#will it be a 'your baseline is back to where it was last summer' thing?

[scribefindegil]

Having my first actual Good Curse Day in uhhh seven months? Am trying my best not to do the thing where I immediately panic about it

[sapphire-writes]

Holiday In The Hamptons

Part 3 of The Campaign

pairing: modern!Aemond x Reader

summary: You join the Targaryen-Hightower family in the Hamptons, determined to get back what Aemond took from you.

word count: 7.2k

rating: 18+/explicit (see details below the cut)

warnings: p in v (explicit sex), oral (fem-recieving), edging, overstimulation, blindfold, restraints, fingering, rough s*x, degradation, begging, kissing, pussy slapping, choking, hand kink, finger sucking, alluding to some Daemon/Rhaenyra targcest, language

note: it's been a while! I have no words-- i was inspired and here is the monster I created, I hope you enjoy!

You’d secretly hoped Rhaenyra would throw out the idea of a family outing after the debate with Aegon went sideways. She’d been graceful, smooth, and calculated as always. And Aegon?

Well, Aegon was Aegon. 

You suppose Otto Hightower had attempted to prep him. But it didn’t stop him from being a pompous asshole through the entirety of the debate. Interrupting, laughing, and dismissing all of Rhaenyra’s arguments with baseline claims of his own. It was hard to watch. 

And yet the public was eating it up. 

Funny, they called him. An arrogant, egotistical, narcissist. But funny. The media was far more forgiving of Aegon than Rhaenyra. You suppose that’s why Aegon made a better frontman than Aemond. He was awfully charismatic. 

Though you just know it was killing Aemond inside to not be the one behind that podium going head to head with Rhaenyra. A battle of wits is Aemond Targaryen’s idea of a great time. He wouldn’t have needed Aegon’s cheap tricks to win the debate. He probably could have bested her (though that killed you to admit). 

“Shrieks Through the Keep,” she read the headline on her phone as you sat in the back of the limousine on the way to the Hamptons, “Rhaenyra Targaryen snaps at Aegon Targaryen during last night’s debate, her reaction reminiscent of her predecessor Maegor Targaryen. Fucking ridiculous.”

Luke sits beside her, Joffrey beside him lost in his Nintendo Switch, furiously pressing buttons and cursing under his breath. Jace and you sit across from them, knees pressed together. You’ve been stiffer around him lately, ever since----

“You did wonderfully,” Daemon had insisted, squeezing Rhaenyra’s knee, “Bunch of stupid cunts.”

Rhaenyra clicks her phone and the screen dims before leaning her head back and closing her eyes. Luke reaches forward, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. 

“It’s only the first debate,” Daemon insists, “The others will be better.”

Rhaenyra lets out a pitiful laugh dropping her head into her hands, pressing her thumbs right under her brow bones. You’ve seen Aemond do the same thing when he’s stressed. Seven save you, can you stop thinking about that asshole?

“Can we talk about something else?” Rhaenyra asks, “Anything else.”

Joffrey pays no attention, his dark curls falling into his eyes, the faint sounds of his game echoing in the small space. Luke’s leg bounces nervously, his eyes darting to you, begging for some help. 

“What’s your favorite memory of Summerhall House?” you ask her, eager to change the subject to something else as well. 

The side of Rhaenyra’s mouth ticks upwards in a small, sad smile. She straightens up, leaning back against the leather seat. Her eyes look past you, searching for a memory. 

“My father brought me here when I was a child,” she tells you, “Every summer we’d come. Just the three of us.”

Daemon watches Rhaenyra carefully as she speaks; his violet eyes never leave her face. You wonder where Daemon had fit in on their family holidays. 

“My father hated the beach, hated it,” Rhaenyra continues through a chuckle, “But my mother loved the ocean. We’d spend hours at a time going back and forth. Swimming, drying out on the sand, going back to the water. Father would watch from the deck, always holed up with his models.”

