#which is something maybe he can work on and develop. he's still young

[ropebunnykant]

There's one line from ep 10 that I don't think we, collectively, spent enough time on, and that's Kant saying he used to get scared working for the cops cos he was on his own and nobody had his back, because isn't that utterly devastating if you really think about it?? We still don't know how old he was when he started being a 'narc', but he looks quite a bit younger in the flashback, and we know he was being put on cases involving significantly more dangerous criminals than some chancer car thief, so now I can't stop thinking about a college-aged Kant, with the weight of the world already on his shoulders, thrown in at the deep end, all alone, having to fend for himself amongst hardened felons who'd kill him in a heartbeat if he got rumbled, with no training or back-up or anything but his wits to protect him and nobody looking out for him...it breaks my heart! Also, him admitting to Bison he was scared is a big step for him and another show of trust - it's such a brief but sweet and vulnerable moment. I so badly want a prequel that explores both the brothers' upbringing and training and, mirroring that, Kant's first encounter with the Captain and the subsequent development of their fucked up relationship (and then throw in Kant and Style meeting and becoming friends for some light relief amidst all the trauma and grooming!). I know that's what fic's for, but it's just not quite the same!

I'm one of those ppl who are 100% convinced a) the preview is being upfront and b) they're going to jail, but on a reduced sentence after Kant makes some sort of deal which includes giving them a last day together. Which means I think the actual assassin plot will be wrapped up in ep 11 and then ep 12 will be a time skip and them getting out of jail and basically just a bunch of relationship/couple stuff (weddings!), and I'm not sure how I feel about that, because while it is a romcom and has always been more relationship than plot/hitman-driven, it would seem rather a rushed and anticlimactic way to end it, and would make the stakes going into the finale incredibly low. But equally I can understand them wanting to spend a fair chunk of time on happy lovey dovey shit, so I'm torn. I actually think this is the rare show that could have benefited from being a couple of eps longer - that way more time could've been spent fleshing out some of the side characters/plots, e.g. more time spent on Keen, on Babe, on the general hitman shenanigans but especially them finding out about Lilly and the fallout from that, on dealing with the Captain in a satisfactory manner (aka him getting his ass whooped!), maybe even on the Fadel/Kant dynamic and them realising they're basically the same person! As it is, I don't think there's been much in the way of filler so it's not that there's really anything they could have sacrificed... I just think that if something as light on plot as We Are could get 16 eps (absolutely not a dig! just a statement of fact! and I guess their eps are shorter), then surely a show with as much going on as THK could have been afforded the same! But oh well, it is what it is, and at least each ep is nice and long! Basically I'm just being greedy cos it's starting to sink in that it's almost over and I really really really don't want it to end! I want to spend another three months with these characters in this world! Nay, not three months - three years!

anon i am literally kissing you on the mouth for bringing this up because i've watched the episode twice and both times i clocked that line and thought "oh i've GOT to make a post about that" and then proceeded to totally forget by the end of the ep because there's literally so many fucking things going on in ep10 that are juicy and delicious and make my brain itch, ESPECIALLY related to kant, but GOD does that line deserve to be talked about

like god, everything you said. i definitely figure kant had to have been really young when he got caught. the age i've used in both my fics that mention it is 24 and i do think it's exceptionally poetic if that IS the age he was caught, given that's how old bison is now (tho that wasn't even my initial intention with that but now i'm hooked on that thought sdkjdf). however, i do remember in the early eps i also theorized that the reason we all saw that flashback and though "yok!" was purposeful because yok in not me was college aged. not to mention we can't see any of his tattoos or where they would be, and while that could be because he was purposefully covering them to avoid identification, it's also entirely possible that we're again meant to register that this is a much younger version of kant. and given that we now know that kant was quite literally a child when their parents died, i again think that adds as evidence to him having been very young when he got caught.

and it's just. god it makes sense he was scared. he was just a kid, he was trying to take care of his brother, and he had no other options. he stole cars, he sold them to take care of babe, and then to keep himself out of jail he had to continue dealing with dangerous people. people that could hurt him, people that could take him away from babe anyways. it's no wonder he was scared! and god it's the subtle admittance that the captain never gave him any fucking help, either. he sent kant out on these dangerous missions with no resources, no help. he got a fucking college-aged civilian to do his dirty work and didn't even bother to make sure he felt safe. like i think about all those times the captain assured kant halfheartedly that he would never let bison or fadel kill him, and yeah we knew he was lying then, but now we know kant never believed that, even before he was dealing with assassins. and god it's just so heartbreaking. thinking about young, terrified kant, doing these missions because he has no other fucking choice and not even being able to have the surety that someone was looking out for him.

kant has been looking out for babe since he was a kid, but he hasn't had anyone looking out for him since he lost his parents. and i'm so glad he got to hear bison say that he has his back now because god he deserves that. someone that's gonna have his back, someone that cares about his agency and safety more than anything else. and bison is doing that tenfold.

as for the other stuff, i've already said a few places that i think the preview is misleading. i'm more than fine with being wrong, since i do think the "being happy today" thing could apply to either before an attempt at killing lilly or before whatever shady deal they make with the captain follows through. but i am still thinking it'll come first in the episode. however, i do not think for a second that they're gonna be able to kill lilly or that they're getting jail time. especially cause it doesn't make sense to me that kant would look so panicked and frantic in the promo if they had actually managed to succeed in their mission. i absolutely think something is gonna go wrong and lilly is gonna walk free that day, which is what kant is gonna leverage for the shady deal because christ always wanted lilly above fadel and bison. he could have gotten them in prison at any point, but he wanted kant to find out their boss and i feel like that was emphasized on purpose. so i think if they're gonna help him take down lilly, i can absolutely see him agreeing to let them go. and if kant's the one making the deal, i can't imagine him walking away from the deal with anything less than the brothers getting off scottfree. like tbh? i think kant would offer to go to prison himself first before allowing fadel and bison to serve jail time. he promised he was gonna get them that life they want and we know kant's main love language is sacrifice! like do i actually think kant is gonna serve any jail time? no, but i can absolutely see him offering it, and again, i don't think he'll settle for anything less than them being let go

i'm not 100% on if the assassin plot will be wrapped up in ep11 or not - my guess is that it'll be more a mid ep12 wrap up just cause there's clearly so much going on next ep, but i can also see it wrapping up next week and then ep12 being more of an epilogue. and i do absolutely agree i think this show would have benefited from a couple more episodes!! like i think there were a lot of things that could have been fleshed out better if they were given the chance. it's not a complaint for the most part, since there are very few things i feel like NEEDED more, but i do think certain things could have been better for it if they did have extra time. i would spend forever watching these characters tbh if they let us skjdfhskjdf

[cementcornfield]

such a shame

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Hey! I was hoping you could write something for Marc Spector/Fem! Reader (all 3 boys) where the reader unknowingly does something which upsets the boys, and they kinda pull away, but after the reader keeps asking them about it, they spill (Maybe Marc would feel bad about being upset yada yada yada).

Yooooo, my HEART! What are you trying to do to me? (affectionate)

Pull Away

Marc Spector x GN!Reader • Rating: PG pals •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | requestinfo• ko-fi •

Summary: Headcanons of when there's an unintentional upset with the Moon Boys.

A/N: I've changed this a little, sorry! I hope that's okay, it sort of went and did it's own thing.

There some talk of OCD. I have OCD, and only found out quite recently that people with autism and adhd are a little more likely to develop OCD than someone who doesn’t. (You’re also more likely to develop it if you have other mental illnesses, like depression/anxiety etc.) Obviously, this is just my own little headcanon but the layout of Steven’s flat does remind me of my OCD hoarder tendencies, while Marc’s minimalism makes me think of how when I was a very young adult I tried to ‘cure’ my ‘messiness’ by going so minimal it was like I had nothing. (Spoiler: it not only didn’t work but made me very sad.)

Warnings: Marc being sad and not so good with his feelings, swearing, a little bickering, OCD talk, over use of italics, typos, not beta read, railroad sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 995

I feel like Marc doesn’t like expressing himself very much, especially when it’s a ‘negative’ emotion. 

Which means he’ll bottle it up and self internalise it.

This becomes a problem, because even if you do little things that you have no intention of upsetting him, he won’t tell you when you do them. Which means you’re gonna do them again. And he’ll get upset again. And it’ll just go around and around in a vicious circle. 

So much so that he’ll start getting a bit resentful that you’re still doing it, even though he knows logically there is no way for you to know that it’s upsetting him. 

So the internalsion and beating himself up will turn into him being very low, and quiet and giving you the silent treatment. 

Now, he’s not trying to give you the Silent Treatment ™ as a punishment, he just worries about his own reactions (terrified of ever raising his voice in anger to you, or having any kind of disagreement, let alone argument) so he thinks it’s best if he doesn’t talk, doesn’t interact with you. 

He tends to fade back and let Jake or Steven front most of the time. 

“Where’s Marc? Is he okay?” 

“He’s fine, Love.” “He’s well, Amor.” 

But neither of them really knows, they are just trying to comfort and reassure you because, in all honesty, they don’t know either. 

He’s giving them the silent treatment too. 

If you do something to upset Steven, unintentionally or not, he’s telling you. He’ll try not to let it bother him, try to not tell you, but all that lasts the grand total of 2.6 seconds. 

“Love, can you not do that, please? It’s just it upsets me, yeah?” He’ll fiddle with his hands a little if he thinks it’s a ‘silly’ thing. 

But’ll smile when you say of course. He’ll also talk about it in more detail, happy to explain why something bothers him, even if he’s not 100% sure. (He’ll start talking about his physical reactions, “it’s just when you touch that part of my back that way it feels all funny, like I want to be sick.”)

If it’s something that is more to do with an ‘unhealthy reaction’ that’s bothering him (OCD talk here) then he’s also open to discussing it when you prompt him. 

“Why don’t you want the cups here?” 

“Because they don’t go there?”

“Okay, is this a ‘they don’t go there because this is the best place for ‘or a ‘they go there in this way or something bad will happen?’”

“Erm… the second one.” 

“Okay.” Lots of hugs and reassurance. “Do you want to put them somewhere different to fight the OCD?”

“No. But let’s.” 

Jake is a little more likely to stew a little when he’s upset than Steven, but he normally will come and speak with you very quickly after taking a small breath. 

“Amor, please do not do that.” 

You know when something really bothers him because he speaks completely blankly. There’s no emotion and his eyes look empty, as if he’s glazed over. It’s part of his defence mechanism. 

When he’s like this you try to speak as calmly and softly as you can. You once turned a bit quickly when he spoke to look at him and his flinch nearly broke your heart. 

He knows you wouldn’t strike him, but he can’t fight the muscle memory. 

You offer physical contact by holding your arms out to your sides (not in front of you) so that he can initiate it if he wants. Which 99% of the time he does. 

He doesn’t like to speak about the reasons something is bothering him until later, after he’s calmed and his heart has stopped racing. Sometimes this takes a few minutes, other times hours or even days before he feels ready. 

He started to write whatever bothered him, summarising it in a sentence on a scrap piece of paper and pins it to the fridge to let you know he will talk to you about it and that he wants to. He just needs time. 

When Marc has been hiding for a while he starts to feel guilty about it more and more, which only makes him want to stay away from the front even more as well. 

Steven tells him off for sulking.  

Jake tries to reason with him.

In the end, Marc only fronts when he feels ready. 

Very rarely does he tell you what was wrong. Mainly because it doesn’t want to bother you with it. 

Sometimes if you do something he doesn’t like and Steven or Jake are close enough to the front they will be the ones to tell you. 

“Marc doesn’t like that.” 

Marc gets moody with his headmates for ‘speaking for him’.

“Not like you were gonna do it yourself mate, was it? No. You were gonna go and piss off and sulk.” 

“Steven,” Jake is ever the voice of reason, can feel how Marc bristles underneath their skin. “Marc needs time sometimes, you know that.” 

“Yeah, but he’s got to learn to communicate too. Can’t be bloody trying to get everyone to read his mind and then getting upset.” 

It starts a bit of a heated discussion that you can’t hear. 

But you do notice how Marc tenses up.

“Hey,” you nudge your arm into his softly and smile when he looks up at you. “I won’t do it again, okay?” 

He smiled weakly and nods, taking your hand in his and playing with your fingers. “I’ll try to tell you what’s going on more…”

“It’s okay,” you pause, “You know what? How about when I do something that’s upsetting you don’t have to speak, or explain if you don’t want to, but just let me know by signing? That way I won’t do it again.” 

Marc nods and you teach him the sign language for stop in your language. 

It works well for you both.

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[eurothug4000]

INTERVIEW ON THE MAKING OF THE CANCELLED MMORPG NINELIVES

Ninelives is the most beautiful RPG that was never completed, but can still be experienced as it was left. As part of my video on the game (now up for early access on Nebula), I also interviewed Tota of SmokymonkeyS on its inspirations and development before its suspension in 2016.

What would you say are your main inspirations for the art style in Ninelives? E.g. other artists, film, games, literature, history etc.!

I was a huge fan of Adventure Gamebook when I was a kid. Well, maybe you don't know what that is. Please read the wiki if you need: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gamebook. I was reading (playing) translated oversea gamebooks well, and love the inner artwork especially what draw by monochrome. I had never seen pictures like that before, and had a strong impact on me. So, I wanted to make a gamebook by my self. When I started making my own gamebooks, I learned a lot about how games are made. That's because a gamebook is a medium in which the player can see all the source code. At first I started making gamebooks because I was attracted by the artwork, but my interest eventually shifted to making the game itself.

Related to the above, do you take a lot of inspiration from real world cultures and places? Are there any that you particularly gravitate towards?

I like the mixed culture, like Chinoiserie in France at the 17 century. Plus, since I'm Japanese and this country has always been greatly influenced by China. So I'm not limited to any one of these cultures, but trying to create as I am influenced by all of them. Sometimes people say that what I create looks Japanese, Chinese, or Asian, which is neither correct nor incorrect. I try not to be only of a certain culture when I create. That's because I want to create an imaginary world that is somewhat like reality, but slightly different.

Why did you want to make Ninelives?

Ninelives was the first game I ever thought of making, I think when I was about 17.

Do you think Ninelives being in an unfinished state provides a different atmosphere when playing the game and exploring the world?

I don't particularly think so. The atmosphere of the game is still complete. I wanted the game to be a relaxed, free-roamed adventure for players.

I wasn't certain during my research, so I wanted to confirm if Tomomi Sakuba was involved in Ninelives in any way?

Yeah, Sakuba was involved in Ninelives lots of ways. As you said, he did some of the texture pictures for flowers, plants and tree leaves. He also drawn the world map and area maps of the game like below: http://www.smokymonkeys.com/kyrill/index.asp?direct=138 He actually walked around the world by himself to make this. He was one of the most earliest game tester of the game. Oh, and I have to tell you this. He's a voice actor of male Nightbreed and Elf! In addition, his wife did some of creature voices. Her voice is also used on Triglav too!

What are your own personal thoughts on Ninelives? Is there anything you would drastically change looking back on it? Or any big changes you would want to make if you were to continue development at any point?

Ninelives was too much for me in many ways. It was a world I had been thinking about since I was young, but there were too many things to actually create to handle, and in that sense it's exactly the dream a child thinks about. We are a team of two in SmokymonkeyS, but one of us is in charge of programming and system engineering, and the game itself was created completely by myself. I had to create all the pictures, models, terrain, music, and story by myself. Now if I'm going to make something, I don't make it on such a large scale anymore.

Apart from the Switch release for Garage and occasional updates on Triglav that you mentioned before, is there anything that SmokymonkeyS are working on for the future?

Not yet so far.

I noticed your banner on the official website (http://www.smokymonkeys.com/kyrill/index.asp) has a character on a train platform, I wondered if that might be a future game?

Once it was. It was a previous project of Triglav for mobile. But it was going to be on a larger scale again, so we decided to port Triglav before that. There are no plans to make that game now. But I may make another game with that worldview and atmosphere. For example, as a mobile game.

A big thank you to Tota for taking the time to answer my questions! You can find SmokymonkeyS and their games here:

[buzzcutlip]

hiiii! can I get a request for lip with a shy!reader where they like know each other from school but it’s like later seasons lip like working at the shop or the construction job and she starts to develop a crush on him but he doesn’t think he’s good enough for her so he distances himself and dates other girls and she has to watch from the sidelines until a guy asks her out so she goes for it and lip gets jealous and realizes his feelings. i’m in an angsty pining jealousy mood but with a happy ending still if that makes sense! but honestly feel free to run with it if it’s something you’re interested in writing bc I love your writing! 💗💗

Hi anon! I love this prompt, thank you very much for sending it my way! <3

This is a very first time I'm writing something with our dear boy Lip Gallagher, and I hope I'm not messing it all up.

Lip Gallagher/Fem!Reader Mature 1561 words

You admired Lip Gallagher. He was smart, intelligent, witty, and—alive. Despite the , he made it to college. You didn’t know the details but heard people talking about those nasty Gallaghers. You saw him take his little brother, Liam, to classes, to your study group. The little boy living temporarily in a dormitory made you sick with worry, but it was obvious that Lip took great care of him. You mostly felt for Lip—that he, as young as he was, had to take on his parents' responsibilities. And still, he did so great at school and had two jobs on top of it. He went home for weekends to help around the house. But that life sucked him back in, never giving him a solid chance, as much as Lip fought for it. He left the school, left the crime scene behind, and left an empty space in your chest. You never told him how you felt. Never wanted to, anyway.

