with a build that suggested he could break bones as easily as he could snap his scaly talons.

Next to him was Shaun, a grizzled sharpshooter. He gave you a curt nod, acknowledging your presence with the little care.

A droid, its model old but well-maintained, stood quietly beside them. You couldn’t quite place its make, but it looked functional and that’s all that mattered.

And Ian. Your point of contact - begrudgingly so.

"Our buyer is interested in a rarity being sold at auction tomorrow on Carinth. Job is to secure the cargo and transport it. We'll rendezvous with him on Canto Bight."

"how do you intend to secure the bid. I'm guessing you don't have nearly enough credits to bid on something that an anonymous buyer wants"

Your skeptic tone was thinly veiled.

"Who said anything about bidding with actual credits."

"So what, you yell fire and then grab it in the chaos?"

"Our operation is a little more refined than that."

Qimir scoffed earning a frown from Ian.

Kiro growled, lacing his arms together in a tight cross obviously put off by Qimirs severe lack of respect for any of them.

"The buyer is willing to pay whatever sum for the item plus our services. But he doesn't want to be tied to the acquisition of the aforementioned cargo. So we're going to act as his ambassador of sorts"

"And how do you intend to make the highest bid."

"Rod here is going to take care of that." He gestured to the droid. "So no matter what you have the highest bid."

"Wait, that I have the highest bid?"

"Well Yord was supposed to be the stand in for the auction and canto bight but he's kinda occupied right now."

It took everything in you to bite your tongue.

"You said this was a simple job." You bristled.

"It is."

"You never said anything about impersonating a bidder."

"You didn't ask sweetheart."

Qimir clenched his jaw.

"Yord normally keeps a low profile which made him the best suited for the stand in. Unlucky that he broke his streak on trying to rob you"

"I'll be recognized."

"Where we'll be, no one is going to give two bactas about who you are. These aren't the type of joints where saints congregate. Jedi will be the least of your worries."

"Why are the Jedi looking for you two anyways." Shaun questioned suddenly very interested in the conversation.

"Thats none of your concern."

Shaun put his hands up realizing that you weren't one to answer pointed questions.

"Whats the item I'll be bidding on."

"that also happens to be none of your concern either."

"If we're doing this job I need more information to make sure were not walking into anything we can't walk out of."

"Even if I wanted to I couldn't tell you. The item only goes by its bidding number and the client wont share beyond that. Also I don't really care what it is... as long as I get paid. You're now the stand in on Carinth and Canto Bight, and thats all I'll hear of it."

"Why was it Yord? why me?"

"There's a strong likelihood that the rest of us aren't exactly on the best terms with some of the attendees frequenting the auction, especially not in Canto Bight. We need someone who’s not a big player—or better yet, someone who’s completely unknown. The client insists on absolute secrecy. The fewer issues we encounter and questions we face, the better."

You couldn't deny that everything he stated made sense for a job such as this.

"So what happens when they find out the credits being transferred are fake?"

"Thats when we blast out of there like a bat out of hell."

You almost smirked. You hated to admit it but the chase excited you.

"So you're what is considered a big player?" You replied mockingly.

"Ouch." He pretended to take a knife to the heart.

"Fine."

"And just because I like you so very much y/n I'll let the two of you split Yords share."

"How generous of you, Ian." You swallowed your words with disdain.

"I like to think so." he smiled with great satisfaction. "Be here at 05:00."

Before you could nod your head, Qimir had already turned on his heal heading towards the exit.

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

"Whatever you have to say, go ahead. Get it out."

Qimir said nothing as you followed him down the ally. Though you could almost read the back of his head.

"Well if you're going to brood about it at least -"

Before you could get your next words out, you were slammed against the wall. The impact knocked the air from your lungs, and you barely had time to react before his hands pinned your arms to your sides, his grip like iron.

"This isn’t my fault," you gasped.

"Of course it isn’t," his voice was dripping with sarcasm.

You could feel the anger radiating off him. He continued.

"Skynyr is trouble, and nothing but. That makes him dangerous."

"And what are we exactly?" you shot back, your voice tinged with defiance. "What are we?"

"You know what we are," he replied. His tone was cold, as if stating an undeniable truth.

"So when did smugglers become the biggest, baddest thing in the galaxy? In the dark, there’s nothing to fear but us."

"Maker, you’re naive," he spat. "He’s more trouble than he’s worth."

"You’re right," you conceded, though your voice was steady with what you said next. "The sooner we leave the sooner we can continue training. And he’s our best shot out of here."

His jaw clenched, and his teeth bared in a snarl. The rage in his eyes was palpable, and for a moment, you felt a shiver run down your spine. He tightened his grip, pressing you harder against the cold, unforgiving wall. The proximity, the force, everything about the moment screamed danger, yet you held your ground.

"The only reason I’m willing to go along with this little drama," he whispered, a lethal calm overtaking him, his face inches from yours, "is because of that damn republic transponder. Maker knows who else has one... Maybe this trip will teach you a valuable lesson, my young apprentice."

Those last three words hung in the air like dead bodies.

Ghosts.

Ones that constantly haunted you.

My young apprentice.

It wasn’t just a title; it was a reminder of everything you had left behind when you walked away from the Order. He was asserting his authority, reminding you of what you were to him—and more importantly, what he was to you. The unspoken command was clear: Don’t forget it.

You could see the words of warning in his eyes.

"Yes, Master," you whispered.

He stared at you for a moment longer, as if to ensure you truly grasped the gravity of your position. He loosened his grip and pushed himself away from you, storming off toward the compound.

You remained against the wall for a few seconds longer, the echoes of the encounter still reverberating through your mind. The word “Master” clung to you like a weight.

The next morning you both had packed everything you owned... which was very little. But it wasn't the material things that weighed you down. Qimir lashed out at you for a good reason. It was the uncertainty, the sense that you were stepping into something that could very well get you both killed.

Or worst captured.

Maker help me. You whispered.

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

Thats it for today! Hope you liked it! If your feeling it, let me know what you think in the comments.

[aynavaano]

Tell me you want me

Hunter x f!reader

Rating: Explicit/NSFW

Wordcount: 3.5k

Summary:

You’re part of Clone Force 99 since a while and have an eye on your Sarge ever since you joined. When you are left alone with him skinny dipping in natural hot springs, things get steamy.

Notes:

Enjoy this little Hunterxf!reader smutlet while we all anxiously wait for the final episode to drop. Reader is part of the squad, she is their medic and has a nickname. All other Batchers make an appearance too. We have fingering and unprotected sex. All happening in the water.

As the sun begins its descent, casting long shadows across the landscape, you and the squad finally retreat back into the Marauder, weary from another grueling day of repairs after your crash landing a few rotations ago. Dropping your tools with a clatter in the corner, you sink down onto the floor, feeling the exhaustion seep into your bones. The day's work has left you covered in a film of sweat and grime, your skin sticky with oil and dust, again.

"If I have to endure one more shower with that recycled water, I swear..." you mutter under your breath, frustration lacing your words. Despite the pressing need to fill up your rations and change the water in the Marauders system or at least the filters, there was no way off this kriffing rock before you got the ship back up and running. The overly recycled water, depleted and stale, left you feeling far worse than without a shower since the last days.

Suddenly, Tech's voice cuts through the exhaustion, his tone matter-of-fact as he suggests an alternative. "There are geothermal hot springs just a couple of clicks south from here, they are perfectly safe to utilize for personal hygiene," he remarks, drawing everyone's attention.

Wrecker's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "So that's where you've been sneaking off to in the evenings," he says, earning a knowing nod from Tech.

"Why didn't you mention THAT before?" you inquire, taken aback by the revelation. Tech shrugs nonchalantly.

"Nobody asked me and you all seemed content with the ship's refresher,besides I didn’t sneak off I just went there, " he replies simply, earning an eye-roll from Crosshair and a sigh from Hunter.

"Well, looks like we're all going tonight," Hunter declares, scanning the room as everyone nods eagerly. However, Tech interjects with an apologetic tone.

"Except for Echo. I'm sorry, but the mineral composition of the water isn't compatible with your mechanical parts." Echo sighs resignedly.

"Well, Someone has to watch the ship anyway," he remarks, grabbing a ration bar before retreating to the cockpit.

Watching him leave, Hunter urges everyone else to gather their essentials as you prepare for the trip to the hot springs.

Following Tech's lead, you traverse through a dense thicket of trees and across a rugged terrain, the distant plumes of steam already signaling the promise of warm, rejuvenating waters.

When you finally arrive at the steaming natural pools, happiness surges through your veins, eager to immerse yourself in the warm, relaxing waters. You swiftly cast your bag aside and quickly shed your clothes, opting for a skinny dip - a necessity, given that swimwear isn’t something provided by the GAR. But the night is dark enough to conceal your naked body, the dense steam rising from the water further obscuring any view.

As the squad's medic, you've seen them in various states of undress during countless check-ups or emergencies, but you've managed to maintain your own privacy, determined not to stir up any trouble within the group. However, you can’t deny that you have a weak spot for your Sergeant ever since you joined them and enjoyed patching him up a bit too much.

The sound of water splashing nearby interrupts your thoughts, and you turn to see Wrecker paddling around eagerly. "Come on in Mini, it's amazing. We won't peek, I promise," he assures you with a boisterous grin. You chuckle at the affectionate nickname he gave you a while ago, and the others quickly adopted, not wrongly, given that you are barely more than half his size.

With a contented sigh, you lower yourself into the soothing embrace of the hot spring, feeling the tension melt away from your weary muscles. The clean, refreshing sensation of the water provides a stark contrast to the sticky residue left behind by the Marauder's recycled water and it feels incredibly good to finally get rid of it.

Occasionally, a gentle breeze disperses the swirling steam, offering you fleeting glimpses of your crew mates. Your gaze lingers on Hunter, captivated by the droplets cascading from his tousled hair, now freed from his bandana. You trace the lines of his tattoo down over his broad chest as they disappear beneath the surface of the dark water. Despite your best efforts to remain discreet, you find yourself locked in a momentary exchange of gazes with Crosshair, his piercing eyes betraying a knowing awareness.

Your breath catches in your throat as Crosshair maintains his gaze, his lips curling into a sly grin. Wrecker interjects, attempting to diffuse the tension. "Cut it out, Crosshair. You're making her uncomfortable. We promised not to look," he scolds, casting a wary glance in your direction.

“You did” Crosshair hisses at Wrecker before turning his attention back to you, his tone teasing. "Like what you see, Mini?" he quips, his confidence evident, that smug bastard you think to yourself and attempt to muster a confident response in return, but the slight tremor in your voice is betraying you. "Nothing I haven't seen while patching you all up," you retort, hoping to deflect his attention.

“Sure” he groans with a mischievous glint in his eyes but thankfully, he decides to let the matter drop, and you exhale a silent sigh of relief, sinking deeper into the warm embrace of the water, trying to hide your reddened cheeks. Casting a fleeting glance skyward, you marvel at the sight of two moons ascending over the horizon, casting a serene silvery blue glow over the landscape.

Before long, Tech emerges from the water, signaling for the group to prepare to depart. You, however, are reluctant to leave the comforting embrace of the hot springs just yet.

"Already? Can't we stay a bit longer?" you plead, attempting to negotiate for more time.

"It was ample time to get clean," Tech responds, his tone firm. "And we have another full day of repairs before we can leave this planet. You need at least seven standard hours of sleep to—"

You cut him off, feeling frustration bubbling up. "Stop it, Tech," you interject firmly, your disappointment evident.

"I'm only concerned for your well-being," Tech counters, his concern genuine.

"I know, I'm sorry," you answer, softening your tone. "I didn't mean to sound so annoyed. It's just... I can't remember the last time we had something like this. I'd like to soak in the warm water a bit longer. My whole body is sore from our crash, and this feels so good," you explain, hoping to convey your genuine need for relaxation.

Tech hesitates. “I understand, but it’s too dangerous to leave you here alone, besides the way back to the Marauder is …”.

"It's okay, Tech. You go. I'll stay here with her," a voice rings through the thick steam from behind you.

Hunter.

Your heart skips a beat at his unexpected offer, a rush of warmth flooding through you at the thought of him and you being here alone.

It takes a moment for the rest of them to processes his proposition. Finally, Tech breaks the silence "That is an acceptable solution," he states, his usual pragmatic tone cutting through the night.

Relieved you allow yourself to sink back into the soothing warmth of the hot springs, the steam enveloping you like a comforting embrace. In the background, you hear the others bustling about, dressing and gathering their belongings. Amidst the activity, you catch snatches of conversation and you could swear you heard Wrecker grumbling that he also wants to stay, interrupted by a sharp retort from Crosshair.

"Alright," Tech announces, drawing your attention. "We're heading back. I'll leave the comm open in case of unforeseen events. Regardless, please remember it is not recommended to stay longer than two standard hours in water with this temperature" and with that, the group begins their trek back to the Marauder, leaving you and Hunter alone in the quiet of the night.

As the sounds of their footsteps fade into the distance, a slightly uncomfortable silence descends, punctuated only by the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze. It’s not the first time you’re alone with Hunter, but THIS, this is different and you are trying to control your heartbeat knowing very well that he can pick that up with his heightened senses.

“Thank you for staying with me Hunter” you whisper through the thick steam wafting over the pool. The thought of him naked in the water, just a few steps away from you sends a shiver through your whole body and you feel the heat pooling between your legs.

Stars, stay calm you try to control the visions overtaking you, flashes of his naked body and his hands all over you flickering through your mind.

You try to catch another glimpse at him past the billowing steam and through an opening you see him slowly treading through the water towards you, his eyes locking on yours, a look of concern on his face. The water reaches barely up to his lower stomach, exposing an ungodly amount of his luscious body, his caramel skin, toned chest and a tempting trail of hair running down his abdomen now illuminated by the silvery glow of the moons, you can’t break your gaze away but you are close to loosing control completely now.

“For someone happily relaxing in a hot bath your heart rate is concerningly high. Are you uncomfortable? Did you change your mind, do you want me to take you back to the Marauder?”

“No, I…I want to stay” is all you can stumble. Him being so concerned and caring is only adding fuel to the fire already burning inside you.

Hunter is right before you now, scanning your face for any signs of distress but the only thing he finds is your bright pink cheeks and dilated pupils.

He carefully brushes a loose strand of your hair from your face, his hand lingering a bit too long to go unnoticed.

“Is this because of me?” he whispers softly, a hint of trepidation in his voice. He lost count of how often he wanted to ask you this, when he felt your heart jump at his touch, when he sensed your eyes lingering on him, but he didn’t dare, knowing a no would destroy him. So he decided to remain oblivious instead of getting hurt. Until now.

You gaze up at him and there is no denying anymore, no hiding, so you nod, not able to voice what you feel for him. That you want him so badly.

And before you know whats happening his lips are on yours. His kiss is soft but quickly getting hungrier and messier. He pulls you closer to him sliding one arm around your waist and you intuitively wrap your legs around him feeling his already hardening cock pressing against your core.

He gasps at the sensation of you grinding your hips against him and breaks away from the kiss, looking deep into your eyes.

“Tell me you want this," Hunter's voice is a low, urgent whisper, his breath hot against your skin. "Tell me you want me."

You lean back in to kiss him, desperate for his lips on yours and hungry for more but he breaks away again, searching your face for an answer.

“I’m your Sarge, I don’t want to take advantage of you, I need to hear you say it. Say you want me and I’ll give you everything.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you meet his intense gaze. "I do, Hunter," you reply without hesitation, your voice barely above a whisper. "I want nothing more than you."

Before you can even finish your words, he pulls you closer again, his arms wrapping around you possessively. The warmth of his embrace fueling your hunger for him and when his lips crash against yours in another searing kiss, you melt into him completely, his tongue trailing along your lips pleating for access.

Your tongues entwine and Hunter's touch feeds the fire within you, every caress sending sparks of heat coursing through your veins. You feel his hands hungrily roaming over your body, down your chest, gently cupping your breasts, leaving a trail of longing wherever they touch you.

His hands slide down to your hips, one hand cupping your ass, pulling you closer as his lips trail down your neck, leaving a line of open mouthes kisses and soft bites in their wake. With each movement, you feel yourself melting into him, your body craving more of his touch and your pussy aching desperately for his attention.

"Stars, you feel amazing," Hunter murmurs against your skin, his voice husky with desire. "I've been wanting this for so long."

A soft moan escapes your lips at his words, the sound mingling with the gentle lapping of the water around you. You feel his fingers trailing down to your throbbing core and you can't help but arch into his touch, desperately yearning for more.

He carefully slides his fingers between your slick folds, teasing your clit with a slow gentle rhythm that leaves you gasping for breath. Each stroke sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body, quickly building a tension that threatens to unravel you completely in his arms.

He keeps you steady, his strong arms easily holding you up, the water flowing around you, fingers trailing through your slit and finally with a slow, deliberate motion, he slides one finger inside you, giving you a taste of what you so desperately want. You gasp at the sensation of him entering you and arch into his hand, aching for more friction.

"Stars, you're so wet for me," Hunter whispers, his voice low and breathless.

You can't help but beg for more, craving the sensation of him deep inside you, filling you up completely. And as he picks up the pace and slides in another finger, you feel your body tightening, getting ready to explode with pleasure.

"Kriff, I love how responsive you are to my touch." he whispers in your ear, nibbling on your neck.

You let out a few lewd moans and gasps at his words, the sensation of his fingers driving you completely crazy. With each thrust, you feel yourself spiraling closer and closer to the edge, the pleasure becoming almost unbearable in its intensity. The tension in your core almost reaching it’s snapping point, two fingers pushing inside you and his thumb rubbing your clit.

And then, with a flick of his wrist, Hunter finds that perfect spot that sends you hurtling over the edge, your body convulsing with the force of your release. Waves of ecstasy wash over you, rippling through your whole body, leaving you trembling in the wake of your orgasm as you cling to him for support.

“Stars, do you know how beautiful you look cuming all over my fingers?” he moans against your skin, looking at you as if you’re the most precious thing in the galaxy.

He slowly slides his fingers out of you to steady you against his chest while you catch your breath. You let out a low whine when he slips out of your core, leaving you feeling empty, and immediately desperate for more. You fumble around trying to reach his cock but he firmly holds you up, both hands under your thighs, his face buried between your breasts.

“Hungry, are we?” he grins up at you, sucking one of your nipples into his mouth and sliding his fingers over your wet folds aching to be stretched again, drawing a couple of lewd sounds from you.

You tilt your head back when he captures your other nipple between his teeth and finally pulls you closer until you're straddling him in the water, your bodies pressed together in a heated embrace. You feel the pressure of his rock hard cock straining against your core, fueling your hunger for him even more.

"I need you," you whisper, your voice barely above a breathless moan, impatiently wiggling around in his arms to line him up at your entrance. When he carefully bites down on your neck, leaving a mark, while squeezing your breast with one hand, you are completely loosing any kind of self control, you might as well just beg.

"Hunter, kriff…please…fuck me"

He looks up finding your gaze and without a word, he guides himself inside you with a single deep thrust, his huge cock stretching you in all the right ways as he fills you completely. You gasp at the sensation of your pussy stretching around him, your body arching into his as he begins to move, each thrust giving you more of what you’ve been longing for ever since you joined the squad. He starts slowly, not far from teasing you, pulling out almost completely a few times, until only his tip rest inside you and then slamming back in until he is buried to the hilt.

