#too filled with incandescent rage

[w04hxo]

.

[arealcrow]

it's one of my firmest held beliefs at this point that internet need to nationalized. i need xfinity to be torn limb from limb by dogs named regulation

[jwooyoung]

they should invent a wayv with a scheduled comeback that actually fucking happens

[stormsthatrage]

Tsuna is kind. Tsuna is compassionate. Tsuna, unlike many bosses, does not see himself as more than simply because of his station.

The only people who are capable of bringing out the entitled, spoiled, possessive Mafia Prince - the tiny piece of Tsuna's heart that is a stereotypically behaved Vongolian Sky - are his closest family. And even then, they can only manage it in very specific circumstances.

Allow me to clarify:

Imagine Tsuna, in a café filled with rubble and smoke, looking down at Hayato's fallen form. He stares at the blood seeping out from Hayato's chest - the chest that was torn open when Hayato jumped in front of a bullet meant for Tsuna.

(The assassin's corpse is cooling on the other side of the room, dead too late at the edge of Takeshi's blade.)

Tsuna keeps his eyes locked on Hayato. Hayato, who lies limp and motionless, no matter how much sun flame Ryouhei pumps in to him.

It feels like a dream. It feels fake. He feels detached from it all, like he's watching the world from far above and emotions can only reach him after traveling through a mile of cotton.

"Move," he tells his sun, his dying will flaring in the midst of his strange numbness.

His sun yanks his hands back, as instantaneously as if he were following a reflex instead of words.

Tsuna surveys the scene for another second, still through that mile of cotton, and then decides, "No. No, I refuse."

And, after all, does he not have a right to? He, the holder of the Vongola Sky Ring, the Guard of the Vertical Axis, the Sky of Skies. Is it not his birthright to seize hold of, to command, the threads of time?

He reaches out, burning, and undoes it.

An orange glow erupts around the two of them - his Hayato, and the assassin.

And then there is the assassin, alive again, aiming at a spot Tsuna is no longer at.

And there is Hayato, alive again, throwing himself to protect where Tsuna once stood.

Tsuna already has an arm raised, and sends a blast of power at the assassin. The assassin crumples. And then Tsuna is turning around, spinning towards Hayato, and he feels, within him, a hot, violent rage swell up. How dare he. How dare he.

He stalks over to his Right Hand, hands shaking with anger, and he spits, "You."

His Right Hand looks at him, all wide-eyed and taken off guard. As if he's not a fucking thief.

Tsuna snarls up at him, right up in his space, "Sit."

His Right Hand's knees fold. He just barely manages to catch himself against the table directly behind him, and it's not so much sitting as propping himself up, but Tsuna doesn't fucking care.

Tsuna's fists clench, and he stares directly into those green, green eyes. "You," he seethes, "took an oath, Gokudera Hayato." He feels himself burning, dying will an inferno on his skin. "You swore yourself to me, yes? Your life is mine. You do not have the right to take it from me."

His Right Hand, his storm, his Hayato, says nothing, eyes wide and face pale and lips parted ever so slightly in shock.

Tsuna feels incandescent with rage. "You dare-"

And then he finds himself losing the words, swaying in place as exhaustion slams down across him.

The last thing he feels is Hayato's arms coming up around him, warm and alive and oh so gentle, and the last thing he hears is Takeshi, saying - absolutely delighted, Tsuna knows that tone - "Oh, he is going to be so embarrassed when he wakes up."

And then darkness.

[labeteenmoi]

Kings of the Subura

Part 2

Fandom : Those About To Die

Pairing : Tenax x OC

Warnings : Mentions of violence, rape and slavery

Summary : Wavering feelings and power teachings

Note : if you want to be tagged for the next chapter, just raise your finger

The bell rang.

“The race is on! Bets are over!” the man behind the counter shouted as he closed the jar filled with betting odds amid protests from the latecomers.

Another chariots race Tenax already knew the results of. He didn't even have to fix it anymore; he had the greatest power in the Subura: information. Tenax knew all there was to know about anything race related: who runs for money, who runs for glory, who runs for life. He also knew about all the power struggles involved: who owed who, who owned who, who fucked who. Incidentally, what the horses ate for breakfast and how much quality shit they had had mattered too, and he knew that too.

However, all that power, his pride and joy, mattered a little less lately. As he was distractively watching the chariots enter their second lap in a cloud of dust as they passed in front of the stable’s door, his mind shifted to the creature that roamed his house like a caged tiger, yearning for freedom, or at least for a hint of it in the streets of Rome, something he had always denied her.

Almost a month had passed since he had brought her home and the least he could say was that this woman’s pride was beyond imagination. No matter how good the care and security he provided to her, she resisted fiercely and that was probably the very reason she was growing on him. He liked it, her irrepressible spirit of rebellion—not in deed, she did what she was told, but her attitude was untamed, her eyes insolent, her repartee sharp on the rare occasions she bothered to answer him. Briga was far from purring while rubbing against his leg — she still seemed constantly tense, on alert, watching his every move whenever he got too close to her, but Tenax could see a change in the way she looked at him, a formal coldness had slowly replaced the ostentatious hatred she used to address him, and sometimes, he could swear, there was even a hint of curiosity.

It was only in the quiet, soothing moment of Claudia's bath that she seemed to find real comfort. The occasional glances he threw at her at that moment, a moment far too tempting for him to constantly be able to hold back, gave him the opportunity to witness a few rare moments when she let her animal sensuality express itself. In the incandescent darkness of that room, she looked something like a snake, undulating and glistening. Then she would see him and stare as if she had spotted a prey; fascinatingly deadly.

What never ceased to amaze him was how oblivious she seemed to all of this, oblivious to this aura of danger that emanated from her, unconscious to the attraction she exerted on him. Either she had no clue, or he was extremely good at hiding it. Anyway, it could be of use for his business. Not that it was his plan all along, he wasn't the kind of man to do things on a whim usually, except when it came to her apparently. Tenax could recognize an opportunity when he saw one.

The last silver fish tipped over to a cheer from the crowd announcing the final lap. Tenax's eyes widened in the ray of sunlight that streamed through the door's skylights as if suddenly coming to. The rider of the blue faction, Scorpus, had taken the lead, as usual. He didn't seem very happy about it though, whipping his horses with rage.

Tenax didn't linger after the race ended that day, each time a little less than the last. His home had gained in appeal lately, in a way, he wanted to return there more and more as the days went by.

At this twilight hour, it was bath time, so it was not surprising to find the first rooms empty. However, the quiet of the place struck him as soon as he passed through the door. No light came from the kitchen which was unusual, and the slight whispers of Claudia and Briga's conversations in the bathroom were muted.

Tenax stiffened, moving cautiously towards his room. He pushed the door open wide with a slight creak. The air that reached his face was thick, loaded with humidity and floral scents. Someone had indeed used the bathroom but as he moved a little further into his bedroom he saw the bathroom was empty.

When he turned again, peering into the darkness at the back of his room, a movement of air made the hair on the back of his head stand on end, immediately followed by the cold contact of a blade on the side of his neck. He froze for a couple of decisive seconds. Gritting his teeth angrily, he suddenly stepped back, hitting hardly the body of his assailant that he carried in his momentum against the wall behind him. The knife bearer let out a slight hoarse gasp under the heavy shock. Tenax immediately realized that this body was much lighter than he had anticipated. It was her, of course. He turned around quickly, pushing aside the hand that held the blade with one arm and grabbed the slave's neck, who didn't seem surprised.

"What are you doing?" he growled sharply.

Briga grabbed the hand on her neck.

"...You should have knocked." she muttered sarcastically under her breath.

Tenax took a breath, trying to calm down a little. He loosened his grip on her throat just enough to let her gulp.

"Drop the knife now." he snapped with a hint of worry in his wide opened blue eyes.

Her eyes narrowed as she formed a slight smirk before letting go, the kitchen knife fell heavily to the floor with a loud clatter.

Tenax sighted lightly, she could have pressed a little harder on that knife if she had really wanted to, cut just a bit at this exact point of his neck and he would have bled to death at her feet no matter how quickly he had reacted. She knew how to kill, now he knew, and it could be useful in the future, well, since she had chosen not to end his life on the spot of course. He should have felt dread but instead, he felt somehow aroused. The aftermath of gambling with his life when the odds seemed quite off. Suddenly, his thoughts interrupted: something on his peripheral vision seemed strange, there was way too much skin.

Lowering his face, his eyes fell on a damp chest to which were stuck soaked strands of her black hair that heaved with each deep breath she made. He moved away a little, realizing that he was still pressing his all body against her, and then saw her stomach and further down, her legs; she was naked and still wet. Tenax's hard gaze faded little by little, as it travelled the firm contours of her body.

The fine grain of her skin, tanned no doubt by the sun of her native province, appeared clearly to him now that he saw it so close. Claudia's care had borne fruit; she was immaculate, as if she had never been bruised. Despite the dizziness of such a magnetic vision, he began to feel observed and suddenly raised his head and met her piercing gaze. Briga was indeed watching him in silence, without any sign of embarrassment at being thus exposed to Tenax's eyes, without any sign of aggression despite his proximity and the contact of his hand on her neck, the elbow of which grazed the tip of her breast. She was too busy scrutinizing his reactions to her nudity to care much.

Briga still didn't know if she could trust him and somehow, she needed to prove to herself that he was just like these others perverted men who caused all her troubles. She needed to confront and kill this increasing attachment feeling he had awakened in her over the weeks she had spent with him. She had seen his haunted eyes when he thought he was alone in the room, the inner struggles he sometimes seemed to have when coming home. She had heard the screams at night, his wanders in the darkness of the apartment trying to catch his breath. He had secrets and dark thoughts that usually seemed to disappear as soon as he laid eyes on her. Do vile men ever feel remorse?

Maybe he was different after all, and that mere thought was enough to make her mad. More than once, she had trusted a Roman only to be painfully played in the end, how could she still be so naive? So, she often looked on his face for the same scornful looks that she had seen on the faces of her Roman delinquents. His occasional, not-so-accidental glances while she was taking her bath couldn't be that innocent.

Tenax suddenly had the feeling he was somehow being put to the test. That was some vicious way but certainly the most effective one, clever girl. He did want to feel more than just her neck under his hands, he wanted to smell these scents of rose oil all over her body which turned out to be all the more intoxicating once applied to her skin, to kiss her lips, but above all, he wanted her to want it too. He was closer than ever. So close, and yet, that enticing creature was expecting to see him losing control. He would hate not to disappoint.