Occasionally, you still meet each other at parties he gets invited to—or invites himself to—and you chat easily, sharing a drink or two. You’re happy to see him, to hear about his crazy jobs. Sometimes he brings a girl along and you smile politely at her, shake her hand. The whole school knew about Amanda and Mrs. Robinson. Besides wanting to protect yourself, you don’t believe Lip could ever want more than friendship from you, which makes interacting with him easier. ‘Cause you’re not trying for anything with him. He’s just a good bad boy. Who cares if you’ve had a crush on him since day one?

So what you expect from Lip when you introduce him to your date, Jacob, at one of these lame parties is that he shakes his hand and says hi politely. Which doesn’t happen; he just grumbles something and leaves for the kitchen. You roll your eyes and tell Jacob not to mind. Inside, you’re a bit embarrassed and disappointed. Why? You’re not sure. Maybe because Jacob’s a bit boring and you still keep seeing him. Letting him kiss you and put his fingers in your pussy and never do anything back. Because he doesn’t attract you. “But he’s nice,” your friends say. You say, for Christ’s sake! He is nice but oh so boring. You don’t feel anything, but you don’t want to be alone anymore. And most importantly, you don’t want to think about Lip when you masturbate, when Jacob fingers you, when boys half-heartedly fucked you in the past.

But as much as you want to forget Lip, you see him again. It’s a bar this time. Filled to the brim with a Friday crowd.

“Hey,” someone says behind you, laying a hand on your shoulder, and you know it’s him before you turn around. You smile at him, sucking on a colorful paper straw.

“You still drink that? Rum and Coke?”

“Yeah,” you laugh shortly, looking at the dark brown drink in your hands. “Spiced rum!” you clarify.

Lip leans closer to you, the sudden proximity doing things to you, as always, and you have to bite your bottom lip.

“Is your boyfriend here?” he asks casually, but you noticed him scanning the crowd just a few seconds ago.

“Yeah… Jacob’s here—but he’s not my boyfriend. We’ve been just—seeing each other for a bit.” You don’t want to talk about Jacob with Lip and it’s clear in the way you talk. You’re more focused on your elbows touching on the bartop.

Lip just laughs shortly, doesn’t say anything. It irks you. You frown. “What?”

“Nothing,” Lip shrugs, drumming his fingers on the wooden desk stained with beer and sweet, sticky liquor. He’s lost some of the baby fat in his face. You notice the sharpness of his cheekbones. He tilts his face downward as he blinks at you.

“You never had a boyfriend at school.” He probably wants to say "When I was at school" but that doesn’t interest you that much now.

“So what?” You grow even more irritated by his questions. Why does he care? You never discussed boyfriends, or his girlfriends, for that matter.

You turn your head away, grimacing, but Lip, on the other side, seems entertained. Intrigued.

“Nothing,” he says, smirking stupidly, and doesn’t stop looking at you. “You’re pretty when you pout.”

Your whole face flushes in an instant. Lip never talked like this to you. Never flirted. Of course, at the beginning, you had been disappointed, but you quickly decided that mutual respect for friendship is much better. Safer.

Unsure of what you’re going to say, you tilt your face back to him, but when you look at Lip, he’s not smirking anymore. He reaches for you, hand catching your burning face, his thumb sweeping over your cheek.

It takes you a moment to bat his hand away. “What’re you doing?” you ask, horrified. And shocked. Flustered with your shyness.

Lip shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he mumbles while you’re looking around, all wild, to check for Jacob.

This time it’s Lip who frowns. “You said he was not your boyfriend.”

“Are you, like, jealous or something?” you say only to say SOMETHING, head shaking in disbelief. The silence that follows almost shocks you. You never thought about what you would do if Lip felt the same about you. Never dared to think about that scenario.

Scared to find out what you’ll find out, you peer at him. His face is serious, jaw tense.

“Oh my god, you—you’re jealous,” you whisper, hand going to your mouth to cover it. Your expression must be hilarious—eyes wide, mouth open in disbelief. Lip starts fidgeting with the paper coaster on the bar, eyes flicking all over the room.

Angry tears begin to cloud your vision. “You have no right to be jealous now,” you seethe. “Have you only noticed me now? When I’m seeing someone?” The hurt is unmistakable in your voice. You ball your hands into fists, blinking against the tears welling in your eyes. When Lip doesn’t say anything, you turn on your heel. If you don’t get some fresh air now, you’re going to suffocate.

Once outside, you find a quieter spot away from the smoking people, propping against a wooden table. When you look up you wish you could see stars in the night sky. But the light pollution’s making it impossible. Sighing, you wrap your arms around yourself to protect yourself from the chill. You’re glad that Jacob knows people here too, otherwise you would probably feel bad for leaving him.

Before you get a chance to really sort your feelings, you see Lip approaching you in your peripheral vision.

You sigh, defeated, making a point of not looking at him as he stops a mere foot from you. You’re terrible at confrontations.

“You mad?” Lip asks, and you can feel him studying your face. There’s a cigarette burning between his fingers.

You shake your head. No.

Next, Lip shrugs off his hoodie, cigarette held between his pouting lips, and drapes the garment, warmed by his own body heat, over your shoulders. “Here.”

Suddenly, you’re enveloped in Lip Gallagher. In the smell of tobacco, laundry detergent, and boy. You close your eyes tight against the feeling that’s surfacing from within you. It’s spreading like wildfire, and when Lip steps in front of you, reaching to move the zipper up, up, up, the heat reaches your face, pinks up your cheeks.

Lip leans into you, putting both your bodies into contact, thighs to chests. He slides one of his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, right where your hand’s hiding too, and twines your fingers together. Then he rubs his cheek against your own, as you meet in the middle, and your heart stops. You didn’t know Lip would be like this. That brash, cocky Lip Gallagher with a womanizer reputation treating you with such tenderness.

But you don’t want to end up as a notch on his bedpost.

“I don’t think I’m your type,” you say simply, looking at the ground, hoping that’s enough for him to let it go. To let you go. Even though deep down, it’s the last thing you wish for. You don’t want Lip to let you go. You want him to do the exact opposite.

Lip scoffs, closer to your ear than you expected, making you jump. “And what’s my type?”

“I mean—” you swallow hard, finding the courage to say the next words, as nonchalantly as possible, “I’m from a functional family. I don’t use drugs, I don’t deal drugs. I’m pretty sure I don’t have any personality disorders,” you list.

“Wow, so you’ve done research on me, huh?” Lip asks drily but he doesn’t move, stays close to you.

You decide to come out with the truth. “You know, I had a crush on you at school, and I think I was not as subtle as I thought I was. I mean, most of my friends knew about it.”

Licking his lips, he says,“I always thought you were cute. I was just—”

You're not letting him off that easy. “Busy fucking through the entire school?”

“I didn’t think it was a good idea to make a move.”

“Why do you think it’s a good idea now?”

“Because I can’t stay away from you anymore.”

[grison-in-space]

Hello!

Since my elderly cat just died, I’m starting to bat around the idea of seriously training an at-home service cat. Pesterbot, routine nudges, maybe as much grounding pressure as they can give me (time for a big fluffy boy?), and if they pick up on med-alert cues, great.

I’ve chatted with the local rescue already - I figure I want one cat whose early life and temperament have set them up for secure attachment and assertiveness, and another to be a buddy for them, ok if they’re more skittish of humans. Ideally ~6-8 mo so the adult personality has started to show but I still have some relatively early socialization window.

Any thoughts on rescue vs breeder, breed, how to look for a breeder who *actually* values temperament and health, the odds of known ancestors and a known-good early life making that much of a difference? I’m liking the look of the forest cats (especially NFCs and Siberians) but also, $$$$ (though with a purebred cost is probably just something to plan for)? Or anything I’m missing in thinking through this?

No, I think you've hit just about everything that occurs to me. With a purebred cat(s), you're dealing with a history of selection that might be a little curtailed, which means you'll want to look for genetic disorders known to run in that line of cats and also that you will want to cross-reference opinions from multiple people in the breed if you can. With a rescue cat, you're looking at a whole lot of unknowns that can be really hard to predict, especially with respect to temperament at maturity.

I am not sure that NFCs or Siberians are the best temperamental range for that kind of work, though: you want an opinionated and socially oriented cat, and my understanding of the reputation of the forest cats is that they're like... slightly more active Ragdolls? I'd ping in @pangur-and-grim and @followthebluebell for assessments of breed temperaments. You're also going to want a relatively active cat who is interested in watching what you're doing and responding to your environment: remember, you'd be paying this cat to come interact with you when you're stuck / when an alarm goes off, and you'll have the most success with that if your cat likes thinking and moving with you.

This is also the sort of cat my spouse and I like best--active, bold, interested in interaction, easily bored--and we've been eyeing up some potential purebred options as well as considering rescue after, well, my last rescue kitten developed severe pica at around six months. That's less likely to happen to you with a 6-9mo adolescent kitten--I got Arthur at 10 weeks and he was obviously neurodivergent in some way by then, if only by virtue of his blindness--but it was pretty catastrophic for his ability to have unfettered access to me, for example.

From my perspective, the biggest benefit of purebred cats are that a lot of the cat breeds have selected clearly for specific ranges of temperament over time. It's definitely going to be easier to find someone else going "a bossy, energetic cat who wants to be Interacting With You frequently? boy howdy, I'd love that!" among the ranks of, well, Serious Cat People.... which includes a lot of cat breeders, but not a ton of cat owners. A lot of people seem to pick cats based on color, proximity, and kitten cuteness, which still blows my mind a bit coming from dogs!

I can tell you straight up that the best way to pick a rescue cat by temperament is to (ideally) aim for a foster based rescue, contact an adoption coordinator directly, and explain that you are looking for a cat based on personality rather than based on looks, that you're looking for a fairly high-demand cat, and ask them if any candidates come to mind. (My experience is that not caring about appearance and being open to cats which are not very young kittens motivates those coordinators to think of their favorite individual cats to suggest.)

You could also look for local cat trainers in your area--a specialty that is getting increasingly popular! look near veterinary behaviorists or cat-only vets--and see if they have recommendations, since they probably have a lot of experience with high-demand cats and people who invest a lot into their cats in your area. Basically, find yourself a way to talk to people who have interacted with a lot of the cats locally up for adoption, especially because the ideal temperament for a service cat is not necessarily going to be everyone else's cup of tea for a pet cat.

I can tell you that a big chunk of the people I have found actively breeding for that kind of temperament are involved with the various wildcat cross breeds, particularly Bengals (which is where I'd start rather than Savannahs or Chausies, personally: it's easier to find F5+ individuals, especially if you're looking for people who are really interested in breeding for trainability). My sense with the purebreds based on my reading is that Abyssinians or, if you can find them, Havana Browns might also be worth a look.

Consider if and when approaching a breeder or rescue: what are you going to do if one or both potential cats wash out of service work? Would you rehome them and try again? (To whom?) Would you keep them as ESAs and add a third cat? The natural concern that a lot of people will have about being approached for a service animal, especially one like a cat, is "what happens if it doesn't work out?" I think your plan is to go "well then I still have pet cats," but that should be clear to your potential cat sources, too.

But anyway, that's why I tagged Greer and Bluebell: both of them have way more personal experience with cat breeders and purebred cats than I do, and I think they'd be good resources if you want to aim in a more purpose-bred direction.

[victorgrwrites]

Gortash Age/Timeline

For my prelude, see live footage of me at work below. (PS: Mac on the right there is basically my wife, she was very kind to let me ramble about this.)

Here we go. And I think it goes without saying, but spoilers ahead.

So, we have a better idea of Durge's timeline than Gortash, which is helpful since we know that they knew one another before the events of the game. On top of that, we know what each was doing when the other was doing something else. At least, to a point.

We'll start with Durge.

Exhibit A: We know that Sceleritas Fel appeared to Durge on their "age of majority", which is generally accepted to be 18. Could be 16, but we're going with 18 for the timeline.

---

Exhibit B: We know that in the prequel Blood in Baldur's Gate, the main antagonist is Dark Urge, and Sceleritas himself appears multiple times in the story. We also know for a fact that this happens in 1477, 15 years before BG3.

Therefor, we know that Durge CANNOT BE YOUNGER than 18 in the year 1477, and therefor cannot be younger than 33 in BG3.

It's important to note for later on that at this point in Baldur's Gate in 1477, it is very likely Durge has already started the cult of Bhaal or is on the verge of starting it. --- Like I said, easy as Hell, now on to Gortash. Cause he is definitely trickier; we'll be needing to work backwards for this guy. Exhibit A:

Gortash is intent on making a memoir of his life, and has given us a helpful order of events, if without dates and such.

Exhibit B:

We'll start with the heist at the House of Wonders. If you don't know what the House of Wonders is, imagine a giant museum/research university run by NASA. It's a big fuckin' deal, and holds some insane things.

We don't know everything they stole, but we do know some. 1. A Bhaal torture device and some preserved Bhaalist bodies (unimportant for our conversation), and 2. Schematics which served as the basis for the Steel Watch, as well as the submersible.

((I can't find the specific screenshot for the Steel Watch schematics, but just trust me, it exists.)) We can assume that Karlach was sold right around this time, maybe before, most likely right after. The reason why she was sold around this time is because... ---

Exhibit C:

Karlach is a proto-prototype Steel Watcher, or at least of the infernal engines the Steel Watch use. What Gortash most likely got for Karlach were plans/materials/development for the infernal engines.

So let's recap. We now know that ten years ago Durge and Gortash pulled their heist, traded Karlach, figured out infernal engines, and started production or development on the Steel Watchers. Neither were the chosen of their gods yet, and the Crown of Karsus wasn't even on their radar.

Let's keep going. --- Exhibit D:

The first and second listings in Gortash's memoirs are him founding the Bane cult, and then discovering that there was a Bhaal cult already started. I would posit that Gortash established the Bane cult right around the time of the previously mentioned Blood in Baldur's Gate. At the bare minimum we know that Durge had to have been already active and Sceleritas already trying to guide him. So we can likely say that Gortash established the cult of Bane in 1477. Which means he was not in the House of Hope any longer in 1477.

The Crux of the Issue:

Here is where we get into speculation, and there's several questions we have to answer that don't have a clear answer. 1. How old was Gortash when he was sold off?

2. How old was he when he escaped the House of Hope?

3. How long after that did he establish the Cult of Bane?

I'll give you my answer for these questions, and my reason why.

Given my previous post, you might know that I subscribe to the idea that Gortash had a knack for artifice when he was young. There's no way a devil/warlock would pay even a small amount for a useless kid. So, at what age is a kid "useful" while still being a kid? My guess would be as old as ten, as young as eight.

Based on the conversation with Nubaldin, I would say he was still fairly young when he escaped. The way he talks about Gortash establishes that the jailor remembers Gortash as a 'sniveling little shit' and 'mischievous little blot of a boy'.

I would put him at about sixteen, absolute tops.

3. I believe he would have started the Bane cult very, very soon after leaving the House of Hope because I have a sneaking suspicion that Bane's influence started at the House of Hope. Might be how he escaped in the first place, or maybe he heard about Bane while there. Either way, I don't think he took very long.

In my head, he's probably around 17-19 when he starts the Bane cult. But also, if there's age discrepancies, this is probably where they come in.

---

And there you have it. I don't focus on his in-game model much, because looks can vary so wildly. Especially when there's years of demonic torture, obsessive artifice study, and dead god cults. The game narratively describes him as a young man, so I generally erred on the side of "young" when figuring out this timeline.

If you've got questions, comments, additions, go on and lay them on me.

[winedarkthoughts]

house of addams (4)

— 🌖 pairing: ot7 x fem.reader

— 🕷️ genre: mystery, angst + fluff + smut

— 🗝️ word count: 5.3k

— 🍄 summary: you continue with your investigation on the mysterious deaths and disappearances in the small town of Farrow's End. and that includes enlisting the help of: two (cute) scientists, one shy bookstore owner, and one charming barista.

— ☕ content warnings: scientific inaccuracies, brief mentions of death/suicide/decomposition, bookworm!namjoon, soft boi!yoongi, mc and yoongi are both massive nerds, chemist/marine biologist!jimin

— 🕸️ a/n: and it continues! thanks for reading :)

previous chapter ← series m.list → next chapter

chpt. 4: lattes and legwork

october 8, 2004

Legwork (noun): work that involves much traveling to collect information, especially when such work is difficult but boring. That's what this case required a lot of.

You got the film developed from your fieldwork outing with Yoongi, organizing the photos according to each victim. Michael Bradley: strange fungus, unusual tree rot. Jarvis Laplan: circle of dead grass in the woods. Sharon Mason: the lake and nothing more.

The autopsy reports were another thing entirely. It took you almost a week to get through them, with all the research it required to understand the terminology.

Starting with Laplan, cause of death: "blood loss from multiple traumatic injuries." When bite marks were found on the body (or rather, what was left of the body) a forensic dentist was called in to examine them.

You had to do some research on bite-mark identification, and found out that Laplan's body was covered in a multitude of avulsions (bite resulting in the removal of skin), lacerations (puncture wounds), and hemorrhages (a profusely bleeding bite).