The water around you amplifies every sensation, the gentle rocking motion only adding to the intensity of his thrusts. He increases his pace and with each push of his hips against yours, you feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak, your pussy already clenching around him.

“Fuck, not gonna last long like this” he groans “ …y..you feel too good around my cock…so tight…been dreaming about this too often…”

"I'm close," you whimper, your voice barely above a desperate plea. "Please, Hunter, don't stop."

With a low growl against your neck, he increases the intensity, each thrust pushing you further towards the brink of oblivion. You cling to him, nails digging into his back, grinding your hips against his, to take him as deep as possible until you feel the tip of his cock deliciously pressing against your cervix with every thrust. You wrap your arms around his neck your fingers finding hold in his hair, as you begin shaking, and with a shuddering gasp, you feel the tension in you snap and the first wave of pleasure crashing over you with an intensity you haven’t felt before, stars exploding before your eyes, your whole body trembling as you ride out the waves of your orgasm on his cock without slowing down.

He keeps fucking you through your high, drawing more moans and gasps from you until you feel him tense too, his length pressing even harder against your walls.

“Where do you want me?” he gasps.

“Inside” is all you can get out with a loud moan, your pussy still clenching around his cock and you feel Hunter's own release echoing yours, his body trembling with the force of his orgasm. With a final thrust, he spills himself inside you, filling you to the brim with his warm cum as you both ride out the waves of pleasure ripping through you together.

You cling to each other, panting, your bodies pressed together in a sweet embrace as you bask in the afterglow of your lovemaking. You let your fingers trail through his hair and softly trace the lines of his tattoo looking at him in awe, completely blissed out. He let’s his forehead rest against yours and you are exchanging soft loving kisses when you suddenly hear your comms crackle from somewhere beside the pool.

“Hunter are you listening… Hunter…Mini… “

“noooo Tech…leave them” you hear clattering and a voice in the background

“Hunter do you hear me? Even though Crosshair suggested you are not solely bathing but possibly engaging in intercourse I recommend you get out of the water. The time you spent there is unacceptable and will negatively affect your blood circulation. Mini… I’m sure you know that, you’re the medic. Do you hear me? It’s clearly been too long. Get out of ther…” the comm crackles again, weird noises and mumbling in the background until you hear Crosshair.

“Sorry for the interruption Sarge, I couldn’t stop him, just give us a sign when you’re headed back” and with that the comm falls silent again.

You can’t help but blush, feeling a bit exposed before the whole squad not even knowing where this is going or if it was just a one time thing. You desperately hope it’s not, when you said you want him, you meant it but you’re to afraid to ask how he is feeling, so you just revel in the heat radiating from his body drinking up every scent, every detail while it lasts, legs still wrapped around his waist, holding him close, fingers trailing trough his hair. Hunter nestles his head in your neck, pulling you even closer to his chest, leaving a few soft kisses along the way while his softening cock is slowly slipping out of you.

“Let’s get back to the Marauder then” he murmurs against your skin, “at least it seems they already suspect whats going on and appear to be ok with us being together…sleep in my bunk tonight?”

Your heart beams at his question, pounding in your chest.

“Guess that’s a yes” he chuckles, giving you one last loving kiss before he sets you on the edge of the pool to get ready for heading back to the ship.

[findmeinthefallair]

Hunter's Experiences After Belos's Death

Oops, this got long. Aw well, it was really fun to write.

Special thanks to @ashanimus!

This is speculative at the end of the day, but since:

1. This is my fave animated show of all time

2. I grew up with Complex PTSD (CPTSD) like Hunter

3. I work as a therapist,

I thought to list down some things I can visualize happening in the duration of the finale's timeskip, before that beautiful epilogue we saw. And I want to dive in using whatever clues, leads and parallels I can find in canon: to analyze and see how he went from the Bad But Sad Boy to that peaceful-looking palisman carver in the epilogue.

A small reference I had for this meta is Cinema Therapy's episode on the Hunger Games movies (link), since the protagonist, Katniss Everdeen, from the book and also movie trilogy would have the same diagnosis as Hunter. Those books and movies explored how Katniss coped with the frightening and dramatically different landscape that was the calmness of her world post-victory.

Part 1: His Possible Experiences Leading Up to Seeking a Therapist

His disposition could possibly become like Luz's from early Season 3: a state of emotionally shutting down and numbing out. He appeared to nearly head in this direction right after he was revived by Flapjack, as he began to cry. There was that small window where he could have expressed more tears than he did, and have his body shut down under the weight of bereavement.

But the immediate physical threat, Belos, was still on the run. He got up, sprang into action and didn't catch a break from the time he followed Belos through the portal until he stood in The Collector's palace after Belos died (had he even received the news of his 'Uncle' dying yet??!).

Now that Belos isn't around anymore, the Isles will have a completely different feel and rebuilding the land would've taken grueling work after the dismantling of a damaging Coven System.

I was looking at Luz's behavior and gestures in Thanks to Them, which were indicative of her sinking into depression after 1. the horrible revelation in Hollow Mind that she unintentionally helped Philip. 2. witnessing Flapjack's death. I'm putting screenshots of her below in parallel with Hunter's own emotions in For the Future:

They have different mental health conditions if you talk symptoms, e.g. Luz doesn't show signs of CPTSD hypervigilance, while Hunter doesn't have that slowing down in his physical and mental activity which points to depression. But both have suffered from moral injury thanks to Belos's violence and manipulation.

However, a major comparison is that Hunter has had much more repressed emotion over a long period compared to Luz. The column with Hunter screencaps above, is what he may feel with a much higher intensity in the weeks and months after he first hears that his abuser has passed on.

Shown below, the few seconds of Hunter's big smile drooping when it was all over, was a big hint for me:

A hint that there is a deep undercurrent of emotions he'd much rather not feel, that he'd probably rather hide from himself. Even while smiling, we know how his heart-wrenching story has played out and the light in his eyes here doesn't match the brightness we see in his expressions in the epilogue, post-timeskip.

That is the face of a kid who has not cried out massive amounts of tears yet. He doesn't look like he's carrying a light load yet, compared to what we see in his future self. And it's certainly a heavier smile than the jollier one he makes here right after King's Tide when Flapjack was still around:

I can't imagine the amount of grief that his body has yet to dredge up and release, once he finally doesn't have to worry about his 'uncle' threatening his life anymore. Too many times to count, I've been in the situation where I cry intensely after being retraumatized and think "Huh? More tears? Where did it come from?? I thought I had cried it all out from my whole being the last time!". It kind of convinced me that anyone with CPTSD has so much grief stored up in their body that the number of times needed to have a good cry feels like a really endless expanse.

However: because I had 7 years of being in and out of therapy, what matters is that the durations between these episodes of mine, the durations of the episodes themselves, plus their intensity have reduced a lot. It was around a 4-year timeskip in the finale, so for Hunter to get as far as he did to heal, his own therapy sessions would've probably been rigorous and very consistent.

Anyway, he might now cycle through his own version of what Luz cycled through when she gradually shuts down from failing to build a new portal door in Thanks to Them, continually believes she's as bad as Belos, and when she alludes to her suicidal ideation in the classroom:

whereby there is a likely parallel between Luz wrestling with guilt from her own moral injury, and Hunter's own guilt from what he wished he could've done to prevent being possessed, to prevent Flapjack from dying. Both their situations are that of moral injuries.

The adrenaline rush would be over for everyone on the Isles.

I'm quite sure the therapists on the Isles will operate pretty soon after the news about Belos's death was out. They would conduct whatever version of mental health triage they have, that involves risk assessments and crisis counselling. Both of these based on what I've learnt are shorter in duration (30 minutes) and are one-off sessions, compared to regular talk therapy which is an hour minimum.

The therapists would be redirecting people to necessary resources e.g. where to find food or loved ones, and managing distress only related to people's immediate needs instead of forming a longer term plan for several weekly sessions.

I believe things are simpler when you are running away from an external threat, like the two Hunter scenarios below. In Hollow Mind there is no emotion on his face because in peak C-PTSD mode he has shut down his emotions to pour that energy into escaping Belos. In Thanks to Them, he appears quite obviously scared with widened eyes because he got comfortable with safety for months and Belos's return was a surprise attack (thanks ashanimus for pointing out to me how his expressions are animated!):

But what is there to run from now? Not an external threat for sure. The war zone is now the one in his mind, heart and soul and it would become front and center. I believe both these screenshots are two notches on a dial, and the missing third image - which would show him finding it difficult to stuff down the grief any longer, might look like a more exasperated version of when he told Willow "Please don't call yourself [a Half-a-Witch] ever again" in For the Future, and eventually a more depressed version of his vanishing smile in The Collector's Palace.

When can he really run from himself? Only while asleep, if he's spared nightmares on any given night, or while distracting himself with the main mission of rebuilding the Isles or continuing to bond with his friends and other people.

His anger in For the Future was a telling sign for me that he made sure his focus was still on an external threat: he still had the opportunity to do so back then, because Belos was still alive. But when we see him in The Collector's palace sending Willow off to her dads, there has realistically been a shift in what will threaten the more fragile shreds of inner peace he's still clinging on to. There are those scary trauma-related emotions to worry about, which wouldn't have just evaporated into thin air. They would be looking for a new outlet, and they'll find their way into flashbacks, nightmares, tension still stored in the body, an exaggerated startle response, etc.

We have seen a range of reactions he has to danger, triggers and emotional pain: some involve moving his body more, and fewer involve a short of shutting down:

Flinching during Belos's tantrums, being able to fight Kikimora calmly, freezing up in the throne room (Hunting Palismen)

Suicidal ideation and even a sort of suicide plan (Eclipse Lake)

Freezing up and expecting punishment from Darius (Any Sport in a Storm)

Being able to stay almost entirely calm as he learnt more and more of the truth about Belos, though his hand was shaking briefly, then a panic attack later on (Hollow Mind)

Lots of avoidance symptoms like numbing, combined with hypervigilance e.g. shivering and another panic attack (Labyrinth Runners)

Feeling fear with underlying shame and subconsciously expecting punishment, when he failed to save Luz (Clouds on the Horizon)

Freezing and recoiling, though he fought against this by asserting a boundary with Belos (King's Tide)

Panic attack when looking into the mirror and having an emotional flashback, hypervigilance e.g. stamping his foot and shivering (Thanks to Them)

Anger and rage to cope with bereavement, later being tearful (For the Future)

Most likely a sense of bereavement, deep exhaustion and possibly loneliness, during that briefly shown moment in The Collector's Palace (Watching and Dreaming)

The serious work he has to put in to heal from his trauma would begin once his whole body gives in to the exhaustion, catching up with the bereavement-related emotions that have also begun to settle in. It could be a massive emotional and physical collapse that he can't fight off, where his physical energy levels become tanked seemingly out of nowhere. And I think it would look like a worse version of him lying in his makeshift grave, where he is barely able to move around the house or anywhere for some time.

This happened to Katniss in the Hunger Games trilogy, and while the portrayal was done differently in the books and movies, both were good explorations of what it's like to shift from the default high alert (and long-term) mode of CPTSD to coping with the scary unknown world of newfound safety. Katniss spent her childhood in poverty and being constantly on edge that she might be chosen for the Hunger Games, being parentified, to provide for her family.

While participating in the games, she had to utilize battle skills and kill others to survive and sustained many injuries, still constantly on high alert whereby any respite would last for incredibly short durations. Towards the end of the story, after she loses the one she loved most (her sister Prim, who I think can be a parallel of Flapjack in this meta), Katniss shifts from peak physical activity into mostly sleeping and being actively suicidal for months, hardly moving and not leaving the house, until the shock of traumatic grief began to wear off. She absolutely crashed and went from one extreme to the other. In the movie Mockingjay Part 2, they added a non-book scene where her grief comes out in an outburst when she sees their pet cat hanging around on the kitchen counter. She flings an object in the cat's direction, then screams "[Prim] is gone!!" repeatedly before collapsing into heavy sobs, picking up the cat and holding it to her chest to soothe herself.

This kind of major collapse might happen very soon to Hunter after he leaves The Collector's Palace or only after some weeks. The timing of this, I can't predict. The reason why he didn't appear to have this issue in the early months being in the human realm is because there was still something external to concentrate on: help his friends get back to the Human Realm, help Luz reunite with Eda and King, while him and Flapjack hoped to go home too.

You could argue that even now, he still has something external to focus on i.e. helping the others rebuild the Isles. However I keep imagining that the people who love him are going to be quite adamant in getting him, Luz and the other kids to please rest. Since we saw Steve recommend his therapist to Lilith in O Titan Where Art Thou, I can picture the adults in particular monitoring how Hunter is doing without Flapjack.

But if this collapse I'm speculating about doesn't happen so soon, he would be pouring himself into helping others, referencing his character-centric line all the way back in Hunting Palismen about wanting to offer help, which he utters twice in that episode. There is an overlap between this expectation he has of himself and the old habit he's at risk of falling back into periodically: overworking.

Once his desire to help others is clearly comes across as an avoidance tactic on the outside - a maladaptive coping mechanism to run from the very difficult emotions that he should be processing - people around him are definitely going to set boundaries and say "No" to any attempts he makes to assist them. Someone is probably going to tell him that whatever desperation he is showing in wanting to help other people, needs to be redirected at himself. Making time and space for himself, taking time off to rest.

Him suffering from a major emotional and physical collapse is pretty likely because things are more complicated (though, physically much much safer) for him now than at the beginning of Thanks to Them when he had just fled from Belos to the human realm, and had Flapjack as his closest company. Fast forward to the victory won in Watching and Dreaming: both Flapjack and Belos are gone now.

It's telling that different thoughts are occupying Hunter's mind now, from how his expressions are drawn during his first days in the human realm vs. when peace is restored in the Isles.

1. See the sense of calmer urgency in his expression, putting the mission of building the portal door first, while experiencing a strong sense of togetherness with his friends, and learning to trust Camila who is treating him well:

compared to

2. the sheer exhaustion and feeling of "What now...?" (see his upper eyelids below?) that set in, once he helped Willow find her parents and there was no more task at hand that didn't involve himself. His bright smile from a split-second ago has drooped and disappeared:

I know that right after the above frame, Darius and Eberwolf reunited with him, but his emotions are going to cycle up and down in the hours, weeks and months ahead. The elation from seeing Darius and Eber - people who were there to greet him when he expected nobody to turn up - is not going to last, though it will certainly come and go, because high-running positive emotions like that don't last as long, especially in the context of the life he's had as a child soldier. It's totally possible that on the same night, hours after this reunion with their loved ones, their emotions will shift drastically.

The tired look in his eyes above and the sad face he then makes, is in between two moments of him having something external to focus on (Willow and then Darius). I'm inclined to think that the above depressed look reflects a lot of the complexity that is going on underneath the surface. What is his state of mind when alone with his thoughts, when he has zero tasks to perform? How is he handling those thoughts?

There will be a deep, sometimes mind-numbing sense of bereavement over two significant figures in his life. First Flapjack, now this:

He used to love Belos. But I'm really not sure he can just uproot that love from deep within and discard it. Hunter carries memories like the following ones around which will be confusing to navigate on tougher days, despite being able to tell Luz "That's what Belos does, he tricks people". Because these were his formative years:

and something tells me that Philip was cunning enough to strike a delicate balance between being 'nice' to Hunter like above, versus unleashing his violent temper to terrify and harm him. Making sure that balance was so close to 50/50 that it would leave a child very confused. So confused he would rather believe he's never good enough rather than the more frightening prospect that his so-called family does not actually love him at all.

Hunter will have a moment now and then of still missing the 'niceness' that his 'uncle' showed towards him (felt in his heart and subconscious), while still knowing (in his head, rationally) that Philip was not genuine when treating him that way.

To note though, he did not witness Belos's death which reduces the severity of intrusive images that the poor kid would see in his mind.

What I'm worried about is how he'll handle the news about the grimwalker graveyard, since I'm sure that location is going to be scoured and Darius would want to give his mentor a proper sending off. They'd want to give all the Golden Guards and Caleb a sending off and pay their respects. This might add to what I suspect will be the messed up depression he'll fall into.

It will be very confusing and emotionally disorienting, literally not needing to worry about anyone killing him anymore. He has had no point of reference for this in his life at all. It might possibly the furthest he ever goes from that primal survival instinct he had while living in the Castle for so long, which took up the majority of his life so far:

There will also be the added layer of how he feels about those first emotions. This is literally a concept called Feelings About Feelings and it's a key part of my work since I use the Satir Model in my style of counselling. We don't just feel emotions, we also tack on our own judgments and evaluations about them. E.g. shame about feeling anger, guilt about feeling sad because of burdening others, or even a combination like fear about feeling joy which can show up in healing from bereavement.

Depending on how we feel about whichever emotions got there first, it makes a difference because we could be adding or subtracting unnecessary suffering from the first emotion, especially if the first emotion is an already unpleasant one.

I have a feeling that we'd see Hunter look very very tired, till he makes breakthroughs in therapy. A tiredness that sleep, a healthy diet and exercise alone simply cannot fix. Because there's an entire upbringing in the Emperor's Coven to sort through in his head, this time not combined with the avoidance of having fled to the human realm and living under one roof with his friends.

The Hexsquad are not living under the same roof anymore, they are reunited with their own families with much to emotionally talk out, and the group no longer has a very urgent single collective mission. Sure, Hunter has an active role to play in rebuilding the Isles, but what about rebuilding his very self? He has the steepest climb, because we have seen the symptoms he exhibits.

Most of all, referencing a section of my Retraumatization and Self-Soothing (Part 1) meta (link), a memory as horrible as this:

will likely be the most intrusive image is going to be replaying again and again over the months to come, and it may flood his thoughts during moments of being triggered or even out of nowhere during quiet moments for no apparent reason. It will be just like a broken record, where the same small excerpt of a song loops endlessly until the needle of the gramophone is repositioned.

It was remarkably poignant that his final words to Belos were "And most of all, I'm going to make sure you never hurt anyone again", and I'm happy with the story keeping it this way and understand why the writers likely made this decision - not just because the season was shortened. Hunter did not need to directly see or hear more from Belos in close quarters, not after his abuser minimized his needs for years, gaslit him, possessed him and got him to murder his best friend with his own hands.

It's more straightforward to make sure someone else isn't hurting anyone. It's easier to think of what plans to implement, when it comes to him protecting others: which he has had plenty of practice with. Because those are practical methods that we can see in action on the outside.

But here's the kicker: what about applying that last grand statement from his TTT speech to himself, emotionally: making sure he isn't psychologically hurting himself with harmful unhelpful thoughts and beliefs, after Belos's death? "I'll make sure I don't hurt myself (and by extension, my loved ones) again".

This will be very new to him, and it is a theme that I handle in pretty much every client case in my therapy work. The client's self-dialogue, the self-compassion or lack thereof. Which, in real life, is often not a concept that our own families and schools introduce to us to be familiar with.

For Hunter, this may translate into him making the decision to get help and truly accepting the gift of life that Flapjack gave him.