Daemon takes her hand. You watch a pink blush begin to form on the apples of her cheeks, but she doesn’t pull her hand away. Your throat tightens. Aegon had his fair share of gossip present in the tabloids, but so did Rhaenyra. 

Not a rumor you hope has truth behind it.

But it’s hard to deny when it's happening right in front of you. Still, you remove your gaze from their intertwined hands and rest your head against Jace’s shoulder. 

“You miss him terribly,” Daemon says, thumb stroking the back of Rhaenyra’s hand, “I do as well. He’d be happy that you’re doing this. He always wanted the family together.”

Rhaenyra nods at his words, violet eyes glancing up at her Uncle’s face. He smiles at her softly before turning his head toward you and Jace. You meet his eyes for a brief moment before averting your gaze, heat rushing to your cheeks. 

When you look up, he’s still watching you. You force a tight smile which Daemon Targaryen does not return. He knows you know, your mind teases as a weight settles in your gut. You close your eyes, pressing your face against Jace’s neck inhaling the scent of his cologne. You feel his arm tighten around you. 

“Not long now,” he murmurs, and you hum in response. 

Though you pretend to be asleep for the remainder of the drive, you can feel the fiery gaze of Daemon Targaryen burning through you. 

When you arrive at Summerhall House you’re greeted with laminated itineraries and Alicent Hightower-Targaryen waiting at the front door. She holds one out to you, her brown eyes warm and inviting, auburn curls hanging freely down her back, dressed in an emerald green silk dress that falls just below her knee. 

Though it's been half a year since the death of her husband she doesn’t look the part of a grieving widow. In fact, she appears more radiant than ever. The death of Viserys Targaryen suits her. Her eyebrows crease together as Daemon brushes by her, ignoring the handout. Her eyes move behind you, eyes searching for someone else.

“Where’s Baela and Rhanea?” 

Daemon stops at the decorative table, eyeing the bowl of fruit in the center. Ruby red apples lay piled atop a bed of pears, and fresh mandarins. He reaches for an apple, taking off his sunglasses while inspecting the shiny outer flesh.

“Baela is galavanting around Europe. Last I spoke to her she was in Greece,” he says, biting into the apple, “Rhaena is much too busy preparing for her LSAT to be bothered with this farce.”

Alicent prickles at that, her jaw clenching, and her shoulders straightening. 

“I’m tired,” Daemon announces.

“We’re supposed to have dinner,” Alicent calls as he begins his ascent up the staircase. Her words fall on deaf ears as Daemon continues down the hall until he is out of sight. She sighs, trying to hide her frustration as she turns back to you, “Can I get you anything? Something to drink? The espresso martinis are fabulous.”

Rhaenyra smiles politely, reaching out and squeezing Alicent’s forearm.

“None for me, I’m afraid I’m rather tired as well,” she admits, smiling bashfully, “I think I’ll tuck in for the evening.”

“Luke and Joffrey will share the beach room,” Alicent tells her, “Jace and…” she looks at you, as though remembering you’re present, “Y/N….you’re in the room at the farthest end of the second floor.”

You smile tightly.

“Thank you, Alicent,” you tell her, heading upstairs. As much as you want a drink, you’d rather not be stuck with forced polite conversation with Alicent. 

The following morning is lights, camera, and action. Playing the role of a happy family is non-negotiable today. You meet everyone at breakfast by the pool, under the shade of the veranda. Mimosas, fresh fruit, omelets, and croissants greet you. You sit across from Daemon and Rhaenyra, as Jace pulls your chair out for you, reaching for a chocolate croissant. 

Otto Hightower sits at the head of the table, his gaze icy. You can tell he’s watching Daemon out of the corner of his eye, his tension palpable. 

“Aemond arrived rather late last night,” Daemon says, taking a bite of his omelet, “Though I’ve yet to see Helaena. Where is my niece?” 

You can’t help the rush of stupid warmth that rolls through you. He’s here. Absent at the family breakfast though. Dickhead. 