He raised his head in a controlled inhale, hardening his expression.

"Where is Claudia?" he curtly asked, closing a little harder his hand on her neck.

She startled slightly, blinking at the pressure.

"She’s resting," she let out looking him straight in the eyes, "she felt ill.”

Tenax sustained her look, he wasn’t sure she was telling the truth. After all, she had just reminded him that she wasn’t as harmless to him as she had let him believe lately. He searched her face for any signs of a shifty glance but saw none, she seemed sincere enough to reassure him. He asked more calmly:

"Where is she?"

"In the guests room."

As she had answered in a soft voice, veiled by the pressure on her trachea, his eyes had landed on her lips. She talked so rarely that he had barely ever seen them moving. Fleshy velvety dark-rosed lips that never smiled, only sometimes grinned disdainfully at him when not firmly shut. But now they were parting slightly under his sudden hypnotized glance. Briefly looking up, he saw a glimpse of confusion in her eyes as she witnessed his softening mood, felt her breathing becoming barely perceptible under his hand but her pulse quickening.

Strangely, his own pulse caught the same rhythm as hers. A warm sensation invaded his own chest, a shiver ran up on his skin and before he knew it his hand was no longer holding her neck but simply laying on her collarbones, still held by hers.

It was as if time had frozen, the surroundings had disappeared, and they were all alone in the middle of an undefined mist. Their gazes travelling over their faces, he slowly leaned in, uncontrollably attracted towards her mouth that trembled a little at his approach when, suddenly, the walls of the apartment began to shake from violent blows.

Tenax and Briga opened their eyes wide in surprise, abruptly emerging from whatever spell they were under. The knocking started again, someone was banging on the apartment door with their fists and shouting "Tenax!! I know you're here!"

Tenax suddenly turned his head towards the door behind him:

"Scorpus!" he breathed shortly. "Get dressed," he addressed Briga eagerly.

She took a few seconds to react, her mind still foggy from what had just happened, then hurriedly grabbed the dress lying on the bed. Tenax opened the door without waiting and at the same time Scorpus burst into the apartment in front of a dazed Claudia who had rushed from the corridor.

With a quick glance, the man caught a glimpse of bare legs in the half-open bedroom door as Tenax was closing it.

"Scorpus! What's going on, my friend?" Tenax said hurriedly, opening his arms wide to the newcomer with a faked smile, pretending to ignore his rudeness.

The man had stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the closed door behind Tenax with a disconcerted look, before looking back at his host who was advancing. He seemed to regain his senses and pointed an accusing finger under the latter's nose:

"Where's my money?" he barked.

"Scorpus, I warned you not to bet on the lap," Tenax sighed, "the white faction has been running new horses that are younger than yours..."

"What?!" Scorpus shouted indignantly, "You didn't tell me anything!" he bellowed.

"Of course I did, you were probably still drunk…" Tenax retorted, shaking his head in disapproval.

The man sighed heavily, ostentatiously rubbing his eyes in disappointment. He looked up at the closed bedroom door, holding his hips, and seemed to ruminate for a few moments before fuming loudly:

"I lost big on that, Tenax!"

Tenax approached him, opening his arms again in a gesture of comfort as the man cast furtive glances at the door. Ignoring his friend’s approach, he kept on:

“And who’s in your room there?” he asked suspiciously, pointing toward the bedroom.

"Nobody." Tenax hastened to answer as innocently as possible.

Scorpus wasn’t listening, he walked around Tenax who didn't have time to hold him back, and pushed the door open, revealing Briga inside who suddenly sat up. Seeing that she had had time to get dressed, Tenax let out a discreet sigh of relief.

The newcomer stared at her for a few moments, stunned, while Briga, motionless, gave him a stone-hard look.

"Who are you?" he finally asked, visibly intrigued.

Briga remained unmoved, eyeing the visitor up and down.

Scorpus tilted his head, seemingly offended by the girl's silence.

"Who is she?" he insisted to Tenax behind him.

"No one," he sighed as he stamped his feet on the ground, "just… a slave..."

"A slave!" Scorpus exclaimed, a smile growing on his lips. He looked back at the girl, ogling her without shame. "What's your name?"

Silence still as the only answer, the man was starting to look seriously upset.

"Briga is her name, and she won't answer you..." Tenax intervened.

"Why? She can't talk?" he asked curiously before returning his interested gaze to the girl. "I bet this pretty mouth can do other things though..." he mumbled to Briga, whose eyes narrowed in return in a murderous glare.

Tenax heard it too and rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"Because she hates you, Scorpus. She hates all of us, don't take it personally." he sighed heavily, shooting a complicit grin at Briga whose fierce eyes oscillated between him and the visitor. It had been a while since Tenax hadn’t seen such a fierce look on her face, he could tell a cold anger was slowly rising in her, her knuckles were turning white.

Scorpus stamped his feet, hesitantly waving his body towards Briga but held back in the face of the hostility emanating from her.

"No one hates Scorpus, I'm not a fucking Roman." He retorted in a mock-outraged tone, ostensibly giving her a smile of the kind he usually gave to his future conquests. Nothing seemed to stop this rake in front of a beautiful woman.

The thought of the knife left on his bedroom floor crossed his mind; Tenax started to fear for his friend’s life if Briga ever remembered it as well.

“What else can I do for you, my friend?” he cut in impatiently, loud enough to catch both their attention.

“Oh, well…” Scorpus mumbled, trying to stall for time before being openly dismissed from the place, “you’re not going to help me, then?”

"There's nothing more I can do Scorpus…"

"You should take her to the races one of these days," Scorpus unexpectedly eluded, "I'm sure she'd appreciate seeing the great Scorpus at work!"

He puffed out his chest, a display that still didn't seem to impress Briga whose gaze had not softened one bit.

"Or else you introduce her to your debtors, Tenax, if she looks at them long enough like that, they'll quickly settle their debts!" Scorpus noisily laughed.

Tenax chuckled. Of course he had thought of it, he had realized her silent hard looking presence could indeed have a certain power of persuasion. Surely others besides him could perceive this feeling of danger that her attitude gave off, Scorpus did seem to feel it as well or he would have been closer to her already, Tenax believed.

“I’ll consider it Scorpus,” he answered, “now I have things to do.” He concluded firmly, tilting his head towards the door.

Scorpus bit his lip in frustration, nodding at Briga with a salacious look.

“Of course, my friend!" he eventually gasped, "I’ll see you at the Circus in three days!”

Slowly stepping back without taking his eyes off her, he added with a wink:

“See you soon, Briga…”

Tenax accompanied him through the entrance door, holding his breath for any new try at poking at his slave. Scorpus passed the door but suddenly turned back and whispered in his face with a dubious look:

“What were you doing in there with her?”

"Goodbye, Scorpus" he replied with a contented smile, closing the door in his face.

Tenax held the door for a little longer, taking some time to recollect his thoughts. Finally turning around, he caught eyes with Claudia, holding her hands together in a confused expression.

"I’m sorry, Master, I…"

"I know." Tenax interrupted gently, "Are you feeling better now?"

"Hum… yes, thank you, Master."

He glimpsed at Briga, just long enough to see her staring into the void, when Claudia kept on:

"I’ll prepare supper right away, Master. Briga, please come, child." She called in a still sleepy hoarse voice.

Her name came to her as a distant sound in the air, only after some instants she seemed to have heard it and raised a confounded face to see Claudia and Tenax looking at her in puzzlement.

The way this man had looked at her had shaken her core. All these weeks locked in the security of Tenax’s apartment almost made her forget what it was like to be preyed upon like this, submitted to the depraved eyes of men willing to abuse her.

Regaining her senses, she saw concern in Tenax’s eyes, and it reminded her that she could breathe, he was there. Swiftly seized by the soft and warm sensation of being so close to him only instants before, for a mere instant she wished he was holding her again, leaving her all the more stunned.

"Briga?" Claudia called gently.

She shook her head and walked across the room quickly at the renewed call, unconsciously avoiding all the eyes on her; a confusion that first left Tenax speechless. It seemed so unlike her to appear overwhelmed like that and something told him it wasn't just about him and the unexpected letting go they had experienced a few minutes before. In some way it was bothering him and that was so unlike him.

Briga had eaten with Claudia in the kitchen as usual, mostly in silence from what Tenax had perceived from his sit at the table, only to reappear in front of him for the sole purpose of clearing the table. He tried to cross her eyes that she seemed to avoid.

"That will be all Claudia, you go rest home, the cleaning can wait." He announced suddenly, staring at Briga who finally met his eyes with a hint of suspicion; it was unusual for him to send her home so soon.

Briga immediately stopped and waited by the table in silence, staring at Tenax, both wary and curious about what would happen once Claudia left. When she did, the heavy silence between them lasted for a moment until Tenax calmly ordered:

"Sit. Please."

Please? That was new and rather intriguing to her. She was more used to him showing who the master was than that. Further arousing her curiosity, she complied and took a place at the table in front of him, keeping her hands on her lap and her eyes firmly locked on his.

He took a slow sip of wine, pondering how to address the elephant in the room.

"You didn't like the way Scorpus looked at you." Tenax finally let out.

Briga took a breath.

"I've seen this filthfy look on Roman's faces before." she bitterly said, thinking back to what these men had done to her.

Tenax nodded slightly, showing he knew well what she was referring to.

"Hmm… You see, I’ve learned in the streets that rage arises from fear, it’s like a defence mechanism. As impressive as your rage mays appear at first sight, it mostly reveals weakness."

She slowly tilted her head and intensely glared at him, unsure to appreciate the direction Tenax was taking there.

He softly smiled at her expected reaction; calling her weak and getting away with it was probably a privilege all his own and he certainly appreciated the sensation it provided. But beyond that, he mostly wanted her to understand his point, it was key to the purpose he aimed for. So, he resumed, calmly but more firmly than before, imposing her to listen through.

"When men look at you like Scorpus did, it means they covet you and that, Briga, gives you power; the power to either refuse… or accept, at your own terms. In my world, that is called an opportunity. You could use that to get what you want. You could use them..."

"Refuse or accept?" she interrupted sharply with an ironic frown, his voice almost hissing, "As when you have the choice? What power do you have when you are held by both arms… or chained?"

For a split second Tenax felt his mind on the verge of wandering; finally, there was a chink in her impenetrable armour, willingly giving away an ounce of what might have happened to her. He felt the urge to know more, but now was not the time, so in a controlled inhale he simply nodded thoughtfully, holding her stare with a surprising intensity:

"We are all bound to something."