Basically this on a much bigger scale:

whereby in Flapjack's absence, he can truly believe in this new and positive fundamental belief about himself. The evidence that he managed to make it to that heartbreaking but incredibly beautiful place is pretty strong:

But before his happy ending, the pressure on himself to be useful to others via helping and working is likely going to come back and be used as his way of coping, and there's a chance it will cross the line into becoming a form of self-harm that he's relying on to avoid the frightening, deeper emotional pain. People around him know him well enough that they'll be able to spot his behavioral changes and then sense he is not going in a helpful direction. They'll see that it's hurting him even though it's the most familiar territory for his mind to be in, and someone is going to tell him to change that.

He's going to be seeing his friends with their palismen. How will it be like being among them, even if they are pretty good at supporting him? How would he attempt to make sense of the void that is the absence of the incredible love he experienced from that first friend, the absence of that mental link between witch and palisman?

What emotions could be lurking beneath the surface? Believe it or not, there are some signs from Luz's nightmare even though yes, Hunter was being controlled by The Collector. I wouldn't quickly dismiss this dark Flapjack-related scene as 100% being about The Collector's goal to scare Luz in the nightmare.

I think there was a smaller subplot going on as well.

The Collector needed material to work with in the first place, to perform the puppet acts: the material was whatever fears and whatever pain was already there in their targets.

The Collector didn't create Hunter's emotions from scratch for the puppet act; instead he manipulated and redirected what existed at the base level. All this wouldn't work as analogies of mental illness vs. mental health if The Collector could just engineer emotions on their own and simply replace whatever his puppet targets were already feeling. Emotions never vanish and always take up space somewhere, they are redirected, transformed or channeled into outlets even if it means they become repressed or locked away. But they never stop existing.

I have a feeling that despite the nightmare being Luz's, despite Hunter being used as an instrument for The Collector to achieve their goals...the pre-existing emotions that Hunter himself felt in his body, not puppet!Hunter's verbal responses towards Luz, were true. He is a haunted boi.

This face he makes above might be a hint at the worst of his pain. It might be the furthest he has felt from when he said "I like who I am right now" to Flapjack. In the place of that confidence from before, there might now be his own version of Luz's "I'm as bad as Belos". I cannot be entirely certain, but the negative belief that may have taken root in him could be "I am not deserving of the life Flapjack gave me".

Interestingly, if this is the case, it could easily parallel his line from all the way back in Any Sport in A Storm: "I'm unfit to wear the sigil of the Golden Guard." It's definitely a possibility, since Hunter is now faced with having a lot of time and space now, and less urgency than he's ever had in his life, to think back on all those times he helped to further Belos's cause. Especially when it came to sending many palismen to their deaths.

With his own palisman now dead, the engraving we would eventually see on Flapjack's grave: "Thank you for finding me", would be the destination. But the journey needed to reach that destination of amazing gratitude in the first place...must have been a harrowing one. In the early months of the acute grief, it would've been more like "Why did you have to find me?! You shouldn't have. Then none of this would've happened". Not forgetting the number of times Hunter has replayed in his head what he could've done differently, trying so desperately to rewind the clock and make that better alternate timeline a reality.

If you remove The Collector and even Luz from the equation in the Luz nightmare scene, Hunter may well be having such responses - the ones that puppet!Hunter directed at Luz to blame Luz - as a dialogue with himself. He might direct those negative emotions towards himself since he's so careful about hurting others and has taken on unfair punishment for so much of his life.

Even when he was temporarily himself, smiling, expressing a positive emotion to encourage Luz with "What's the first thing you do when you wake up from a bad dream?", that was him conversing with another person, someone external. Not his own self. I am willing to bet he wasn't at a point in his arc where he would smile at himself like that and easily encourage himself in the same way.

While we can be certain he had already reached his breakthroughs by the time we saw him post-timeskip, he has not experienced them yet in the frame above. He has not felt (yet) what Luz felt onscreen when she had breakthroughs in relation to her moral injury:

Taking a leap of faith to accept the Titan's gift, to trust that he chose her because she has a good heart and will never be Belos.

Then later, being able to stand firm, believing she truly is good ("I am the Good Witch Luz!"), and not uttering a word to Belos as he died - which was post-traumatic growth beyond how she broke down under his threats and manipulation towards the end of Hollow Mind and later in King's Tide.

Recap time. In the (quite likely) long period that passes by before we meet his new palismen, he's likely going to want to jump into action and attend meetings with Darius, Eberwolf and co, help to physically rebuild things and organize people with his own Coven Head experience. Leaning back on the ingrained and familiar lifestyle of pouring himself into work and gearing towards burnout is certainly a risk to watch out for.

The Hexsquad, CATTs and the Clawthorne sisters are going to notice his behavior and likely urge him to get appropriate rest and seek help.

However, there is the other extreme: Belos isn't around anymore to torment him, and Hunter would know this in the rational sense (head knowledge). Which leads to the possibility that he may swing towards shutting down as opposed to overworking tendencies. He would feel allowed to do whatever he wants, in this new Boiling Isles, and he had months of opportunities to do that in the early part of Thanks to Them before Belos's return.

What I'm getting at is, if he didn't sleep enough before, he might swing towards sleeping too much after finally collapsing from the familiarity of survival mode into unknown but genuinely safe territory. If he cared too much about helping others before, he might swing towards a depressive state of apathy (the closest canon reference point would be him digging his grave: he was very disarmed in that scene to even think much about helping anyone including Belos). This is why the screenshot I used of his smile drooping in The Collector's Palace, feels like a big clue to me. This would be where Darius, Camila and other adults have to seriously keep watch over him.

In the Cinema Therapy episode I had as a small reference for this post, the licensed therapist who hosts the series mentions that "It takes a lot longer to put oneself back together than it took to fall apart." In Hunter's case, the "falling apart" period here refers to that collapsing I mentioned. It would be the time between:

1. the grief hitting him in full force: when he subconsciously understands and acknowledges that Flapjack isn't coming back (which...will involve hell of a lot of wailing and sobbing. Him having a full version cry of those first few tears he shed at the end of TTT),

and

2. the time when the painful shock from feeling the full force of the grief has decreased enough that it plateaus.

This falling apart stage may need to pass before he seeks therapy. If he tries going for sessions while still going through that shock and pain, it might be too much for him.

As terrible and sad as it sounds, a deep dark spiral like this might be necessary. It would be his body and mind wanting to compensate for several years' worth of unnatural hypervigilance which wasn't serving him in a advantageous way (i.e. surviving) any longer. His body and mind begging for rest at last, to try and make sense of everything that happened. This big collapse into depression would empty out the old and free up much room in him for new stories, beliefs and perspectives to take root. Depression is, after all, the body's attempt to (maladaptively) try and protect us by numbing us, or else we would be overwhelmed.

As someone whom we know keeps himself very busy, this could be the period where he is the furthest he has ever been from that old simpler life. Because his CPTSD-ridden body would be demanding more than ever that he compensates for a childhood and teen years' lack of general rest, he may not even have the strength to cope the way he did before. The only way he might possibly cope in this period is to go with the flow of that raging current and do exactly what his body is asking of him: getting real rest.

Like what happened with Katniss in the Hunger Games trilogy, this early grieving stage would emotionally be difficult and terrifying, like walking along a tightrope, finding balance between left and right to angle yourself as straightly as possible and walk forward. (the tightrope metaphor is what I use with some of my clients to explain swinging between extremes of coping mechanisms).

The missing pieces of the puzzle in his arc, in the 4-year duration before the timeskip, might be his own version of these points in Luz's arc:

where she sank lower before she realized her deepest wish and emotionally experienced her worst fear in her Watching and Dreaming nightmare.

For Hunter, these could look like the following:

Like Luz saying it'd be better for everyone that she permanently stays in the human realm, Hunter might say he wants to remove himself from his loved ones in some way, for good. Whether a literal suicide attempt (like Katniss from The Hunger Games) or not, I can't say for sure.

A parental figure trying to reach out to him, saying he is deserving of Flapjack's gift. But he still struggles to believe that. What matters though is this parental figure is present and he's not pushing them away.

Him hearing some confirmation of his deepest negative belief about himself, in his own nightmares. Like Luz hearing the most terrifying things she could ever hear - Amity's "You've been the real villain this whole time" and "But for the sake of everyone you hurt, I challenge you to a witch's [duel]".

Him being able to reach an emotional space where he can begin to question that unhelpful belief: "Am I really deserving of Flapjack's gift?", or something similar.

The big moment when he finally tells someone how he really feels about the possession, Belos's death, Flapjack's absence in this new supposed peace and quiet....this would be the important invitation for the other person to connect and meet his emotional needs, and is a lot like how support groups for addiction work: a client needs to acknowledge that they are struggling with a problem, not avoiding it with distractions any longer, and then seek help and express their need for said help.

I suppose the question is how soon Hunter might decide to accept professional help and give it a go: or whether he'd have the genuine need for space first and say "I need some time". Because one's rational mind can be ready to go for therapy, but their subconscious and body would find it too unpleasant if it's too soon. Every part of him would have to be ready to begin putting himself back together after the falling apart stage occurs.

The messed up experience of CPTSD is that you stay shockingly calm during real danger, but on the flip side have big, disproportionate freakouts during actually safe times. Compare how calm Hunter was when he smiled at Luz in her nightmare while he was tied up with puppet strings vs. his fear and shame when he couldn't save Luz in Clouds on the Horizon. 

In a CPTSD memoir I read, the author describes that it was horribly frightening to hear her partner be in a bad mood and wash the dishes more loudly than usual, while during the pandemic, she felt completely calm seeing empty shelves in a supermarket when she struggled to get supplies.

From my own experience, I have experienced being pretty damn calm when bleeding out and needing hospitalization. But in a different year before that, I recall one afternoon alone in my house right before a vacation where a strong gust of wind very loudly slammed an open door shut next to where I happened to be standing, and I broke down sobbing from a retraumatization via an emotional flashback. Because it felt extremely real as if my abusive parent was lashing out to physically hurt me. 

After a 5-year period of mostly being in talk therapy, and then a 2-year period of regularly scheduled EMDR therapy, my response if I have a door loudly slam shut near me now would maybe be a smaller-scale flinch and a flash of anger that would last about maybe a minute. Which is miles better than sobbing for half an hour and being dissociated and frozen in a memory for hours before I thaw out of that flashback.

Since the show's writing is just that good, I could look at Luz's depressive symptoms manifesting in Thanks to Them and see a likely parallel in Hunter's story moving forward, since we know how much this show also digs neat and tidy parallels. These are characters written for TV after all, so they'd have to fit a formula to an extent, to have compelling arcs and reach high and low points along said arcs.

Part 2: Therapy Itself

Part 1 was the setup to give a good amount of context: now for the technicalities of the therapy sessions themselves:

Like Adrian Graye said in Labyrinth Runners, Illusion Magic can sort through memories. We have seen from Gus's own powerful Illusion abilities that he could do so with Belos. It makes sense that a therapist does this in sessions to have a magnified version of how in our world, therapists exercise empathy by imagining what it is like to be their clients:

I would monitor whether his mood (what he is feeling within) and affect (how the emotions appear on the outside e.g. tone of voice, face expressions) are congruent. Congruence usually means a client is in less distress. Incongruence might mean they are in so much pain that they can't connect directly with the main emotion: the perfect example of this being Hunter laughing when digging his grave.

We therapists take note of aspects such as affect, mood, the client's motor activity, any indicators of psychosis, even down to things like how untidy their hair looks in case we get clues about the severity of their issues (this is called a Mental Status Exam, and we write what we see in our case notes per session).

Because CPTSD is so relationship-centric, I'd discuss how he's getting along with new parental figures (the Belos replacements who will heal him so much and change his life forever!) and friends.

If the Boiling Isles therapists use their own equivalent of EMDR therapy, which is theorized to be like a waking version of how REM sleep and REM-related dreams help our brains to sort through memories, it sounds like a great fit for his case. This intervention involves subconscious work and could help him reshape how he experiences memories of Flapjack and Belos. EMDR clients are expected to see vivid images popping up without control in their mind during the sessions, and they are quite symbolic e.g. seeing a grey sky often indicates grief, seeing lighter colors indicates more calm. This technique helps a client's subconscious rewrite their story the way they'd like it to be, and install new positive beliefs and emotions over time.

My own example of EMDR experiences from the second half of 2019 as a client, is it majorly changed how I related to my own abuser, got me to finally feel allowed to emotionally break away from her, even though she is still alive and even lives in the same building.

In the early sessions, I saw an image of my 5-year-old self being forced to wear an ugly grey apron that my abuser used for baking. The apron is a real object, not fictional, and the emotions I felt showing up were matching with the image: feeling very uncomfortable seeing a visual representation of my abuser's hold over me.

But in a later session after a few months, guided by my therapist, I saw a vivid image of my abuser receiving a sea burial. She was lying peacefully on the water surface and sank down until she was gone. That was me subconsciously burying any expectation that she could ever provide what I needed. This was so powerful that I could go home after that session and permanently (so far) be significantly calmer around my abuser.

Therefore if Hunter goes through something like this, he'd potentially be able to put Belos to rest and have it feel very real and true: and have significantly reduced distress about Belos-related memories. There is the potential for powerful breakthroughs for him here, especially also related to Flapjack's death and how challenging it might be to carve palismen in the beginning. Especially since in the worst case scenario, even touching palistrom wood might be enough to badly trigger him. I cover this particular point a bit more in my other meta, Retraumatization and Self-Soothing (Part 1).

We would also be discussing what he's implementing into his routine and what may benefit him. I would be seeing if he is able to laugh about things, be motivated enough to be outdoors and among people, experience pleasure when creating new things, and form closer bonds with parental figures (what I just listed is to do with neurotransmitters in the brain that increase mental health: serotonin, endorphins, dopamine and oxytocin).

If I were his therapist I might suggest that whatever volunteering tasks he does, he carries those out with his friends, and time should be allocated to managing and taking care of a specific demographic: children. Because I think it'd be a safe, low stakes form of unfamiliarity for him to have enough emotional distance from his traumatic memories. Early months of acute grief usually require such emotional distance.

Having a good dose of an environment like that alongside the other tasks where he's working alongside Darius etc, could help him because kids' emotions are less complex, and their infectious laughter and fun-loving nature may play a role in helping him be more open with his own inner child. His therapist would be seeking to draw out that inner child in their sessions, and that little child would need to feel safe enough to emerge.

Importantly, his future palisman: it would've been interesting if he did what Luz did with Stringbean and allowed the palisman to be whoever they wanted to be...that would've been a nicely organic process. But even if he had a good idea to incorporate a Flapjack-like design but change details like the color, I'm sure he thought it through very well. I'm certain that this was a major topic of discussion at some stage of his therapy. Discussing the guilt he'd feel about replacing Flapjack vs. still taking Flapjack with him in a new way.

Coming from a strengths-based angle: paying attention to which of his individual strengths he is shows and recounts in the session. If he needs reminding, I could give him a simple worksheet listing various positive qualities and ask him to circle/colour in which ones he feels he has, which then prompts further discussion and questions. Lastly, a powerful tool called reframing e.g. if he says he's worried about being a nuisance to his friends, I'll point out how much he cares about their comfort and affirm that place of kindness.

Work on inviting self-compassion into how he sees himself. Is he able to view himself the way he views his friends? If he remembers the encouragement he gave to Luz about "turning on the light", I would ask him what that would look like in his own life, symbolically.

Hunter's own life has been a really really bad dream for a very long time. He himself has to reach for that light switch and choose to heal by embracing Flapjack's ultimate gift to him.

And we can rest assured that Hunter did that.

Because this post-traumatic growth right here?

This looks like multiple breakthroughs have taken place while he's been receiving consistent care from an excellent community. And there's no way it was an easily won victory. It has been very much hard-won, after how dark the story became in Hollow Mind and Thanks to Them, and it looks like whatever breakthroughs he had left him pleasantly surprised.

It doesn't seem like his heart and soul can contain this much joy and hope, without a very painful dismantling to have taken place first, to make room for the most unexpected treasures to fill his life back up.

The joy becomes even greater if you never would've expected it in your wildest dreams.

[softspace-fics]

Hiii so I just went through kinda a mental health crisis today (VERY long story short I'm at my grandma's house cuz I swallowed sum I wasn't supposed to but I'm okay now my throat just feels icky) you absolutely 100% do not (REPEAT DO NOT) need to do this request at all you can ignore it cuz ik it's uncomfortable what im about to ask (im sorry in advance if you are uncomfy I get it)

Could you possibly write a little while they're big try to hurt themselves and can't get into littlespace and to embarrassed about feeling like hurting themselves to talk about it with someone I honestly don't care with who but I've been on a Wade and Bucky kick recently

Like I said you can ignore this your writing just so comforting and amazing and I want to feel more of that thank you for listening

I hope you have an amazing day, and if you're not, I hope it gets better

You mean to much.

A/N - I genuinely took awhile to make this because I wanted to be as inclusive as possible, but I think I related this to myself a little too close. I hope you all enjoy, and understand that if you ever need someone I'm here. Your never alone in your fight. If you ever need someone please contact your suicide hotline. You don't need to fight alone. To anon I hope your feeling better and this story helps you in the way you need, I'm sorry you went through what you did.

Masterlist - all my work!

Warnings ⚠️: Depressive episode, thoughts of self harm, negative thoughts, overwhelmed reader, reader thinks about leaving bucky, tears, bucky cries for a min, reader breakdown, please let me know if I missed any!

Please read with caution.

Bucky Barnes x GN!little reader

________________

Today sucked. The entire day even before you woke was a nightmare. You had woken up at 5am from a grueling nightmare that made you not want to even attempt to go back to sleep. Getting up, you even attempted to make your own food before that enviably failed too. You got dressed into outerwear but decided after the third attempt of trying to get your shoes on, that it was just not worth trying to try your luck outside.

So you didn’t. You attempted to do some of your hobbies, but even those weren’t appealing to you at the moment and seeing that you caregiver was out, you decided to take a bath. You hoped that the ability to chill in the tub and maybe watch a show would help get your brain to decide to actually function.

What a bad idea that was though. You ended up just staring at yourself in the mirror for a unknown amount of time, nitpicking every mark, scratch, unbalanced feature, and anything else your brain could make you decide to hate.

You viewed how your body was different than those around you, how it could be seen as so very wrong for you to be with Bucky. How did you even end up with a super soldier like him? Did you put a spell on him? Was he playing your feelings?

Maybe if you changed yourself he’d be better off? There’s no way he misses the looks you two get when you go in public. Who knows how the avengers feel about you? Bucky could get anyone he ever wanted and he settled on you.

The thoughts began to cloud your mind, and the urges to mutate your own body starts to completely black out any rational thoughts your brain was trying to give you. However, no matter how bad these thoughts were trying to get you, you couldn’t break the promises that you and Bucky had made previously.

This wasn’t the first time you had one of these bad days, where everything was trying to push you over the edge. The last time you had one of these days though you gave into the urges, and this meant that Bucky found out. He saw the long sleeves on a 100+ day and something told him to check in on you.

When he did, he found out about your scars, and your fresh wounds. This was early on in your relationship and you were worried you were about to scare him off, that’s as until he pulled you into his arms and a few stray tears rolled down his face as he reassured you that you were the most beautiful human being in the multiverse.

He begged you to tell him if these days ever happened where the world had everything against you. He begged for you to throw away the things that you would harm yourself with, and in which you did, you threw out the things your brain would make you use, and you told him you’d try to tell him if these days happened.

You wanted to, you really did, but you couldn’t fathom bothering him on a day where he had numerous meetings and a day that he was going to spend hanging out with his best friend. Why in the world would you pile more problems onto his plate?