“Helaena should be joining us this evening,” Alicent says, sipping her mimosa, “I must’ve dozed off, was Floris with Aemond when he arrived?”

Alicent’s eyes are bright, lit up with curiosity. 

You wonder if they get along. It appears Alicent likes her, by the look in her eyes. Through the grapevine, you’d heard that mummy didn’t approve of Aemond’s previous fling. That ended rather quickly. Jealousy creeps through your veins; icy tendrils weaving up your spine. Jace meets your eyes smiling.

“D’you like your croissant?” he asks, his grin lopsided.

“Love it,” you tell him, returning his smile with a much colder one. 

Jacaerys Velaryon is nice. That’s about all there is to him. An easy man to have on your arm. Easily influenced. Easily manipulated. He has potential, for sure. You’d gotten the same look of approval from Rhaenyra that Floris undoubtedly got from Alicent when Jace had brought you home. 

“Believe he said something about her taking the next flight out?” Daemon says, eyebrows cinching together as he tries to remember, “Weather wasn’t cooperating. Something like that. We didn’t engage in further conversation.”

You bite your tongue so you don’t ask where he is. Luke is the one to broach the subject. 

“He coming out today?” he asks, referring to the yacht party planned later that afternoon.

“He’s resting now,” Otto informs Luke, “But everyone is expected to be there. On their best behavior.” He says the words pointedly, through gritted teeth.

You reach for your drink taking a long sip of the tart beverage. Rhaenyra cocks an eyebrow at Otto’s pointed tone, reaching for the water glass beside her plate and taking a sip. 

“Can I have one?” Joffrey asks, eyeing your mimosa.

“In your dreams,” Luke scoffs, causing the younger boy to pout. 

The majority of the morning is spent lying by the pool. You’d put on your swimsuit as soon as breakfast ended, heading back down to get some sun. No sign of Aemond. He must be holed up in his room doing gods knows what. You can’t help the feeling of anticipation that curls in your belly. 

The yacht party is meant to happen that afternoon, and as time creeps closer you decide to take action. The intimate family gathering is not one you need to participate in any way, not like the upcoming party later in the week. There’s unfortunately no way out of that event. 

“I don’t know,” you tell Jace, “You know I get seasick, baby.” You don’t. 

“I don’t want you to get lonely,” he insists, “I’ll stay behind-”

“You go ahead,” you insist, “I’ll be alright. I have a couple of calls to make anyway and I can lounge by the pool.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive,” you tell him, placing a kiss on his cheek, “Seriously, have fun! Bond with everyone.”

Jace is reluctant but doesn’t argue. You wonder if he cares at all, deep down. 

Helaena greets you when she arrives, clad in dark green slacks and a white tank top, a cigarette hanging from her red mouth. You’d only been introduced once before, though you remember her vaguely, a year ahead of you back in school. She’d changed her hair recently, it was cut in a retro shag style, bangs in front of her eyes.

“Jace brought a friend,” she comments, walking towards you, hands in her pockets. 

You turn your head, still spread out in your chaise lounge one foot propped on the seat, an arm thrown under your head. 

“Surprised I’m still around?” you ask, noting the unashamed way Helaena’s eyes drag across your body.

“Nah,” she says, pulling her cigarette from her lips, “More surprised you’re still putting up with him.”

“Hmm,” you hum in response, “You bring anyone?”

“Why, you interested?” she teases, with a grin, “I’m not getting anyone involved with this shit show. You’ve the right idea, staying behind.”

“I don’t like boats,” you tell her.

Helaena drops her cigarette, stamping it out under her foot.

“Mhmm,” she says, eyes unconvinced, “Enjoy your alone time.”

You don’t answer as she retreats back into the house. You hear the muffled voices as everyone begins to leave for the party. Aemond doesn’t come outside, and doesn’t ask why you’re staying behind. You try not to let that vex you, but can’t help it. Sighing, you close your eyes as the sounds of distant voices fade, along with the car engines in the driveway.