The tooth marks suggested an attack from a bear (according to the forensic dentist and a local wildlife expert) judging from the combination of marks from canines and molars, indicating it was from an omnivore.

But that's not what they said in the papers. You're guessing it was because bears are not at all common in this region, so they claimed it was most likely a mountain lion to make it easier to swallow.

You wonder if the mayor's influence contributed to such a change, maybe as an effort to keep the real details under wraps. The fact that she wanted your entire investigation to be off the books certainly supported the idea.

They didn't mention in the papers that his eyes were missing, along with his heart, liver, tongue, and right pointer finger.

The police report stated that the gun he had in his possession at the time of his death hadn't been fired, and the autopsy report supported this, since no gunpowder residue was found on the body.

It makes you wonder why an experienced hunter like Laplan hadn't fired a single shot. Was this predator really that swift?

Other than the out-of-place bite marks, there was nothing else unusual in Laplan's autopsy report. Well, other than the circle of dead grass he was found in, but you'll have to consult Yoongi about that.

You reached out to Mrs. Laplan, and to your surprise, she consented to an interview. Well, you suppose it wouldn't be too unusual for her to agree to talk to a supposed "journalist" if she was convinced that her husband died of a random animal attack rather than something suspicious that she'd want to keep under wraps.

Speaking of which, Mrs. Bradley was still actively evading your efforts to get any kind of information out of her. But you'll take what you can get.

In the time it took you to work through Laplan's autopsy report, you became quite well-acquainted with the bookshop and its main employee.

Maybe it's because you often darken their doorstep at the dead of night, but he's one of the only people you see working there. The others being a very nice (always colorfully dressed) young woman, most likely a University student, and a quiet but helpful old man with tortoiseshell glasses.

But the tall, handsome man works the most hours, usually reading at the front desk or tapping away at his typewriter. You're guessing that he's the owner, judging from the amount of maintenance he does around the place.

The man was right about one thing, the place was full of cozy nooks and little corners to curl up in, all with warm-toned lamps and oak wood surfaces to write on. You rotate between an armchair tucked against a frosty window, and a mahogany desk in an alcove of shelves with a green bankers lamp to illuminate the darkness.

After acquiring the autopsy reports, you spend several days pouring over anatomy textbooks and forensic guides (not noticing the initials JK scrawled inside the cover of most of the volumes you examine).

The bookshop is much bigger than the exterior implies. The more you explore, the more you find branching passageways and curves that twist into new sections and labels on the shelves. Mystery leads to UFOs, then Conspiracy Theories, then Unsolved Cases.

And then, just when you think you're familiarizing yourself with the map of the layout, the next day the sections are jumbled and the shelves twist in different directions.

One afternoon, as you're taking a break to stretch your legs, the narrow path through the shelves leads you to an antique case (locked) with several leather bound volumes inscribed with gold lettering. You can't quite make out any of the titles, faded from age, but obviously they are valuable.

After combing through every possible detail in Laplan’s folder, you move on to Sharon Mason. And where you had hoped to find some answers, it seemed you only stumble upon more mysteries.

Your first guess was death by drowning, since she was found in the lake, but that wasn’t the case. Cause of death: hypothermia; no water in the lungs whatsoever.

You listened to the autopsy transcript several times, Dr. Kim’s deep voice almost lulling you into a trance. You consumed an alarming number of lattes to offset it.

Dr. Kim and Jungkook, his assistant/apprentice, concluded that Mason had entered the water before she died, and the temperature of the lake only brought her demise quicker.

There were no external signs of struggle, no bruises or abrasions, nothing to suggest that she’d been forced into the water.

In all likelihood, Sharon Mason had entered the lake of her own volition, and stayed there until her slow, cold death. Which of course didn't make much sense.

There was no suicide note, no reported signs of distress (according to the press, that is). Her system was free of alcohol or drugs, and the death was classified as accidental.

The strange thing was that her body had barely decomposed. She was reported missing the morning after disappearing from her home (no sign of a struggle), and despite many search parties, she was missing for over two weeks.

Even if the cause of death isn't drowning, a body will sink almost immediately after death (you found out during your research), and her body had to reach the bloating phase of decomposition for her to float back to the surface.

A hiker discovered her corpse early one morning. The authorities were called, and Dr. Kim was able to examine the scene. He recorded the ambient temperature and the temperature of the water, both very cold, and took note of the local wildlife.

Animals, insects, and larvae will begin to feed on a body within hours after death, but apparently Mason's body hadn't been touched at all, despite the abundant lake ecosystem.

Unfortunately, you couldn't find all of your research materials at the bookshop. Forensic research on decomposition in aqueous environments was apparently very lacking.

After two days of scrutinizing Mason's file, you started to get a little frustrated at the lack of answers. How the hell did she end up in that lake? Why was her body oddly undisturbed? And above all, how the fuck does everything connect?

Maybe it's your restless shifting, or the exasperated sighs that keep escaping from your mouth, but soon the tall man is approaching the desk that you've claimed with your seemingly endless array of books, files, and papers. And empty coffee cups.

"Sprung a leak?" he asks with a chuckle, and the low timbre of his voice seems to reverberate up your spine.

"Huh?" you mumble, a bit startled by his sudden approach. Definitely not as articulate as you usually are, but you were four hours deep at this point.

The man's smile falters a little, like he just realized that he was talking to a stranger and not a friend that was privy to his inside jokes.

"Uh," he says, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Has your boat sprung a leak? Sailing the seas, I mean."

He gestures to the ocean of papers and file folders and open books across the wood surface. It takes you a minute, you blame it on the caffeine crash.

"Ah," you say, suddenly getting it. The sea of knowledge.

And instead of looking at him like he has two heads, like he was half expecting, you can't help but chuckle as the image of your skull bobbing through chaotic waves, with your brain struggling to pilot the vessel safely, pops into your mind.

"Yes, sprung a leak and taking on water, I'm afraid," you reply, leaning back in your chair.

"Hmm," the man mumbles like he knows the feeling well.

"Care for a soother?" he asks, and you look up at him, curious.

It's like your lingering gaze makes him nervous somehow, because then he's tucking his chin into the fabric of his turtleneck, taking a step back through the labyrinth of shelves.

"Come," he says softly, disappearing just as quickly as he appeared.

You follow him back to the front desk, where an electric kettle is already steaming. He opens a tin and scoops some tea leaves and dried flower buds into a small teapot, pouring the hot water on top.

"May I ask what you're working on?" he asks as it steeps.

You lean against the large desk with a barely concealed scoff.

"I hardly know myself. Work, nonetheless."

He nods, humming like he knows the feeling.

"Tedious reading?" he asks.

"In a way, yes," you respond as all the medical terms flash behind your eyelids.

"It helps to use a little reward system," he says, grabbing the nearest volume (Frankenstein, or The Modern Prometheus by Mary Shelley, with both the 1818 and 1831 versions). Opening to a random page, he reaches to his left and grabs a stray, half-eaten chocolate bar. He breaks off a square and places it halfway down the page.

"See? You've gotta pace yourself," he says.

You chuckle when he pretends to the scan the page and then pops the sweet into his mouth.

"Are you a writer?" you can't help but ask, your curiosity is too vicious. There's the same typewriter on his desk, and you've heard him clacking away at it every time you come into the shop. And yes, sometimes he dozes off at his desk with his head resting on his hand.

"Oh, yes," he says sheepishly, glancing back at it and the numerous scraps of paper surrounding it. Then his face drops suddenly.

"Does the typing bother you?" he asks nervously, as if he isn't the owner of the place.

"No, no!" you assure him. "I like it, it's therapeutic."

You swear to god you hear a little giggle escape the tall, broad man in front of you, but when you glance over he looks just as composed as he always is.

It's then that the pot gets done brewing, and he tears his eyes away from you to pour two steaming cups of red-tinged tea. It's sweet and herbal, warming you from the inside.

"I've hit a bit of a roadblock," you admit.

He looks up from his teacup, eyes open and patient. He has the face of a good listener.

"You could always consult the University library. There's bound to be a thesis paper or two for every obscure topic in the world," he adds as if he could read your mind.

You add it to your to-do list. The two of you sip your tea in comfortable silence. He was right, it's a nice soother for the post-caffeine buzz downswing.

It isn't until you're packing up the leave for the night, eyes practically drooping shut, that you remember to ask for his name.

"Namjoon," he replies with a glowing smile to accompany his glowing tan skin.

You tell him yours in return, unaware that he already knows.

october 9, 2004

You have to hunt a bit more for him this time. After wandering the linoleum halls and dated lecture rooms, you finally find him in one of the biology labs.

Yoongi stands over a wide table, surveying the several plant specimens, cuttings, and roots spread out in front of him, every once and a while consulting the microscope to his left. He's wearing a rubber apron and gloves, along with a pair of black square-rimmed glasses that slightly magnify the size of his eyes.

"Got something for you," he says suddenly, but not to you.

You realize you've been watching him for several moments, a little too entranced by his careful movements and methodology.

He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out an old-looking string of pearls. Delicately and with something akin to shyness, he drapes it over the stem and leaves of a nearby, slightly droopy, potted plant.

You swear you see the plant perk up a bit, leaves stretching out further than they did before.

"See?" Yoongi says softly. A pause. "Nonsense, everyone deserves to feel pretty."

Oh. You're moving to knock on the door and interrupt your thoughts before you can imagine him directing those words at you.

Yoongi startles slightly, reaching up to quickly pull the glasses from his face and slip them into his apron pocket. A shame really, you would've liked to get a better look at him in them.

"Hello," he says with another awkward, straight-lipped smile. His signature expression, you've noticed.

"Hello again," you greet, approaching his work table. "Any word on that fungus?"

He averts his eyes almost immediately.

"Uh, yes," he begins, pulling a few papers from one of the several stacks around him.

"It's some kind of stinkhorn," he says, gesturing to a jumble of scientific jargon on the page that you don't understand.

But you know what a stinkhorn is, thanks to the book about unusual fungal features that Namjoon recommended to you.

Stinkhorns are a type of mushroom that secrete a gel called gleba, which has been described as smelling similar to rotting meat, carrion, or even feces. The substance attracts flies and other insects, which pick up the sticky spores when they land on the mushroom and spread it around, aiding in its reproduction.

"It's not from here, my colleague says it's native to the Northern regions," Yoongi continues.

"Well, that would explain why no one seems to know what the hell we're dealing with," you mutter, half to yourself.

"Wait," you say, realizing something. "Stinkhorns reproduce through gleba. Our fungus had pores and ridges. And now it has another method for spore dispersal? Isn't that highly unusual?"

After your fieldwork outing, you poked a little deeper into mycology. You found that mushrooms typically have either pores, gills, teeth, ridges, or some other form of spore dispersal like gleba.

But you've never heard of a mushroom with multiple structures. It sounds like an evolutionary weakness to devote energy to more than one reproductive system when one does the trick just fine.

You express as much to Yoongi, and he looks at you with a strange reverence in his eyes. Almost like he's impressed, but you wouldn't dare believe such a thought.

"It is unusual," he agrees. "But not impossible."

"Well of course, the word "impossible" doesn't really belong in science," you blurt out in a passion-fueled bout of energy.

You've spent way too long studying the scientific intricacies of several cases because you were simply entranced by it. And if the world had dealt you a different hand, you probably would've ended up as a scientific researcher instead of a private investigator.

Yoongi shoots you that look again, the one that looks suspiciously like admiration.

"So what is it exactly?" you interrupt before the heat can reach your face.

"Well," Yoongi says, trailing off. "It's new. Undiscovered, I mean."

Hmm. You aren't sure if that helps you or hinders you. On one hand, you can let the mayor know that the strange fungus she hired you to look into is a new species, requiring intervention and study from someone more qualified than you. Maybe she could even fund a new research program here at the University.

On the other hand, you would've liked to get at least one explanation for all the strange happenings going on in this town.

"And that's all he got?" you ask gently, already anticipating the answer.

Yoongi smiles that straight-lipped smile and nods, like he's sorry he can't offer more help.

"Well, anyways," you say, moving on to the next bullet point on your list.

"I finally got the autopsy reports."

You pull out the photos of Laplan's scene of death. You and Yoongi look down at the picture of a body, resting in a pool of blood, lying in the center of a circle of dead grass.

"I wanted to ask your opinion on this," you pose, pointing to it.

"Hmm," he says, brows furrowed. "Maybe it's from the mycelium. You know, as it spreads it depletes the environment of nutrients, often creating a circle of dead matter."

You examine the photo again.

"But there are no mushrooms," you say, remembering the ring of fungus in Bradley's yard.

Yoongi shrugs.

"Mycelium doesn't produce mushrooms all the time, only in specific conditions. The mushrooms are like fruit, while the mycelium is like a tree. It's the true organism."

Hmm, interesting.

"I know right," Yoongi says suddenly, and you realize that you said it out loud.

You brush off your slight embarrassment by moving on to your next point.

"I was wondering if you could refer me to a chemist? Or rather, someone who knows their way around aquatic environments?"

Yoongi considers it for a moment. Then he's pulling off his gloves and leading you to the door.

"Come with me," he says, shrugging off his apron to reveal the black and white sweater underneath.

You follow him, rushing to gather your papers and shove them back into your bag (which only seems to be getting fuller by the day).

"I have a friend, he's a genius really," Yoongi says as you walk. "Double degrees in chemistry and marine biology, going for his master's now."

He guides you down several hallways and up several flights of stairs (pausing after the climb to catch his breath and curse the inanimate object, which you find only slightly adorable).

"He's also a lab tech, so he has access to the equipment for almost any test you can think of," he continues.

The two of you emerge into the the chemistry department, and Yoongi leads you into another lab, empty except for one person.

He's of average height, dressed in (tight) black jeans, leather jacket, and heeled Chelsea boots. His hair is a strange silver-gray, with underlying blue undertones as the light shifts.

He looks up as you enter the room, abandoning the petri dish he had been examining. His face is obscured by a black mask and orange-tinged glasses, but his eyes underneath are sharp and purposeful.

"Jimin, this is _____," Yoongi begins, and you can hear the strange emphasis he puts on your name.

Jimin's brows raise just a hair, and in a split second he scans you up and down.

"Hello, it's very nice to meet you," he says, holding out a hand to shake. His voice is light yet somehow sultry at the same time, curling at the edges like smoke.

You shake his hand, which is oddly cold and slightly slick.

"_______ here is looking for someone to aid in her investigation," Yoongi adds, giving Jimin a pointed look that you don't notice.

"Is that so? Well, I'd be happy to help in any way I can," Jimin says, and you notice that his voice has a natural flirtatious lilt to it, but in all likelihood he talks to everyone like that.

"Excellent, are you available next weekend for some fieldwork?" you ask right away.

You can't see it because of the mask, but judging from the way his cheeks plump up, a smile suddenly crosses Jimin's face.

"Yes, happy to. First thing in the morning, right?" he says, sneaking a little glance at Yoongi.

You, confused, shift your gaze between them, Yoongi looking embarrassed and Jimin looking smug. Has he been talking about you?

"Right, first thing," you reply, making your voice confident and straightforward the way you always do when it comes to work matters. "How do you take your coffee? It's on me."

Jimin tells you with another smile, and Yoongi asks if he can tag along. You tell him of course, hiding the burst of giddiness you feel at him still being interested in helping you.

You exchange contact information, with Jimin slowly and subtly entering your personal space. And you're slightly ashamed that you don't realize it until his shoulder is pressed against yours. And you're slightly more ashamed to admit that you don't pull away.

You finally tear yourself away from him when Yoongi clenches his jaw in your direction. Thanking them for their time, you hurry out of the lab, face hot.

After you're gone, Jimin looks at Yoongi with a smirk. "So she can handle herself in the morgue, but shies away at a little physical contact?"

Yoongi rolls his eyes at Jimin's laugh. Because he knows what that laugh means, it's the sound of someone who just found something new to play with.

october 12, 2004

In the days that follow, you trudge on with your list of tedious legwork. You interview Laplan's wife Lisa, a nice simple woman who answers your questions without resistance. She even makes you a cup of tea after she shows you inside.

You notice signs of a hunter in Laplan's home: mounted antlers, extensive taxidermy. The two of you sit in a pair of musty-smelling armchairs as you sip your tea.

Lisa confirms that Laplan was an avid hunter, who apparently was very dissatisfied by the "out of control" local wildlife. When you ask her to elaborate, Lisa explains that her husband often complained of numerous cats, crows, and deer in the surrounding forest. She says that in the days leading up to his death, he became a bit obsessed with ridding the environment of them.

Then she mentions the dreams. Horrible, disjointed dreams that her husband was apparently plagued with in the weeks before his death. He avoided talking about them, but Lisa claimed that they severely affected his mental state.

He didn’t abuse any substances, to her knowledge, and other than his sudden passion for local population control, he was a normal man.

It was clear that Mrs. Laplan didn’t believe that her husband's death was anything other than an accident, an avoidable tragedy.

At the end of your visit, you offered your condolences and thanked her for her time.

Sharon Mason’s parents, on the other hand, don’t share the same sentiment.

They are, understandably, shaken and teary-eyed. Seventeen is too young.

You apologize for intruding, but they brush that off, seemingly eager to reveal “the truth” about their daughter's death.

“And what is the truth?” you ask.