You eventually pulled yourself from the mirror, walking over to the couch and curling into the corner of it. You pulled a blanket off the back of the couch, tears streaming down your face, and tried to just sleep off the icky feelings.

As you laid there, crying quietly, your regression decided to say hello. The baby’s brain didn’t understand why it felt the way it did. It wasn’t sure why it felt as if their dada shouldn't love them anymore, why was he going to be better off without them? Was he truly going to be?

You woke up a few hours later, to the shuffling of you onto something new, as if something- someone, was picking you up. The scent gave away the person almost immediately, and you almost completely subconsciously grabbed onto him.

“Dada?” You mumbled quietly, your eyes opening to your worried caregivers face.

“Baby? Why were you crying?” You feel Bucky softly attempt to wipe off the dried tears, bouncing you softly, concern lacing every fiber of his being.

You look away solemnly, your mind beginning to remind you how you weren’t good enough for him. the clouded judgment of others remaining in your own little mind.

In hopes he’d drop the topic, you shook your head and hid your face in his neck, clinging to him even more. This only heightened his worry as he held you tighter, closer, and even more protectively.

“Baby please, your worrying me.” He mumbles softly into your hair, kissing it before resting his forehead against the top of your head.

He had a feeling it was a bad day for you, and he was so worried you hadn’t been able to feel like calling him to help, what if you had done something? What if he couldn’t have stopped you? What’s if he let you down just like everyone else?

The sounds of your tears came through the broken explanation of the day you had and you did your best to tell him that you’d be okay if he left you. All that he did when he heard you say that was hold onto you tighter and closer. He just mumbled gentle no’s and a silent sigh of relief when you said you couldn’t do it because you didn’t want to break your promises.

Bucky slowly walked over to your nursery, sitting down in the rocking chair that he had made so that you and him could comfortably sit and he could care for you. He softly pulled you from your hiding spot in his neck, where his neck and shirt were soaked with tears.

“Never, ever believe that I’d need anyone but you. I don't care what people think or say, you saved me and that means that when theses days happen id do anything to save you too. It’s perfectly okay to have these thoughts, and its okay to ask for help. Everyone needs a little help sometimes, that’s why I’m here yeah? Never do you have to go through these big emotions alone anymore okay? That’s why I’m here. I promise not one thing you say will ever change my mind, or change how I feel about being your dada. You're too perfect for me. Your not alone.”

He firmly and calmly talks you, just above a whisper, as if he was worried the walls would hear how much his hearted ached for you, and use it against him. You meant the world to Bucky, and his heart broke knowing that you felt this way.

The only thing you could muster through the walls of regression, and the emotional overboard was a nod before dragging him back into you and your face going back right where it was.

Bucky didn’t let you go for about 3 days, he didn’t leave the house, even though he was supposed to be going somewhere for work, he called and told them he wouldn’t be there. He spent days making sure that you were safe and sound, and knew how much he truely loved you. He helped in whatever way he could to make you realize how much you meant to him.

[theforgottenmcrmy]

Second Sons (Ser Harwin Strong x Reader)

᯽ Please note that this is an overall Part 25 to the series Growing Strong. The masterlist, and part 1, can be found HERE ᯽

Pairing: Ser Harwin Strong x Tyrell! Female Reader

Warnings: GOT typical sexism, canon divergence, a couple curses, canon typical violence, canonical character death, a couple people rip off Olenna Tyrell's lines because she's an icon

Summary:

A short flight, and he would return to his mother. To his siblings, except for Jace, who was hopefully safe and probably still in the Vale. To his cousins, and his betrothed. To his friends. And to the man who had offered him more fatherly guidance than probably any other had in his life, regardless of the personal cost to himself.

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy reading this one as much as I did writing it. I have one more tentative part planned to connect the events of s1 to s2, but depending on how episode 1 on Sunday plays out, I may tie it into the plot of that episode. I'm not sure yet if I'll keep writing this story into s2 while its airing, or wait until after it's out. But if I do end up waiting until it's out in its entirety, I can almost guarantee I'll at least have one shots or related hand canons posted since those are fairly easier to whip up.

Prince Daemon Targaryen was well on his way to speak with the dragonkeepers to ensure Caraxes was adequately prepared for a flight to Riverlands.

The queen had yet to grant him her permission to depart Dragonstone- as Maester Gerardys had so kindly informed him the day prior - but her lack of approval would not change the inevitable. The Riverlands were essential territory to the war that was all but upon them, and Prince Daemon was of the belief that the arrival of a dragon upon his doorstep would be most efficient in swaying Lord Grover Tully to remember his oath.

The same notion had sent the eldest Velaryon princes, Crown Prince Jacaerys and Prince Lucerys, to the Eerie, then the North, and to Storms End respectively. The princes, and their dragons, had left Dragonstone the evening prior. As Daemon strode through the halls of his family’s ancestral keep, shadows from the rising sun filtered in from windows throughout. It was near midday, and not a word had been received yet from either prince.

Fortunately, not enough time had passed for such a fact to become a concern, even for Rhaenyra. Jacaerys, if he’d been wise, would have flown on Vermax to Claw Isle, where the loyal Lord Bartimos Celtigar’s household would have offered him shelter for the evening, before braving the rest of the flight to the Eerie the next day. Any raven he might have sent the evening prior would not have been received so soon. The same could be said for Lucerys, who had most likely been taken in by Lord Borros Baratheon and treated to a feast that would have lasted well into the night.

Prince Daemon - or was he Prince Consort now? - did not know exactly what compelled him to travel through Dragonstone’s training yard on his way to speak with the dragonkeepers. Perhaps it was the dreadful reminder in the back of his mind that once his business was finished with them, he was expected to return to the Chamber of the Painted Table, to the grueling politics that did not cease despite the Velaryon princes’ departure.

But what Prince Consort Daemon Targaryen did know was that Dark Sister hung heavy at his side with every step he took. The blade sang to him, even now, calling for the spilling of blood. Green blood. It had been quite some time since Daemon felt drawn to the alluring chaos and thrill of battle. The past few years on Dragonstone had been some of the most peaceful years of his life. Perhaps he might have grown content with such tranquility, given his rather tumultuous youth. But all thoughts of that had been swiftly set aside upon the slaying of his brother - most likely by the efforts of that scheming Hightower bitch of a queen - and the loss of another daughter.

The precious life lost was the first casualty of the Green’s treason, and was not likely to be the last. But for their Visenya, for Viserys, Prince Daemon would see all of the Hightowers to a just end. And, if said ends occurred between Caraxes’ maw, or by the sweep of Dark Sister, all the better.

Given the time of day, Prince Daemon had not expected the Dragonstone’s training yard to be occupied. If he had, he might have chosen another route to achieve his means. But as he entered the cavernous room, the familiar sound of a blade meeting a stiff bag of hay filled his ears. The usual guards, a pair each, posted by the entrances on either side of the room watched in silence as a lone figure sparred with a training dummy in the middle of the yard.

The young Lord Selwin Tyrell-Strong wielded not a wooden practice sword, but a real one. Each slice that tore through the air resulted in straw leaking from the dummy and drifting slowly to the floor.

Prince Daemon knew he ought to have ignored the boy and continued on his way, but something gave him pause. He watched with scrutiny as the young lord, who was so focused he had yet to become aware of the prince’s arrival, went through his motions. The confident, smooth movements, a varying but ultimately repeating set of strikes and blocking imaginary blows, were clearly more muscle memory than any conscious thought. The preciseness of the strikes, despite the target being stationary, were decently placed and well informed, the lordling having aimed for weak spots that would exist in an opponent's armor, and, of course, the heart. It was apparent that Lord Strong and whatever various masters at arms had instructed the boy thoroughly.

Though there was still room for improvement, even Prince Daemon was forced to admit the boy held decent promise, particularly for his age. Perhaps the bold show at dinner two nights past was not merely an isolated spectacle at all, but rather an indication of something more.

But Prince Daemon was wise enough not to always speak the thoughts that came to his mind. He had no duty to compliment the boy’s form, and certainly no desire to inflate a young lord’s ego.

So instead, Prince Daemon called out, “You seem to be in the wrong place, My Lord.”

With a small jump, Selwin halted his movements at once. To his credit, his grip on the blade remained firm as he slowly brought it down to his side. “My Prince?”

Daemon walked towards him slowly. His gaze was appraising as the young lord turned to him as he approached.

“I am told many of our guests are in the Chamber of the Painted Table, undoubtedly eager to take advantage of every moment they can obtain with our new queen,” Daemon explained simply.

Selwin took a steadying breath, visibly regaining composure from the exercise. “I shall leave them to it, then.”

Daemon’s brows raised. “You are not one for politics?”

“If I need to be,” the boy answered carefully, his focus flitting back to the training dummy.

“But it is not what compels you to rise for the day.”

It was not a question, but still, Selwin answered.

“That has always been my mother’s area of expertise. And my brother Derrik is a far better student of hers in that subject than I could ever hope to be.”

Daemon did not fail to notice how Harwin Strong went unmentioned. The Lord of Harrenhal might have been born to inherit it, but Daemon knew Harwin had little desire for ruling and even less patience for courtly designs. Harwin Strong was Lord of Harrenhal solely because his honor and sense of duty bound him to be. Daemon Targaryen enjoyed the luxuries his title and residence at court had brought him, but even he could not deny that, at some level, he and Lord Harwin Strong were cut of the same cloth. They were men both far more at ease in the training yard, if not the battlefield, then in a ballroom gallivanting about solely for society’s amusement.

And as Prince Daemon sized up the Lord of Harrenhal’s youngest son before him, he surmised that perhaps the apple had not fallen far from the tree.

“Ah yes, Derrik Strong- your late uncle’s namesake.” However, Daemon had spoken his truth at the dinner two evenings past: it truly was younger, not the older, of the Tyrell-Strong boys that resembled their late uncle, Ser Derron Tyrell. Unable to refuse the urge, Daemon gently goaded, “Our queen, on the word of your mother Lady Tyrell, I am sure, has told me he is quite intelligent for his age.”

Selwin said nothing.

“It must be heard, living in his shadow,” Prince Daemon prodded.

Lifting his sword, as though to inspect the blade, Selwin refused to take the bait. “I do not believe that I do. We are merely… different. We possess different strengths. He is more knowledgeable about court and politics, and I am more comfortable here, training.”

“But it is said that you are to inherit either Higharden or Harrenhal someday- and your brother is to inherit the other. You will rule somewhere, someday.” They might not have been the Iron Throne, but neither of the boy’s potential inheritances were anything to scoff at.

“Then I shall. It is my duty, and I will endure it, as my father does.”

Daemon did not doubt that. The Strong sense of stubbornness runs true. “And what if your brother challenges your succession?” he posed then. “He could, as you well know. Regardless of what Lady Tyrell and Lord Strong have decided, he is the eldest. When your mother and father are gone, by all laws of the land, he could pursue both seats of power, and the realm at large would not find fault in him for doing so.”

“I do not believe Derrik would go against our parents wishes,” the young lord asserted calmly. He lowered his blade once more, and fully turned to the prince. As Selwin met the Rogue Prince’s critical eye, his jaw tightened. “But even so, if that is what my brother desires, I would not stand in his way.”

“You would truly stand aside?”

“He is my brother, Your Highness. I would sooner fall on my own sword than willingly spill his blood.”

“You care for him.”

Selwin repeated, “He is my brother, Your Highness.”

They were seemingly at an impasse in the conversation, and yet, Prince Daemon felt surprisingly satisfied with the boy’s response. A few moments of silence passed between them, the Rogue Prince looking upon the youngest Tyrell-Strpng boy thoughtfully.

Eventually, Prince Daemon recalled what he had originally set out to do. The dragonkeepers would start to wonder where he was, even if they didn’t dare to ask after him.

So Daemon conceded, “Very well then, My Lord. I shall leave you to your practice now.”

Selwin bowed his head, but said nothing in response to his departure.

Prince Daemon turned to continue on his way, but hesitated. Quietly, so as not to be overheard by the guards dutifully keeping watch, he advised, “Mind your stature while blocking. Your left flank is a bit too exposed- you might stave off your opponent's blade, but anyone with merely half their wits about them will take advantage of it and deal you a nasty blow to the ribs.”

Selwin nodded appreciatively.

Prince Daemon finally did as he had announced, and continued across the yard. Not bothering to turn his head entirely, he called back to the young lord some final parting advice.

“Do keep practicing though, Lordling. One never knows when they may be called upon to lift a sword for their queen."

Lord Larys Strong, recently reaffirmed Master of Whisperers to King Aegon, Second of His Name, unrolled his most recently received correspondence with care.

Faint screaming echoed off the stone halls and walls surrounding him. Such was the consequence of having his office in dungeons of the Red Keep. All prisoners who ended up on this particular floor, the one just below the Black Cells, never rose above it again, but Larys was able to come and go as he pleased. And he would be lying if he denied that he derived a bit of pleasure from the fact.

Of course, he had his living quarters elsewhere, in a more socially acceptable part of the Red Keep. But for his official workspace, he had chosen this.

The King - both Viserys, and then Aegon, thought Larys’s choice of office, which was little more than a rooted out cell with a desk and chair, was rather peculiar. But Larys had been quick to remind each of them that such a location was extremely practical for his profession. And the convenience of being so close to those he was entrusted with wringing out information from, no matter the cost, could not be overstated when considering his physical limitations.

Larys scanned the letter briefly. It was from Harrenhal. Ser Simon Strong was more than happy to heed Larys’s request to provide him information from within the keep’s walls, and to relay information Larys provided to him back to others in return. Slowly, but surely, doubt was being sewed into Harrenhal’s soil. Doubts of its lord, who had been physically absent for years, and doubts of the credibility of the Targaryen princess who the Lord of Harrenhal would undoubtedly support in the upcoming war of succession.

Not too much longer now, and his brother’s steward, Lord Dannis Chambers, might have a mutiny on his hands.

Just as Larys had intended.

Larys smiled to himself as he retrieved some parchment and a fresh quill from the desk drawer. As he penned his response to his uncle’s letter, the candle’s throughout the room flickered.

He could not afford another failure. Not now, with the Hand of the King watching and scrutinizing his every move. 

To say that Lord Otto Hightower had been more than displeased with Larys after Lady Tyrell had failed to be eliminated from the political landscape would be a severe understatement. Not only had Lady Tyrell reunited with Larys’s insufferable brother, her husband Harwin, but the pair had already reached Dragonstone with their children. And from Dragonstone, they had begun to communicate with Harrenhal, Highgarden, and other reliable allies, Larys assumed, to begin coordinating aid for Rhaenyra’s cause.

But now that the cow had been milked, there was no squirting the cream back up its udders. And all Larys could do, and what he had been moderately successful in doing thus far, was mitigating the situation he had found himself in. Controlling what he could control.

That was not a new mantra to him, having been born a crippled second son. He owed the life he currently enjoyed entirely to his particular talent of making the most of what he was given, and using it to his advantage.

Larys faintly heard himself idly humming along as he finished his letter, rolled it up, and sealed it. He set it aside to be sent out by raven the next morning. Then, he reached into the desk drawer and withdrew another piece of parchment.

There were so many relations Larys had to tend to these days. But tend to, he would. The Dowager Queen, the Hand, the new King... It did not matter that Larys was not truly loyal to any one of them, so long as they each believed him to be.

Their belief in him directly correlated to more power. More power meant more control. And what had Larys always exceeded at?

Controlling what he could control.

Sewing seeds of doubt. Cultivating the crops of chaos.

And watching as the realm in the name of Hightower Greens, in the name of the Targaryen Blacks, in the name of whoever found themselves in power- burned.

The humming continued as Larys penned his next correspondence.

To My Dear Cousin, Alys…

“Tell me, Your Highness, what exactly does Vhagar eat?”

Prince Aemond Targaryen credited the countless etiquette lessons his mother subjected him to throughout his youth for his strength in resisting snapping back a sarcastic response.

This one- was it Ella? Elle? …Either way, she was polite with her questioning at least. Shy, almost.

“Whatever she likes,” Aemond replied, giving her a small smile that made the poor girl flush as red as the tomato on her plate. Ellyn, that was her name. “She still enjoys hunting for her own food, on occasion. However, most of the time, I ensure she is provided with only the most exquisite quality of pork and beef.”

For almost three full days, Aemond had been hosted at Storm’s End. He’d allowed himself to be swooned over by the majority of Lord Borros Baratheon’s daughters, all while assuring the Lord of Storm’s End of the heaping rewards he was to receive should he pledge himself to Aegon’s cause. Privately, Aemond was a bit cross at having such a large part of his future- his godsdamned wife- decided for him, but when his mother put the proposal before the small council, he knew he could not, would not, voice his disapproval.

For Aemond was nothing if not a dutiful son. His mother’s lack of empathy for his position, the infuriating care she still held for Rhaenyra, and her insulting unwavering loyalty to his oaf of an older brother aside.

For his mother, Aemond would give up his own choice of a wife. And though he knew in his heart that he deserved nothing less than a true Targaryen for a bride, being a true Targaryen himself, he would settle for a Baratheon girl. For his mother, Aemond would play envoy, remain polite, mind his tongue, and secure Baratheon’s allegiance. For his mother, Aemond might have been willing to give up all semblance of himself, if only to save her and their family.

“Hm,” another of Lord Borros’s daughters, Maris, chimed in, and most unwelcomed at that. “It would seem the dragons eat better than some of the small folk these days.”

Aemond only remembered her name due to the alarmingly large number of times the young woman had managed to vex him thus far.

He bit his tongue. Again. “A sad reality King Aegon wishes to rectify, My Lady.”

Maris’s attention fell back down to her plate. But under her breath, she muttered, “Doubtful.”

Another sister- whose name also escaped Aemond, but he knew her to be the eldest- gave Maris a stern look from across the table. “Maris!” she reprimanded in a hushed voice.

Maris did not look apologetic in the slightest. Instead, she looked rather determined. It was a small wonder where her stubbornness came from, given her sire. “What? ‘Tis true. You know the small folk are always the ones who suffer the greatest when the realm goes to war. Nobility may suffer financial losses, or political standing. But it won’t be us out there, going hungry. Spilling our own blood in the name of others.”

“I will not assume that you plan to grace any battlefield with your presence, My Lady,” Aemond replied, his tone clipped. “But you may rest assured that should my half-sister refuse to acknowledge Aegon as our king, I will meet any army she may gather head on.”

Maris’s eyes hardened. “The odds would be in your favor though, wouldn’t they? Why, what is a thousand men versus the likes of Vhagar?”

“Maris, please,” Ellyn begged her. To Aemond, she inquired sweetly, “All of this talk is futile, is it not, My Prince? Surely there will be no war. Princess Rhaenyra will see reason.”

“We can only hope,” Aemond said placatingly.

Perhaps his half-sister would see reason. But Aemond doubted Rhaenyra to come to terms with her situation whilst Daemon was beside her, filling her head with incendiary thoughts. Even if Rhaenyra yielded to Aegon, Daemon would need to be dealt with.

It was a good thing Aemond was more than up to the task.

“I do hope you are engaging in appropriate topics of conversation with His Highness,” Lord Borros said from the opposite end of the table.