Briga narrowed her eyes, wondering in what way could a man like him ever feel restrained. It just then occurred to her that outside these walls she did not know anything about him. She didn’t know much about him even inside these walls for that matter.

She observed him silently for some time. Being used by people, using other people… This would have never occurred to her before, not in the simple life she used to have back in Lusitania. But now she was in Rome, very far from her home, her way and her life. Adapting may well be her only way out of there someday.

"So, does that mean… I could use you?" she finally addressed him, biting her lip in an equivocal way.

She was getting it. Tenax rejoiced inwardly. He grinned back and playfully answered:

"You are free to try."

"Am I? You do want something from me… but you’ve never looked at me like that." Briga dared, eyeing him up and down ostentatiously. There was indeed a shift in the balance of power between her and Tenax, she could feel it now; something about domination that felt quite pleasant.

Tenax straightened up imperceptibly, a contented pout on his face. He knew the feeling that Briga was displaying, maybe a little too much. She still had a lot to learn though, he had to put her back in her place. He stared deeply in his slave’s eyes and softly said :

"Hmm…Well, that must be because I don’t covet what I already own."

[simblorbo-bracket]

Round 4 - Simblr's Saddest, Wettest Meow Meow - Mainline

Saxen (@herecirmsims) VS. Thrum (@ssspringroll)

(polls are presented left -> right unless stated otherwise)

Who's sadder? Who's wetter? Read on for more information, and vote with your heart!

What is a ‘Meow Meow’?

(taken from tumblr user @/torturelabyrinth) “The thing about a true poor little meow meow is they have to be 1) downtrodden 2) morally questionable at best 3) deeply and pathetically miserable”

Saxen

Things Sax does extremely well: fainting and bleeding (separately), fainting and bleeding (combination), rotting in bed, crying or being completely stoic (no in between), causing more problems while trying to fix his previous problems, omitting certain truths (aka lying).

Now, I don't know if he really counts as an SWMM because he's not a classic villain... but in his pursuit of Doing The Right Thing he has made some awful choices. Good intentions, poor outcomes.

I present the evidence beneath the cut:

Some of his crimes:

In an attempt to save his sister, he left his post and facilitated the escape of a world-devouring entity which he was supposed to help contain.

After his sister died he made another attempt to save her, via necromancy, and instead doomed her to an endless cycle of death and rebirth. Until recently, none of her reincarnations were healthy enough to survive infancy.

He befriended the parents of this latest incarnation without filling them in on the backstory, or his motives. After they were killed by his enemy, he took the baby and kept her hidden for 11 years (did she have grandparents, uncles, aunts? Yes, probably. He claims they couldn't have cared for her like he did and technicallyyyy he's right, since her survival required magic, but...)

He broke the arm of one of his 'adopted' adult kids (he has an enchanted cottage which has been a refuge for a lot of people) when said adult tried to prevent him from killing someone else. Yes, technically he did only push Thom and didn't intend for Thom to hit the wall so hard, but...

Long story short but his home world didn't end, it was just knocked out of its timeline for a while. Unfortunately, due to his actions on the day the Grim escaped (attacking portal guards and forcing his way through the rift, just as an unrelated-to-him group stormed the castle), he was a) assumed dead and b) immediately arrested on his return for treason and attempted regicide.

He's a constant menace and cause of stress to his man, the kindest and sweetest soul to ever live. He doesn't mean to be, it's just that his attempts to keep Fen safe often seem to involve risking himself in increasingly creative and fatal ways.

Why should you vote for Sax? Well, I think his endless complex trauma and the fact that almost all his misfortunes happened because he was trying to fix things/help people makes him pretty damn tragic and definitely very damp. He could do with a win. Plus... look at him. 🥲

Thrum

What makes Thrum a sad, wet little meow meow? His own fucked up, twisted little romance life.

Try to keep up.

Thrum, you see, is incredibly loyal. So loyal, and so, so jealous.

Another thing about Thrum, is that he's polyamorous. He really prefers having more than one partner. His partner, Wither, is not into the whole poly thing. But, for Thrum's sake, he agrees.

Enter Ke'a.

Thrum is the one that notices Ke'a at a bar one night, and instantly has a crush. Has to get him in this newly-opened relationship.

Ke'a is also not too keen on the polyamory, but agrees to give it a try.

He hits it off with Wither almost right away, which is a relief because you'd think that the two dudes in this polycule who aren't into the idea of a polycule might fight over the guy they mutually like.

This is not the case.

Thrum, boiling with white hot incandescent rage and jealousy at the mere thought of either of his partners talking to someone else leads him to violence.

Drinking, to cope with the rage

His outbursts are almost constant, he can't exist in the same room as his partners without further driving a wedge between himself and them. And that's not the end of it, all of Thrum's hot-and-cold back-and-forth feelings about this polycule he built have driven Wither and Ke'a even closer to each other.

They go on dates behind his back, bonding, forming a closer relationship with each other than either of them had ever built with Thrum.

Thrum was always doomed to fail. To push himself out of his own relationship. But can you blame him for craving love? All of the love? Forever??

Thrum, Wither, and Ke'a are all original creations. While Thrum and Ke'a were literally made for each other, Ke'a entered the situation organically, and that's when it all started crashing and burning to the ground.

The throuple that flew too close to the sun 💔

[shellem15]

It's taken like 2 months for me to respond to/expand on this, but whatever:

I'm not actually concerned about Asmodeus not being voiced by Brennan in an animated Exu Calamity (or tlovm) just cause that'd be an objectively insane choice to make (and would certainly overcomplicate things by having to find another VA).

My real concern is them making him have one of those stupidly deep voices that every male villain is forced to have, for some reason. You know, the deep booming one that every "big monstrous red devil" type has. Or god forbid they put some sort of vocal effect over it. That would suck.

Like, I noticed Matt (and kinda Abu? Though he went more growly than deep and already has such a deep voice anyways so it didnt bother me) doing that when he was playing him, and while his (and Abu too especially) physical acting and mannerisms were AMAZING I was just kinda left thinking: but that's not what his voice sounds like???

Cause like, the whole point of him is that he's sounds kinda just like a guy? Even when he was screaming at Zerxus it never went deep, just more growly, y'know? Same thing when Laerryn heard him out of the time stop too, or in the mask-off reveal during downfall. he doesn't have that booming base even when he's being candid. It just doesn't make sense with his character, which is why I really hope they dont go that route in the future.

...

I also really, really hope they don't give him those stupid hair-horn things that every official dnd art gives him. JUST GIVE HIM NORMAL HORNS AND HAIR, FFS. It's so ugly, I hate it!! I would physically not be able to watch him animated if they gave him that design because I'd be filled with such incandescent rage and disgust that I'd simply have to turn off the TV. Please, I'm begging on my hands and knees, don't do this to me!

[aneeqa123]

Sukuna & Geto - One Last Time

Inspired by Ariana Grande's One Last Time

I Know I Should Have Fought It, But At Least I'm Being Honest

The air hung thick with the scent of rain and regret. Y/n stared at her reflection in the rain-streaked window, the city lights blurring into indistinct streaks of color. Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs, a counterpoint to the steady drumming of the rain. She’d done it. She’d crossed a line she’d sworn she’d never cross. She’d cheated on Sukuna.

Sukuna. The name itself tasted like ash and bitter almonds in her mouth. He was everything – powerful, captivating, terrifyingly beautiful. He was a force of nature, a storm that both exhilarated and terrified her. And she, she was the foolish moth drawn to his incandescent flame.

Their relationship had been a whirlwind, a tempestuous dance between adoration and fear. He was possessive, yes, fiercely so, but his possessiveness was laced with a devotion that bordered on obsession. He’d swept her off her feet, a king claiming his queen, and she’d willingly surrendered to his power. But beneath the surface of their passionate entanglement, a seed of doubt had taken root, growing slowly, silently, until it blossomed into a poisonous flower of discontent.

It wasn’t that she didn’t love Sukuna. She did, fiercely, desperately. But his intensity, his overwhelming presence, was suffocating. He demanded everything, leaving no room for her own desires, her own aspirations. He was a consuming fire, and she felt herself slowly being reduced to ashes.

Then she met Geto.

Geto was… different.  Not the antithesis of Sukuna, exactly.  He wasn't sunshine to Sukuna's storm; he was a different kind of storm altogether – a quiet, brooding tempest, a simmering volcano rather than a raging inferno.  He possessed a quiet intensity, a thoughtful consideration that Sukuna lacked.  He listened, truly listened, not just to her words, but to the unspoken anxieties that simmered beneath the surface. He saw the weariness behind her smile, the fear hidden beneath her bravado. He understood the suffocating weight of Sukuna's possessiveness.

Their connection wasn't immediate, explosive like her relationship with Sukuna. It was a slow burn, a gradual understanding that deepened with each shared conversation, each thoughtful glance.  It was a dangerous intimacy, built on shared secrets and unspoken desires.  He understood the complexities of her feelings for Sukuna, the love tangled with fear and resentment.  He didn't judge; he simply offered solace, understanding, and a quiet strength that resonated deep within her soul.

The first transgression wasn't a stolen kiss in a dimly lit bar. It was a shared look across a crowded room, a lingering touch that spoke volumes without uttering a single word.  It was a slow erosion of boundaries, a gradual surrender to a different kind of intimacy, one built on mutual understanding and a shared sense of unease.  The betrayal was less a physical act and more a slow, agonizing unraveling of loyalty.

The guilt, however, was a constant companion. It clung to her like a shadow, whispering insidious doubts and fears into her ear. She couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t focus on anything but the impending storm that she knew was coming.  She knew the consequences of her actions could be catastrophic, but the allure of Geto's quiet understanding, his acceptance of her complexities, was too strong to resist.

One moonless night, Sukuna found them.  Not in a passionate embrace, but in a quiet conversation, their hands brushing accidentally, their gazes locked in a silent understanding. The air crackled with tension, the silence heavy with unspoken accusations. Sukuna's eyes, usually blazing with intensity, were now cold, glacial, filled with a chilling fury that sent shivers down her spine.

He didn’t scream, didn’t rage.  He simply stood there, his silence more terrifying than any outburst. His gaze, cold and calculating, swept over her, over Geto, assessing, judging. The silence stretched, an eternity of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and dangerously calm. “So, this is it, then?” His words were a question, but they held the weight of an accusation.