They aren’t entirely sure. But the one thing they know for sure, Sharon didn’t commit suicide. You don’t think she did either, but they don’t need you to affirm that for them.

Apparently, Mason had been plagued with dreams too. They started after she and her friends went swimming in the lake.

Her parents didn't find out about it until after she was gone. After she was reported missing, her friends confessed to sneaking out and going for a midnight dip about two weeks before her death.

Her parents had always warned her about the woods and especially the lake, given the fact that it was believed to be polluted with toxic chemicals and home to several types of leeches and predatory fish.

You asked if it was in Sharon's nature to sneak out and go somewhere she wasn't supposed to be, and they said no, it wasn't like her at all.

You'll have to see if you can interview some of the friends who were involved in the incident.

The dreams got so bad that Sharon's mother apparently took her to see a local psychic, who claimed that dark and evil forces were using Sharon's body and mind as a conduit. You don't know how much of that you believe, but you asked for her information so you could try to get an interview with her anyway.

The Mason parents expressed their frustration with how the press covered the story. At first, you thought it was merely because the story suggested suicide, but the Mason parents went on to complain about the "outrageous accusations" and "inappropriate suggestions" made.

You don't remember seeing anything of the sort in the newspaper, but you suppose you'll have to look into it.

It goes without saying, but you have a lot more work to do.

october 13, 2004

During your time in Farrow's End, you've also become quite well-acquainted with the owner of the cafe, Cat's Den. There are a handful of other employees, mostly young University students, but the man with the full lips is the one who works all the night shifts, which is usually when you're there.

He's very talkative, but not in an annoying way. He'll only speak to you when you're clearly in a lull from your work, or when you're waiting at the counter for a refill.

His name is Jin, and yes, he is in fact the owner of the establishment. And from what you've seen, he runs it with very high standards. All the treats, pastries, and baked goods are made fresh everyday.

Several (very) early mornings, you've watched him laminate pastry dough with almost hypnotizing precision and speed. Then he'll twist the dough into a variety of shapes, brush them with beaten eggs, and bake them so the entire cafe smells of buttery, flakey goodness.

And yes, maybe he's noticed you watching him in all his methodical detail. And yes, maybe he's made a bit of a habit of placing a fresh, still-steaming croissant in front of you (free of charge) every time you're in the cafe when the first batch comes out.

But it's not because he likes you or anything. Because you don't let yourself stare at him for too long at any given time. Not when he wears close-fitting pressed pants, not when he sheds his outerwear in the heat of the kitchen, revealing the thin layer of muscle on his arms from years of kneading dough. Not even when he runs a hand through his hair, slicking it back to reveal his forehead, sometimes glistening with sweat.

Today especially. A very large order has been placed at the cafe, and Jin has been baking all day. There's a recurrent theme: pure vanilla bean.

You've lost count on how many vanilla beans he's cut open, scraping out the precious black flecks inside then putting them in a menagerie of treats. Vanilla scones, vanilla cheesecake with vanilla mousse, cupcakes with creamy vanilla frosting.

By the time evening rolls around, the counters are practically covered with boxes and bags filled with vanilla-flavored confectionary.

But it's not until midnight that the person who placed the order comes to pick it up.

A black Mercedes pulls up, headlights flashing through the windows of the cafe, and parks against the curb.

Jin seems to recognize it, because then he's gathering up the multitude of packages and carrying them outside to the waiting car.

The driver emerges, wearing a black coat and boots. You can't see his face because of the wide-brimmed hat he's wearing, but you can see black hair curling at the back of his neck.

Jin moves to put the boxes in the trunk, the shadowed man makes an effort to help him. Then he shakes the mysterious man's hand and returns inside.

"Quite a big order, huh?" you can't help but say when Jin returns.

Jin looks from you to the strange man, who is getting back into his car, and chuckles a little nervously.

"Yeah, for a birthday," Jin answers, and disappears into one of the storage rooms.

When you look out the window again, you see several bystanders stop to stare at the car pulling away from the curb, looking at the Mercedes as if the president is inside.

You're hurrying out the door before you can think twice.

"Who's that?" you ask the nearest passerby. They glance at you for a quick second before looking back at the dark car, the driver obscured by the tinted windows.

"It's one of the Jungs," they answer, unbothered.

"The Jungs?" you ask, letting your confusion and subsequent curiosity bleed through.

"Mm hmm," the bystander replies. "You know, the ones who own the old Addams house."

"Filthy rich bastards own half the town," someone else pipes in.

"Really?" you say, trying to catch another glance at the dark car. "So they live there?"

"What? No, the family is spread out like a plague. The whole clan hasn't been in town since the eighties."

You're extremely engaged by the fact that all of this seems to be common knowledge among the townsfolk, as well as the shared contempt/fascination with the mysterious Jung family.

"So who lives there now?" you ask, curiosity has you in its grip like a viper.

"One of them, obviously. I don't know their name."

The little crowd has dissolved now, everyone going back to their business.

And again, you're left with more questions than answers. And yet another topic to research.

Jimin's birthday celebration proceeds splendidly. They decorate the mansion with dried kelp streamers and seashell garlands and pearlescent jellyfish lamps. There's a feast of his favorite foods, an abundance of his favorite vanilla treats, and (most importantly) bottomless champagne.

Everyone is told to be home by three a.m. (thanks to their busy schedules and nocturnal patterns) so the festivities can begin. It's just the seven of them. Well, the seven of them plus Thing, and the pets, and Yoongi's plants (every single one of them named and dotted on by the botanist).

Then, sometime after all the feasting and dancing and drinking, they end up sprawled out in the main room, sleepy and sated.

"Hyung," Jin says, and the only person that term applies to raises his head.

"She saw you at the cafe. Was asking questions about you too," Jin continues, slightly wariness in his voice.

But Hoseok only smirks. Delighting in the idea of you thinking about him, inquiring about him.

"She's a private investigator, that's what she does," Jimin quips, speech slightly slurred from all the liquor.

Jin throws him a half-convincing glare.

"I think what Jin's getting at is..." Yoongi interrupts. "How close do we let her get?"

"She's done more in just a few weeks than we've done in months," Namjoon argues.

"Well yeah, she's getting paid for it," Jungkook adds.

"But she does have some sort of sight?" Hoseok cuts in, thinking.

Everyone affirms, and Hoseok quirks a brow.

"And he doesn't scare easy?" he asks.

"Not in the traditional sense," Jimin quirks with a chuckle, fondly remembering how you shied away from just a little physical contact. He wonders how you would react if he—

"You better not scare her away," Yoongi suddenly cuts in, pointing an accusatory finger in Jimin's direction, who just laughs in response. Because he has no intention of that. Scaring you, maybe. But driving you away? Nope.

"Seems to me like the type who needs to be eased in," Namjoon says, sounding contemplative. He looks up at Hoseok.

"Let her figure it out for herself. At the rate she's going, she'll get there in no time."

Everyone looks to Hoseok for his response, and he offers a mischievous smile.

"It wouldn't hurt to give her a few hints."

a/n: thank you so much for reading!! i would absolutely love to hear any of your thoughts! it makes future chapter practically write themselves lol

NEXT UPDATE: 06/01/24

[maikissed]

and the day after that, and day after that

jude bellingham x reader a bit angsty, a little bit of drama and a lot of monologue, i like drama

You took a minute to wonder when has it started, really, what pivotal moment changed the perspective, the trajectory of new feelings, harsh and alerting, making you nervous and full of doubt that whatever follows, would bring anything good of it. Because you noticed, it was hard to pinpoint the moment when, but you did. It was there, in the softness of his eyes when he looked at you, payed attention to your words and actions, the gentle smile displayed on his lips, slightly curved on the side in a adoring kind of way. The way he touched you when he meant to, on your shoulder, your neck or your arm. Touches sometimes unnecessary but present, warm and lingering. Or brief, but still there. Filled with something different from those in the past. Innocent, yet intentional. You felt, knew, it was different.

Maybe it was somewhere around the time when he was coming back from Dortmund for vacation, so full of pride and joy, fuelled by many successes of his and his team. The world started to hear about him and he was floating in praise. It kept changing him, not exactly in a negative way, but it kept his head higher. He knew his worth, simply the rest of them started to learn it now. That gave him a peck of confidence, you noticed him grow in this. And it’s been remarkable, to watch him develop in every way so much.

When he was about to take a plane to England, every time he made sure to give you notice about his comeback, searching for your arms to be the first that embrace him on his welcome party. Parties in a meaning of a little friend gathering. Sometimes real parties, when you all were feeling like it. You were noticing the attention back then, different, prominent. You started calling him your boy, still slightly oblivious of his intentions, or you’ve simply turned a blind eye on everything around you, wanting to accompany him on this journey and not cause a fuss about something that maybe is not there for a fact. You kept being a good friend.

And you kept your cool, rolling with all of it just fine. It’s been fine, but everything skyrocketed when his career went on a higher range path as he joined Real Madrid in last July. Now, that was some boost to Jude’s ego. And it’s been astonishing that every time he came back now, he was presenting a different, much developed persona. A man, as you noticed with a flutter of your heart. Man with responsibility, worked up discipline, well-groomed talent and a radiant self-confidence that you knew not many women can say no to. But you were not a woman for his choice, you were too old for him. From the moment when you’d been kids, strutting down the province to buy some ice cream in a corner shop. You as a young guardian, since your little brother and his jumpy friend with big dark eyes and funny ears were too young to pay the cashier the right amount of money for your sweetmeats.

Now, it’s been a joyful night and at the end of it you found yourself standing in front of him leaned back on the huge sofa in your hotel room. You’ve been laughing non stop for the last two hours and you didn’t even remember exactly how both of you ended up in your suite, leaving your friends behind. You breathed in a huff, slightly exhausted by your alcoholic trance, smile still visible on your face. You leaned back on the edge of a little table in the middle of the room and you spotted him doing the exact thing that made you unbelievably anxious lately. He kept watching you, intensively, so passionately you felt all parts of your body as if exposed to him. Like you were a painting, the sight of which he’d rather die than part with. He’s been close to you all night. You could feel him sneaking in. There was a reason he came after you here, wasn’t there?

“Jude” you breathed, nervous, not very much ready for this conversation.

He hummed in question, playing with the soft brink of the armrest of the sofa with his fingers.

“Stop looking at me like that” you stated a longer moment after.

There was a inquiry in his expression after your words. He anticipated you elaborate.

“I can’t shake the feeling that you’re seeing me different than you’ve used to”

You kept your cool. Good.

“What do you mean, y/n?” he murmured, and his face now did not appear unaware of the course of this conversation. Like he was prepared.

“I am not…” it was hard to fight the bile that started to form in your throat.

It was not that hard. The rejection. You’ve done this before. But it was not just some guy. He was your friend. Childhood companion.

“…I can’t be what you want me to be”

He went rigid, his eyes turned hard, lips stiff. He incited you to continue.

“It can’t happen” you voiced it out surely. Your eyes still not leaving his. You had to be resolved and purposeful.

His jaw clicked as he looked down at his hand as if looking for composure. Swiftly he brought his eyes back to your face.

“It’s done already” he stated in a firm voice and you shook a little in horror.

Whatever he meant?

“I’m not playing anything, y/n. It’s done already and I don’t really have the intention to fight it.”  

“What do you mean by done?” you went pale.

Amongst many things that Jude were, he was definitely a man of devotion, conviction and determination. You were shaking in your limbs at the magnitude of these words. These were serious ones.

He laughed lightly at your question. He knew you were playing dumb for your safety.

“I know what I want” he started quietly “And I aim to have it” a dangerous spark in his eyes.

Was this his go? To rile you up?

“What exactly do you want?” you stared to banter.

“You”

He said it so effortlessly but his voice hardened slightly.

“Don’t be ridiculous” there was a snort leaving your mouth as you tried to turn away for his fiery gaze.

You went for a glass of wine you poured yourself earlier, in a need of something that’ll make this easier for you. Many questions appearing in your head of how to save this situation without it shattering everything you’ve had between you.

“You don’t find me enough, then?” he asked from the distance.

At least the distance was safe.

It was your turn to laugh. You almost threw your head back.

“I am too old for you, Jude” you argued, now fire appearing in your eyes as well because all of this was not so definite on your side.

How have you been perceiving him? The answer to this question was far more complicated than his “I know what I want” statement. Because you did not know. All you knew is that the last thing you wanted is for the world to shatter at your feet because you did something as repellent as throwing yourself at such younger boy.

“I don’t give two fucks about…”

“But I do!” you turned sharply to face his way “What about my saying in this?!”

“Voice it out then, fully” he tempted.

Bigger, his eyes turned even bigger. You prayed for your legs to not lead you closer to him.

“It’s wrong, it’s weird. What would your mother have to say about this, the public?!” you hissed, scolding him almost.

He did not liked to be scolded. By anyone, except his mother. Well, not many would like to get into Denise’s black book.

“Oh, please, my mom adores you” he scoffed trying to make you sound unreasonable.

“As a family friend!” an obvious statement “And it would look dreadfully wrong, for a five years older woman to groom a boy such as yourself!” you snapped.

He frowned at the term you named him in such sentence. You definitely wounded him by it, choosing to strike with a necessary impudence.

“To groom?” laughter enveloped his features.

He was not to give up on this. It mildly made you want to come up to him and shake him.

“Yes, that’s a word for it”

“It’s an exaggeration”

“Are you in love with me, Jude?!” that was definitely a question you yearned to hear an answer to. Looking for advantage.

He blinked, swallowing sharply. And your knees went weak because you knew that look on his gentle face. Softer, boyish, fond. The fire died in his eyes for a moment, leaving room for waving devotion. Like an ocean in the darkness.

“Yes” he breathed.

Fuck.

“Do you even know what that means?!” you could slap him in the face as well, probably would be more subtle.

“For fuck’s sake, y/n” he moved forwards on the settee, clasping his hands together.

“It’s a lot Jude, and you’re not in love” were you trying to put feelings and thoughts of your choosing in his head right now? Most likely. “It is not a time or place for a boyish infatuation” you fumed.

He stood up abruptly and you shook in your place.

“Do you want me to prove you it’s far from being a boyish infatuation?” a step forward, putting you into action to take a step back. “Your reaction says a lot about that” he stated noticing you fighting the intention to circle the table.

Breathe in, breath out.

“If it’s lust, it means little and dies quickly” you breathed, your chest falling and raising faster. You were raging, with… something.

“If it was just lust, I would’ve snapped years ago” he burked rolling his shoulders back.

You snorted.

“I am not trying to force anything on you” he took another step your way.

You stood still. Hold your ground, you kept saying to yourself.

“And the last thing I want is for us to fell apart” just few feet away from each other now, you looking up at him “But you’re putting a hell lot of work for this denial, because you’re looking at me different than you’ve used to as well.”

A sharp intake of breath. You realised it was yours. From this proximity he could hear. And you weren’t looking at him, focusing your absent gaze on his chest, searching for composure. Suddenly his fingers appeared under your chin, tilting your head up delicately. You gave in, exhausted, almost.

“Sweet dreams, we’ll see each other tomorrow” he smiled with reassurance in his eyes, honest and with gentleness “And the day after that, and day after that” his thumb grazed your under chin when he whispered these words to you.

You narrowed your eyes trying to get an answer to the true meaning of this promise. But he left your room before your smart mouth could work proper again.

[threepandas]

Counting Down: 3 [<-Prev][]

My eyes were getting worse. There was nothing the healers could really do. Because, ultimately? There was nothing actually wrong, with my eyes. They were working exactly as nature intended. Exactly as my genetics designed. It was just... badly designed. Poorly suited, unfortunate perhaps, ill optimized in every way, for my environment.

If I had been living alone? Or in a sparsely populated, low growth environment? Subterraneanly? Well, THEN my eyes would have been perfect. Perhaps a bit on the over sensitive side, but otherwise perfect. I would have been a Sage. Elevated to Pathfinder, for my ability to safely lead my tribe through the dark.

But here? On Coruscant? Amongst the constant flow of billions? It is AGONY. A disability of the worst sort. Like two ice picks, slamming light and information into my brain. At the rate I am developing...

At... At the rate I am developing?

I may eventually be as good as BLIND. Be forced to wear a glorifed blindfold. And... and when THAT, inevitably fails? As it WILL fail? There have been... been somber, serious, terrifying talks? On if I wish to first try removing myself to a remote Temple for seclusion (and risk the lack of medical care that comes with it.) or if? O-or if?

Medically, it would be better to just... replace my eyes.

T-They can't even guarantee? That it would work. There are species that see through the Force. My problem may BE that I am somehow one of them and simply not physically built for it. That I developed the needed mutation. I... I could lose my eyes for NOTHING.

Yet...?

The headaches. The LIGHT. I can not take missions anymore. Can not even help in the Crèches. Their unfiltered, unshielded Force presences? Are like staring into search lights. I can not even help with Initiate classes, having grown too fucking sensitive! How will I EVER find a Padawan?!

I... I wanted one. Someone to guide and teach. Someone to watch grow.

Maybe that grief, (that I might never have one, that I KNOW he can do better,) is what makes me so short with Qui-gon. Obi-Wan is a youngling, damn it! Not a crutch for you mental health! Something which? Of course leads me to chasing Yan's Padawan down. REPEATEDLY. (Stop running! Boy! I KNOW YOU CAN SEE ME, QUI-GON! You better STOP RUNNING!! Listen to your Aunty while she SCOLDS YOU!) Because SOMEONE needs to beat that into the stubborn, heart sick, fool's head!