His lordship had been distant, seldom engaging in conversation throughout Aemond’s stay. Nay, it was mostly his daughters and wife that had attempted to get within his good graces. Not to say that Lord Borros had been rude in a sense- but he had not been very welcoming, either. But that was just as well with Aemond; he was not in Storm’s End to make new friendships. He was simply to sway Lord Borros to support Aegon, and to ensure his continued loyalty to the crown, select one of his daughters to be his bride.

“Of course, Father,” the youngest daughter replied quietly.

Aemond did a double take. The girl had said no more than five words in his presence the entire stay thus far. Seldom had she even made eye contact with him.

Her name was Floris, Aemond recalled. Of the four, Lord Borros’s youngest daughter was indisputably the most attractive, a fact of which was obviously a source of pride for Lord Borros. But she was the youngest, not yet flowered. She was rather soft spoken, too. The girl was still innocent to the true nature of the world in which she would be expected to thrive. In a peculiar way, the youngest Baratheon girl reminded Aemond of his sister, Helaena.

Aemond had yet to formally choose which one of the girls was to be his future bride. But he knew he would not be choosing Floris.

“His Highness was merely enlightening us of the many ways King Aegon intends to help the less fortunate in the realm,” Maris shared with her father, smiling sweetly at the man whilst sarcasm dripped with her every word. Once Lord Borros looked appeased, Maris dared to shoot Aemond a challenging smirk.

Aemond would most certainly not be choosing Maris as his bride, either.

Before he could contemplate a witty response, the doors to the dining hall were thrown open hastily. A visibly fatigued servant rushed in.

Lord Borros rose from his seat at once, his dark brows furrowed deeply. He bellowed, “What is the meaning of this?”

“My Lord,” the servant boy bowed. “A visitor just arrived. He is in the courtyard now.”

“A visitor?” Lord Borros echoed, still frowning. “At this hour? Well, who in the Seven Hells is it?”

Though the messenger did not address him, Aemond did not miss the wary glance the boy threw in his direction before he answered his lord.

“Prince Lucerys Velaryon, My Lord. He comes bearing a message from Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.”

…

For his mother, Aemond had agreed to be civil.

But as for himself, Aemond knew he could not let the opportunity before him slip through his fingers. And as the intoxicatingly wicked ideas filled his head as to how he might turn this chain of events in his favor, all thoughts of the Dowager Queen, his sweet sister Helaena, and her young, vulnerable children faded far into the recesses of his mind.

Prince Lucerys Velaryon, newly reaffirmed heir to Driftmark, and future Lord of the Tides, followed the soldiers escorting him though Storm’s End with his back straight, and his head held high.

He knew very well what- who- was waiting for him when he would arrive in whatever hall Lord Borros welcomed him in. The mountain of a dragon lurking beyond Storm’s End upon his arrival with Arrax was enough of an indication of who awaited him inside.

But his mother had sent him to Storm’s End with a purpose, and a message to deliver. He would not let nerves break his composure, nor deter him from his task.

The guards finally parted before him, opening the doors to the hall within. Lucerys clung to his resolve as he stepped forward. Thoughts of his purpose gave him courage, despite his daring to wonder whether Aemond would be the only Targaryen he would soon come face to face with.

Lord Borros Baratheon sat upon the Storm’s End throne up ahead. Various soldiers and nobles lined the room. Closest to Lord Borros were three younger women, who Lucerys assumed could only be his daughters. Amongst them, with long pale hair that contrasted against the waves of dark hair so similar to Lucerys’s own, was his uncle, Aemond.

Aemond, who looked far too smug with Lucerys’s current predicament. It was such a shame that Lucerys did not plan to grant him any further satisfaction from it.

Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled from the windows and ceiling above. But Lucerys pushed onwards, and forced himself to take a few more steps into the room.

“Lord Borros,” Lucerys called to him, “I’ve brought you a message from my mother, the queen.”

Lord Borros’s expression as he beheld him was a rather peculiar one. The lighting was a bit poor in the hall, but Lucerys could have sworn the Lord of Storm’s End looked particularly pale.

However, the words that came out of Lord Borros’s mouth were anything but meek.

“Yet a few days ago, I received an envoy from the king. Which is it? King, or queen? The House of the Dragon does not seem to know who rules it.”

The Lord of Storm’s End found his own joke rather funny. The shoulders of one of his daughters, the fourth one standing beside Aemond, shook with silent laughter. Lucerys did not deem the observation worthy of a response.

“What is your mother’s message?” Lord Borros eventually bid him.

Aemond still smirked at him, but Lucerys refused to meet his eye. Instead, he wordlessly held out his hand. One of the guards who had escorted him stepped forward, grabbed the sealed parchment from his gloved hand, and walked forward towards the throne. He deposited the scroll in Lord Borros’s awaiting hand, but despite the message finally being within his grasp, the recipient still looked frustrated.

“Where’s the bloody maester?!”

An awkward silence filled the air as the maester in question shuffled through the crowd. As he did so, Lucerys took a moment to properly assess Lord Borros Baratheon. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d hoped to find in such an angry face- perhaps a trace of his grandmother, Princess Rhaenys. A familial resemblance was plainly evident in their shared shade of dark brown hair, at the very least. However, there certainly was no shared similarity between Lord Borros and that of his father, Ser Laenor Velaryon. His father had always taken after the Velaryon complexion, and Lucerys could not recall his father frowning enough times for him to deduce whether it resembled Lord Borros’s currently gruff expression.

All the while, he felt Aemond’s eye boring into the side of his face.

The maester had finally appeared and taken the scroll from his lord’s hand. While the maester read over his mother’s message, and subsequently relayed the contents to Lord Borros, Lucerys took the moment to calm his gradually rising nerves.

Lucerys tightened his jaw. What precisely was Aemond hoping to accomplish by staring at him so? He would not be goaded into engaging with him, for nothing beneficial could possibly result from that. Not but a little over a week ago, Jace and his uncles had been unable to make it through a mere family dinner without blows being exchanged.

Lucerys gripped the pommel of his sword with a tightly clenched fist. Granted, it was the same sword that Selwin and Lord Harwin had determined was not the most suitable for him, but it was a sword nonetheless. Lucerys could only pray to the Seven that he would not have cause to draw it- he had promised his mother as much, after all.

The maester excused himself, and it was as though all eyes, even Aemond’s, fell upon the Lord of Storm’s end as they eagerly awaited his reaction.

“Remind me of my father’s oath?” Lord Borros scoffed. “King Aegon at least came with an offer: my swords and banners for a marriage pact.”

That was news to Lucerys, and information he planned to pass on to his mother when he returned to Dragonstone. But he would not let his surprise show.

“My Uncle Aegon has cause to want to buy your allegiance with such a promise, My Lord,” Lucerys replied carefully. “The price of honor is high, but it is always one worth paying.”

Lord Borros scoffed. “Honor… I do not know if your mother can define such a word, boy.”

Lucerys fought the immediate urge to rise to her defense. But Lord Borros’s comment was a peculiar one. Aemond must have thought so too, as he finally tore his eye off of him and looked towards the Lord of Storm’s End inquisitively instead.

“Nevertheless,” Lord Borros continued on, his increasing irritation evident with each word, “Let’s say I do as your mother bids… Which one of my daughters will you marry, boy?”

Lucerys could not bring himself to even steal a glance at the daughters in question as Lord Borros gestured to them. “My Lord, I am not free to marry. I am already betrothed to my cousin Rhaena Velaryon.”

Lord Borros looked over at Aemond. “I’d heard as much… So you come with empty hands?”

Was upholding an oath and maintaining honor not enough motivation to support the realm’s rightful queen? Was loyalty so easily able to be bought?

Lucerys’s gut sank, but he refused to let it show. He might have been young, with plenty still to learn, but he knew a lost cause when he saw one. The atmosphere of the room shifted, churning faster and steadily brewing into a storm.

“Go home, pup. And tell the bitch your mother that the Lord of Storm’s End is not some dog that she can whistle up at need to set against her foes.”

Lucerys’s jaw tightened once more. He managed to ease up on the tension just enough to get out, “I shall take your answer to the queen, My Lord.”

He had turned and taken two steps when another voice called out.

“Wait!”

Lucerys let out a small sigh, but forced himself to turn back around.

“My Lord Strong,” Aemond crooned mockingly at him.

Nearly all rational thoughts fled from him as the insult hit his ears. Lucerys took several steps forward back into the room, but instead of Lord Borros, it was Aemond that he approached.

“The lighting in here is poor, Uncle,” he said to him. “So I will forgive the mistake your remaining good eye has made. But Lord Harwin Strong is far from here, and both of his sons as well.”

One side of Aemond’s lip threatened to curl up into an angry snarl. Unfortunately, he did not yet take the bait. “Did you really think that you could just fly about the realm, trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost?”

“Your brother’s throne?” Lucerys echoed with disbelief. At that moment, he was unsure of whether he held anger or pity for Aemond, who sounded so certain of his brother’s claim to the Iron Throne. “I will not discuss such gross accusations with the likes of you, Uncle, for you can hardly be considered an unbiased party. And I will not fight you. I came as a messenger, not a warrior.”

“A fight would be little challenge. I’d rather you pay the debt you owe me.”

Aemond reached upwards and removed the patch that covered what remained of his left eye. Even with the poor lighting, Lucerys could see the blue gleam of the sapphire that had taken the injured eye's place some years ago. Lowering his hand, Aemond threw his overcoat aside, and unsheathed a dagger from his hip.

“Here is a knife, just as the one you had that night. Put out your eye, and I will let you leave.”

Aemond threw the dagger downwards, and it skittered across the stone floor. It came to a still at the halfway point between him and Lucerys.

“One eye will do,” Aemond prattled on. “I would not blind you. I plan to make a gift of it to my mother, actually.”

Lucerys wasn’t entirely sure whether the Dowager Queen would be pleased with such a gruesome gift. Regardless, his answer to his uncle would have been the same.

“No.”

Aemond’s smirk faltered. “Then you are craven as well as a traitor.”

“Not here,” Lord Borros warned.

Instinct alone forced Lucerys to retreat a few steps backwards when Aemond suddenly stalked towards him.

“Give me your eye, or I will take it, bastard!”

Aemond scooped up the knife he had thrown onto the floor with an obviously practiced ease. With similar swiftness, Lucerys unsheathed the sword at his side, holding it out before him defensively.

“Not in my hall!” Lord Borros roared, rising to his feet. “I want no blood shed beneath my roof. The boy came as an envoy, and he shall leave as one.”

Aemond’s nostril twitched.

To the men who had escorted Lucerys into Storm’s End, Lord Borros commanded, “Take Prince Lucerys back to his dragon. Now.”

As the guards moved about him, Lucerys held Aemond’s eye as long as he dared. Eventually, he relented, sheathing his sword and following the escort out of the hall.

By the time he was returned to the yard, the rain had begun to pour. Arrax, spotting him despite the sheets of water, cried out to him. Lucerys approached him with a determined pace. Once he had reached the dragon, he looked over his shoulder.

Vhagar was nowhere to be seen.

Lucerys closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he turned back to Arrax. As he commanded his mount to remain calm, to focus, and to listen to him, he allowed himself to think of their destination.

It was a short flight back to Dragonstone, just as it had been to Storm’s End. The poor weather, which was not ideal, would most likely add some additional delay to the flight. But if Lucerys remained centered, and if Arrax obeyed him, they would make it back safely.

Lucerys would return back to Dragonstone. He did not know what Lord Borros’s refusal meant for the queen’s cause, but he knew beyond a doubt that his mother would not be angry with him for his failure. If he knew anything at all in those harrowing moments, he at least knew that.

His heart pounded madly, betraying everything he had just asked of Arrax, as he saddled up, and the pair ascended into the stormy sky.

Steam filled Aemond’s eye and ears as he watched Lucerys be escorted out of the hall.

He might have taken the moment to allow himself to recompose, and excuse himself to his guest chambers to clear his head before he did something foolish. He might have taken the high road and walked away, had he not been incensed beyond the brink of sanity by a single childish remark.

A snicker came from beside him.

“Was it one of your eyes he took, or one of your balls?” Maris taunted, raising a mocking brow at him. She shrugged nonchalantly. “I suppose I should be glad you shall be choosing one of my sisters to wed. I want a husband with all his parts.”

A blood red haze carried Aemond out of the hall and into the stormy night.

With a careful hand, and an even more cautious step forward, Selwin opened the door to the library at Dragonstone.

He stuck his head inside the chamber, just past the doorway. He did not dare to breathe as he patiently waited a moment and listened. Nothing but the sounds of the softly flickering flames and the cracking of wood met his ears, until-

A faint crinkle of a page, as a page was turned.

“My Lord?”

Selwin stood up straight, and his eyes were wide as they landed upon the source of the noise.

Lady Rhaena Targaryen, who was seated in a red plush chair beside the flames contained in a rather grand stone-carved fireplace, beheld him with a befuddled expression.

“Lady Rhaena,” Selwin all but blubbered, his cheeks feeling a bit warm from being caught in such a poor state of decorum. “Forgive me, My Lady. The queen granted me permission to peruse the library earlier this afternoon, but I did not anticipate it already being occupied.”

Lady Rhaena’s expression shifted seamlessly from curiosity to one of slight amusement. She gestured vaguely around the room. “No trouble at all, My Lord. ‘Tis hardly as though there is not plenty enough room for the both of us.”

With her blessing, Selwin took another step into the room and allowed himself to fully take it in. It was far grander than he had imagined it to be. Although, that ought not to have been  too surprising. The Tagaryens weren’t exactly known for doing anything on less than a grand scale.  Rows and rows of books and scrolls comprised many aisles, with each aisle running the length of the room on either side. Beyond the shelves, the warm orange rays of the setting sun bled into the room.

In the very center of the room, to his immediate left, was a large stone table. Various books and scrolls were piled atop of it, as though they had been recently browsed, or perhaps were awaiting the return to their respective places upon the surrounding shelves.

Lady Rhaena, who had been watching Selwin with a keen eye, had an open book resting on her palms. Still a few paces away, Selwin could not make out exactly what the contents of the pages pertained to, but he did not believe the words to be of the common tongue.

 “Are you particularly fond of reading, Lord Selwin?” she inquired politely, rising to her feet.

As she moved to approach the table beside him, Selwin suddenly found his boots to be alarmingly intriguing. “Not particularly,” he mumbled. “My older brother is far more inclined to take to scholarly pursuits than I.”

Lady Rhaena placed her book, the pages still open to where she had paused in her reading, upon the stone table. “...But?”

“I must admit, I do enjoy a bit of history, My Lady.”

“Truly?”

At the sound of her genuine surprise, Selwin mustered enough courage to meet Lady Rhaena’s eyes once more and nodded. “Our maester in Highgarden used to tell me all about the histories recorded and housed in the Citadel. And while those sound fascinating, I was always far more interested to hear about the accounts kept here, in Dragonstone. Is it true there are texts here from Old Valyria?”

“A few,” Lady Rhaena confirmed. Her fingers absentmindedly brushed the pages of the open book before her. “Since the queen has given you her permission, you would be more than welcome to read some of them, as well as whatever else you are able to find in here…. However, might I make a recommendation for you to start with?”

“Please do.”

Selwin watched as Lady Rhaena disappeared momentarily down an aisle of shelves on the right hand side of the room. She returned a moment later with another book in her hands. As she resumed her place before the stone table, Selwin turned to mirror her stance.

Lady Rhaena carefully opened the book. Her eyes skimmed the text rather quickly as she turned its pages. Then, she abruptly stopped. As she looked back up at Selwin, she offered him a smile. “Perhaps this may satiate your interest. For a little while, at least.”

Selwin read over the first couple of lines.

… In the year 73 AC, Harrenhal was without a master once more. Queen Rhaena Targaryen, who had resided within its walls for many years, had finally passed, and King Jaehaerys found himself tasked with appointing its new lord. The task proved to be challenging, as the rumors surrounding Harrenhal had only grown in number and validity over time…

“It’s an account from the Old King’s reign, and the events that led to your ancestor, Ser Bywin Strong, being named as the Lord of Harrenhal,” Lady Rhaena explained helpfully.

Selwin tore his eyes away from the page. “Thank you, My Lady. This was a very thoughtful recommendation.”

“I hope you enjoy it. When you are through, you shall have to let me know what you made of it. It was written by Grand Maester Elysar during King Jahaerys’s reign.”

“And it recounts the king’s actions,” Selwin repeated plainly as another thought struck him. “Should this not be kept in the library within the Red Keep?”

Lady Rhaena tilted her head as she glanced back down at the book with a pensive look. “Mayhaps. But the maesters keep so many texts, it would not be possible to keep them all on hand for the king- or queen.”

“A point I did not consider,” Selwin admitted sheepishly. “Besides, ‘tis hard to imagine this accounting holds any particular weight when compared to others of more import.”

Lady Rhaena paused. “I respect your opinion my lord, but I cannot agree with it. House Strong may be young when compared to some of the other houses in Westeros, but there is no foretelling of what may yet come to pass. Perhaps Ser Bywin’s inheritance of Harrenhal is only the first part of what will be the larger history of House Strong… Why, it is said that Lord Harwin is the strongest man in all the Seven Kingdoms. Surely that would at least be of a small note?”

Selwin did not bother to stop his chuckle. Maybe that still rang true. But his father, while still relatively young, had begun to pass what most men considered to be their prime. However, so as to not insult the lady beside him, Selwin acquiesced, “A small note, perhaps.”

“And what of you? Do you not think yourself likely to do anything of note? You are to be the next Lord Strong, or even the next Lord Tyrell, are you not?”

“I do not know.”

Lady Rhaena was particularly perceptive, Selwin would later deduce. “You would let your brother claim the lordships of both your parents’ houses?”

Selwin managed to hold in his chuckle this time. Hadn’t Prince Daemon inquired about exactly the same topic not but a day before? Now that he thought about it, Lady Rhaena, though said to physically resemble her late mother, emulated her father in more ways than one might initially suspect. Selwin believed as much, particularly at that moment; both Rhaena and Daemon had managed to pry thoughts from him he had not been comfortable enough to share with even his own family.

“I do not know,” he repeated once more, feeling a bit foolish and more like his age than he could recall in recent memory.

Most mercifully, Lady Rhaena was not one to take joy in his discomfort. It was not difficult at all for Selwin to believe Lucerys found himself a bit ‘smitten’- as his mother often put it- with his betrothed. Any young man would be, would they be so fortunate to be betrothed to the kind-hearted Rhaena Targaryen.

“What do you know?” she gently prodded.

Selwin refused to meet her eyes. Had he not been so conflicted within himself, he might have been concerned with burning a hole through the text before him with the sheer focus he placed upon it.

“I know that Aegon’s treachery means war is likely to ensue. I have read enough history to know that usurping a throne does not tend to end in peaceful terms, let alone terms in which no blood was spilled at all. I know war is coming, and I know my family is in danger because of it. But I have nothing to offer. My father, as you put it, may be the strongest man in all the Seven Kingdoms. My mother is the Lady of Highgarden. My brother is intelligent beyond his years, and when the time comes, there is no doubt in my mind that he will make a fine lord- of whatever inheritance that may be. But as for myself? I am…”

He felt Lady Rhaena’s intense gaze upon him as he searched for his next words.

“I am naught but a second son. I am nothing. I can do nothing. My family could be in peril, and I am powerless to help them.”

It was silent for a long while.