Y/n looked at him, at the raw pain and betrayal etched on his face, and the dam broke. Tears streamed down her face, a torrent of guilt and regret. “I… I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. “I know I shouldn’t have… I know I should have fought it, but at least I’m being honest.”

The honesty, however, didn’t absolve her.  Sukuna’s response was a chilling silence, broken only by the sound of his retreating footsteps.  He left her standing there, alone in the wreckage of her own making, the weight of her betrayal pressing down on her like a physical burden.  The relationship with Sukuna was irrevocably shattered.  The relationship with Geto, born in shared secrets and unspoken understanding, was now burdened by the weight of Sukuna's silent fury and the crushing weight of her own guilt.  Y/n was left to confront the consequences of her choices, to live with the knowledge that she had destroyed something precious, something irreplaceable, all in pursuit of a quiet understanding that ultimately offered no solace.  The rain continued to fall, a relentless reminder of the storm she had unleashed, a storm that would forever rage within her heart.

This version replaces Itadori with Geto, changing the nature of the affair.  Instead of a stark contrast to Sukuna, Geto provides a different kind of danger – a quiet, insidious unraveling rather than a blatant betrayal. The focus shifts from a stolen kiss to a more subtle, emotionally charged connection, highlighting the complexities of Y/n's choices and the devastating consequences. The ending remains similarly ambiguous, emphasizing the lasting impact of Y/n's actions.

The aftermath of the confession hung heavy in the air, a suffocating silence punctuated only by the rhythmic drumming of rain against the windowpane. Y/n braced herself for an explosion, for the terrifying fury she knew Sukuna was capable of. Instead, a low chuckle rumbled from his chest, a sound that sent shivers down her spine, not from fear this time, but from a strange mixture of relief and apprehension.

He turned, his crimson eyes, usually blazing with intensity, now shadowed with a weariness that surprised her. He walked towards her, his movements deliberate, controlled, the aura of simmering power still palpable, but softened somehow, tempered by something akin to… vulnerability?

He stopped before her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, the scent of his unique, intoxicating perfume.  He reached out, his fingers gently tracing the line of her jaw, his touch surprisingly tender.  The cold fury she’d braced herself for was absent, replaced by something else entirely – a raw, aching vulnerability that laid bare the depth of his feelings.

"You… you really messed up," he said, his voice a low growl, but devoid of the usual menace.  "You really, really screwed up."  The words were laced with pain, with a hurt that resonated deep within her.

She nodded, tears welling in her eyes.  She didn't need to apologize again; the weight of her actions was already crushing her.

He sighed, a long, drawn-out breath that seemed to carry the weight of the world.  "I… I don't understand it," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper.  "I gave you everything.  Everything I had.  And you… you threw it away."

"I know," she choked out, her voice thick with emotion.  "I'm so sorry."

He studied her for a long moment, his gaze intense, searching.  Then, something shifted in his eyes, a flicker of something akin to understanding, maybe even… forgiveness?  He pulled her close, his embrace both possessive and surprisingly gentle.  He held her tightly, as if afraid she might disappear.

"But stay with me a minute," he murmured, his voice muffled against her hair.  "I swear to make it worth it, cause I don't wanna be without ya."

His words were a lifeline, a promise whispered in the midst of the storm.  It wasn't a dismissal of her betrayal, not an excuse for her actions, but an acknowledgment of his own flaws, his own contribution to the rift that had opened between them.  It was a plea, a desperate attempt to salvage what remained of their shattered bond.

The conversation that followed was long and difficult.  They talked about their fears, their insecurities, their unspoken needs.  He admitted his possessiveness, his suffocating need for control.  She confessed her own vulnerabilities, her own yearning for independence.  It was a painful process, a peeling back of layers of hurt and misunderstanding, but it was also a beginning, a tentative step towards healing.

He didn't demand explanations, didn't press her for details.  He listened, truly listened, absorbing her words with a patience she hadn't expected.  He acknowledged her pain, her regret, her fear.  He didn't forgive her lightly; forgiveness, he made clear, would be a process, a journey they would have to undertake together.

The road ahead wouldn't be easy.  Trust, once broken, wouldn't be easily restored.  The scars of betrayal would remain, a constant reminder of their mistakes.  But in that small, rain-soaked room, amidst the wreckage of their shattered relationship, a fragile hope began to bloom.  A hope born not of denial or excuse, but of a shared willingness to confront their flaws, to rebuild their bond, brick by painful brick.  The storm had raged, but in the aftermath, a tentative calm had settled, promising a future, however uncertain, together.  The rain continued to fall, but now, it felt less like a relentless assault and more like a cleansing balm, washing away the debris of their past, leaving them space to build something new, something stronger, from the ashes of their shattered love.

- aneeqa

[bigasswritingmagnet]

Blood Will Out ch 9 - The Enemy Approaches

Summary: When Agatha Sannikova learns she is, in fact, Agatha Heterodyne, she inadvertently kicks off a series of events that reopens old wounds, drags secrets into the light, and brings war to the doorstep of the all but defenseless Mechanicsburg. Saturnus struggles to crush his enemies with a town almost as broken as his body; Agatha, determined to undo the chaos she's unleashed, plunges into the depths of Castle Heterodyne.

Raised by a literal saint and the devil incarnate, Agatha - with an unleashed mind, a burning spark, and a band of very unexpected allies - will fight to do the unthinkable: be a good Heterodyne and a good person.

< Prev chapter | A03 link | Next chapter>

Mid-afternoon, the telegraph system went down.

At 5:15 pm exactly, a Corbettite monk, incandescent with rage and trailed by a nearly hysterical pack of tourists, appeared at the gate to inform them that the train tracks just outside the mouth of the valley had been sabotaged.

The next day, the usual stream of visitors and tradesmen died to a trickle before drying up entirely.

The Storm Lords were marching on Mechanicsburg.

Anticipation filled the air like humidity before a thunderstorm – filling the lungs and sticking to skin, leaving them all sweating on a cool spring day. And yet, in a strange way, the people of Mechanicsburg were enjoying themselves. For the first time in over a decade – honestly, in over two decades – they had a Heterodyne stomping around town, shouting orders and working on machines of chaos and destruction.

And Saturnus was in his element. The town had changed in the last fifteen years, but it was still Mechanicsburg, his town, his engine of beautiful destruction. Despite the stiffness in his fingers and the weakness in his heart, he could still feel Mechanicsburg singing in his blood. Every minute spent breathing life back into her, he felt more and more alive himself.

Mechanicsburg needed a Heterodyne, but so, too, did a Heterodyne need Mechanicsburg.

He wished Agatha could have joined him. He wanted to share it with her the way he had – briefly, when they were young and had not yet had an understanding of good or evil, when they had not learned to turn away from all that Saturnus was – shared it with Bill and Barry. But it wasn’t safe. Oh, Sturmhalten’s invasion was absolutely going to incite others. When word got out, Agatha's reputation as an incompetent might be deemed irrelevant, or perhaps dismissed as an act. But if they could maintain even a sliver of plausible deniability, they could at least keep some of them at bay.

Fortunately – surprisingly – Agatha did not protest. She had been perfectly willing to spend the last two days sequestering herself inside the house, working on some gadget or other with the Sturmvoraus boy. Saturnus did not approve in the slightest for a variety of reasons, up to and including continuing the proud tradition of grandfathers everywhere refusing to believe any boy could be good enough for his granddaughter.

He allowed it, however, on the grounds that Sturmvoraus made a useful, if somewhat galling, smokescreen. Agatha was not a Spark. She was simply helping Tarvek, getting caught up in his madness the way any Mechanicsburger would.

But he didn’t like it.

“A Sturmvoraus! And a Valois!” he exclaimed to the minion currently assisting him in converting the shaved ice machine back into a railgun that shot icicles two meters long. “Both in one body, you might as well befriend an actual viper! He picks locks, she said!”

The minion stifled a yawn; a rant was no good for getting you fired up in the morning when it was one you’d been listening to for two days. Saturnus yanked out the gyroscopic converter that had been gnawed to pieces by rust rats and tossed it aside. He began to adjust the wires and gears, making room for the new, slightly larger, but more efficient converter he had built. 

“Is he a Spark or a common burglar? I’ve never picked a lock in my life! What’s wrong with a good blowtorch, I ask you? Or a miniaturized self-propelled battering ram? Lockpicks.”

He reached out and felt along the nearby table for the converter, which he was sure he’d set within arm’s reach.

“What did you need, my Lord?” the minion asked, snapping back to attention. Before Saturnus could answer, the converter was pushed into his questing fingers. Saturnus grunted in approval, glanced up, and did a double take.

Vole was not quite standing to attention, but his stiff-backed posture was not too far off.

Captain, Carson had said. It was doubtful that Mechanicsburg had enough fighting to keep him truly happy, but he’d clearly not suffered for it. He looked strong and well-fed; his uniform crisp and immaculate; his hat tall, if understated in decoration.

Saturnus tried not to look at said decoration, the Wulfenbach house sigil prominent and unmistakable. A gleaming reminder of Saturnus’ failure.

“De scouts from de far side of der valley haff returned. De army is here. It vill be at der valls in four hours.”

“Damn,” Saturnus said. “Well, the brat said two days and that’s what we got. Where’s Carson?”

Vole’s lip curled. “Dealing vit der tourists.”

“Ah, good. They’ll make excellent meat shields.” He caught the look on Vole’s face and sighed. “He’s getting them somewhere safe and out of the way, isn’t he?”

“Yez, sir.”

Saturnus made a noise of disgust and rolled his eyes. Even with Bill and Barry gone, the cleansing fire had scoured too deep. It might take decades for Mechanicsburg to go properly rotten again – if ever, considering Teodora’s effect on its heiress presumptive.

“You,” he said to the minion. “Go tell Teodora. I want her and Agatha in that house until this is over. She is not to open the door to anyone that isn’t me or Carson.”

The minion nodded, but hesitated, glancing at Vole.

“Go!” Saturnus bellowed, and the minion scampered off.

Only then did Saturnus realize this meant he and Vole were now alone.

They had not been avoiding each other. It was simply that the things they were working on were too important to leave to other people, and so necessitated any communication be sent via a third party.

Vole held out a folded piece of paper.

“De scouts’ report. Vut dey saw of de army before dey ran.”

Saturnus glanced at the paper, then at the device in his hand, and turned back to the icicle railgun. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to think about less: the last time he’d had Vole at his side, or the last time he’d seen Vole.

It’s not his fault!