Why not me? I'm stuck on medical leave! Possibly FOREVER.

(Have a treat, Obi-Wan. You're too skinny.)

It's not productive. I KNOW it's not productive. The harder I push, the more Qui-gon digs his heels in. Yan's old Padawan was many things, but weak willed? Even in the depth of his grief? Hardly one of them. The whole LINEAGE was stubbornness made manifest. Literal STONES we more agreeable and subject to change.

I just wished Padawan Kenobi wasn't the one paying for it.

So, I helped. Without judgment. No harrasing him about his weight or his injuries, no demands he explain this or that. Just... there, if he's ready. If he trusts me. Bacta and pain relief, a safe place to sleep, someone to guide a peaceful meditation. And of course, Food. Ration bars by the basket. Take and hoard as many as you need. Here, both rich and mild foods to choose from.

Hugs and safety, I could do that. Be that. Put my emotions aside, for the sake of a child. Did his mere presence hurt? Yes. A LOT. But I would sooner die then let him know that. Bright and beautiful as his soul was, young and growing as he is? There is no pain, that is merely the confusion of crude matter. I am FINE. This... is FINE.

(Dispite the drugs, the meditation, it still HURTS.)

Neither Yan or Sifo like it. In fact, Yan is? Both in turns, heart sick and furious. His old Padawan entirely too good at dodging him. Dispite Yan being on the HIGH COUNCIL. Dispite BOTH Yan and Sifo, being on the High Council. It's genuinely impressive. Alarming, yes, that he uses such skill to avoid any attempts at therapy... but, well....

I've SEEN what the Mind Healers here consider a job "well done", with Sifo. Their definition of "help". So... granted, I understand completely. But he could just as easily take his Padawan on a "healing retreat"! Sneak away to get ACTUAL help from one of the other Sects! Illum perhaps? The Whills?

He KNOWS I'm right. It's why he's avoiding me.

(The little SHIT.)

Breathing in filtered, earth rich air, I tried to breathe out my stress. The Thousand Gardens do not just extend upwards. They went down as well. And they will continue to go upwards if ever another Temple is built upon the current one. Just like the last gardens, in which I sit, the light requiring plants that can be moved will be brought upwards. Those that can't? Get solar lamp systems.

Tiny biodomes, here in the dark. We do not kill our ancient trees, after all. Our plant and gardens. They are precious heirlooms. Living, breathing, friends. And besides? In the places they abandon, for the light up above? NEW gardens can be made! Subterranean ones. Glowing lichen and mushrooms, cave shrubs and parasitic low light trees.

It is peaceful, down here. Glowing plant life and distant lamps, like so many stars in the dark. The sound of running water and quite murmurs of the few who prefer such low light meditations. There are more then a few knights napping, having found gardens that speak to them. Their various light sensitive visual organs, finally having found relief.

Somewhere above me, Sifo is pacing. Erratic. Another vision of death and despair, of clones marching upon us all. It is getting to him. Like the slow eroding of a cliff face. Death by a thousand cuts. Over and over and OVER. Despair. Won't you do something? DESPAIR. Don't you CARE? DESPAIR. I can offer the power to FIX things. Don't you want it? Don't you WANT it~??

The Dark Side is a cruel and insidious thing. A riptide. An undertow, which drags you out to sea, then drowns you. It offers sweetness, safety, freedom. Only to deliver oblivion and pain. Power without control, it corrodes you. Destroys all that you were. Giving voice to your worst impulses, silencing your better nature.

You become a mockery of yourself.

I... I am scared for him. For Yan. I can see the outline of their ends, beginning to line up before them. They are pulling away. Growing frustrated. Their discussions with me are growing less philosophical difference with the Order, and more... dangerously immoral. Heretical. Nothing actionable, of course, but... I wouldn't expect their to be.

Both are High Councilors. They, of all people, know how to toe the line.

What do I DO? I ask the Force. Meditation after meditation, seeking guidance. How can I help them? And yet... I get no reply. No insight. Only nudges towards Obi-Wan. Towards teaching and compassion. Slipping him lessons on how to help slaves cope with the trauma. Philosophical debates on the doctrine of attachments. And, of course? Showing him my completely personal project, that HE will in no way someday need, of creating lesson plans for my hypothetical future Padawn.

How VERY thoughtful of him! To help me get some of those data pads! To help me research and revise my plans. He'll make a great mentor one day~ Amused? Me? No, no, dear. I was just thinking of a funny joke. Have ever given thought to Form Three?

Also! Never trust the Senate intelligence, dear. They are full of shit and couldn't spot a slaver if the sale was happening right in front of them. Do your own research whenever possible and NEVER rush in. NEVER.

(Yan refused to rush the assignment. Was in the Process of contacting the Armorer of Little Keldab for information. A Team was sent behind his back. On the word of the Senate alone. They almost completely DIED and the rightful Ruler of the Mandalorian people? Enslaved. Force knows where. Are you HAPPY now? Was rushing WORTH it? Your "regrets" mean NOTHING to the dead.)

It's building. I can feel it. The darkness is growing, my friends drifting farther and farther from the light. All, while? I am stuck. Disabled by my eyes. By the pain my so call "blessing" gives me.

Giving up on another useless meditation, I rise. Head for the lifts. The hallways down here are... quite. The old temple towers a peace place. Filled with the ancient echos of long dead Masters. There are room down here. Apartments. They are unassigned, yes, but no one truely cares if they are used. Granted, I would have to dust them myself.

I consider it. The light, (or really, the lack there off) is much more comfortable down here. The quite, less stressful. If Sifo didn't have such traumatic associations with darkness? I would honestly suggest moving down here with me. It might do us both some good.

As the lift rises, I tap the side of my lenses. Momentarily blinding myself in preparation for the increasing light. Soon enough, vision returns. The cacophonous press of noise. Oh dear, it's mid-meal. I should have waited. No wonder it's so loud and bright. Gritting my teeth, I keep my expression calm and pleasant. My shoulders relaxed.

It is not the younglings fault, that it hurts to be near them. They should NOT have to carry that guilt nor knowledge. I walk calmly but swiftly. This is fine. This Is Fine. Ow, ow, ow, OW, OW! This Is Fine!

Relief. I get passed them. The healers are right. Damn it. It really IS not just my eyes that are growing more sensitive. I... I so badly wanted them to be wrong. But as days go by? As weeks pass? Everything has slowly gotten... gotten so LOUD. Sharp and shrill, grating and rumbling, barks and squeals. Just? Just ALL of it. Too much.

Loud.

At the rate i'm going? I'm going to end up in a Force damned helmet like some sort of Mandalorian! And... and yes, I know there is no shame in that. That each race has their own specific needs. That it is humanist to think certain traits are somehow BETTER then others. I just... just feel like I am slowly losing myself. My freedom.

I am scared.

My body feels like it's betraying me.

Somewhere, near the High Council's chambers, I can feel Yan seething. How long has it been? Since the three of us coexisted in simple peace? Before Sifo's accident? Their appointments to the Council? Or was it as recent as Xanatos and the disaster of his Fall? How... How long have I been a pillar? For the mental and spiritual strength of others?

It's grinding me to dust. I'm so tired. Just... just want to rest. For just a moment. Without the fear, that my moments weakness? Will condemn a good man. Will irreversibly harm, a growing child. I.. Force, I am so tired.

Sifo is waiting for me, in my apartments. My plan for a moments rest? A fleeting, impossible, dream. He is pacing, pacing, pacing. Lines of tension and darting eyes. Hands clenching and unclenching. Running through his already ruined hairdo, again and again. It was easy to see what someone might think him mad. He certainly looked it.

"I saw them again. Bastards! I don't-! What am I doing wrong?!" He gasped the second he laid eyes on me. Already ranting before the door even closed. "I vow not to step foot on Kamino? They still appear. Avoid Mandalorians? Still! They exsist! But, oh! What if I plan Temple defenses? Surely THEN, right?! No! They somehow get passed them! Is it me? Am I the problem!?"

"TELL ME!"

He spun, eyes wide and manic, arms spread. As though inviting a blow. Inviting his own destruction. Hair falling from his careful hairdo in mad whisps, clothes disheveled, hands faintly trembling... he did not look well. Looked near tears. Teetering on the edge of something ugly.

How long could he hold out? I wondered.

I didn't have a comforting answer for him. No sweet and gentle words. But I could offer a hug. A hand to hold, as he faced down the dark. Sometimes... sometimes there WAS no right answer, Sifo. Sometimes the pieces were all on the board yet. Or the very act of try to stop Fate, made it so. I don't know. Can't know. Neither of us can.

But I can be there WITH you, until the end. And we can do our best.

Have you eaten yet? Had any tea? When was the last time you slept? Terrible things do not become easier to bear, if you burn yourself up, trying to face them. You have to take care of yourself too. I stepped forward, into that desperate stance, and pulled him into my arms.

"You believe me. You BELIEVE me. It's just inevitabe, too you, isnt it? That's what your trying not to say, isn't it? That you've run out of options. " Sifo's arms wrapped around me in a desperate grip. Like a drowning man holding onto the only life raft at sea.

"You're just afraid. Don't want me to break myself, destroy myself, chasing something that can't happen. Because we're Jedi, and you know we have to try. Try and try and TRY! Until it destroys us. Destroys everything. Hoping against all hope that they'll just... just LISTEN! But they WON'T, will they? They won't listen. It's inevitable. A cleansing. Purging of the old, to give rise to something new. The will of the Force itself."

Cleansing? Purging?! Alarm bells started to ring in my head. Nothing good came of talks of "cleansings" or "purgings" of ANYTHING.. NOTHING. I opened my mouth to refute him. Never got the chance. Yan's Force presence slammed into ours. The equivalent of crashing open doors and stomping feet.

Startled and alarmed, I turned just in time to see him sweep into my apartment like a raging, high society, storm cloud. The expression on his face could peel paint.

"Apparently," he snarled, barely holding together. "my Grand-Padawan has SUPPOSEDLY left the Order! Despite showing no prior interest in doing so, sending no missives to friends or fellow Creche-mates, and? Of course? Let us not forget? SUPPOSEDLY doing so? For some TART in the midst of an ACTIVE WARZONE!"

Horrified, I felt the blood drain from my face. No. NO! I thought I had more TIME! Please! Dear FORCE! Tell me, Qui-gon did not LEAVE his Padawan on-!

"Oh yes! CLEARLY, this is but a childish desire to wet his-!" Yan visibly struggled to beat back the surge of incoherent WRATH and fear. The disappointment. They HORROR at a child, in such unimaginable danger. "The Council won't even HEAR that there could be anything amiss! Won't even CHECK. A supposed WASTE of RESOURCES, when already we are stretched too thin! A CHILD, potentially ABANDONED in a WARZONE! And they-!? THEY-!?"

My mind races as I pull away from Sifo's grip to face Yan. The Order won't authorize use of their ships to go check. But... But? Are we not Jedi? We serve the Force. Our mission is to PROTECT. Minimize suffering, bring Light to the universe. Take a sabbatical! NOW! In fact? We ALL will. It will be GOOD for me, to be away from Coruscant's crowded population.

Call your Family, Yan. We need a Serranian Ship. Ask if we can borrow the Senator's, since it's on planet. We aren't slaves. They can't stop us, if we simple decide to GO. Punish us? Perhaps. But not STOP us.

An almost roguish grin settles poorly, under the near manic glint in Yan's eyes. Too expressive. Too unhinged. He has never been anything but composed, he values it too highly. Sifo's answering grin is just as manic. Just as... slightly wrong. Too much. Fitting both too practiced and ill fitting on their faces.

Like they are feeding off each others madness... some part of me hisses in concern. A feedback loop, we aren't strong enough to stop.

I try to ignore it. Focus on the now. There is a child in danger. It's... it's fine. Probably. All I have to do, is keep them away from the Sith! They... they won't Fall. They WON'T.

R-Right?

Yet... watching them plan our trip? Calling in favors and gleefully plotting. Casually threatening. Feeding of each others energy, as they do. I... I am not so certain. Once again, that moment of dissonance strikes true. Like looking around and realizing I am an actor on the stage of a Tragedy, ready line after line, as we march onward to the inevitable End.

Attachments are going to condemn you. Seems to whisper the Force. Like chains that choke and squeeze.

I know, I whisper back. But I am foolish and still want to save them.

Please let me try.

Please.

Let me TRY.

[shadowdaddies]

what do you think about reader and nyx being bffs and her having a huge crush on azriel , like nyx and reader have been friends for almost 50 years and she still remembers the first time she saw azriel. At was first it was a silly girl crush but it developed to her having a fat ass crush on him fr and nyx knows this and teases her relentless, azriel overhears this and confronts her. Fluff or smut pls i cannot handle angst🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

well anon, I had planned to go a more playful/smutty route when I started writing this but that was not what the writing gods had in mind for me today. This is FLUFF (and I know you said no angst but I couldn't resist but IT PAYS OFF)

Birthday Wishes

Azriel x Reader

Warnings: none, just lots of fluff and a lil angst, not proofread

You grew up in Velaris; your first job was as a teaching assistant at Feyre’s studio. You grew close with Feyre, and she became a mentor to you. 

You babysat Nyx when he was young, and as you both grew older you also grew closer. He was the little brother you never had, and you were an honorary member of their family. You often accompanied Nyx to family dinners, which was comfortable because of how close you were with everyone. You had trained under Nesta’s command with the Valkyries, and often worked with Rhys and Feyre in your duties as an emissary. 

The only one in the IC who didn’t feel like family to you was Azriel. Maybe that was in part because you had a huge crush on him for over fifty years, but he never seemed to pay much interest to you. He was at dinners and events the least of anyone, usually off on a mission, and when he was there you were too nervous to say much to him.

One year, Feyre insisted on hosting your birthday celebration at the River House. Everyone in the family was there, along with some of the Valkyries and your and Nyx’s friends. Everyone except Azriel. When people slowly started leaving the house for the night, you felt tears welling up in your eyes. It shouldn’t have bothered you so much, you weren’t close with Azriel. Why should you care whether or not he’s here? Nevertheless, you found yourself needing to step out for air on the balcony.

Nyx came out and stood next to you by the railing as you two took in the view; he always had a sixth sense for when something was troubling you. “Hey, everything okay?” 

You tried to play it off, “I’m great, Nyx. You know how it is, the birthday blues strike again.” Nyx leveled you with a look that let you know he wasn’t buying your excuse. “Come on, I know when you’re upset. Could it have anything to do with a certain Shadowsinger?”

You couldn’t hide your shock as you looked up at Nyx. “Wh-what are you talking about? I.. I didn’t even notice he wasn’t here,” you sputtered out.

Nyx let out a laugh that had you punching him in the arm. “You asshole, why are you laughing at me when I’m crying?” you asked as your own tears turned to laughter at his infectious playful energy. 

“I hadn’t even mentioned that he wasn’t here. You told on yourself, sis,” Nyx lobbed back at you, and you turned beet red at the realization you’d been caught. “Shut up, it’s not like it’s obvious. You just know because you’re nosey as Hel.” 

Nyx slung his arm around your shoulder as he laughed again, “I think the only person it’s not obvious to is Azriel. Everyone else can see how you look at him.” You sighed, completely embarrassed that everyone apparently knew what you thought was your deepest secret. Nyx noticed your stress at the realization and squeezed your shoulder encouragingly, “it’s fine, sis. I can’t blame you for falling for those dreamy hazel eyes. But if I were you, I’d tell Azriel how you feel. It’s the only way you can move on, good or bad.” You nodded in agreement with him, and Nyx left a kiss on your head before turning around to head back inside. 

You noticed him falter in his movement for just a moment before collecting himself. “Oh hey, Azriel,” Nyx greeted cheerfully before slinking through the door without so much as a glance back at you. Traitor. You slowly turned around, praying to the cauldron that he couldn’t tell you had been crying. 

But you couldn’t have prepared yourself for the sight before you. Azriel stood in the doorway, hair windblown, wide-eyed and cheeks flushed as he panted for air. You took a tentative step towards him and spoke barely above a whisper, “Azriel. What are you doing here?” Azriel seemed taken aback by your question, but explained as he held up a package in his hand. “I flew here as fast as I could, and then I realized I hadn’t picked up your gift from where I had it wrapped and they were closed so I had to find the owner and get her keys and go to the shop and get your gift and then get the keys back and I flew here but I’m sorry it took so long, I messed it all up but I had to make sure I got you this tonight.” 

You were frozen in shock. You didn’t think you’d heard Azriel speak so much or so quickly in his life. He stepped towards you as he finally caught his breath, handing you the package. “Please open it, angel.” You took the package from his hands, unwrapping it shakily as you looked up to see his face filled with anticipation. Opening the box, your breath caught in your throat as you took in the sight of your favorite book inside. “It’s a first edition, and it’s signed. I know it’s your favorite book, and I searched all over for it. Helion had a copy in the Day Court library. There’s something inside the book as well.” You opened up the front cover to find a letter from the author to you wishing you a happy birthday. You looked up at Azriel through teary eyes, and something snapped inside your chest. You gasped as you felt like you’d been struck by lightning, and you realized. My mate.