Lady Rhaena confessed, “I believe I might be able to sympathize with you. I know what it is like to feel like nothing I do truly matters. I know what it is like to be able to do nothing, to feel powerless.”

Disbelief had Selwin snapping his head up in her direction. “With the utmost respect, Lady Rhaena, that is a bit difficult to fathom.”

She gave him a challenging look. “Really? Tell me then, My Lord, what would I do if the Greens surrounded Dragonstone on the morrow? Would I rally our sparse number of men to battle? Would I lead my grandfather’s fleet, engaging the enemy upon the waters of Blackwater Bay? Would I mount a dragon, and meet Vhagar and Sunfyre head on in the skies?”

Selwin mulled over her words. “Forgive me, My Lady. I did not mean to give insult.”

“No forgiveness is needed, My Lord, for no insult was taken.”

The text before him still laid open, and despite the heavy topic of conversation, the words seemed to call to him.

“I will not sell myself short just yet,” Selwin vowed then. “But if there is still room in the histories for my story, then there shall be plenty of room in them for your own.”

Lady Rhaena frowned. “I am not certain I follow your meaning.”

Selwin’s attention shifted towards the book to his right, the one Lady Rhaena had been reading. Valyrian, he realized, now close enough to plainly see the words on the page. He did not know the language, but he could deduce the topic based on the page’s illustration. Scales of various colors bordered the yellowing parchment.

“You are no less a Targaryen because you have yet to claim a dragon of your own. And those who harbor that opinion of you are of no consequence. What good do the opinions of sheep serve a dragon? Because that is what you are- a dragon.”

Lady Rhaena merely looked at him for a long while, her expression plain. Just when Selwin began to fear he may overstepped, she suddenly grinned.

“Prince Lucerys is most fortunate to have a friend like you, Lord Selwin. And any friend of Prince Lucerys can consider themselves a friend of mine.”

Selwin’s face warmed, but he could not pinpoint precisely why. “I shall strive to remain worthy of your friendship then, My Lady.”

Lady Rhaena plucked the book up from the stone table and closed it gently. She then offered it to him. “I have no doubt that you will.”

To what end did Aemond pursue him?

Lucerys wracked his brain for all logical explanations as to why Aemond stalked him. This was not merely the exchanging blows in the training yard, or coming to an impasse during a family dinner. His damn uncle was using Vhagar to actively hunt him, and Arrax, sizeable though he was for his age, was no match in size.

Finally, up ahead- there was a break in the clouds. As Arrax emerged through the cover, they were both freed from the storms roaring below. The sun kissed Lucerys’s face, providing a bit of warmth that offset the coolness of his drenched clothes and cloak.

Lucerys looked around, and attempted to gather his bearings. Vhaegar was nowhere to be seen.

In that moment, he thanked every single one of the Seven; they had finally gotten Aemond off their trail.

Lucerys urged Arrax forward at a more relaxed pace. Once he was able to find a landmark, he could determine which way was home. And once he knew where Dragonstone lay, nothing but a short flight home remained.

A short flight, and he would return to his mother. To his siblings, except for Jace, who was hopefully safe and probably still in the Vale. To his cousins, and his betrothed. To his friends. And to the man who had offered him more fatherly guidance than probably any other had in his life, regardless of the personal cost to himself.

The war may yet come, but Lucerys would be there to witness it. He would be a squire, he would learn anything and everything he would need to be a lord that Driftmark’s people could respect, a lord that they could trust. And he would continue doing everything in his power to make his mother, the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, proud.

The thought of what was yet to come gave Lucerys hope.

So much hope, he had not realized the sun had abruptly disappeared.

  …

  ……

  …

Lord Otto Hightower had been roused by a frantic messenger. Thankfully, he’d already been dressed, having fallen asleep at his desk. Still, the trek from the Tower of the Hand to the small council chambers, where he’d been summoned to by the king, felt far too long.

He entered the room without delay and made sure the doors were closed tightly behind him before he turned to face those within. Quite an assortment of the king’s council and advisors were present already.

As was his second eldest grandson, who stood a few paces away, dripping water from his clothes and long hair.

Alicent sat at the table, her head in her hands. Even from a distance, Otto could tell her complexion was far paler than it should have been. Ser Criston stood closely behind her, his focus shifting between her, the king, and Aemond.

“Grandsire, you’re here at last,” Aegon said by way of greeting. “We have news.”

Otto knew he would regret asking, but he did so nonetheless. “And what news might that be, Your Grace?”

“Lucerys Verlayron has been slain!”

Though it was Aegon who had answered, and eerily cheerfully at that, Otto was quickly able to deduce the true source of the news. He whirled to Aemond, gripping the young man by his overcoat in his fists. The fabric was still damp. “What have you done, boy?”

Aemond’s eyes were void of emotion. He did not even make an attempt to remove himself from Otto’s firm grasp.

His daughter pleaded, from beneath her fingers, “Mother have mercy on us all.”

At her proclamation, some semblance of life finally returned to Aemond’s eyes. He turned his head, still in Otto’s hold, and looked over towards his mother. The look he gave her was one of shock, and- rather surprisingly, Otto noted- betrayal.

“You only lost one eye,” Otto beseeched him, shaking him mildly to garner his attention. “How could you be so blind?”

“Release him at once, Grandsire,” Aegon commanded with a firm tone, an authority to his voice that Otto did not know he possessed.

Otto had little choice but to heed a command given by the king. He released Aemond’s overcoat, but still, Aemond did not step away. Instead, his focus remained on his mother.

“Prince Aemond is the true blood of the dragon,” Aegon praised him with a grin, sounding more proud of his brother than Otto had ever recalled him to be. “He has made a good beginning of things. He returns from Storm’s End a betrothed man, and he has demonstrated to Rhaenyra what will happen if she continues this senseless pursuit of a throne that is not hers for the taking.”

“Your Grace, do you truly believe the death of her son will dissuade Rhaenyra from her pursuit of the Iron Throne?” Otto demanded of him. “Do you think Daemon will be dissuaded?!”

Aegon waved him off nonchalantly, and it took every ounce of control in Otto’s being to stop himself from grabbing his eldest grandson in the matter he had just handled his young brother.

“Those are matters to be dealt with on the morrow. As is the planning of a feast.”

“A feast?”

“Aye, a feast,” Aegon confirmed. “We shall have a feast in Aemond’s name. But, as I said, that can wait til the morrow. But there is another matter that cannot. Will someone fetch me a quill and parchment? I wish to write to my dear sister and inform her of the news myself.”

...

......

…

Prince Daemon Targaryen had been the one to intercept the messenger. The queen was lucky to have been spared reading the filth of a message herself. Aegon, whose provoking words were permanently embedded in Daemon’s mind, would not be so lucky in the end.

His oaf of a nephew and his kinslayer of a brother could enjoy their feast while it lasted. They would not be the only ones to enjoy splendors in the days to come, Daemon would make certain of that.

Still, Daemon did not doubt his nephew’s vile message to be anything less than the truth. After all, he had been the one called down to the shore. Lady Tyrell, after calling her children back inside the castle walls, had directed him towards what had washed up. It had been an immediate recognition, and was unmistakable for any other beast.

Daemon knew the reality of what the day's harsh developments meant. He knew the reality of what was yet to come had been set in stone the moment his brother Viserys had gasped his last breath. But he anguished to know that this would be the event that would cement the severity of the situation for Rhaenyra.

She looked at him curiously as he approached. That was no surprise; they had not spoken to one another since their latest disagreement.

He pulled her aside, away from her advisors, and he gave her the truth as plainly and honestly as she was owed. When she pulled away from him, processing the devastation his news had wrought upon her, he fought the urge to look away, if not leave outright.

And as Daemon stood there, something resonated within him.

To many within the realm, second born sons might have been considered to be little more than a spare. But to have described Prince Lucerys Velaryon as such in the eyes of his mother… that would have been more egregious a crime than the manner of the young lord’s demise itself.

A/N: 🖤

[froody]

Tommy. Tell me about her. What wisdom does she hold?

She was born in the rafters of an abandoned barn one day in early May of 2017. She and her siblings had not yet opened their eyes when her mother decided to move her babies to the abandoned house about 50 yards from the barn. It was a grueling task. Tommy waited for her turn, sightless, helpless and so tiny. Her mother never returned for her. She abandoned her to die in that barn. It’s not an unusual thing for a feral cat to do. 80% of kittens born in feral colonies die before the age of 1. Tommy was so sick. She didn’t look like a normal kitten and she never would. Perhaps her mother knew she could not save her on her own. Perhaps her mother was young and sick herself and only had the strength for the other kittens. Either way, she left her.

Tommy’s digestive system was in tatters. She had multiple parasites. She was dehydrated. She still had the strength to scream, she always has, and she did. My father found her, got her down, took her to the vet. She opened her eyes later that week. She had to be bottle fed. It took several courses of antibiotics and anti-parasitics to get her back on track. She fought so valiantly. She always had an appetite as a kitten, no matter what was going on in her insides. She was so screamy. She loved to be held, loved to run up to the door every time you opened it.

Her struggles have never really stopped. She’s brachycephalic, she sneezes and wheezes, her sinuses are deformed, her eyes are crusty. She’s 6 now. My mom’s dog broke her jaw when she was about 2 and my mother rushed her to the emergency vet to get jr wired back together. Didn’t tell me what happened to my cat until I got home from high school that day. Last year I found Tommy in obvious distress, weak and drooling blood. I took her to the emergency vet and they found evidence of previously undiagnosed stomatitis and more pressingly, a mass on her jaw. Biopsy showed it wasn’t cancerous, it was an inflammatory reaction to her back teeth. She needed surgery to remove some of her severely deformed teeth and the bleeding painful mass.

She was out on steroids for the stomatitis for a few month. She didn’t seem to be getting better. She was dropping weight. Initially I thought it was just her mouth pain but I took her to the vet anyway. She was diagnosed with diabetes and sent home. The two days later she had an episode of hyperglycemia so severe I didn’t think she’d survive the night. She spent a week in the cat ICU.

Right now she’s regained her weight. She’s chilling at the edge of my bed. She’s snoring in her sleep.

She’s taught me a very important lesson. Don’t give up. Her constant and remarkably passionate fight for survival keeps me going. Her odds have always been so slim and yet she doesn’t know it or simply doesn’t care. She always has zest for life but in the most sinister cartoon cat villain way possible. I’ve always wanted to give up on myself and she’s never wanted to give up on herself. It doesn’t cross her mind.

[nym-wibbly]

"If I load a headcanon where they've already been lovers in the past,"

Please share the past lovers headcanon?Season/episodes?

I didn't have anything specific in mind when I wrote that. I remember getting to the early season 8 episodes before actually thinking, "Wait...did Dean and Cas fuck in Purgatory?"

Then I got overexcited about Naomi brainwashing Cas and the meta-storyline and all the lovely hurt/comfort/whump/angst, and my slash braincell wandered off for a bit.

Season 9 pinged my slash radar too, human-feels!Cas and distracted!Dean, but that season could've been intentionally written to keep the two of them physically separated. It's like a season-long chastity belt!! Nothing a determined slasher can't overcome with tenacity and a Jedi handwave, spinning time for them out of a pause for breath in the narrative (9x03 I'm No Angel and 9x06 Heaven Can't Wait being obvious choices with a smidge of offscreen unaccounted-for time), but I'm still at the stage of noodling over why the Supernatural creators made that choice for their story and characters. Cuz it plays like they just plain got spooked by the 'profound bond', there (!).

If you like a canon-compliant fanfic setting (which I usually do), most of Supernatural is thin gruel as a setting for any sustained 'shipping - for any pairing. I can think of a dozen good moments where I could shoehorn in a feels-raw PWP without difficulty, but anything lasting and exploratory between them... They're just so ridiculously occupied the whole time!

I bet there's a ton of 5x04 'Endverse' Cas/Dean fanfic, because it's one of the few opportunities to really get stuck in for any sustained smutty storyline - to give them days/weeks/years to play with. And because those two were so very obviously doing the deep rugged nasty anyway, obviously.

[parkitaco]

oh oh feeling their temperature after one of will’s episodes (i’m not sure your post meant to send you a request or not so if not ignore this while i go bury myself alive)

Mike has never liked seeing Will in pain.

He doesn't- he doesn't like seeing anyone in pain, of course, particularly not people that he cares about, but with Will it is and always has been different. Will is quieter about it, for starters, always quiet in his sadness and shying away from anything resembling pity. He's hard to figure out, sometimes, but Mike prides himself on being better at it than most people. Mike's spent most of his life learning how to be in tune with Will Byers, but an unfortunate side effect of that fact is that when Will is in pain, Mike tends to feel like the world is ending.

Lately, Mike has felt like the world is ending a lot, partially because it actually, literally is ending right now, but also because Will's seemed- well, he's seemed down, to put it lightly. And for once in his life, Mike can't figure out why.

He's mentioned it to people, even, said things like do you think Will's okay, he seems upset to Dustin and Lucas, who have both responded with bewildered looks and something along the lines of shouldn't you know?

Which is fair, because Mike usually knows everything there is to know about Will, but ever since their fight last summer Will's gone quiet on him, and Mike can't quite figure out what he's thinking.

Right now, that task is even harder, because Will is asleep. And this fact would be fine, if it weren't also true that Mike is wide, wide awake, and as a byproduct is completely aware that Will is having a nightmare.

Sharing a room with Will has been- odd, to say the least. For the first few nights, before Mike and El's breakup when everyone was still quiet and scared and sad and they hadn't gotten used to this new apocalyptic reality, Will had slept on the floor, refusing Mike's offers to sleep in the bed and keeping his back turned to him while he slept. Then, one night a few weeks ago, after a grueling but ultimately bittersweet breakup with El, Mike had stumbled into his room with tears on his face and a weight on his chest and found Will laying on the floor, still awake, and he'd blurted out: Just come sleep up here with me, please.

Will had complied, and Mike had explained the breakup in whispers, head resting just inches from Will's chest, wanting to grab hold of him but not daring to, and Will had hummed sympathetically and carded a hand through Mike's hair, and everything had felt just a little more right.

He's slept up here every night since, some sort of unspoken agreement, and Mike has been careful to stay on his own side of the bed, his implicit desires no longer reigned in by the constant reminder of you have a girlfriend, Michael, pull yourself together. He's laid awake countless nights now, watching Will's chest rise and fall with quiet breaths beside him and drowning in his want, fighting with all his might to comply with the rules he's laid out for himself.

But right now, with Will thrashing in his sleep and crying a little, whimpering in a way that makes Mike's chest squeeze painfully, he decides that his rules are stupid, and reaches for him.

"Will," he whispers, leaning over and catching Will by the shoulders, shaking him gently and fighting his own inexplicable urge to cry. "Will, wake up."

Will's face screws up in agony, and Mike's heart breaks a little. At least he's not being Vecna'd, he tells himself, as if that makes it any better, he would be unresponsive otherwise.

Even so, his chest feels like it's collapsing in on itself, and he shakes Will more firmly, hissing his name desperately, in a way that he'd probably be embarrassed by if he wasn't so afraid and if it wasn't so dark in Will's room, Will's name a quiet plea in his mouth, wanting written all over the single syllable. Mike is too incriminating for his own good.

He shakes him again, and Will's eyes fly open. He gasps, pupils dilated as he jerks into consciousness, and Mike's entire body relaxes with relief.

"Will," he says again, quieter, and Will's eyes settle on him, a choked sob escaping from his mouth. "Hey, it's okay, it's okay, it's just me."

He keeps one hand on Will's arm, gripping his bicep like a lifeline as he tilts sideways and reaches over to switch on the lamp, and the room floods with light as Will sits up shakily and brings up a hand to swipe at the tears on his face. "S-sorry," he whispers brokenly, as Mike sits back on his heels and peers out at him. "Sorry, I just..."

"It's okay," Mike says again, because it is, but Will's face crumples anyway.

"I woke you," he points out, bottom lip quivering, always too kind, too gentle, too aware of others' feelings. Mike loves him. He loves him so much.

"I was awake anyway," he manages to say, fighting the urge to wrap Will up in his arms and kiss away the tearstains on his face. This statement is one hundred percent true, but Will looks at him disbelievingly anyway, even as Mike squeezes his bicep meaningfully.

Will's eyes flick to the hand on his arm, and Mike, for once, isn't racked with insecurity by it. "I'm okay now," Will says, which is definitely not true, and Mike levels him with a disbelieving look of his own. "You can- you can go back to sleep. It was just a dream."

"Bullshit," Mike says immediately, always a little too rough around the edges, but the corner of Will's mouth ticks up and he considers it a win. "You're- you're upset, you're all flushed and shit, come here," he commands, and Will's eyes widen almost imperceptibly as Mike scoots forward, his hand sliding up from Will's arm to rest against the junction of his shoulder and his neck. Will is flushed, all warm and flustered, and there's a light sheen of sweat around the edges of his face. He still looks like the most beautiful thing Mike has ever seen.

Mike swallows, pressing his hand more firmly into Will's shoulder, and Will doesn't seem to mind when he leans into the touch, exhaling softly and relaxing just a little under Mike's palm.

It's a testament to Mike's sleep deprivation that he doesn't overthink it when he shifts closer still, reaching up with his other hand and pressing it lightly against Will's forehead before shifting it to his cheek, swiping his thumb over Will's cheekbone, and Will doesn't seem to know what to do with himself other than sit quietly and let Mike run his hands over him.

"See?" Mike murmurs, as he presses the back of his hand to Will's cheek, heat bleeding from Will's skin onto his, and there's a little zip of electricity in the air as Will meets his eyes. "Warm."

"D'you think I have a fever?" Will asks absently, not looking particularly fussed about it, and the small, hopeful part of Mike wonders if he's using it as an excuse for Mike to keep his hands on his face a little longer.

He shakes his head slowly. "No," he murmurs, "Just warm."

It's better than cold, Mike thinks, better than the shaking, wide-eyed Will of two years ago whose skin was icy to the touch and who screamed like - well, like a boy possessed - when the temperature got to be over sixty degrees. That was one of the more terrifying parts of Mike's life, and there are many to choose from. There had been something unknowably awful about having Will physically present, but seeing something so entirely foreign in the eyes that Mike knows so well.

Will must know that that's what he's thinking, because he smiles as Mike's hand shifts over to his forehead again. "That's how you know I'm alive," he murmurs, and Mike huffs a wry laugh.

"I'm glad," he whispers back, and means it more than he cares to admit.

Will meets his eyes again, smiling delicately, and there's something dancing in his eyes, something Mike can't quite put a name to but feels with a certainty all the same. He pulls his hand back just slightly, pressing his thumb to the crease between Will's eyebrows, smoothing it out, and they've given up all pretense of temperature checking as Will's smile widens.

For once, he lets himself be just a little bit brave as he pulls his hand away for real, tapping his thumb just once against Will's forehead before tilting his head forward and placing a soft, gentle kiss to the place where his hand just was, a ghost of a touch that still sends a thrill through his stomach.

Will shivers beneath him, and Mike pulls back, blinking at him hazily, drowsiness tugging at him. Will doesn't seem put-out or offended or weirded out by the motion - on the contrary, he's regarding Mike with something akin to wonder, a delicate sort of gentleness on his face.

"We should sleep," Mike whispers, too tired to explain himself and too cowardly to do anything more, to kiss Will for real the way he wants to. He'll- he's going to do it, someday, he decides dimly, for real, and he's going to tell Will everything, provided Will lets him.