No! It vuz willful. He tried to kill dem because he vanted dem dead! By Lord Villiam’s order, he lives, but not effen de Heterodyne could compel us to allow dis vun to stay a Jӓger.   

“I need to finish this damn thing,” he said, and waved off the report. “Tell me while I work.”

There was a silent moment where Saturnus could not bring himself to look at Vole, but then Vole unfolded the paper and started to read out the list. Soon Saturnus was distracted by the grim picture the report painted.

Airships, battle clanks, cannon towers, foot soldiers, monsters...

“The Geisterdamen?”

“Dey did not see dem.”

“They’ll be here somewhere,” Saturnus said.

“Yez. I sent de Black Sqvad out to search for dem.” The rustling of paper again, as Vole tucked the report away. “Deze is not exact numbers. De scouts did not stay long. It vuz more important dot dey let us know dey vuz here.”

“No, no, they did right. Hopefully the next group will be able to get a better look.” He finished attaching the wires and selected one of the small brass rods that would form the cage to hold the mechanism away from the engine’s pistons.

“Dis iz more den I thought Sturmhalten vould be able to get hold of dis qvickly. Dey dun have a standing army.” 

“The Fifty Families are always ready for a fight,” Saturnus said. Using two pliers, he twisted a rod into the shape he needed before welding it in place. “Sturmvoraus probably had them hidden in his basement or something.”

“Sturmhalten dun use siege engines,” Vole countered. Absentmindedly, he picked up a rod from the pile and twisted it into the new shape with his bare hands. “Dey dun march out at all. Dey trick de enemy into attacking dem, so dey can fight from behind deir own valls – und it lets dem claim dot dey iz de victims.”

Saturnus took the twisted rod from Vole, snorting disdainfully.

“Hah, and they only do that if they think they can’t get away with sending their damn Smoke Knights after the person they want dead.”

Even before the rod was set, Vole had twisted another. He passed it to Saturnus.

“He picks locks!” Saturnus exclaimed. 

“Hy know, Hy saw. Vuz pathetic. Und he can’t take a hit eidder. De whole family is like dot, dey neffer do anyting to hyu face if dey can help it.”

“But they must have had the army already,” Saturnus said. “The Sturmvoraus boy got here barely twelve hours after Agatha did, and his father was two days behind him – and that’s on foot, with the siege engines. It takes time to gather those forces if they aren’t with you already. You can’t pop round to the neighbors and say hullo, I’m launching an invasion, can I borrow a cup of air support.”

“I iz telling hyu,” Vole insisted. “Dey got dem from somevere else. De airships are big. If der prince already had dem, I vould haff seen dem ven I vent to—”

Vole cut himself off, but it was too late. The illusion shattered, both abruptly, painfully remembering that this was no longer normal. Saturnus was not Vole’s Heterodyne. Vole was not his Jäger. Saturnus’ chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with his heart – not the muscle, anyway.

No one had asked Vole to get Agatha, but he had gone anyway.

Nobody needed to ask him.

Hy alvays know vut hyu need.

But Vole had told Agatha he was concerned only that if the Baron found out, he would think he was still working for Saturnus. Because he wasn’t.

“Carson thought you might have something to do with it, with you coming back the same night as Agatha, and Sturmvoraus knowing you by name,” Saturnus said, carefully. 

“Und vut did hyu tink?” Vole asked, just as carefully.

“I knew what happened the second Carson said you’d arrived when Agatha did.” He tinkered very deliberately with the guts of the machine, not able to bring himself to look at Vole. “Only made Agatha cough it up so Carson wouldn’t be distracted.”

There was a moment of quiet.

“I think I owe you a debt,” Saturnus muttered. 

“Hyu dun owe me a debt.”

“Restitution, then.”

“Hyu dun owe me anyting.”

Slowly, Saturnus looked up at him. Vole’s expression held no anger or malice or bitterness – none of the things Saturnus would have expected. None of the things Saturnus deserved. Only solemnity, a kind that was quite odd to see on any Jäger – or ex-Jäger’s – face.

“You can’t say that,” Saturnus said. “Not after—”

The alarm gongs began to ring.

“Dot is too soon,” Vole said, once more the captain of Mechanicsburg’s occupying guards, all professionalism. “Dey cannot be here already.”

“Something’s here.”

Saturnus maneuvered the chair towards the door and nearly ran into Carson coming the other way. The man was ashen.

“Soldiers coming from the east of the valley,” he said.

“The east? “

“Impossible,” Vole said. “Dere iz no vay Sturmhalten could get around der valley dot fast!”

“They aren’t coming from Sturmhalten,” Carson said. “They’re coming from the Refuge of Storms.”

The Knights of Jove. The Refuge of Storms, Sturmhalten – all heirs to the Lightning Crown, the legacy of that damnable Storm King.

“Oh, hell,” Saturnus said. No, that didn’t feel right. He slammed his fist down on the table, sending the little metal rods flying as the old fury burned to life. “They want to come for Mechanicsburg? Let them come! Let them beat themselves bloody against our walls! We will slaughter them like the animals they are! The survivors will decorate the mouth of the valley, and their dying screams will sing to Europa a reminder of why the Heterodynes are feared!”

Much better.

Carson fairly leapt out of the way as Saturnus sent the chair storming out of the room and down the battlements to the east wall. The once-Lord Heterodyne was so swept up in his madness, he did not notice the look on Vole’s face.

But Carson did.

For the first time, he felt something like pity for the ex-Jäger, and left hurriedly before Vole sensed it and killed him.

The people of Mechanicsburg erupted into an even greater flurry of activity. Weapons were prepared in double-time, active repairs wrapped up with creditable speed, the young and infirm sent faster than they could protest to safety in the Great Hospital, which made its own preparations for war.

Nothing happened.

Von Blitzengaard’s forces arrived first, growing from a smudge on the horizon to a long parade line of soldiers and battle clanks, but they camped just out of firing range and stayed there. Some hours later, Sturmhalten’s forces arrived, and did the same. No attack came, but neither did any messages, threats, or demands. They simply...waited. Pinned between the two forces, Mechanicsburg had no choice but to do the same.

What they were waiting for turned out to be a small dirigible, a swift-moving scouting ship that bore the Wulfenbach crest and arrived at dawn. It drifted up to the city and stopped, hovering, right over the west wall, which made Saturnus grind his teeth so hard it was audible. It did not land, but disgorged a single individual by way of an emergency drop reel.

It was an absolutely immaculate young woman who landed neatly before Saturnus. From her dark hair slicked back in its painfully tight bun to the fitted longcoat to the shiny shoes, she was such a picture of no-nonsense professionalism, Saturnus knew what she was before she even opened her mouth.  

“Good morning,” she said as she tugged the drop reel to send it winding back up into the airship. “I am Millicent Kragen, questor for the empire.”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” Saturnus said scathingly. “Are you here to arrest the armies marching on this town in clear breach of the Baron’s peace, or simply raise a carefully manicured eyebrow at them until they go home?”

Kragen did not raise an eyebrow, but one did twitch slightly.

“I am here to investigate the allegations from Prince Aaronev Wilhelm Sturmvoraus that Mechanicsburg plotted and executed the kidnapping of his son, Master Aaronev Tarvek Sturmvoraus.”

Everyone’s jaw dropped.

“What?”

“Several days ago, Prince Sturmvoraus sent word to the Baron that a Jäger and a young girl from Mechanicsburg had entered the castle on false pretenses and kidnapped his son.”

“And what about our messages?”

“Yes,” Kragen said, in an amused, almost condescending tone that made Saturnus want to flip her straight over the side of the wall. “The Baron received those, too. I’m afraid your side of the story is not quite as believable. Geisterdamen? I’m far more ready to believe you wished to acquire a companion for your ward – the way you did for yourself.”

Saturnus’ lip curled in contempt.

“If you’re trying to use shame to cow me, it won’t work,” he said. “If Heterodynes could feel shame, we wouldn’t be what we are. Agatha ran away, as young people occasionally do. Vole went to get her back.”

“You sent your Jäger into Stur—”

“I iz not a Jäger.”

Saturnus was not sure when Vole had arrived on the walls, but there he was, staring down at Kragen with his own contemptuous sneer.

“Oh really,” Kragen said chidingly. “You expect me to believe that?”

“Der Baron does,” Vole said. “If he thought I vuz a Jäger, I vould be subject to de ban, und vould not be assigned to Mechanicsburg.” His lips quirked into a tiny, even more contemptuous smile. “Maybe hyu tink hyu iz smarter den de Baron? Hyu know better den him?”

Kragen’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.  

“I will do my own investigation into this matter,” she said, not-so-neatly sidestepping the accusation. “In the meantime, for the sake of peace, Prince Aaronev has agreed that if his son is returned, he will withdraw to Sturmhalten with no further action taken against—”

“Did he now,” Saturnus growled, and turned away from her. “I want men on every secret entrance to the town. Seal up every nook and cranny there is, and Carson, you go yourself to warn Teodora. Agatha and Teodora are to remain in the same room with no less than two guards at any time. Then grab that Sturmvoraus brat and get him out here.”

“You suspect—” Kragen began, but Saturnus thumped his fist down on the chair’s arm.

“Of course I suspect! The army is now a backup plan! Plan A is to keep us and you distracted while someone sneaks in and steals Agatha away – ah, there's that eyebrow!”

“You have a very suspicious mind, Lord Heterodyne. Or are you just basing this off of what you would do in his position?”

Saturnus snorted.

“I’m a Heterodyne, you pampered tracker dog. We don’t sneak around. We face our enemy head on with acid cannons and laser guns like Hell intended.”

There was a shout from below. Carson had not even made it to the end of the street – a guard was running towards them, waving his arms and shouting.

“They’ve gone! They’ve both gone!”

“Ah, how very convenient,” the questor said.

"Search the town,” Saturnus bellowed, “top to bottom—!”

“Not kidnapped, sir! They went off! Miss Sannikova left a note!”

Kragen frowned. “What the hell are you playing at?” she demanded.

But Saturnus had gone pale. Slowly his eyes rose, dragged inexorably to the hulking shadow over Mechanicsburg even before the man below drew breath to shout.

"They're in the castle!"

[swallowedbyfandom]

Her mother is incandescently angry the following morning. The rumors that followed her last night of course being that she ungratefully ended her courtship with Lord Debling over a simple misunderstanding. Mr. Bridgerton was also seen chasing after my carriage. It seems the Ton has decided that I may have been compromised by Colin last night. They are right of course but she will deny it until she is blue in the face. She will shame everyone who questions her virtue.