Azriel gave you a soft knowing smile as he stepped closer to you. “I heard your and Nyx’s conversation. I had no idea that you felt that way. The bond snapped for me about four months ago, but I didn’t want to pressure you because I didn’t think you felt that way for me. I wanted you to have a special birthday, regardless of whether or not you are interested in accepting the bond.”

You were overwhelmed by joy at Azriel’s confession, your emotions emboldening you to reach up to Azriel’s face and cup his cheek. “This book was the most beautiful and thoughtful gift I’ve ever received, until I learned the cauldron gave me you.” You pushed up on your toes as Azriel leaned down, pulling you in close for a deep, passionate kiss that spoke more than any words could relay.

~~~

You can't help but laugh now as you think about that memory, how at one point in your life the scariest thing to you was to tell that male how you felt about him. The same male you smile at across the table exactly fifty years later as you blow out the candles without a wish, because you couldn't imagine wanting anything more than this.

[heyhihellosworld]

𝐀𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮

Trent Alexander-Arnold x reader

Word count: 6.2k

Summary: Trent would do everything for his daughter even if it's out of his comfort-zone but maybe something, or someone can make it more bearable.

Warnings: Single parent, talk about non-present parents, horses, angst, smut, fluff, dad!trent, young pregnancy (19/20)

Notes: I don't know but this idea just came to me randomly when I was in the stables and I just find it funny to see these out of place parents, especially dads so yeah. Random but fun to write

Being a single parent wasn't always easy. Trent found it hard to be as present as possible, to spend as much time with his daughter as he wanted and still succeed in his football career. It took a lot of time, effort and help but he managed well, being the best dad possible and still develop in his football. It took a toll on him but he wouldn't trade it for the world.

Since he had been a little kid football had been his life, his goal and the only thing that mattered. For so long it was all that consumed his life, until Ella came along. It was never the plan, never his intention after the one-night stand he'd had but it happened and after a rocky year he had full custody of his baby.

After that his priorities changed because he was no longer alone, he couldn't be selfish anymore, he couldn't think about himself because he had a little girl at home. A little girl relying on him for food, comfort and love and suddenly, she was what mattered the most.

Less to say Trent didn't have a lot of free-time, already juggling more than the time could wrap up but he didn't really miss anything, he felt complete. The only thing he sometimes missed was dating. Going out was nowadays almost impossible, even though his brothers and parents tried to help out and babysit as much as they could he didn't feel fine with leaving her in their responsibility too long knowing they already helped out more than they should. Trent hadn't dated someone in what felt like years nor had he gotten any action regurarly. He didn't mind it, but he could miss it some days. Not only the sex but the social life outside of his work. That's why it felt like a blessing when Ella got older and he had to engage in some of her free-time activities. It wasn't like before of course, this was mothers and fathers with their kids not drunk idiots in a club in some VIP-room. But it was still some kind of social life, some people he could talk to and sometimes hang out with outside of the footballpitch.

For him it was obvious she would play football. It was what he'd anticiapated for a long time but the little girl said no. She didn't wanna play football, she wanted to take horseback-lessons, and as the nice father he was he didn't pressure her into anything but said ok, she would get to take her horse-riding lessons if that was what made her happy.

The four-year old was over-joyed, not Trent. He was as far away from his comfort zone he could imagine when he stepped onto the yard with his estatic daughter. It was muddy and bloody cold but he didn't say anything, just smiled at Ella who blabbered away.

Anything for her

It was all he repeated in his head to get himself to not jump into the car again.

He could hear his teammates laughing in his head as he stood in the small house which apparently was called the club-house. When he had told them about his daughters wish he had got his head nagged in with teasing, but hey, anything for her.

He got informed of how it worked, where the list was, where the different buildings were located, how he handled the horse, that he'd have to fix it up before riding.

He nodded along pretending he understood just fine before walking after Ella as she hurried into the stable. The smell was the first thing that hit him, then the horses. What the fuck was he doing here, why hadn't he asked somebody who knew something about this to take her? Well probably because she had been so excited for him to come along.

"Look, look!" Ella prompted, grinning from ear to ear as she pointed to one of the horses "Which one am I having? Which one daddy?"

Trent shook his head "Uh, what was his name? Mons?" "Monty!"

Trent hummed, nodding as they walked along the line of horses, "Here it is" he told her and she squealed with excitement at the tiny, fat little horse that stood in the box, glaring at them from inside.

Trent stood a few meters away as one of the people who helped out in the stables showed Elle how to tack up. He could feel the stares as he tried to look at what they were doing, trying to memorize but nah, it was too much stuff. Ella almost bounced on the spot as everything was ready, Trent yet to touch the horse that was still glaring at them.

-

Trent sat on the cold tree stand as he watched his daughter wiggle around on the horse. If it wasn't for the biggest smile on her face he would've tried to talk her into something else but he couldn't, and it didn't matter how bitter he felt. He would have to learn and show up, put on his well practiced fake-smile, for her.

-

"Are you really Trent Alexander-Arnold?"

The sound of his name made him look up, taken aback by the mention. He hadn't even thought about being spotted or recognised here which he of course should have.

"Eh, I am" he choke before he even located the woman who spoke but when he did he felt like his choked reply was just right. Before him stood a beautiful woman, she didn't look like a mom, for sure not. She looked about his age, maybe a year or so younger than him.

She was absolutely stunning, her beutiful face held a warm and almost teasing expression. Eyes glimmering, like she was mocking him for his whereabouts.

"Wow" she hummed, sitting down next to him so naturally it almost made him envy her confidence. "So what in the world brings the famous footballer to the stables?" She asked, seemingly unbothered but the smirk she tried to hide leaked through, making him pull a grimace at her.

"Well, my daughter wanted to take horseback-lessons... so I took her to do it, silently hoping she wouldn't like it but now I guess this is my new place to be" he muttered and she chuckled softly "That's sweet of you"

Trent shrugged his shoulders, looking over at her as she sat so casually but still looked so elegant and beautiful. "What about you?" "Well I also happen to have a daughter who loves this stinky hole" she hummed, peeking his interest even more "Really?" he questioned, his eyes full of interest as she hummed "yeah, why?"

"No no I just... you look young to be a mother" he revealed, pulling a smile from her "thank you, I guess. But I was young when I got her" she admitted, making Trent nod along "How old are you?"

"23" she answered shortly making him hum "And what's your name?"

She chuckled, giving him a loopsided smile as she raised one eyebrow "Why are you so interested?"

Trent shrugged "I just am, you're not gonna tell me your name?"

"Y/n, it's y/n" she answered politely, a silence settling over the two as they watched their children try to lead the horse in the right direction.

--

It had been a stressful afternoon for you, hurrying home after work to make it in time to Amelies riding-lesson. But you'd made it, not quite on time but good enough.

Amelies riding lessons was nothing you'd been too big of a fan of, not only because you knew nothing about horses but also because it was darn expensive. But of course you couldn't say no to your precious daughter when she so sweetly asked you, so now you found yourself on this tree bench every week, looking as your daughter held the biggest smile on her face, and it felt worth it.

"I don't mean to be forward" you voiced quietly after a few moments, "It's fine" he hummed, turning his attention to you, bracing himself for what he knew was coming.

He was even more beautiful face to face, so close up, than on the tv-screen and you still had a hard time realizing it was actually the football player sitting next to you on the stable stand.

You had of course read gossip sites and rumors about him and his daughter, some saying he was indeed secretly married and other saying it was a failed one-night stand leading him to be a single parent. You didn't know what it was but you were intrigued.

"Are you married?"

Your question didn't surprise him, his eyes fleeting back from watching the group to you again. "Well-no"

"No?"

He shook his head, curls flying all over the place, your face told him you wanted to know more and he gave in, he knew darn well about all the rumours flying around about him and his daughter, and especially about the mother. "I am not married. Me and Ella's mother is not in any committed relationship. In fact it was a one night stand, ending up in her calling me and telling me she was pregnant and after a long hard time she pulled out, and I am now a single parent"

You hummed "is her mother in the picture at all?"

"Rarely, whenever it suits her" he shrugged, not really understanding why he told you all this. "What about you?" You chuckled bitterly "Nah, I was in a relationship when I got pregnant, but like I said I was young, barely 19 and our relationship was as serious as they are at that age so when things got real he bailed"

"So, do you have any contact?"

"No, I haven't really heard from him since I told him I was pregnant, I forced him to meet her once" you told him bitterly, the air tensing but you didn't mind and neither did he. It was nothing secretive and something you both had moved on from so talking about it felt like a natural part of an introduction because it was a big part of who you were, big part of your families.

When the short lesson was over Ella was bouncing as she ran up to Trent. You stood next to him, waiting for Amelie whilst continuing to small-talk. You couldn't help but smile as he kneeled down to scoop her up in his arms with the brightest smile. "Did you enjoy it princess?"

"I love it! Thank you daddy" he chuckled as he let her down again "Of course sweetie, are you all done now so we can go home and cook?"

You watched as the little girl nodded before looking away, Trent saw it aswell "It's okay, we can stay a little longer" he smiled at her shy look making her face lit up again "I just wanna say bye to my friends" she replied, kissing his cheek before running up the small bump into the stables again.

You felt like pouting at the sweet interaction but stopped from it seeing they were strangers and it would probably put him off. "She is really adorable" you smiled as he stood up again, smiling small.

"Thank you"

"Have you been here for a long time?"

"Here?"

"Have your daughter been riding for a long time?" he corrected making you hum "Well nah not that long, a couple of months" you answered. More than that wasn't said and it felt like a small relief when both of your daughters came running down from the stable giggling, breaking the sudden awkvard tension. You smiled at your daughter, her hapiness making you happy.

"Mommy, did you see?!" she squeeled as she raised her arms as a sign for you to lift her up which you did with a grin. "I did see, you were really good today" you smiled, loving her happy face as she bubbled with hapiness, all giddy.

You put her down when she started to wriggle, packing down all the things in your stable-bag. "Mom"

"Yeah" you hummed "Do you think I can play with Ella some day?"

You looked up, smiling softly as you paused "I'm sure we could fix something some time" you promised making her smile again, breaking away from the small shy energy. You could see that she was tired, even though she was blabbering and bouncing the tiredness started to droop onto her.

When she yawned you chucled, picking her up which she gladly accepted, snuggling into your shoulder.

You waved goodbye at Trent who smiled your way before stropping Amelie in the car to drive home.

Since that first time in the stables Trent and Ella went every week, every week coming to seek you out, ask you about your week and how you'd been since last time.

What in the beginning was a dreadful day for Trent slowly started to become an enjoyful one. You liked the stables just fine but it didn't get worse by seeing Trent.

Whenever he wasn't there it was a huge disapointment, something you were all to aware of.

He had became a good friend, your daughters spending time outside of the stables as well which prompted you to meet more than once a week.

The attraction was there, always but of course you never went with it since the kids were around and dating with a kid or even more so sleeping around whilst having a kid was not something you found appropriate or fair for her at the moment so you didn't do anything, didn't say anything and if he felt the same way he didn't say it.

You learnt more and more for every time you met and got more and more smitten. You understood why everybody was fawning over him so bad. You'd always liked him on the pitch, enjoyed watching him play but this was something completely different than that.

It was a sunday you realized how smitten you actually was with the guy. He had suggested to meet up for the kids to play so you could watch football together. It was United against City so the expectations where high as you sat in your sofa together. The girls in Amelies room playing.

He had been such a softie, resting his hand on your thigh as you sat closer than appropriate, conversing and laughing about the game. He told you stories about himself, about Ella and it was all so soft.

His eyes had been warm and he had been so sweet, cooking all of you lunch and helping you fix the new coffee table you hadn't put together yet. It had felt so domestic and it had made you realize how much you actuallly liked the guy.

But you hadn't spoken a word about it. It was too complicated to get involved with anyone. No man had gotten introduced to Amelie except from her dad but other than that you had stayed far away from that part of you. Only ever being with someone when Amelie wasn't home.

It was a delicate matter with kids and you didn't want to risk anything, plus, you had no idea if Trent even liked you in the slightest so you just kept your mouth shut, enjoying what was now.

A rare evening without Amelie or work was spent out. You were still young, still enjoying the thrill of a good club with friends so the bar was the place to go.

Your best friend begged to go to this new open bar, more similar to an night-club than bar but you didn't mind.

The first hour was spent upstairs in one of the more reserved booths, drinking and gossiping, spilling the recent tea and of coure the main topic was Trent.

She was dying to hear about it and you were dying to telll her. "No way he said that" she gasped, clapping her hands "Wow you go y/n, this is honestly wild"

You giggled, swallowing the rest of your drink "I know"

"What's next then? You almost kissed in his car and now?" "Now nothing" you sighed, shaking your head "What do you mean nothing"

"I mean that I haven't heard of him since then"

"Well text him then!" she exclaimed "I dont know" "Oh come on y/n you gotta do it, you are so smitten by him already and you never meet anyone"

"Lets drop this topic for tonight" you decided, sweeping the hard parts under the rug for now.

"Fine, let's go down and get the party started for real" she beamed sensing not to push you further right now.

"Yes please"

She giggled, hooking your arm with hers as you went down the sketchy stair to the club area, the night club you needed.

-

You were deep in your cups which was why you weren't sure if you actually saw who you thought you did or if you were hallucinating

"Y/n! Is that Trent??" your friend gaped making you realize it was actaully Trent and you gigggled, pulling her along with you as you tripped up to him, facing him with a bright smile

He was with a couple of friends, some you would probably recognize if it wasn't for the slight womble in your head

"Y/n??"

Trent eyed you up and down with a giant smirk, sensing your drunkness but he too were deep in his cups, immidiately dragging both you and your friend to their table.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, handing you another drink and pulling you to sit on his lap as there was limited space on the table he and a couple of his friends shared. Your friend immideately hitting it off with some of them.

"I have a rare night out" you grinned

"How convinient, I have to" he revealed, squeezing your thigh where your short dress had ridden up.

"How convinient" you smirked right back at him, your eyes dropping down to his lips a little too often

It wan't long until you couln't resist the urge to kiss him anymore. The clear part of our head would probably stop it right now because it was compliacted, you had Amelie, you couldn't just date around and bring people here and there but the rational part of your brain wasn't working right at the moment. Only wanting some sort of normality, some sort of attention tonight and Trent gladly gave it to you, so you took it.

The soft kiss turned heated, passionate and neeedy, hands grasping desperately at each other as your turned around on his lap. Only when the people around you started to make noises did you break apart for the moment, enjoying the night on his lap, his mouth on yours and hands caressing you whenever the moment allowed it. It was something completely different like this, when the kids wasn't around, when neither of you had to take the parent role, when you both were deep in your cups and didn't hold back. It was something completely different but so relieving.

--

He asked you out, actually asked you out. Not asking for a playdate with the kids, no. Alone, with you and it felt like the nerves would explode. You had met him for months now but it felt different after the bar meeting.

It had been heated, promising more than just parents of two friends. No, that had showed you he wanted more as well. The kisses shared, the touches ad the late, drunken question to come home with him. It all indicated that he wanted more of whatever it was between you.

You read his text again. You had agreeed on dinner in his flat. Neither of you wanted to do something public. Still it felt nerve-wracking. You hadn't been at his place before, always at yours for various reasons.

You hadn't gone home with him that night but what if he wanted something in that way tonight`?

did you want anything like that? Hell yes

How did you act with him, alone? Without being drunk

What do you wear to something like this?

You had no idea

After what felt like forever you finally emerged from your car outside of his complex, wearing sweats and a hoodie as he had told you after asking and making your way inside.

It was darn expensive, exclusive, luxaury celebrity building. You felt hella out of place, not only because of your clothes as you got escorted up to his floor. The secod you saw him though, it felt okay. The smile twinkling in his eyes as he welcomed you inside.

-

"This feels a bit weird" you smiled, sitting on his big comfy sofa. Stretching out your tired body on the comfortable furnitor.

Trent chuckled, pursing his lips "Well"

"Not bad" you promised "But weird, I'm not used to be alone with you. It's always the girls or the horny mums"

At that Trent couldn't contain his laughter "Horny mums?"

"Yeah you should hear them talk" you scoffed, shaking your head at them.

"I do, trust me" he chuckled, plopping down next to you in the sofa with two glasses of wine. "I just choose to ignore them most of the time" he smiled, handing you one of the glasses.

Your eyebrows raised as you turned to him with an unimpressed look "most of the times?"

"Well yeah, I mean I did not ignore you, did I?" he teased, showing his beutiful smile. Your eyes rolled "no but I'm not talking about how hot it would be to be fucked by a footballer or how perfect your back looks to scratch"

"Why don't you though?"

You choke on the wine you sipped, spluttering it out in your lap as you tried to contain yourself with laughter You looked at him deadpan, "you want me to?"

His shoulders shrugged and his face pulled a grimace, smirking at your flustered state "I wouldn't mind it"