Just not tonight.

Will bobs his head, and Mike settles happily back on the pillows, allowing himself to break the rules once more as he extends an arm in Will's direction, a silent question.

Will more than answers it when he tucks himself into Mike's side, pressing his head gently against Mike's chest and slinging one arm over his stomach, and Mike's stomach floods with warmth as he drags a careful hand through Will's hair.

"Goodnight, Will," he whispers, a small smile on his face as his eyes drift shut.

"Goodnight, Mike," Will whispers back.

For once in their lives, Mike and Will sleep peacefully.

[odder-oddish]

Bond- Chapter 1

So uh.... this didn't take long. Got another chapter finished 22 hours later. Don't expect this pace for the rest of the work; I just got a flash of inspo to start this off. The only warning for this chapter is an implied hookup, but nothing actually happens.

S. Ward: Hello everyone, and welcome back to our show, All things Wicked This Night. Today, my witchy friend Mikaela and I are going to give you all a crash course in demonic rituals. Tell me Mikaela, what are the pieces of a ritual? M. Reid: So, there's actually a ton of variety depending on what your goal is and what kind of demon you want to summon, but there are some trends that I've observed in my practices. First, you need a casting bowl. Now really, this can be a glass, a jar, anything to hold your components. The components dictate the kind of ritual you'll cast. A summoning, a scrying, a blessing even. S. Ward: Though I don't know why you'd go around blessing demons. (laughs) M. Reid: True. Anyway, I always suggest incense, especially if you're newer to spellcasting. While you don't need it, it helps stabilize the spell and takes a lot of mental strain off the caster. Candles are used as an energy source to fuel the ritual, and finally, mostly for summonings, there's a sigil. This is what actually contains the demon. Otherwise, you bring it to you and it's free to roam about. S. Ward: Thank you for the overview. And for our listeners at home wanting to try a ritual, always remember the first rule of demon summoning. M. Reid. Never summon something you can't banish. "All things Wicked This Night" (podcast) Season 3, Episode 12

_____

The drive south is grueling. Felix is already terrible at keeping a sleep schedule, and these last few days have been worse. Now, it's almost four in the morning, and he's pushing twenty-five hours straight of being awake. It doesn't help that the old car doesn't have a port for music, and the radio doesn't play much of anything good at this time of night. He stifles a yawn as he pulls into a gas station to refuel.

He enters the store of the station after filling the car to get a coffee. "Damn, buddy," says the man working there. He's old, and tired-looking himself. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Not far off," says Felix, filling a large cup and pulling out his wallet to pay.

The man waves him off. "On the house. You need it."

Felix thanks him and returns to the car, rubbing his eyes. He's pulled all-nighters before, but this is brutal. He's fought two demons today and spent the better part of the afternoon tracking a demon through Vegas. He wills himself to stay awake for the final hour of the journey before pulling back on the the interstate. Luckily, the shitty coffee, residual pain in his arm, and pure spite allow him to survive the trip until he pulls up to the house.

The house is nice and modern. It's got two stories with a wrap around porch and a white picket fence, the perfect image of peace and relaxation. It's advertised to the locals as a rental property for folks looking to get away from city life, but in reality, it's nothing like that. Felix pulls his luggage out of the car and climbs the steps to the front door. He pulls a key out of his back pocket, unlocking the door and stepping inside, before locking it behind him.

Zarina and Haddie, two of his American contacts, had built this place almost a decade ago. It was an old safehouse that they and their other allies used when they were in the area. The walls were covered in bookshelves with journals and tomes about Demonology, spellcasting, and similar otherworldly arts.

"Felix, you made it," says Elodie, stepping out of the kitchen with a large, ornate bowl. She looks just about as exhausted Felix does. "Sorta," she adds, taking in his demeanor. "I've got the kettle on for some tea, if you want some."

"That would be great."

Elodie gives a satisfied nod at his answer. She turns back to go to the kitchen, stopping only briefly to say, "I'm just mixing the last of the herbs. Why don't you set your stuff down in the bedroom?"

Following her suggestion, Felix moves to one of the two bedrooms in the house. It's a modest arrangement, with a double bed pressed against the corner of the room, a desk with a comfortable chair, a large wardrobe taller than he is, and a single bedside table with a lamp. But he's not expecting luxury. They're here to summon a demon after all.

Felix gets to work unpacking his single suitcase and duffel bag. His clothes only fill half the wardrobe, but his journals and spell components fill out the desk. He does kick off his shoes and quickly wash his face in the bathroom; glad to finally be off the road.

When Felix goes back downstairs, Elodie is back in the kitchen, reading over the instructions to the spell while mixing a few herbs together. "Here," she says, handing Felix the page with the ingredients. "I'm going to draw the sigil. Can you add everything else?" Felix nodded and looked over the instructions. Rosemary, thyme, honeycomb, everything looked simple. He added peppermint oil to the vial with the demon's blood, washing it out of the container and adding it to the mixture before muddling everything together.

"Wouldn't it have been easier to do this near the demon's location?" he asks.

Elodie opens a large brown messenger bag and pulls out a stick of chalk. "Yeah, but you know it caught wind of our location, and there's nothing between here and Vegas that's any safer. If we want to get capture this guy, this is the best place to do it."

Felix shrugs. She's not wrong, but the summoning scares him. They've never actually done it before, and Felix has only a rudimentary understanding of witchcraft. Elodie's a little better, but the spell seems advanced, even for her. She's always been the more careless of the two, and it makes him uneasy. But they've survived twenty years together; he can have faith in her.

"So, explain the plan to me," he says, bringing the bowl into the library where Elodie is tracing out a sigil.

"It's pretty straight forward," she says. "The spell calls for a handful of components and either of piece of the demon or something it's created. We have it's blood, so we're good there. If it works, he gets summoned to our location, and as soon as he arrives, it'll be chained to the sigil, unable to leave. I'll perform the exorcism, and if something goes wrong, you stick a knife in its chest."

"And you're feeling confident about" Felix asks. Elodie nods. "Do we have all the components?"

"The paper I gave you have everything for the bowl. The other components are written here," she says holding up the spellbook to a page depicting the summoning ritual. "Just incense and five candles, one on each point."

She goes back to drawing. The sigil itself is small and simple in design. No fancy characters or symbols to draw out. It's a pentagon with a few geometric lines protruding from each corner. "All finished," says Elodie, dusting the extra chalk off of her hands. "I'll go get the candles; you got the bowl?"

Felix nods. He puts the bowl in the center of the sigil, before adding a stick of incense and lighting it. The warm scent of peppermint fills the room and a faint trail of smoke rises up above the bowl. Elodie returns with five candles, lighting one at each corner.

"You ready?" she asks, pulling out a book with the summoning chant written on it.

Felix nods and steps back. He closes the curtains in the room and shuts off the lights. The only light comes from the candles. Careful to stay outside the summoning sigil, Felix makes his way back to where Elodie stands, pulling his silver knife out of his pocket. He keeps himself in front of her protectively, ready to be the first line of defense once this demon appears.

Elodie begins the verse, voice strong and unwavering. Felix feels a gust of wind raise the hairs on the back of his neck. Something is happening, and only time will tell if it's working.

The candles flicker, but hold steady. The wind picks up and the temperature drops significantly. Felix instinctively shivers at the feeling. Suddenly, he gets the feeling that he's being watched, but he shakes it off. From what he's read, demons being summoned play tricks to try to scare summoners off. It's just a trick, it has to be a trick.

The wind is howling now. It's freezing. Something feels wrong, and he wants to ask Elodie, but finds his voice stuck in his throat. Felix suddenly feels a tug at his left arm. He looks down and a thin, golden chain has wrapped around his finger. It's cold to the touch, and it fits like a snug ring. There's a strong tug on the chain, pulling him, and he stumbles forward towards the sigil, just barely stopping himself before he crosses the chalk line.

"Almost there," says Elodie before continuing the chant.

The wind stings Felix's skin. It hurts, unlike anything he's ever felt before. There's a white hot pain and his vision goes fuzzy. He tries to right himself, but his brain can't figure out which way is up. The last thing he remembers is losing his balance, falling forward towards the tile floor. He braces for a rough impact, but something catches him before he lands on the hard ground, and then everything goes blank.

______

Ace is ecstatic. He's definitely chosen the right partners for tonight. He's lying naked between two gorgeous men, having the time of his life, when suddenly, he feels an ethereal claw reach for him and pull.

Shit. Is he being summoned? He hasn't been summoned in a year. What the hell is this? Ace tries to resist it, tries to send psychic energy to the summoner to dissuade them from continuing, but it's no use. He can feel his legs going numb. He quickly looks to his partners as the numbness begins to travel up his body. "Sorry darlings, but I gotta go. Have fun without me, 'kay?"

"Right now? But we're already-"

"Ta-ta!"

Ace wishes he could see the look of shock on the two humans as he's pulled from a comfy California king in Las Vegas to a rather plain looking house in who knows where, arriving with a massive pulse wave of energy shooting out from his body. He doesn't have much time to react before a man stumbles forward, falling towards him. Instinctively, he reaches out to catch the man before he falls.

He's unconscious. Well, little victories. Ace holds up his clawed hand, ready to make it a quick, simple kill, when he notices a gleaming golden chain dangling from the man's finger. It trails across the floor and then up to connect to… Ace's own hand. Fuck. Things just got a whole lot more complicated.

Lowering the man to the ground, Ace takes in his surroundings. He appears to be in a small library. There's a woman lying against a bookshelf, several of the novels are scattered around her body. She must have been flung back when Ace was summoned. There was a spell book in her hand; she was the summoner. He's standing in a sigil, but he's not trapped. Something went wrong with the spell.

Ace looks over the man again. He appears to have dropped a knife when he fell, and Ace is lucky it didn't hit either of them. There are also deep bags under his eyes; even without the summoning, he probably wouldn't have stayed conscious much longer.

He decides to leave the library, so he throws the man over his shoulders (rather ungracefully) and leaves the room. As he passes by the kitchen, he notices the stove has been left on. A tea kettle sits to the side of the stove, but someone forgot to shut it off. He flips the switch, relieved that there won't be an accidental house fire. He walks up the stairs before coming across two bedrooms with open doors. One of them has the wardrobe open with decidedly more feminine clothes inside, so he walks to the other bedroom, shuts the door, and drops the man (equally ungracefully) on the bed.

"Do you know how much shit you've gotten us into?" he asks, not expecting nor receiving a response. "I don't even know which of us has it worse, isn't that funny?"

Ace plops down onto the desk chair. He doesn't sleep, but he appreciates the time to clear his mind and plan out his next move.

[total-drama-takes-takes-2]

tti episode 3

“Last time on Total! Takes! Island! An Awake-a-Thon tested the patience of every camper, and left a few with some pretty wicked injuries. Caesar won the victory for the Flying Fujoshis, and Joner hit the hay and left his buddies Michael and McLovin behind. Will any alliances stay intact for more than just one episode? Will Frollo recover from his blunt force trauma? Find out today on Total! Takes! Island!”

---

The mess hall feels more crowded than usual today as every camper huddles around their table. Most are still sleepy from the past challenge, but some are in full gear. 

“We need to get our act together,” Max insists, drawing out a little game plan on his plate of mysterious brown slop, only pausing to glare at Frollo as he speaks. “We can’t afford to lose over petty personal differences.”

Frollo glares back, his eyes cold and gaze icy. Julia responds with a sigh, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. “So what’s your plan, then, Mr. Man?”

“I don’t appreciate your tone,”

“I don’t appreciate your face!”

“Woah, let’s cool down, alright?” Austin says, holding out his arms between them as if they were to pounce on each other at any moment. “Take a chill pill, baby!”

Max pushes his arm down. “I’d ask you to kindly keep your peace and love away from me, thank you,” 

Austin sighs and sits back. “Only trying to keep us together, mate. We’re on a team, aren’t we?”

Only Kelly seems to agree as everyone glares daggers at each other. Max sighs. “As much as I hate to admit it, the hippie is right. As I said, we need to put our personal differences aside if we want to keep winning,”

“He’s right,” Scruffy chimes in, swallowing a spoonful of slop without a second thought. Everyone winces. “Speaking from the lens of a TDI historian, the most successful teams, alliances, and friendships are built off of practical cooperation.”

“Thank you,”

Julia rolls her eyes. 

Things are looking much more peaceful over at the Fujoshis table as they chat merrily. Courtney is wedged at the very end of the table, using McLovin as a shield to keep them away from Mal, who’s surrounded by Ass and Patrick. 

“And I’m covered by the company health insurance, so if I sustain any lasting injuries, it comes straight out of McLean’s pocket,” Caesar chuckles, using his spoon to form the breakfast gruel into pancake-shaped patties, somewhat fit for consumption. 

Bonnie shakes their head in bewilderment. “And you got all this stuff, how, exactly? Threatened to sue?”

“Not exactly,” he smiles. “Back home, I run a very popular Total Drama-themed Hunger Games simulation show on local cable and online. It got so big, the execs here threatened to sue. I sent my fans after them and they issued a formal apology, which included an invitation to their newest season.”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve seen that!” Peter says, nodding enthusiastically. “It’s so awesome, my friends and I take bets on who wins!”

Bonnie scoffs, shaking their head with a smile. “Lucky,” 

“I threatened to sue, but the court dismissed my case,” Patrick chimes in. “On the grounds of not actually having been on the island.”

“If only the courts were evil,” Bonnie jokes. 

“If only the courts were evil in my favor,”

Bonnie chuckles. Kitty reaches into their apron pocket and pulls out a handful of candy and hands it to Patrick. “For your troubles,” they whisper. 

Patrick blinks. “Thank you,”

“Alright, campers!” Chris shouts. “Your next challenge starts in ten minutes- be prepared to bring it!”

“Corny. Same line he used in the original,” Scruffy mutters. 

---

The dodgeball emporium is already set up, a shiny glass athletic center that puts the rest of the island’s amenities to shame. That can only mean one thing- Chris is very enthusiastic about going all out for today's torture.

“I still feel exhausted,” Kelly sighs, stretching. “I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night, either.”

“Bad dreams, baby?” Austin asks. 

“One of the girls was snoring,” 

All of the girls and such on the Inane Anons turn to Michael, who looks back, confused. “Wasn’t me. I was up all night, too,”

Kelly shrugs. “It’s no problem. Just a bit tired,”

“Today’s challenge is everyone’s favorite: dodgeball! The first rule is don’t get hit. Second is that if you catch the ball, the thrower is out and the catcher gets to bring another team member out onto the court! And some other stuff,”

“Great. Okay, we only need five players,” Max says. “Who’s gonna sit this out with Kelly?”

“No, no- I’ll play!” Kelly insists. Max raises an eyebrow, but shrugs. "I guess it makes sense to save the best for last. Get in under the radar and then surprise them last minute. Frollo, Staci, you're on. I'll go too, and-"

“If Kelly’s going, I am too, baby!” 

"Whatever. Just don't try to "make love not war" them to death,"

Courtney, Mal, Patrick, McLovin, and Peter stand opposite to them, not looking very happy. Courtney turns to the rest of their team. “Just focus on dodging for now. If you see an opportunity, take it, but no one get themselves hurt,”

“But if you do-” Mal interjects, much to Courtney’s annoyance. “There’s no shame in losing!”

“Yes there is,” Patrick says. 

“Alright, ready? Set? Play ball!” Chris blows into his whistle. 

Courtney sighs. “Just focus on keeping in the game!”

A ball immediately flies from the opposite side and tags Peter directly in the neck. Staci and Austin high-five. He wheezes on the ground for a few minutes as his teammates stare in shock, and then Chef drags him off the court. 

“What did I just ask?!”

Another ball flies by and Patrick barely dodges, though it bounces off the glass wall and smacks McLovin in the back of the head, flattening him on the ground. 

Courtney sighs as Chef scrapes McLovin off the floor with a shovel. “Alright, it’s on!”

They aim for Frollo- the easiest target, since he’s still all bruised from his earlier divine encounter- and toss the first ball from their side. 

Frollo holds out his Bible like a shield. “The Power of Christ compels y-” 

The ball hits him in the gut and he wheezes, drops to his knees, and then curls up on the floor. Max groans and puts his head in his hands. 

Kelly yawns and weakly tosses a ball, which simply bounces across the floor and lands at Patrick’s feet with a weak squeak. Patrick picks it up and in one throw, takes out Kelly and a poor, derelict Austin trying to help them stay awake. 

Mal swerves across the court, dribbling her ball and dodging throws from the remaining Inane Anons before throwing it, hitting Max with such a force he’s thrown into the glass behind them. She turns to smirk at Courtney, and is promptly hit in the head with a throw from Staci. 

Patrick aims straight for Staci’s face, but they catch the ball and use it to take both Patrick and Courtney out. The Inane Anons win the round with a cheer. 

“We need to get in gear,” Courtney says, rubbing their sore side. “Not to live up to my namesake, but I’m gonna go all Type A on this team if we don’t start working together!”

“I agree completely,” Mal smirks. Courtney glares at her. 

Kelly falls asleep on the bleachers, and Michael takes their place. Julia, O, and Scruffy also step in, and the Fujoshis come up with Courtney, Ass, Caesar, Bonnie, and McLovin. 

"You sure you can handle this?" Ass asks Caesar. "Getting hit in the hair will still count you out."

He chuckles. "If I can swerve paparazzi and desperate fans on an average trip to the grocery store, I can handle this, easy. Bonnie? Care to join?"

Bonnie jogs over and the two stand back to back.

---

BONNIE: "I mostly do online gaming now, but back before I had access to my computer setup and my tablets, I used to go to the Chuck-e-Cheese's," they smirk. "Not to brag, but you're looking at the regional skee ball and Pop-a-Shot champion."

---

Bonnie and Caesar give each other a smile before team up sweeping the game in the blink of an eye, taking out three Anons and leaving the rest to Courtney and Ass. Only McLovin gets tagged out by a seemingly very-determined Michael, to which he glares.

Courtney grins, some hint of assurance on their face. “I’m gonna step out to save energy. Ass and Bonnie, stay in,”

“I’ll Sha-Go too!” Sha-Mod bounds forward. 

“Erm, no offense, but…” Caesar gestures to the picture taped over their face. “Aren’t you a little visually impaired?”

“My other senses are heightened,”

Caesar shrugs. “Our funeral,”

"If I may?" Mal asks, smiling sweetly. "Peter hasn't gotten a chance to play again."

Peter looks up from where he'd been watching a bug crawl around on the floor with big eyes.

"No offense, but this isn't exactly taking turns on your brother's tricycle," Caesar says.

Courtney nods, glaring at Mal with a suspicious stare. "Yeah... I don't know if he's really up to the task,"

"I have faith in him," Mal smiles confidently. "Go take a breather, Caesar."

Caesar rolls his eyes and walks off as the game begins, much to Bonnie's and Courtney's dismay.

Julia takes out Sha-Mod almost instantly, and barely misses Peter. “Ow!” 

A flash of anger crosses Mal’s face. “Come ON! AIM!” Everyone raises an eyebrow at her, and she catches herself, changing to a smile and a nervous laugh as she pretends to help Sha-Mod up. 

Peter is taken out seconds later, and as Mal stifles a grin a stray ball catches her in the stomach and she collapses. Peter groans and is dragged off court. Sha-Mod follows. They leave Mal on the floor. 