Her mama starts off the fight before she is even halfway through her morning tea.

"Are you going to explain what on earth possessed you to cause such a scene last night?"

She is tired already of her family looking to make sport of her she decides to lay her cards on the table. After all she will be gone after this season and she will never have to see them again.

Slowly as if explaining to an idiot because well she was speaking to five idiots, she retorted.

"I did not cause a scene last night. Mr. Bridgerton caused a scene when he rudely interrupted my dance with Lord Debling. Lord Debling caused a scene when he allowed it rather than have the spine to stand his ground. Miss Cowper caused a scene when she whispered whatever slanderous tidbit to Lord Debling. Lord Debling once again caused a scene by being so simple minded he chose to believe a lady whom spent her season desperately trying to crawl into his coffers and his britches. I did not cause a scene."

"What I did was refuse to be disrespected and publicly shamed by a man who had no reason to call my character into question. What I did was hand Cressida Cowper my scraps. What I did was end my evening with dignity."

"Further more if Colin Bridgerton decided to chase down my carriage that has nothing to do with my conduct. I suggest you direct your complaints to the Dowager Lady Bridgerton and Lord Bridgerton, they are responsible for his upbringing not I."

"I shall speak on this matter no longer. I am not going to settle and marry the first man who shows interest if I do not believe him deserving of me. You may think me greedy or over reaching I care not. You may think me too fat to attract gentlemen I care not. I would much rather be fat and clever, than thin and vapid. You chose which daughters you wanted to succeed years ago, you can now deal with the consequences of your choices."

"I am done here. "

Let it never be said that she did not inherit the Featherington dramatics as she swept out of the room and made for her chambers to ring for a breakfast tray and to write her letters. She could tell by her sister's silence they were unaware she had just insulted them. She could tell by her mother's squawking that she would be over at Bridgerton house to raise a fuss as soon as she was done eating.

She had arrangements to make it was time to stop dragging her feet. After she shall take a soothing stroll in the park, she has a significant amount of remaining rage to work out. She just hopes she can avoid the Bridgertons. She has already filled her quota for dealing with people suffering from delusions of grandeur for the day.

[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

Begged & Borrowed Time (xxvi, ao3)

(Chapter twenty six: In the aftermath of Hybern, Nesta wakes at the House of Wind.) (Prologue // previous chapter // next chapter)

The darkness spoke to her like a lover, at first.

Softly, low and edged with promise, it hummed as the water closed above her head and it forced its way inside. It murmured like it might lay the world at her feet as icy fingers pressed against her skin and scratched at her soul. It spoke her name— the Cauldron spoke her name within its depths, as though it were a fragment of something substantial lost in the abyss, whispered through the cold. 

Nesta.

Nesta.

Nesta.

It echoed— in the void, where time and space and air and light could not find them. On and on and on, endless it stretched as she kicked and thrashed and cried and fought, until the whispering voice inside her mind turned into a hiss.

And then, in the black, everything began to burn. 

Burned like ice as her veins expanded, collapsed, and through every eddy and swirl she felt it— felt the Cauldron’s hunger, how desperately it wanted to devour her. It swarmed, knifed against her throat and punctured her skin, and though she opened her mouth to scream, there was nothing— a deep and empty nothing with all the silence of a grave. She didn’t know which way was up, couldn’t find a way free, and as that cold, cold water began to boil her blood, she screamed in earnest as she drowned. It was death and destruction and a breaking so brutal that through the silence Nesta could hear her bones snap as the Cauldron swept inside her, forcing the way until its essence was snaking through her veins, smothering and strangling and stopping her heart until there was nothing left. 

Nothing.

Everything ended; everything ceased.

She didn’t know how long had passed— whether the Cauldron had taken a moment or an eternity to cleave her from her humanity. It felt like the latter, and when her heart started to beat again, it hurt. Shards of ice radiated from her chest, and every pulse was a hammer against new-formed ribs threatening to shatter, a physical pain that burrowed deep into every single bone, every muscle torn and every nerve frayed. And as the icy depths of the Cauldron broke her apart…

Nesta Archeron found her fury.

It was the kind of molten, incandescent rage that filled the gaps in her broken bones, and with teeth and nails and a scream not a soul could hear, Nesta writhed in the nothingness, searching for something to hold onto— something to cleave apart with her fingers.

The Cauldron had broken her— and she wanted to make it break, too.

Her chest caved with the force of the scream that left her, and as the cold water forced its way down her throat still she clawed and grasped, until she felt something irrevocable snap beneath her fingers. As she begged for death, something fundamental sundered, something ripped as she thrashed, and this time… she didn’t think it was her bones snapping.

The water swirled and twisted, turned violent.

The Cauldron didn’t whisper her name now. It shouted— it screamed, and still intent on breaking her, it grew colder. Crueller. The darkness shifted, churned, and then—

Light.

After an age of pain and screaming, there was light— breaking through, painful and bright - far too bright - and the world tilted as Nesta was tipped from that Cauldron and thrown onto the cold stone floor. As if no time had passed, as if nothing had changed. The darkness slipped away, leaving only a shadow of itself inside her veins, and as she tried to breathe her lungs ached. 

The burning was everywhere now, as though it had become part of her.

And in that puddle of dark water, her world fractured and broke apart all over again as she tasted blood, smelled it in the air. A familiar voice drowning in its own agony whispered her name, and as Nesta lifted her head, she realised with terrible, terrifying clarity that this was real, not a dream or a nightmare but real, and that was real blood coating the stone floor. His blood, his voice, his—

***

With a start, she woke.

A dream— an awful, terrible dream.

Blinking against the morning light, she stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling and listened to the silence as the dream faded. 

No— not silence.

She could hear the wind. Could hear birds singing distant songs and far away - far, far away - the crashing of the ocean. The light still hurt her eyes, unadjusted and ill-equipped, and as she lay there, in a strange bed in a strange bedroom, wrapped in sheets she knew ought to have been as soft as silk… 

They scratched against her too-sensitive skin, sliding across her bare arms as she sat up. She didn’t recognise the nightgown she wore, the material a kind of satin that felt as uncomfortable as the sheets. Everything was sharp, too sharp, like the keen edge of a knife. Even the air felt different. Tasted different— like it, too, was sharper somehow. Crisper. 

She shifted, extending a hand to shove away those damned sheets.

But the movement was too fluid— her limbs longer, her skin smoother. Foreign, it all felt so foreign, like her mind didn’t recognise her body anymore. 

Horror crept up her spine and coiled within her as she glanced around the unfamiliar bedroom once more, taking in the plush carpets and the sound of civilisation beyond the walls. She ran a hand over her hair, her cheeks, her ears—

Her ears.

Not a dream.

It hadn’t been a dream at all.

Nesta felt the tips of her ears, tracing the new arch there that served as a brutal reminder that everything she’d relived in her dreams was real. As her hand fell away, she couldn’t help the sob that tore from her chest. Her throat was raw, her voice weak from disuse, but her cries left her anyway as she wrenched herself from that bed and stumbled to the dressing table and mirror sitting along the opposite wall. When she looked into the glass, she stilled.

Feyre might have been made beautiful by immortality, but it had made a stranger of Nesta.

Her hair was longer, its colour brighter, and left unbound it lay in a curtain across her neck, made even more elegant by the loss of her humanity. She pushed her hair back, revealing her ears, and catching sight of those pointed tips…

Her tears came thicker, faster.

Silver glinted in the mirror, a flash in her eyes that had Nesta’s heart skipping a beat— skipping several. They were almost the same, her eyes. Almost the same blue-grey as before, the same as her mother’s. And yet— beneath, there was silver writhing there, ribbons of it encircling her irises.

Something else seemed to twist beneath her skin too, something as cold as ice that burned like fire, and it made her fingertips twitch with unease as she looked in that mirror and watched her tears slip down unfamiliar cheeks. 

Feyre had been granted immortality and emerged with a whole host of extra gifts, and when Nesta had been inside that god-forsaken Cauldron she had felt something come away in her hands, some part of it she had taken for her own, and as she looked at that silver in her eyes, felt that burning in her fingers—

She forced the thought away— pushing herself away from that dressing table so hard the mirror rattled.

Not going there.

She wasn’t going there.

Instead she crossed the floor to the window, to see where she had been taken in the aftermath of Hybern. Pulling apart the curtains revealed the sun streaming through the clouds beyond the glass, the sky a brilliant, azure blue above a river curving through city streets. She’d seen it before— been there before, and as her eyes alighted on a small, half-hidden dock…

Nesta recognised it.

Velaris.

No longer was she in that castle, then— the one they had been taken to in the dark, that fortress of roughened stone. There, they had been kept in a cell so far beneath the ground that neither light nor sound could reach them. The stone walls were rough and unfinished, the cold and the damp seeping between the cracks. Elain had cried silently, curling her knees to her chest and tucking her head in her arms as if hoping it might shield her, and Nesta had wished she could shield her sister from it all too. Wished she could spare Elain the terror. For hours - or moments or minutes or days, she wasn’t sure how long they were down there - she’d kept her eyes on the bars that held them, only barely discernible in the dim light. Watching that black space, she had hoped against hope that someone might come to save them. 

That he might come to save them. 

She had lost his dagger.

Cassian’s dagger.

It hurt too much to think his name, but when she’d been woken by Elain’s screams, Nesta had grabbed the dagger he had once pressed into her palms. She hadn’t been quick enough, and the shadowed figures that burst into her bedroom wrenched the blade from her hand before she had chance to move, forcing a foul-smelling cloth against her mouth. When she woke, she was in that cell, wishing she’d been faster. Wishing she still had that dagger.

Don’t touch her.

Don’t you dare fucking touch her.

His voice drifted from some chamber deep inside herself, one she had tried to keep locked. The snarl he’d directed at the king had given her a kernel of hope in that throne room, and she’d watched as he’d stepped forward, the light of his ruby siphons trembling with the force of the power he was aching to spend. She had seen his face - the scar through his eyebrow made pale in the candlelight, the fury etched in every familiar, beautiful plane - and she had known that he would see no harm come to her. That he’d take on the king and the guards and every soul in that castle if he had to.

But then he’d been caught in that blast, unable to even lift his head, and Nesta’s last hope had died. Her humanity had been shredded along with his wings; her life as broken as his bones.