"Really?" you hummed, looking at him from under your lashes while sipping your wine. Gaining your confidenece back "Oh Trent, I wanna scratch your back while you fuck me so hard" you ironized with a high-pitched voice.

Trent laughed, raising his glass towards you "Take away the irony and we are home"

You couldn't help but give him a bright smile, leaning your head towards him before straightening up to do your real performance. His eyes followed you amusedly as he watched you clear your throat before you repeated "Oh Trent, I wanna scratch your back while you fuck me so hard" but only this time you tried to make it sound real, moaning out the words with an additional moan afterwards.

Trent's amused face dropped slightly as you smirked at him "Better?" "Mhm" he nodded, giving you an impressed look "Wow, that's actually wild" he hummed causing you to laugh at him, shaking your head at his dramatics "That explains how you women are so good at faking things"

You hummed, nodding "Sure but you can hear a clear difference from an fake moan and a real moan"

Trent hummed, pouting his lips in thought "well sure"

You pursued tour lips "Do you know the differences?" Trent shrugged "Sometimes, I think most of the times I can tell"

"Have someone ever really faked it with you?" you giggled, "Sure" Trent chuckled, internaly palming himself for revealing that to you.

"Why?" "I don't bloody know, I guess they didn't like it?"

You laughed "Oh poor Trent, are you not that talented in bed?"

He only scoffed, giving you a face that only made you laugh harder "I'm sure am talented enough"'

You giggled, crawling closer to him before settling in his lap. It didn't feel weird, you had been in this position before. You wanted to take it one step further, wanted to be with him.

"What if I need proof?" you whispered, your voicie low and all serious as he swallowed, giving you a heated gaze "Well I think we can fix that, don't you think?" "I was hoping" you smirked, immediately atttacking his lips with yours.

His hands fell on your ass, pulling you closer as your hands tangled in his curls.

Screw all the complicated shit, screw all responsibilites. You would fix it all later, talk it all through later. This wasn't bound to change anything, except it was. You felt more than you wanted to admit.

Screw the feelings, you needed him right now and he felt the same.

His hands started to undress you, flinging your hoodie off and you let him but when his hands left your boobs and started to tease your underwear you stopped him.

"Hey" you mumbled, immideately grabbing his attention, brown eyes searching yours for any signs that he'd crossed the line.

You gently stroke his neck, smiling at his attentive expression. "Did I do something?" he asked softly, relief filling his body as you shook your head. "No no, I just-" you began, looking away from his intense gaze

"What?" he murmured, gently angling your face so that you looked at him again.

Your face felt warm as he looked at you "I-I just haven't had sex in.... forever" you admited shyly

"Forever? you do have a kid, right?"

You giggled loving how he tried to ease the embarrsament as your lips graced his shoulder. "A year" you clarified, looking away from his face as he raised his eyebrows in supriese "Really, wow I feel like i've been in a dryspell forever but a year... I would've alredy have cum now"

You giggled again, hiding your embaressment in admitting this to your lext lay but Trent was different. It wasn't just some hook-up, it was Trent. Someone you already had found a liking towards. Someone you felt comfortable with and trusted, someone you didn't feel embarrassed around.

He kept a loving smile on his face, kissing your cheek sweetly before speaking again. "It's nothing, as long as you want this we can take it as slowly as you want to and if you don't, we don't" he mumbled softly against the soft skin of your shoulder.

"I want to, just... take it slow" you breathed out, his head noddding in recognition as he continued his ministrations on your neck and collarbone. Leaving marks like a teenager would on your sensitive skin. It made you giggle, plafully pushing him away but he just gave you his millon-dollar grin and continued, knowing you liked it.

You started to ease into it. Not feeling as stiff anymore as you moved your body against his, making him let out an apreciative sound. "Yeah?" he mumbled, a word so short but still so hot to hear from his lips.

His hand creeped down your sweatpants, gently teasing the hem of your underwear, tripping under the waistband only to crawl back up. It was all a part of his slow show and you started to realise what you had really asked him.

You kissed him sweetly, passionately but soft. Searching his mouth with yours, hands grasping on his broad shoulders, slowly creeping down to finally feel his gorgously sexy abs.

His breath fanned your jaw as he watched your face every movement, only slipping his hand into your panties for real when you made strong eye-contact with him, pleadig with your eyes for him to keep going.

And keep going he did, finally lettig his fingers stroke over your swollen clit. His fingers moved expertisely, knowing exactly where it would feel the best and where to be to drive your mind absolutely crazy and needy.

He was so focused on your face as you let him play with you, enjoying it way to much to ever ask him to stop.

When your mind started to function again you let your hand slip under the waistband of his calvins. Quickly wrapping around his hard dick to give him some attention as well. Too soaked up in your own for quiet some time already.

He didn't complain, his eyes closing briefly and a hard breath escaping his open lips as you stroked him firmly. Trying to focus on him whilst he brought you to the edge, slipping two fingers inside of you.

Your body had gotten completely loose now. Moving on it's own accord, not caring anymore, not controlled by nerves but pleasure.

He could see exactly when your orgasm started to climb to it's top. Not daring to stop as your voice pleaded him not to. Your hand stopped aroud his dick, unable to focus as your orgasm washed over you. The sounds you let out fell deaf on your own ears, not to Trent's who only got harder as your body shook, fingers slowly retreating as you came down. Not wanting to overstimulate you at this state.

"Okay?" he smiled softly, the giggle you let out sounded free and happy "more than okay" you smiled, leaning up to kiss his lips lovingly. Hand resuming it's pace on his hard cock.

Soon enough you tugged at his boxers, wanting them off, wanting him inside of you.

He let you do what you wanted, helping to take off his boxers as he helped you out of your sweatpants. His hands gently cupped your breasts over your brah as you looked at each other. "You sure you want this?" he hummed, needing the consent "Yes, you?" you hummed back softly, "All I wanted to do since I first saw you" he consented, bringing a smile on your lips as he guided his tip to your entrance.

He rubbed oer your sensitive nerves, giving you time to relax again from the initional reaction to feeling his dick against the place you wanted him.

"Relax yeah?" he hummed softly, kissing over your chest, smiling against your skin as you complied. Relaxing your body against the soft material.

He fially pushed the tip in, your breath catching in your throat at the stretch. His lips a nice distraction, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as he kissed you passionately. Breathing in and swallowing your sounds.

It felt like an enternity until he finally stopped, fully inside you. You panted against his lips, trying to take in the feeling of complete blizz.

Fuck you had missed this

"Move" you breathed, his hips immediately following your words as he slowly started to thrust inside of you. Taking it slow as promised but it felt just as good as anything else. It wasn't about fucking the life out of you, it would be time for that later. No this was about connecting, making eachother feel pleasure and love and wow did he manage well.

You felt like all you could do was moan and whine, your body writhing on the soft cushions as he gave you all he had, rolling his hips into yours, filling you completely with each deep thrust.

He reached places you didn't even remembered you could or knew. It felt like you were floating on a cloud as his mouth found your skin again.

"Fuck I'm sorry" he breathed harshly on your jaw as he kissed his way up

"What?"

"I-I'm gonna cum" he breathed making you giggle out a moan "Fuck do it"

His fingers found your clit, gently stroking the sensitive nub as he quickened his pace slightly. His hips started to jerk as he got closer to his release, soon coming to an complete stop as he came, taking you with him in the blizz.

It felt like you blacked out. Letting your eyes fall close as he slipped of to the bathroom, helping you clean up and change clothes to sleep. He didn't bother making you brush your teeth or go to the toilet. You were already half-asleep so he just crawled down into the bed again. Kissing your shoulder and whispering soft praise for you as you drifted off to sleep in his comfortbale bed and warm embrace.

--

Awkvardness settled in your body as you looked down on the steeming hot cup of coffe he'd just handed you.

He looked as free as a bird, not an ounce of regret or questionmarks visable in the way he moved around the kitchen

You didn't regret it but now the hard conversation were bound to happen, the conversation you'd dreaded since you started to feel something about him. But again, he didn't look cornered at all, he looked the oposite to you and that also made you question this, question his feelings.

It wasn't long until he broke the silence, turning to you with an look you couldn't really decide if it was scolding, angry or amused. Maybe something inbetween it all.

"Why are you awkvard?"

He popped the question, just like that, cornered you even more than you already felt as you squirmed on the tall bar stool you sat on at his kitchen island.

"I'm not" you tried but he only chuckled, giving you a soft smile. "This dosen't have to be as hard as you make it out in your head"

"I dosen't?" you half mocked him but he stood his ground, shaking his head "No, it dosen't. I really like you" he stated, like it was the easiest thing ever to say

"And I think you like me too so what's the problem? Our kids already love eachother so why just not take it slowly, ease into it with them, keep it on the low, see eachother more and then move forward step by step. It dosen't have to be that hard. I'm sure of my feeling, it's not something casual or temporary"

You sat quite for a while "Well when you say it like that it sounds like the easiest thing in the world"

Trent chuckled, coming loser to you "It's not the easiset thing in the world but I like you too much to not give this a try"

You smiled leaning over the island to kiss him gently "I like you" you mumbled against his lips, feeling them curl into a smile against yours.

--

Sundays couldn't get better than this, the sun was out, mood happy and the birds were singing. Trent's hand in yours made a warmth spread in your chest. The girls ran in front of you, playing tag in a fit of giggles.

The soft morning had woken you up in the right mood, waking up alongside Trent was bound to wake you up in a good mood. Early morning sure but the way Tren't had made love to you first thing after waking up made your mood hit the good roof.

"I love this" you hummed, watching up at his beutiful smile under the baseball cap he'd pushed down over his curls, not wanting to be recognised.

You'd made it official, but not public. He had asked you to be his girlfriend one late night in front of the tv, cozied up together on the sofa. It had been only one clear answer on your tongue and since then things had changed for the better.

The worry of affecting your kids had been one that had proved not to be a problem, the girls already concidering the other best friends. Trying to explain had been a bit harder the girls not completely undestanding why they spent so mch time together at eachothers houses but they loved it neitherless.

"Me too" Trent hummed, glancing up at the girls "And I love you" he continued, turning to you again, tilting your head up to gently kiss you, a kiss you couldn't help but to smile into, holding his chin gently as he kissed you softly, intimately.

"Daddy!" "Mommy!"

You broke apart, giggling as you turned to your kids "Why is your daddy snogging my mommy!" Amelie protested but Ella only giggled making Amelie start to.

"Where have you learnt that word?" you asked her pointedly, her eyes blinking up at you "Trent told me it" she defended before they were off again.

"You taught her the word snogging??" you turned to him with a scoff "What?!" he exclaimed "The girls were using the word fucking so I told them not to say that and to say snog instead, choose your word woman!" he defended making you laugh "Okay okay, snogging is much better than fucking"

"Exactly" he smiled in victory as you continued to walk.

You'd never felt this kind of peace before in your life. It had always been something, something unsettling. But right now, right now it felt like peace, like nothing was hard or confusing. Everything was clear and you were happy, happiest you'd ever been.

And it all felt like it was coming together, peace had finally landed.

[lily-alphonse]

Sebastian's Age

Ok please excuse me while I get autistically pedantic about this but I do not believe Sebastian is 2 years older than Maru. How would that even happen? He’s not 20. He’s not 22. Sebastian is 26.

FOLLOW ME OK LETS GO FOR A WALK.

Canon Facts:

Maru is his half-sister

Demetrius does not have a single line of dialogue about Sebastian

Sebastian has only negative things to say about his step father

Sebastian and Robin have no lines about a biological father

Are you telling me that Sebastian was raised by this man from infancy? He was raised from infancy, with this man as his only father figure, with Maru as his sister very close in age, and has no relationship with either of them?

Is it technically possible? Yes, I will give you that! But it is far less likely. Especially in fictive works, we have to consider the more likely scenario.

The more likely scenario being: Demetrius entered Sebastian’s life when he was old enough to reject him as a father figure. At the earliest, I would say seven years old. But even that feels young? The average seven year old will WANT a father figure unless something goes terribly wrong (which I headcanon it does, but thats another post). Then, a year or so later, Maru was born.

By my conservative calculations that puts Maru at 18 and Sebastian at 26 for the events of the game. And it makes sense! A 26 year old could absolutely be working as a freelance software developer, AND still live at home.

A 26 year old man can be emo. What would be stopping him, he works freelance and everything? Maybe you think he’s younger because of the band, but again, can’t someone be in a band at 26? He is a working adult with a hobby.

I guess if you really hated Demetrius you could headcanon that Demetrius refused to see Sebastian as his son, and then that would excuse how he could be younger and still not have a relationship with him. But you'd have to also assume Robin was a pretty lackluster mom to get married to a man who refused to even try to love her baby.

Maybe you'd excuse it as them having had a falling out. Maybe there was a time when they did see each other as family, and the relationship fell apart. Okay, I think you'd still have to do some mental gymnastics to explain how Robin had a baby with one man and then another baby with a different man almost immediately. Maybe if Sebastian was the product of a one-night stand, and Demetrius was fine taking in a woman and her newborn baby. But again that feels like more of a stretch to me.

DISCLAIMER: Im open to everyone having their own headcanons, its just odd to me how prevailing fanon has him at ~22 and Maru 20 when that does not make sense to me considering the family dynamic

Am I missing something? Do you agree? If you have an alternate explanation I will be checking reblogs of this post

[thewertsearch]

GG: i think you are projecting your own attitude on to others […] GG: rose just sent me a code for a crystal ball, shes my friend and is basically the best! […] CA: its probably a trap i wwouldnt trust her CA: she is a cunnin and treacherous sort trust me i knoww her type GG: wait do you have a thing for her too??? GG: did she reject you or something?

Annihilate him, Jade. This would be a good time to unleash that rage you've been cultivating.

CA: all of her FRAUDULENT MAGICS cannot come close to posin threat to my mastery ovver the TRUEST SCIENCES CA: an wwith my empiricists wwand i servve as the righteous hope that wwill incinerate delusion and the deluded alike

This dude's on some Methods of Rationality type shit.

I'm not sure why Eridan is on a crusade against magic. He's been insisting it was fake since his original introduction page, and it's pretty clear he has some sort of complex about it. Is there some unseen history here that we're not yet privy to?

GG: wow what are you talking about CA: so really you should be honored to inherit my old callin CA: both my armaments and my feud

To be fair to Eridan, he is accomplishing something useful here, even if it's by accident. Jade needs to get that rifle in her pen-pal's hands in order to fulfil the Endgame Bunny's time loop.

Recalling Eridan’s introduction reminds me that this is one of the most powerful riflekind weapons in existence. This should imply that top-tier weapons cost tens of millions of grist...

...but we just saw a weapon that costs much, much more.

Maybe the Proton Cannon has the same damage as the Crosshairs, but it also has an incredibly broken non-combat use.

GG: i have seen this before […] GG: i am very sure its the same rifle included with johns present […] CA: probably a cheap imitation of the original […] GG: i did not provide the weapons! GG: my penpal did […] GG: we worked on it together but he supplied the bunnys weapons GG: im pretty sure hes from the future! CA: wwhy GG: because he said hes my grandson

Really?

I suppose being raised by a Sburb veteran would explain why he uses terms like 'boonbuck' in casual speech - but almost nothing else makes sense when viewed through this lens.

If Pen-Pal is Jade's grandson, then he should be from decades in the future - presumably long after the game has ended. This doesn't sound like a problem, until you remember some of the references he made.

As much as it pains me to admit it, the Earth is probably gone for good - which means that any descendants of our Players will be raised somewhere else. Why would someone presumably raised in a completely different universe be so familiar with Earth's culture?

You could argue that he picked up his love of Earth movies from one of the surviving Earthlings, such as adult John - although that raises its own issues, because PP talks to John like he's never met him before. Maybe he died young, and passed his love of movies to PP posthumously - but as you can see, we're really having to stretch things to make this make sense.

Plus, there's an even bigger problem - namely, his 1920s 'accent'. None of the surviving Earthlings have it, and it's not like he just developed it spontaneously. If he was raised by Jade or her child, why does he talk like her grandfather would?

See, I'm still sure that PP is connected directly to Grandpa, and may well be the man himself - which means either PP is lying, or there's something more complicated going on here.

We don't know anything about Grandpa's life after he fled the Crocker household. If he was somehow raised by an adult, post-Sburb Jade, then he could consider her his grandmother, while still talking and acting like the Grandpa Harley we know. Plus, it would explain why he acts like he's from the past, but knows about the future. He already has a history of time travelling - maybe he's been doing it since he was a kid.

Similar to my old theory about Spades Slick, this one is a little too convoluted to be 100% true - but still I think there's something to this idea. Being raised by Jade would neatly explain where he got the bunny's weapons...

Ugh, I don't know! This Pen-Pal really is the biggest curveball this comic has thrown at me. I need to think it over some more.

[rei-ismyname]

Exceptional X-Men #4 REVIEW

I've been singing the praises of Eve L Ewing and Carmen Carnero's Exceptional X-Men, so let's see what they manage to do now that the premise is established and they've got 5 main characters we're invested in. A benefit of establishing your characters early is that you get to focus on introducing plot elements, special guests, and complications - like serialised storytelling does. Uncanny is a good example of how a lack of focus early on weakens everything you try to do. It's hard to care about The Outliers or Nightcrawler when they feel like wallpaper, and now they're running around an event without knowing who they are. The stakes lay primarily with Rogue. Trista/Bronze is a fantastic example of this done right, and as you'll see we can explore plot developments that wouldn't make sense elsewhere. Spoilers ahoy, caveat emptor.