Ass and Bonnie aim for Michael, but Julia tags out Bonnie just in time, distracting Ass long enough for Kelly to swoop in and steal the lead. 

“One more game, one more chance!” Courtney insists. “Patrick, you’re in. Anyone else who thinks they can-”

“I- I wanna try,” Peter wheezes. 

Ass and Courtney raise an eyebrow in sync. 

“I don't think that’s such a good idea, little buddy,” Patrick says, smirking slightly. 

“I have… to prove my worth,”

"I say we give him one last chance, huh?" Mal smiles.

Courtney starts to say something, but the rest of the team cuts in. Ass shrugs. “Whatever, just don't get hit!”

Patrick, Peter, McLovin, Caesar, and Sha-Mod stand against Kelly, Austin, Max, Scary, and Scruffy. 

“Piece of cake!” Sha-Mod grins directly before Kelly aims straight for the jugular. 

Patrick dodges a ball from Scary, watching it bounce against the glass wall and fall to his feet with a chuckle. He picks it up and looks forward just in time to see a coordinated attack from Scruffy and Max coming straight towards him. 

“Not that face,” he whimpers before both balls hit him square between the eyes.

Caesar dodges a throw from Austin, catching another from Scruffy as he stands at the line between the two sides of the court. He tosses a ball, missing Kelly, before hearing a faint giggle and looking up towards the ceiling where Scary is hanging from on all fours with a ball in their teeth. They drop it- it hits Caesar, bouncing off his hair, and then ricochets on McLovin, leaving Peter alone on the court.

“Come on, Peter, you got this!” Ass shouts. 

Peter swallows a nervous lump in his throat and looks back at the Anons.

“Do you really think he can make it?” McLovin asks, holding an ice pack to his jaw. 

“No, but it’s a nice thought, isn’t it?”

Peter trembles, the ball in his hands shaking violently as he stares down the opposing team, who aren’t looking too concerned at all. Max gives a slight I told you so look to the rest of his team, then a smile Kelly and Austin, and then all three of them part, allowing Scary to walk through. Peter quivers and weakly throws the ball. It bounces a few paces forward and stops at Scary’s feet. 

He picks it up, grins wickedly, and then tosses it directly upwards. 

Max cups his face to shout. “Seriously?! He's right-”

As it falls, Scary does a tight, neatly performed spin-kick and launches the ball with her heel, sending it out with such a force that when it hits Peter, it sends him directly through the glass and onto the beach below. 

Max's jaw drops. Everyone falls silent. Even Chris looks mildly concerned. The Flying Fujoshis stare in shock, all looking at each other as if to say, “So, who’s gonna get the body?”

Then, the silence lifts. 

“And with a sweeping victory, the Inane Anons have won the game!” Chris shouts against the cheers of the winning team. “Chef, bring Peter to the medical tent and call in a chopper, he’s outta here! No elimination ceremony tonight!”

The Fujoshis stare in complete dead silence before a few interns force them out of their seats.

“That was rough,” Sha-Mod says, shaking his head as they walk back to the cabin. The picture of Lightning quivers in the wind, but stays put. 

Patrick shrugs. “Eh, he had it coming. It’s the law of the wild on this island- natural selection. The weakest go first,”

Sha-Mod frowns, but doesn’t respond further. 

The Anons, on the other hand, seem to be doing just fine as they gather for lunch in the mess hall. “How’s this, baby: you, me, the Christian square, and the history square?” Austin asks, walking alongside Kelly. 

“Are you sure? I mean, Frollo is kind of…” they gesture to Frollo, who’s standing over Peter’s cast-covered body and sprinkling holy water on him while he tries to weakly protest. 

“That’s why he can’t say no, baby!”

“Ok, I guess that makes sense. What about… Staci? Staci is nice,” Kelly smiles, gesturing to Staci as they growl at Michael for staring. 

“Sure, baby, whatever you say. Yeah!”

Staci sits back down on the bench and huffs. Scary emerges from under the table as if she were rising from underwater and sits next to them. “I liked your technique today. Brutal!”

“Thank you,” Staci grins. “My great-great-great cousin twice-removed Bertram actually invented the earliest version of dodgeball, so I’m pretty good at it.”

Max rolls his eyes. “Oh, brother,”

“I heard that!” they snap, brandishing their grimy spoon like a weapon. Scary giggles with delight. 

“Good job out there today, campers! And good work Scary- only three episodes in and we’ve already had to lift someone off the island in a full-body cast!” Chris chuckles, entering the mess hall. Scary smiles wickedly. “Really makes you wonder who’s gonna sustain a life-threatening injury next time- and there’s only one way to find out- here, on Total! Takes! Island!”

[adultswim2021]

Tim and Eric Awesome Show Great Job #42: “Puberty” | March 8, 2010 - 12:30AM | S05E02

Tim and Eric explore the saltier side of growing up in “Puberty”, an episode that is roughly thematic. The wraparounds for this episode involve Eric going through puberty, resulting in a deeper voice (augmented with the high-tech computers found at Abso Lutely studios), and a fresh new mound of pubic hair bulging out of his khaki shorts. The set is a treehouse, Tim & Eric's hangout and what would turn out to be the last vestige of their respective boyhoods. Thanks to Eric’s raging hormones, these halcyon days are in severe jeopardy, with Eric feeling very ready to replace his childish playtime with sexual encounters with cheap, disgusting women. Will their partnership survive?

The cold open of the show is for a nightmarish children’s “toy” called the Cinco I-Jammer, which children can engage with by e-bumping. E-bumping seems like it’s just a direct dopamine-spiker by way of a high-pitched frequency that creepily causes the children’s eyes to roll back into their heads. It’s also equipped with “Oh-Hungee”, which is a tube that deposits a bland-looking gruel into children’s bare hands. Kids are encouraged by the ad to replace their parents’ meals with “oh-hungee”. The ad is effective in mimicking hyper-active commercials aimed at children as well as giving off a trademark Tim & Eric style sinister vibe. 

I like this one quite a bit. The little girl in the ad who has most of the lines is a very funny actor. She gives a spirited delivery that is hard to be pissed off with. I went down a brief rabbit hole to see if she pursued comedy after this. I found three potential matches and one of them is doing art in Denver, CO. One of them is sadly dead. A third one stopped posting on instagram around the time the other one died, so they might be the same person. I hope she’s the alive one. RIP to a proper legend if not. 

OF NOTE: The DVD contains an alternate version of the I-Jammer sketch. It's about 70% the same, with some alternate jokes and Bob Odenkirk doing the voice-over. I think the as-aired version is stronger.

Next up: DLH sings a song about Puberty. I think the overall subject of puberty for comedy’s sake is pretty worn out, but Tim & Eric have a way with words that elevate the material. But this song resembles a low-effort comedic take on the subject by somebody with less talent. But, that’s sorta DLH’s whole deal, isn’t it?

I feel like you can categorize DLH’s various songs into a few different styles: bat-shit crazy alien stuff, earnest-seeming educational offerings, and then this: a song you where you get the sense that he’s trying to be actually funny. Overall, I’m just glad that this is brief, and there are small moments that are actually reasonably funny, like him mildly botching his lines and correcting himself during the preamble. This one seems like they included it more out of duty to keep the DLH quotient up, as well as help prop up the theme of the show. 

Forting with Will features Will Forte (hey, that’s sort of a pun!) playing Will Grello (NOT a pun), teaching a small group of children how to make pillow forts while he goes off the rails with tangents about his dark childhood, particularly his relationship with his father. This one is lightly thematic; forting is a childish pastime (Tim & Eric’s wraparounds are from a tree house, an equally classic type of fort), and we’re witnessing a man whose own puberty was pretty traumatic. This one does little to shine above previous Will Grello installments, but it’s still funny. The most significant running gag in this one is Grello becoming so distraught reliving his trauma that he pees his pants. His enraged sarcasm when he asks for a towel, waits a beat, and hollers “yeah, NOW!” has been in my head for a while. 

Finally, the other bit of substance is a Morning Meditation sketch, which I've crowed about being a less-than-favorite of mine. This one has a truly unsettling reveal, that the man we're watching trot around on camera is actually on stilts. This is enough to make me declare that this could be the best Morning Meditation sketch of all time. Only took them two seasons to get it right.

Tim & Eric’s wraparounds are pretty significant in this one, and have a lotta memorable bits and funny lines. Eric’s low-pitched voice aids the deadpan delivery of certain lines. Lotta great disgusting phrasing about his “mushroom tip”, and exploring “wet holes”. They really make sexual intercourse sound unappetizing. Tim affably lamenting “unfortunately I’m still boy” got me laughin'. Eric calling Tim a “fag” (bleeped out) also got me. I also need to highlight the part where Tim says “I guess I’ll go play with myself”, which is followed up by a light touch of tepid studio audience laughter.

Tim’s problems are solved by seeing a commercial for the Cinco Man Shake, which is fronted by a pitchman with a slightly grotesque muscle man physique. I feel like Tim & Eric are very good at casting people whose attractiveness fall into that uncanny valley; hyper masculine or feminine people whose bodies mostly reflect a conventional ideal but are slightly strange-looking. The guy they got for this fits that bill, while also delivering a spirited and genuinely compelling performance.

The shake in question requires adding a "fistful" of your friend’s pubic hair to the concoction, which Tim harvests from Eric’s thicket. Eric jocularly pretending it hurts and then giving a sheepish “just kidding” to the camera is great. Eric’s strengths are especially played to in this episode.

Tim attempts to hork down the shake, which contains a glob of Eric’s wet hair. Even though I’m intelligent enough to understand that little Timmy is sucking on sterile wig hair, it’s still one of the grossest things the show has ever shown me. Tim, with a mouth full of hairy goo, looking to the camera and saying “just a little more left to go and I’ll be a man” is another one of those moments that has never left my brain. The result is Tim essentially becoming a werewolf. “I’m a man now no more playtime for me” Tim drones in a borderline incomprehensible guttural tone. 

Overall I really like this one. It’s imperfect, but most of these episodes are. I can see this one coming off as an unimpressive exercise playing with low-hanging fruit, but it’s low-brow and juvenile humor paired with really funny/weird line deliveries really sells this one for me. Good ep!

EPHEMERA CORNER: 

Aqua Teen Hunger Force #93: “A PE Christmas” (series version)

I already covered this episode, because it originally aired around Christmastime, 2009, but it was a slightly different version from this one. This is the version that included additional scenes at the end, with Meatwad at Chuck D’s mansion. I am pretty sure the original version ends with Shake’s gastro-intestinal eel infestation causing him to die in a jail cell. The stronger ending, in my opinion. Also if anyone has a HQ copy of the 2009 version of A PE Christmas, please let me know! 

[writerly-ramblings]

Hi there ramblings,

I am impressed with how many books you read, to the point where I look at my own reading goals for the year and they pale in comparison. How do you manage to find the time to read so much?

Hello!

There are two answers to this. One I’ve shared before, and, more or less, boils down to: the last few years I’ve been working either freelance, or in a corporate job with grueling hours but across time zones, and so have had a lot of “dead time” during the day when there’s not enough time to, say, write or run errands, but there is enough time to read a chapter or essay or two. (I’m also highly motivated by the idea that I’m “stealing time” if I’m reading on company time, even if there’s nothing for me to be doing from a corporate perspective.)

The second answer is more of a lifestyle thing, I suppose? Looking at 2024 (so far), 2023, and 2022’s total number of pages read, I average 100 pages per day. (This can vary day-to-day drastically: it just took me a week to read a 300pg essay collection I wasn’t enjoying, but, on the other hand, I think most of us have had the experience of flying through a 400pg book we’re obsessed with overnight.) The internet is telling me that, given the average reading speed, 100 pages is very doable in 2hrs. And that tracks: I’m not skimming or speed reading, and I’m not a particularly fast reader.

Very honestly, I prioritize staying in with a book over going out socializing, most nights. I try to limit my non-work screen time to 2hrs per day (it’s a work in progress). When I actively tried to start reading more several years ago, it did take a while to stop fidgeting and get in the habit of concentrating for long stretches of times. I’ve also learned that it works best for me to read one book at a time; to change between different types of fiction, nonfiction, poetry, etc.; and also to read out loud or try audiobooks, when I’m in a funk.

It’s very trite, but just… choosing to read instead of scroll, and putting your phone out of reach or at least screen-down while you’re reading does help loads. And just figuring out what works for you? Are you a read-in-the-bath person? Can you listen to audiobooks on your commute? Reward yourself for reading an essay with an episode of that tv show you love?

[cinematics123]

Fireworks

Soooo a few people called me out as toxic for requesting "Maddie beat up Eddie" as toxic. Mea Culpa as I was being dramatic; but I think the "beat up" was a bit much and exaggerated what I really intended. Not going to delete the post, but you guys were right.

But as a Buddie suggestion, I think there could be some real heft in the Buddie story line if there was a protective Maddie v. Eddie moment in the story. Indulge me a moment while I set the stage:

Let's say somewhere near the end point of S6b (placeholder S6E15-16), Buck has been injured and has been recovering with the Diaz boys. There's been a lot of mutual pining, but no movement. They're best friends and current roommates - but they've been both wanting to do something. After a grueling shift, Buck and Eddie are having a few beers on the couch. There's a moment and Buck touches Eddie's hand. Slowly, Buck goes in for the kiss - but at the last moment, Eddie pulls away and the kiss lands on Eddie's cheek bone.

Buck pulls back, horrified, apologizing. Eddie says it's fine, and tries to touch Buck, but Buck bolts out of the house and runs (he's recovered by late season S6b but has stayed at Eddie's past being recovered) back to his loft.

Then next episode (called Fireworks) people are popping off. All of the calls are related to fighting or romance. Once couple has to be rescued from a bathroom they snuck in together. Eddie calls Maddie to ask if Buck is alright and Maddie goes over to see Buck in a funk like he was post-leg injury: self-pity, can't get out of bed, whole 9 yards. Maddie doesn't understand exactly what happened other than Eddie is involved.

Maddie meets up at the 118 and they are doing sparring practice at the gym. Maddie canonically has done that with Buck (it was in Season 2 or 3) and Eddie had the whole fight club arc. Plus, the verbal/physical sparring trope is a tv staple. Maddie is paired up with Eddie and basically starts interrogating him through the sparring.

While Eddie starts by giving Maddie nothing but his own shutdown routine, Maddie is playing the protective older sister, verbally hitting Eddie with "Buck always feels like he is alone, he only feels like he truly has you and me." Eddie pushes back that Buck makes his own choices. Maddie starts sparring a little too hard, pushing Eddie for what happened between the two of them. Eddie says "things just happen." Maddie swings, Eddie misses the block, Maddie connects with Eddie - right on the same cheek where Buck kissed Eddie.

Cuts to: a few hours later and Chim sees Eddie with a black eye he teases Eddie that Buck gave him the black eye. Eddie responds: “No, your Buckley did this, not my Buckley.” Chim says something something about Buckley's being difficult, but how hard he's fought to find Maddie. Chim says something something about "but, you know, you're right. Buck is your Buckley" and Eddie breaks a little bit.

Buck phones in to Bobby to say that he has to emergently transfer to a different station. Buck is afraid he's ruined the team by making an unrequited move on Eddie, but doesn't say that to Bobby. However, when Buck calls, Bobby mentions about Maddie and Eddie. So Buck feels he needs to go down to and apologize in person, not for Buck, but for Maddie. Buck comes down with the transfer request papers and sees Eddie with the black eye; he starts trying to apologize for Maddie when -- the alarm goes off.

It's one last call for Buck with the team at a fireworks factory that is burning down. There are several stations responding and the 118 is not leading the incident. The whole team feels sidelined, the situation it is dangerous but others are leading the evacuation. Even Hen & Chim are not even being asked to check on the rescued workers. It's a hurry up and wait situation and it's unbearable with Eddie and Buck both there - both together on the team, but both holding back and both hurt and being kept away from the burning building, which would just give them something positive to do.

Buck finally turns to Eddie. And says he's sorry. Eddie asks if he's means he's sorry for running away. Buck says no - he's sorry for what he did (and in front of the whole 118) says "I'm sorry for kissing you." Buck launches into an explanation that he's leaving and Eddie doesn't need to worry and typical Buck over explains.

Eddie is rocked. "You're leaving us? You're leaving me?" Buck starts saying he has to - but Eddie interrupts him. "Stop running, Evan. Don't run from me." He says he doesn't know how he's supposed to handle it, but, yes, he loves Buck too. Buck doesn't understand but Eddie walks over to him and kisses Buck right on the mouth. As they kiss, the fire finally gets to the fireworks - and the factory blows. Streamers shoot up into the air and it's all fireworks high in the air around Buddie's first kiss.

Would make for a good season 6 finale...

[denimbex1986]

'Over the past year, Andrew Scott and Greta Lee have broken audiences' hearts with their respective dramas, All of Us Strangers and Past Lives. Now, the powerhouse pair are teaming up for a new movie which aims to inflict the same level of emotional damage whilst blending in elements from the sci-fi genre. My Notes On Mars is the first English-language movie by acclaimed Hungarian filmmaker Lili Horvát (Preparations to Be Together for an Unknown Period of Time) and, per Deadline, the new movie is scheduled to begin production in Spring 2025, shooting in Budapest and Vienna.

The movie is based on an original script penned by Lili Horvát, and is being produced by Poste Restante. No additional cast members have been announced, but Scott and Lee in the lead should be more than enough to draw audiences in. The report also features a synopsis for the movie, which sets it up to be an emotionally devastating drama with two of the best actors currently working. The synopsis reads:

"[My Notes on Mars] centers on Margot (Lee), a brilliant young scientist with a troubled marriage, who disappears inexplicably while hiking with her husband Sam (Scott) and a group of friends. A few weeks later, she miraculously reappears the day of her own memorial service. Margot is clearly not the same as before the accident. Nevertheless, Sam sees his wife’s miraculous reappearance as a second chance."

Ahead of the announcement, Lili Horvát teased what audiences can expect from her first English-language movie. The writer/director said that My Notes on Mars is about the frequently shifting dynamics of love, and how a long-term marriage evolves and changes over time. Horvát explained:

"[It's] a story about the labyrinthine human psyche, about the ever-changing faces of love. To start over a marriage, to rediscover the other, to fall in love again — our story is about the grueling realization of this impossible desire."

Andrew Scott & Greta Lee Both Delivered Tear-Jerking Performances In Their Last Movies

If the description of My Notes on Mars wasn't enough to suggest that the movie will be a whirlwind of emotions, take a look at Andrew Scott and Greta Lee's filmography. Andrew Scott first broke mainstream audiences' hearts in the British comedy/drama Fleabag, written by and starring Phoebe Waller-Bridge. Scott played the "Hot Priest" who develops feelings for Waller-Bridge's Fleabag, but cannot act on them, knowing it will destroy his life. According to Hot Priest in the final episode, "It'll pass." But, spoiler alert, it didn't.

Last year, Scott followed up that emotional performance with a similarly devastating role in Andrew Haigh's All of Us Strangers, alongside bona-fide tear-jerker Paul Mescal (see Normal People and Aftersun for proof).

As for Greta Lee, as well as recently earning an Emmy nomination for her supporting role in The Morning Show, Lee broke audiences hearts last year with her starring role in Celine Song's Past Lives...'