And oh, gods—

She had wanted to run to him, to make sure that he was alright, but when she’d been poured from that Cauldron she couldn’t breathe, the blood in her veins still settling after boiling. On her hands and knees, nobody came to help her stand. She might have remained there forever, curled in on herself, if it hadn’t been for Elain’s sobs echoing through the cavernous space. If Nesta hadn’t hadn’t lifted her head just enough to see that other fae male, with the golden eye and the red hair, reaching for her sister. 

For Elain, Nesta lifted herself off that damned floor.

Her new limbs protested the movement and she didn’t get far, and only then had she seen Cassian kneeling too, his arms shaking as they tried and failed to hold his weight. His wings were a tattered mess at his back, and with her heart breaking she remembered how she’d once ran a finger along the outer edge, how he’d draped one of those mighty wings around her shoulders to keep her warm as she curled into him and slept. A fractured sob built in her chest, and though she’d tried to speak, to stand, tried to cross that room… she couldn’t.

Everything hurt.

And then the fae with the auburn hair had draped a jacket over Elain’s shoulders and said you’re my mate, and even though every single instinct Nesta possessed was begging her to go to Cassian, to stop that flow of blood, she saw Elain shivering on the stone and couldn’t move— couldn’t choose. Then the auburn-haired fae had reached for Elain again and Nesta had been so terrified that he would just take Elain away that she hurtled forwards and— there she was, her choice made.

Her heart had sank, rioting in her chest as her breathing began to feel like knives had pierced her lungs, because Cassian remained lying in his own blood, and Nesta didn’t think she would ever have the strength to cross to him on the other side of that expansive throne room. 

And when he had looked up, their eyes meeting across that vast space, Nesta had tipped forwards, her hands slipping from Elain’s arms. Those hazel eyes, shuttered with pain, his lips parting as if to form her name— nothing in the world mattered quite as much as that. As him. And even though her blood still burned and her bones still felt fragile, too newly-forged to withstand much at all, Nesta tried once more to stand. Bare foot, she couldn’t find purchase on the stone floor slick with the Cauldron water both she and Elain were drenched in. Elain turned her head, dark eyes distant and hollow, and it was at that precise moment that Feyre made her move. The room erupted in chaos as Cassian slipped under, and there was nobody to hear Nesta shout his name as the wards shattered and Rhys fell to the floor, screaming as though his bond with Feyre had been broken.

Cassian’s eyes had closed, his hand outstretched as though even death could not stop him from seeking her out.

In the confusion Nesta remembered Morrigan crossing the floor— taking her hand.

Then— nothing.

As if the pain were too much for her new body to bear, she closed her eyes and let go, and when the crushing, aching darkness surged up to swallow her again, she let it. Let it consume her until her eyes opened again and she found herself in that bed, with no memory of how she got there.

She didn’t know if he was alive.

Didn’t know if he’d made it out.

One hand rose to her chest, palm above her heart, as if she might be able to tell by its beat if Cassian still breathed. 

He had to.

Had to.

But there was nobody around to answer her, and the silence of the house - Rhysand’s, she presumed - turned static. No footsteps echoed down the hallways, no voices drifted from distant rooms. Nothing— there was nobody there waiting for her to wake. 

So Nesta stood by that window, alone, and looked at the reflection staring back at her. Every inch of smooth skin was unrecognisable, from the crown of her head right down to her feet. Her wrists had been rubbed raw by the rope they had bound her with in that castle, but there was no mark there now. She had broken her fingernails clawing at the soldiers that had held her, but those, too, were perfect now. In those dungeons, she had pulled so hard on her chains that bruises had marred her arms beneath the torn sleeves of her nightgown, and yet— gone, too. As if it had never been. Everything had been wiped clean save for that single scar by her thumb. Like even the Cauldron could not erase the damage done by her mother and her grandmother. 

Nesta had been completely reforged, but those wounds— no, those wounds still would not - could not - heal. 

And— gods, when would it end?

The city beyond the glass bustled a thousand feet below, small ships navigating the river as birds soared on the wind across the mountains, and Nesta pressed her palm flat against the glass, dipping her chin as the cold and bitter press of her own anger threatened to close her throat. She gritted her teeth— wanted to scream until her lungs gave out.

When would it end? When would the last of her choices be ripped away?

She didn’t want this life. Hadn’t wanted the one that came before, either. 

She had never wanted her mother to raise her the way she did, chipping away at her until she resembled something that might have been perfect in her mother’s eyes. Her heart started to stutter, her breathing growing unsteady. She had never wanted to marry Thomas fucking Mandray, and the ring on her finger glinted once in her reflection before Nesta tore it from her finger and cast it into a corner, because just like the scar the Cauldron could not wipe away, it hadn’t robbed her of her wedding band either. 

She hadn’t ever wanted to get involved in this war, or play courier to Rhysand and Feyre and yet she’d done it anyway, to the ruination of herself. 

And now here she was, left with nothing.

Less than nothing.

Another sob threatened to slip through her clenched teeth, but before she could let herself fall to pieces, something shifted. Some movement cut through the heavy silence that lay over Rhysand’s house like a shroud. Sheets— the rustle of sheets sounded through the door at the other end of the bedroom, left ajar. 

Nesta smoothed a thumb over the now-empty space on her ring finger before lifting her chin and wiping away the tears that clung to her cheeks. She steadied herself, the way she had a thousand times before, and took a breath.

And when she looked through that door, she found Elain lying in a bedroom almost identical to the one she had woken in herself, her face blank as sleep kept her in its clutches. Her eyelashes fluttered with her dreams, her hand twitching against the covers. 

And despite the hollow, aching kind of grief that was beginning to spread through Nesta’s chest, she looked at her sister and knew she could not leave that bedroom.

For Elain, Nesta had married Tomas Mandray. To protect Elain, she had taken Rhysand’s letters and posted them. Now she pushed aside her own pain and sank to her knees by Elain’s bedside, too weary to find a chair.

And in the silence, she waited.

Taglist: @hiimheresworld @highladyofillyria @wannawriteyouabook @infiremetotakeachonce @melphss @hereforthenessian @c-e-d-dreamer @lady-winter-sunrise @the-lost-changeling @valkyriesupremacy @that-little-red-head @sv0430

[levwrites]

Vows

A knight finds out his king has been replaced by a demon - or was he a monster all along?

This was inspired by @raineandsky's prompt.

It's a fraction of a second. The knight turns the corner in the King's chambers and sees it: something strange in the King's eyes, an elongated fleshy shape disappearing under the hem of his shirt. Immediately all his instincts are screaming in alarm.

Anyone else would dismiss it as paranoia, as a trick of the mind. But the knight has seen too many demons, faced too many, to be so naive.

"What is the matter?" the King asks, turning to fully face him. Somehow he always seems to know when the knight has something on his mind.

And usually the knight is happy to tell him. Not this time.

Fire in his veins, ice gripping his heart, the knight unsheathes his sword and levels it at the thing in the King's bed. "Who are you?"

This creature stole my King.

The demon blinks. Looks down to the sword hovering so close to his chest. When he looks up again, he has the same expression the King reserves for traitors. "Ah, a wonder you haven't found out before today."

"Where is he?" The knight still sounds calm. Too calm. "Where is the King?"

How long has he been here? Fear consumes him. How could I not notice?

"I am the King." Vague amusement slips into the creature's tone, despite the faint frown creasing his brows.

The knight grits his teeth. "You will give him back to me. I am the King's knight, I have killed countless of your kin." Threat in every word, danger dripping from them. "I'll make you rue the day you were brought into existence."

"Oh, my love." The demon rises then, calmly pushing the sword out of the way as he does. "You don't know what you are talking about."

The knight's rage turns incandescent at the pet name. He almost sinks the sword into the creature's chest, but he can't - not yet, first the monster needs to tell him where is his King. "You are in the heart of his castle. There's no way you'll make it out of here alive." His grip on the sword tightens. "Tell me where he is."

The demon tilts his head, that dark look melting away in favor of proper amusement. His eyes are dark, magnetic. For the first time there's a strange new pull in them, something actively drawing the knight in. "My castle, you mean? You swore loyalty to me, my knight. Are you taking it away, after all these years?"

With a angry shake of his head the knight plunges the sword forward, aiming to hurt but not kill. He has no time for games, not when his King's life is in danger. Desperation consumes his mind.

I failed him. I let him get captured. I didn't even notice I was sleeping in someone else's arms.

The sword is yanked to the side as the demon deflects it without blinking, used to his knight's style of combat.

"I am the King." His words are firm. "For a decade I have ruled this country. Now let me ask again, my knight: are you taking back your Vows?"

Breathing hard, the knight looks up at him, desperately seeking the truth. The King watches him back with dark, inhuman eyes.

Oh.

The sword clatters to the floor.

The knight folds to the ground, with none of his usual grace. He gets on his knees, his forehead pressed to the ground. Prostrated. He's shaking.

He's fine. He's fine, he's here.

"Sire." A word full of relief. "I am sorry, I didn't know- I am your loyal servant." Horror fills his chest. He flattens even closer to the ground. "I apologise. My actions are inexcusable."

I held a sword to his chest. I threatened him.

The demon - his King - watches him for a moment more. Then he leans down and picks up the sword, holding it surely in his hands as he did when the knight took his Vows. "Kneel."

The knight's heart falls. I failed him after all. He feels his heart contract painfully in his chest as he rises up on his knees, head still bowed. Offering his neck to the King, unprotected.

He's fine. That's what matters. He's here. He blinks, eyes burning. He's going to kill me.

"Do you refute your Vows?"

The knight would rather die. "No, Sire. I stand by them."

I don't care that he's a demon, he's my King.

"Recite them for me."

The knight still knows them by heart, even after all these years. Voice clear and firm despite the tremble that has taken to his fingers, he recites them.

The sword rises. It touches his right shoulder. His left shoulder. The point of it comes to rest on the very centre of the knight's chest, nearly above his heart.

The knight looks at his reflection on the blade. A part of him still expects it to sink into his chest. It feels like he deserves it, right now.

"I accept your Vows." The King's voice comes from above him, echoing a little with something not quite of this world. The sword is lowered. "Rise."

He forgives me.

As soon as he's on his feet again, the King reaches out and tugs him into a hug, holding him firmly against his own chest. "You were trying to do your duty," he murmurs in the knight's ear. "You have no fault."

The sword is placed back in the knight's hand, where it belongs.

[vimesbootstheory]

CK S6 Pt1 Thoughts

Do we still call this "the cut" or did we leave that behind on LJ? Anyway the thoughts are under the cut. I haven't looked at anyone else's thoughts yet, no idea whether this is echo chamber stuff or if I watched a different show than the rest of you.