Trista gets a lot of focus which works because we know who she is and what she wants.

Due to Kate pushing back against taking these kids somewhere isolated for training, we get to see them try to live normal lives. Trista has friends outside the tiny mutant peer group, a crush, and an interest in theatre. She declared last issue that her goal is to not hurt anyone, and she's struggling with what people tell her to be and what she wants. She's a sweet kid, and I'd say there's a racial component to this dichotomy - how black kids are perceived and how they need to act to get by in a white supremacist world. That's outside my experience but I'm invested in how Trista deals navigates the issue. After all, being strong, kind, gentle and lovely aren't mutually exclusive

I hesitate to compare to Uncanny again, but they both have high school scenes and the difference is stark. Westinghouse College Prep is a real life school in Chicago (that Biggie, Jay Z, Busta Rhymes and DMX all went to) and it is ranked pretty highly nationally. According to its website it has 98% minority enrollment. Importantly, it feels like a real school in 2024 with real people attending it, and not just because it actually is one IRL. There's no need to reach for played out generic high school tropes when the characters feel like real people with real problems already - verisimilitude.

After a smash cut to Trista with a sentinel looming over her, we learn that Emma does a pretty damn good Danger Room analogue. Trista seems determined and in control at first, using her different powers in concert effectively. She does manage to Empire Strikes Back trip the Sentinel up, but wigs out when it falls on top of her, understandably. Emma calls it, and we see more proof of why she's considered good at training young mutants.

Bobby's entrance at the end of last issue felt like a cliffhanger by virtue of being on the final page, but I'm glad his presence doesn't derail the plot entirely. It's implied that some time has passed, maybe a week - enough time for Bobby and Trista to get to know each other and enough time for Bobby to feel Kitty is avoiding him. Trista picks up on his odd behaviour and asks Emma about psychic ethics, heh. Her answer is funny and sardonic while still getting the point across. Emma and Trista having one on one time tells us a lot about Emma's sincerity and the trust she's earned through good works.

The subtext of Trista's distraction is made text - she's preoccupied with the audition, her crush, and the fear of exposure/social rejection. While we know this already, or could guess, it's effective to have newer characters tell their story. What they say is as important as what they don't say or how they say it. She responds well to being listened to and positive reinforcement, accepting the reframing of the audition as an opportunity.

Bobby is definitely up to something and acting weird. His persona feels performative. He's explicitly faking bathroom usage to text privately, and while his texting is worded vaguely enough to not give much away, it does seem sinister. At minimum he is lying about why he's there. Kitty picks up on the same weirdness Trista did and she's really not having it. He doesn't have the vibes of a friend seeking or offering support, though Kitty isn't interested in either and tells him to leave. Idk if Bobby even has a home right now - he was living in Antarctica because ORCHIS poisoned him and he couldn't hold a solid form for long. He was back with Romeo last time we saw him but also didn't have a physical body. I can't blame the creators for not explaining that, I have to assume they're under the same editorial direction everyone else is.

Trista's warmup scene has excellent layout, with the other kids' faces in circles next to their supportive texts. It's a clever way of showing their faces in an issue they're mostly absent from, and it's a solid method of variety in an issue with more texting than most. Showtime!

Trista meekly introduces herself to the casting guy/director and he suggests that the lead might not be right for her. He's polite, though she's about to disagree when her mutant life and school life clash in an unexpected way. One of those yellow beasts from X-Force appears from a portal and grabs her crush. You don't need to have been reading X-Force, it's a big monster (that were confirmed to be appearing globally in that book) and it's here. Trista rallies and uses her training to bronze up and get her head in the game.

It's a dangerous situation but has a simple solution suited to Trista's skillset. She grabs it with her tentacle things, ties it up and yeets it through the portal. Her overcoming it with pure force or martial skill would be a bit silly, but by linking her training and the progress she's made with Emma to a simple solution, it feels like an appropriate and believable triumph. Strong yet gentle. Neutralizing the beast and protecting herself and others without using overwhelming violence. It's a very effective character beat and the support/adulation from the theatre people is earned. She nailed the audition, and gets offered her choice of parts, though interestingly she turns it down in favour of her training. The theatre folks show solidarity and swear to keep her mutanthood a secret.

Trista shows up to training and seems more confident, her posture showing strength and positivity. It looks like Bronze, Axo and Melee are all benefiting and even Kate manages a smile. Then she overhears Bobby on the phone while grabbing some equipment. It's not a good look.

What Bobby is saying is so weird that she's not even sure it's him. Kate phases her hand next to his heart and straight up threatens him. He explains that everyone is worried about her and she says she's choosing this life. He tries to bring up ORCHIS and she shuts it down, saying out loud that she killed people. A little too loud, it turns out.

The kids overhear and are horrified, understandably. They're really young and don't have the kind of life experiences that come with being an X-Man - of course they are! Tom Brevoort has made a lot of noise about the X-Men killing people in Fall of X, an argument that has ignored the nuance of being at war with genocidal fascists. The issue hasn't made it to the page in a meaningful way until now, and I couldn't be more impressed. Rooting the issue in Kate's trauma and shame - as something that terrifies the students she's trying to help and likely damaging the trust she's built - approaches it on a believable character level.

This is a big part of what caused Kate to hang up her Spandex and it's something she's going to have to reckon with. Add the kids' emotional and ethical reaction and you've got a fantastic cliffhanger with the promise of explosive drama.

Kate grabs Bobby's phone and it's Rogue on the other end. She doesn't look like she's at Haven or in uniform, so who knows what's going on there? They're clearly ahead of Raid on Graymalkin as Iceman is in league with them, as if that book needs more characters. Kate doesn't care and hangs up on her. I wasn't going to compare to Uncanny a third time, but if the two are crossing over it invites comparison. Kurt's glib comment about thinking he was a murderer felt trite and silly, next to the dramatic execution of Shadowkat's actions being confronted it looks downright amateur. Kate is clearly having a PTSD flashback or intrusive thought during this conversation - whereas it wouldn't work for Bobby or Emma to announce that she has PTSD, for example.

I do enough shitting on Uncanny's writing in my reviews of that book, my point is how well similar beats are executed in this book. Eve L Ewing and Carmen Carnero's Exceptional X-Men is aptly named and frankly, if you're not reading it you're missing out. We know all these characters well enough that we care about their reaction to this revelation. Kate looks like she's about to break down, and Bronze and Axo's body language is heartbreaking. Emma knows shit is about to hit the fan and she's surely aware she killed people in Fall of X too. That's how you do a cliffhanger. Issue #4 managed to do a Trista focus issue, some slice of life, excellent character work, and lit a fuse to explode next issue all in 20 pages.

Exceptional X-Men is fantastic and you should be reading it.

[yxtubers]

✩ ABC's

𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐚𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐞!

—‘A’ IS FOR AFFECTION (how affectionate are they?)

in public, not much. the most he’ll do is maybe hold pinkies or have an arm around you/on you - but at home he is allll over you. literally will lay his head on your shoulder whenever he can, kisses (esp forehead ones) are a must, too. he basically cannot bear to be away from you when you guys are alone.

—‘B’ IS FOR BESTFRIEND (what are they like as a bestie?)

he’s your boyfriend, but first and foremost, he’s your best friend (corny, whatever). he really values deep relationships with people and if he can’t talk to you like you’re his friend, then he’s most likely not dating you. he wants you guys to be able to goof off and be comfortable around each other. definitely likes to do stupid stuff with you like trying to cook and failing miserably.

—‘C’ IS FOR CUDDLES (how do they like to cuddle?)

you could not waterboard this information out of him but he is 100% the little spoon. he likes to lay his head on your stomach or lap, have your arms around him from behind - all that jazz. he also definitely mumbles in his sleep when you guys cuddle, especially if he’s extremely comfortable. he also loves when you scratch his scalp or back to help him fall asleep. and for you, he likes to draw shapes on your torso with his fingers - it just relaxes him for some reason.

—‘D’ IS FOR DOMESTIC (settling down? how will they be helping out around?)

matt is definitely a family-oriented person so he knows that if you two end up getting married he’d want to settle down with you and eventually have kids. he helps a lot around the house, especially with things like laundry (duh), dishes, anything that involves cleaning. he hates cooking though, but will do it if it’s necessary - he just prefers your food over his. also hates folding laundry and mopping. he’s mostly a dishes, laundry, vacuum kinda guy.

—‘E’ IS FOR ENDING (how would breakups work out?)

he wouldn’t hold any resentment or hard feelings (unless it ended badly). basically very civil. generally i think he wouldn’t go out of his way to contact you if things break off, but he’ll occasionally check on you or ask your friends about you if he can. he’d still hold some love for you in his heart, but ultimately he wouldn’t really want to stay friends.

—‘F’ IS FOR FIANCÉE (how do they feel about commitment?)

absolutely knows he’s going to marry you some day if you guys are long term. he wouldn’t be a fan of getting married young but if you guys are still together in the future he could see himself being with you for the rest of his life. commitment is a big deal to him and i think he’d appreciate someone who is the same.

—‘G’ IS FOR GENTLE (how gentle are they?)

it’s matt like… he’s a sweetheart. he doesn’t treat you like you’re fragile, but more like you’re something special to be admired. you’ll catch him staring at you all lovey dovey sometimes to which he’d blush and turn away from. other times he’ll caress your cheeks before going in to peck you on the forehead or lips. all in all he leaves feather light touches everywhere he goes (because he knows you deserve to be treated with care and love).

—‘H’ IS FOR HUGS (do they like hugs?)

is this even a question? he may not be all that touchy with his friends or with you in public but if you offer a hug he can never deny it. he’s a sucker for having you close to him. he likes feeling cherished and safe, and that’s how he feels when you embrace him. you are the living embodiment of his safe space.

—‘I’ IS FOR I LOVE YOU (how long does it take them to say the ‘l word?’)

i think it would take him a while to say it out loud. it’s not that he didn’t develop those feelings - he actually knew he loved you pretty early on into the relationship. he just doesn’t want to scare you off by saying it too soon, so he actually waits for you to say it first. but once that first ‘i love you’ passes, he’s saying it all the time. in his good morning texts, whenever he leaves for a meeting, whenever he ends a call. all. the. time.

—‘J’ IS FOR JEALOUSY (how do they get jealous?)

matt doesn’t get jealous often. he trusts you wholeheartedly and he expects the same from you. the only time he would get jealous is if you were like overly touchy with a friend or something, but other than that he really isn’t worried about stuff like that. he knows you love your friends and you show that through affection - he would never in a million years be jealous of that. not when he knows that you’re his, and he’s yours.

—‘K’ IS FOR KISSES (what's their kissing schedule?)

sorry to burst the bubble here but i honestly don’t think he’d be a big kisser. he loves to kiss your hands, forehead, cheeks, etc. but kissing on the lips is only reserved for when you guys are chilling in his room alone. ofc if you ask for one or initiate it he won’t decline - because he does enjoy kissing you. he just prefers to keep that stuff private, so on a day-to-day basis it won’t really happen often since you guys are almost always with his brothers.

—‘L’ IS FOR LITTLE ONES (how are they around kids?)

he definitely adores kids, he just finds them so adorable. kids love him because of his calm nature, and he’ll happily do whatever with them if it means it’ll make them laugh or smile - even if it’s a princess makeover. however, he does get a little awkward sometimes since he’s not sure how to act around other people’s kids, but he’s still an absolute angel to them.

—‘M’ IS FOR MORNINGS (how will your mornings go?)

usually if he wakes up before you he’ll scroll on tiktok while stroking your hair. he likes to enjoy the mornings with you since it’s one of the only times you two can be fully alone. you guys will watch videos or listen to a podcast or something while you cuddle and get ready for the day. he also loves brushing his teeth with you - he just melts for domestic stuff like that because it makes him feel like you guys already live together.

—‘N’ IS FOR NIGHTS (how will your nights go?)

typically he’ll get you guys some food before calling it a night and retreating to his room. he’ll put on a movie or a show that you both strictly ONLY watch together. you guys will cuddle up and make dumb jokes about what’s going on on the TV. this always ends up with you two fallen asleep before the end of the movie, the low buzz of dialogue like a lullaby in the background.

—‘O’ IS FOR OPEN (when will they tell you about themselves?)

if you start off as friends i think he opens up way faster than if you don’t. due to the fact that you’d be hanging around him and his friends and brothers, he’d open up way easier because he feels comfortable around the company that you’re in. he’ll still take a while, but he definitely becomes more talkative before you enter a relationship - since he believes that you both shouldn’t go into dating each other blindly. he wants you to know the ugliest parts of him, and him you. that way he’ll know he really wants to be with you, because you’ll accept him for who he is - and vice versa. he’s very in tune with his emotions. although it would take him a while to feel comfortable crying in front of you (not because he’s ashamed, but he physically can’t cry in front of people).

—‘P’ IS FOR PATIENCE (how patient are they with you?)

this man needs an award for his patience. matt has had enough experience with his brothers to have mastered the art of it. but also, he just doesn’t like the idea of pressuring you. if you don’t want to do something, or go somewhere - he will immediately accept it, no questions asked. if you stutter a lot or just have trouble speaking he’s always there to help you, no matter how frustrated you are. also, this goes without saying, but he’s extremely understanding and patient of any mental health problems you have.

—‘Q’ IS FOR QUIZZES (how much do they remember about you?)

i feel like i don’t even have to say anything. he remembers every little detail about you. your favourite colour, your mom’s maiden name, your childhood pet’s name. he knows what you’re afraid of, where you like to eat, he remembers every important date of your relationship - and any significant dates for you, too. he writes them down in his journal so he remembers but he honestly doesn’t have to. it’s like he has a little file reserved just for you in his brain because he knows everything.

—‘R’ IS FOR REMEMBER (what is his favorite moment in your relationship?)

it would definitely have to be right before you two got together. his most vivid memory of your early relationship is the first time that you guys had a genuine, deep conversation together. you were sat by the pool late at night, both of your feet dangling in the water below you as you spilled your souls to each other. that was coincidentally also the night that he first held your hand and asked you on a date.

—‘S’ IS FOR SECURITY (how protective are they of you?)

he’s protective, but not in a male alpha toxic way. he just wants to know that you’re safe and happy. he’ll always drive you home and wait for you to get inside before he drives off - if you’re out with your friends and you need a ride, he’s there, if you go home with a taxi he asks you to update him so he knows you’re okay. if, on the off chance that you absolutely have to walk, he’ll stay on face-time with you with your location shared on his phone so that he can make sure you make it home alright.

—‘T’ IS FOR TRY (how much effort do they put into dates? special occasions?)

plans dates literally weeks in advance. he always just wants things to be 100% perfect for you because you deserve nothing less. he loves to surprise you with nice things if you're going out for your anniversary or birthday. also he's just a sucker for seeing you all smiley and giddy so he will sit and plans for a month if that's what it takes. one month he couldn't make it back home in time for your birthday (so he said) but that morning you woke up to him cuddled into your side, his luggage at the end of the bed. apparently he "made some adjustments" so that he could come and see you.

— 'U' IS FOR UGLY (what's a bad habit of theirs?)

he bites his nails. a lot. that’s why he always asks you to paint his nails with him; it helps him stop nibbling on them. it’s usually because of his anxiety but over the years it just became a habit that he hasn’t been able to kick. he’s tried several remedies but the only thing that seems to help is painting his nails nicely - because then they’re just too pretty to ruin!

—‘V’ IS FOR VANITY (how insecure are they?)

he doesn’t get insecure often but when he does it’s bad. he’d get really anxious, and he’d probably feel a little stupid for it - he’ll always eventually let you know what’s going on if it does happen. you’re the only person that can really comfort him when this occurs, because his brothers don’t really know what to say to bring his ego up, especially if it’s about his looks or how he is as a boyfriend. overall though, he doesn’t get insecure about your relationship too much. he knows he’s a great boyfriend, and he knows that you love him just as much as he loves you.

—‘W’ IS FOR WHOLE (would they feel incomplete without you?)

again, not even a question. similar to how he feels when he’s without nick and chris (but to a lesser extent) is how he feels when you’re not around. he just feels like he’s not whole. especially if he sees something he knows you’d find funny or enjoy and you’re not there to experience it with him he’ll get a little upset - mostly when he’s on tour and you can’t come.

—‘X’ IS FOR XTRA (a random headcanon about them?)

i think he’d love if you drew on him - and also head scratches. he’ll sometimes just straight up ask you to doodle on him when you’re bored. he really just loves to see what you come up with, and he likes sporting around your drawings like a badge of honour. also if you give him head scratches and have your nails done? he’s a goner.

—‘Y’ IS FOR YUCK (what are some things they dislike?)

he absolutely hates hates hates being messy. sure, he’ll leave his shoes lying around occasionally or forget to throw wrappers away - he’s not a saint - but he always goes back and fixes it/cleans it up. he just can’t stand being in a dirty environment. also, he doesn’t really put many condiments on his food. if he does it’s like… minuscule.

—‘Z’ IS FOR ZZZ (some of their sleeping habits?)

as i mentioned before, matt is a mumbler. he won’t say flat out sentences but you’ll catch him sleepily muttering gibberish before he falls back asleep and is knocked out cold. he also likes to sleep in. he could not be an early bird if he tried. i feel like he also likes to curl up when he sleeps, especially if you’re cuddling. he’ll curl up into your side, or both of you will, whilst facing each other, blankets up to your chins as you fall into a peaceful slumber.

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