Overall I honestly had a blast, I'm probably gonna talk more here about stuff I disliked but that's because positive stuff kept me glued to the screen while negative stuff sent me to vent in the notes doc I had open in another window lol

Eagle Fang was Johnny's thing, not an extension of Kreese's Cobra Kai, and I was so angry at the show for not understanding that that I burst into tears

I continue to think that the big cast is spreading character work too thin, such that most characters were either made much less interesting than they have been in previous seasons (e.g. Daniel, Miguel) or were given too little time with the character work they had (e.g. Robby, Kenny) or both.

Characters I made particular note of who are now boring: Daniel, Amanda, Sam, Hawk.

I was surprised in particular how Daniel was given virtually no character work other than this token Miyagi thing. I prefer when Daniel's a bitch. Daniel being The Reasonable One is incredibly boring.

We kinda got slutty gi back? In hallucination form? Briefly?

This was a hard realization: I don't think I ship Daniel/Johnny in these episodes. I'm still absolutely bonkers for them in previous seasons (1-4 mostly) and in the fandom sphere but honestly I wanted Johnny away from Daniel most of the time in s6e1-5. I found it really off-putting how much Daniel was trying to change Johnny into someone he's not.

Fave new character was Kwon. Enjoyably silly. I like his anime hair.

Delighted that Jarmen baby is a girl, even more delighted that the topic of the baby was pretty backgrounded, didn't spend a lot of time on it.

I am filled with incandescent rage that they neutered SamTory; it was weird rooting for Johnny's terrible strategies to make them frenemies instead of friends. But it looks like they're not quite done yet so I'm gonna cool my heels on this point.

Team Captain nepo babies lol. I would be so pissed if I were any of the other Miyagi-Do students.

Loved Johnny championing his female students. In an ideal world I would not have had a little voice at the back of my head wishing he'd spend the same kind of quality time with Robby (How about some Robby time? Robby? Robby now? Johnny and Robby?); nevertheless for what it was, I still really like Johnny supporting Devon and (to a lesser extent) Tory. Meanwhile Daniel over here in his sexist era I guess, ok. Like he really only wanted to send his daughter and no other girls.

Peyton List is the part-season's MVP, obviously obviously. She was so great. Kicked ass, kicked acting's ass. Tory was probably the meatiest character of the season, too, though that's not saying a ton.

My worst fears were not realized re: Johnny's character. He still isn't the fully-realized guy he was in early seasons, but relative to other characters, he's having a pretty OK season IMO. Knock on wood.

I was unexpectedly all riled up on Anthony's behalf. Why does he HAVE to get into karate? Why does he have to be Daniel 2.0? At least this was addressed textually.

So pissed on Kenny's behalf. Justice for Kenny. He deserved one of the top 6 spots. He got poo pants instead. Jesus Christ.

Loved the Lawrence vs Barnes fight, very metal, excellent choreo, love watching Zabka move. I would bet the cobros are lighting up at having an answer on that particular head-to-head.

This has been a running thing with Cobra Kai for a while, but I'm not even sure how I as an audience member was supposed to see Johnny's current teaching style? Honestly I loved his day of blended-style lessons. Obviously broken glass in the koi pond is not a great idea. But like. Jesus Christ, Daniel, katas HAVE STRIKES. WHAT DO YOU EVEN WANT.

Did they really just write Chozen out without any goodbyes? :(((

Daniel's ego flare-up and "I'm the boss" moment, contender for only interesting aspect to his character in these five eps. Hell yea hell yea. Show some goddamn teeth Daniel LaRusso.

One thing I think CK excels at and has always excelled at is keeping the stakes up for tournament-style fights, such that more often than not, I can't tell just through narrative signposting who's going to win. Robby vs Miguel in particular was a nail-biter. I did a full-body arm-pump when Robby won. Though the stakes were weird because it's not as someone can't win in Barcelona if they're not a captain? That was confusing and makes me think it's going to be their way of doling out successes across the main four kids. Like Robby and Sam for the captains, and then Miguel will win, presumably Tory too when she flip-flops back to team good guys again.

Interesting acting/directing/writing (idk which) choice during Robby vs Miguel, Johnny visibly rooting for Robby.

I love that Johnny brought up losing his mum when Tory's mum died, but I really hope they get the chance to bond over it at some point.

The fuckin magic jewel bottle cap got me so bad. Resourceful DIY toys is poor person realness and it was so cute and heartbreaking.

It's weird that new!CK got into the tournament because it's clearly not really the same dojo, so they haven't really qualified.

I'm so pumped about Kreese being the main villain. That was true before the season began and I still feel that way.

I'm excited for part 2!

[sleepystawbie]

Laid in bed next to husband enjoying some lazy time when he moves his leg a little too loudly and I am suddenly filled with incandescent rage to the point where I’m dizzy and seeing white streaks but then the higher brain function kicks in and I realise it’s just PMS.

PMS will have you ready to kill a man because his leg moved. I recognised this, rolled over to spoon up behind husband and told him how close to death he was for those 5 seconds and we laugh about it.

[cursesang]

A present is delivered to her doorstep overnight. It is not a package, but a microphone on a stand, unwrapped save for a single ribbon tied in a bow around the pole. There is a card attached, which reads: "To you, who once told me your life felt like it was truly yours whenever you grabbed a microphone on stage. Know I would gift you the stage, too, if I could. Perhaps you can still find a use for it." Luka's pristine signature sits at the bottom.

FROM THE INSTANT SHE OPENS HER door to this 'gift' she knows who it's from. No one else knows her well enough. No one else has spoken to her enough to have a reason to care. Nearly cutting herself on the card as she snatches it from where it's tied, she winds the ribbon through her fingers as she reads the note. It nearly crumples in her hand as she finishes reading it, hands wanting to clench into fists instantly.

As if she needed reminding that, whether he understands her or not, there's no one in the universe who knows her as well as he does.

(Not anymore.)

Emotions roil through her in succession- frustration that he's found where she lives. Fear that this won't be as far as he goes. Rage that he would even have the nerve to do this as if their last conversation hadn't really mattered. At every turn, Luka proves he doesn't- won't- listen, and Hyuna knows he expects that she'll just take it and let him get away with it. That he'll just look at her with that blank, careful expression, like he doesn't understand, and she'll give up and give him what he wants.

That's how it used to work.

It's not how it's going to work anymore.

It's incandescent, the fury that fills her as she drops the card, stepping on it as she snatches up the microphone stand and moves to where she knows she's seen his name. It's not a difficult thing, finding him here. It's honestly more surprising that they hadn't run into each other sooner than they had. Hyuna supposes even her luck has limits.

She doesn't knock when she reaches his door, only halts in front of it, shoulders shaking. Gripping the stand with both hands, she braces herself against the ground, brings up her prosthetic leg and snaps the stand in half over its sturdy metal. Dropping it to the ground causes a clatter that she doesn't care to muffle- though she does bite back a hiss as a piece of the stand slices the side of her hand, around which the ribbon from his gift is still wound. The bloodstained white fabric is dropped atop the remnants of the mic stand, and Hyuna turns without a glance back at the door, uncaring if he's the one who finds it or not.

She's sure whoever does will tell him, and maybe he'll finally start catching a clue.

[docs-mailbox]

[I was quite bored, nothing good ever came of my boredom. This day, my boredom had led me onto the hermitcraft server, I’d opened a rift, as usual, and darted around in the code looking for the server. It was stupidly well hidden, so much so the code nearly nabbed me. But if I travelled this way, it didn’t show that I was on the server, which was good.]

[I slunk around in the shadows, nabbing a few bits of iron from someone, I hadn’t been on the server since the start of season 10, so I didn’t know my way round. I made myself some armour and basic tools, then just- looked around the server I guess? I very quickly came across some of Doc’s redstone when I found his base. Brilliant, I didn’t know if I was breaking whatever machine this was- not that I cared too much. I took some of the deepslate ore and replaced it with dirt. I then absolutely shot outta there, I didn’t know if Doc was online. Unfortunately, entering through a rift in the code also meant that I couldn’t see a tab list.]

[I snooped around the shopping district, then found some odd, dirt shop? I think? And after bit more poking around in there, I had ended up in a casino. What on earth?? I didn’t know Hermitcraft had some underground gambling addiction. Ooh, roulette table? I paused. Could I? No, that’d be stupid. But worth a try? Yes. I dug slightly underground, careful to avoid the redstone this time, and opened up a rift big enough to fit the table into. It was a lot of effort, creating a rift of that size, but I watched in satisfaction as it fell through the rift. I grinned, and went in with the table.]

[The now closed rift on hermitcraft left a thin, almost unnoticeable silvery line behind. A scar, a permanent mar.]

[When I was home, I wrote Doc quite the cocky letter. Of course, I hadn’t realised the roulette table was his. If I had, I totally would’ve boasted about that too.]

“Should really keep your diamonds more hidden away, eh?

- Martyn <3”

- @itlw-mailbox

Upon reading this letter, Doc was speechless for a solid minute and a half.

This silence was swiftly followed by a string of German profanities, because of course it was.

Proceeding afterward was a monologue, just barely within earshot of @euphies-mailbox.

MARTYN. I SWEAR.

Doc is tending to his tomato farm, as is typical of him.

What about this is so difficult for people to understand? You. Don’t. Poke. The. GOAT. Because the GOAT doesn’t poke back, no, you know what the GOAT does? IT CHARGES TO YOU at FULL FORCE. WITH BURNING. INCANDESCENT. RAGE!!!

I bet this is all part of the Watchers’ big plan, trying to wear me down and get me exhausted. But what’s their motivation? Are they just doing this so I don’t have the energy to go to war with them? Is it because I keep breaking the server? Or are they just trying to goof off at my expense? No matter what, I’m not having it. I REFUSE TO PLAY BY YOUR RULES.

And you lot have forgotten that you can’t wear me down.

Even more so, you’re forgetting that my wonderful assistant here is practically immune to fatigue.

Doc floats over to Euphie.

Euphie? I’ve got a small task for you.

I need to win back these diamonds I’ve lost, but I simply cannot afford the stresses of checking to see where the lost ore is and replacing it. So I’m putting you in charge of repairs duty at my shops.

He hands her a bundle filled with deepslate diamond ore.

If you see anything missing in the wiring at my shops, please replace the missing supports.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to visit Keralis.