Suddenly, an idea strikes as the sun begins to dip below the horizon no longer offering the heat from earlier in the day. Getting up from your spot, you throw on your cover-up and tread into the house. It’s silent, beside the gentle sound of the central air system. 

You need to find your necklace. The one Jace had given you. The one you’d so carelessly left behind during your last rendezvous with Aemond. Jace hadn’t stopped asking about it, and you just knew it gave Aemond some sick sense of power, holding that over you. 

You hurry up the stairs, padding down the hallway until you reach Aemond’s room. You’d heard Alicent mention last night which room he and Floris would be staying in. Taking a deep breath, you open the door. 

Aemond’s room is neat; just as you’d expected. His two suitcases were closed standing side by side at the foot of his bed. White pillows are fluffed to perfection; you doubt Aemond was the one to tend to it. His bedside table is bare save a lamp and a dog-eared book without a dust cover. The title remains a mystery. There’s a matching table on the opposite side with an empty silver dish and a small lap. 

Moving further into his room you stop in front of a large floor-length mirror, trimmed with gold, and spare a moment to shamelessly admire yourself. The Hamptons look good on you. From the afternoon spent in the warm summer sun, your skin already has a luminescent sun-kissed glow. You tilt your head, parting your lips slightly. 

Should’ve brought your phone with you; a selfie in this mirror would be worth a thousand words. You don’t suppose anyone will be back for hours. You can come back later for a little photo shoot. Your mouth quirks into a small smile at the thought of Aemond scrolling through Instagram and seeing you in his room. 

You know exactly how you’ll do it. On your knees, a hand toying with the strings of your bikini bottoms, plush thighs on full display. Your sheer cover-up dangling off of one of your shoulders revealing a delicious amount of skin your bikini top barely covers. Lips curved into a perfect pout.

You just need to find that necklace. 

That would be the icing on the cake. 

Peering into the attached bathroom you note all his hair and skincare products lined up in a neat row across the marble sink. You raise a brow at his perfectionism. 

Anal prick. 

You rummage through the drawers under the sink, most of them practically empty. A hair straightener, a hairbrush, a thin-toothed comb. 

No necklace. 

You growl in frustration slamming the drawer shut. Sitting back on your haunches you place a hand against your forehead. Maybe he didn’t even bring it, I mean, why would he?

You remember the look on his face, the stolen glances. That stupid fucking smirk. Your cheeks flush, warmth creeping down your neck.

He brought it. It’s here somewhere.

You tap your fingers against your knee, hand bouncing nervously. You need to keep looking. Rising from your spot on the floor you make your way back into the room, glancing around. Flinging open the closet doors you paw through suit jackets and trousers letting your hands dip into the pockets of each one. C’mon, it has to be here somewhere---

“What are you doing?” a cool, calm voice asks, sending a shiver down your spine like you’d been dosed in ice water.

Slowly, you turn, meeting the blue and purple eyes of Aemond Targaryen as he leans casually against the doorframe. 

He’s not supposed to be here. 

Yet, here he is. Dressed in gray slacks, and a black button-down pressed to perfection with not a wrinkle in sight. Green tie around his neck as though he’d just come from a meeting. He’s holding a legal pad in his left hand, a pen pinched between his thumb and forefinger. His silver hair pushed back out of his face, rounded glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. You roll your shoulders back and keep your chin up.

“Where is it?”

“Where’s what?” he asks, entering the room. He tosses the legal pad carelessly on the side table before reaching into his back pocket and removing his phone as well. Your eyes narrow as he rolls his sleeves up.

“You know what,” you tell him, tapping your foot against the floor.

Aemond releases a hum, still not answering. He lifts his glasses off of the bridge of his nose, letting them rest on top of his head. 

“Where is it?” you repeat, becoming more impatient with each passing second. 

Aemond doesn’t meet your gaze, instead, he takes a step forward. The bed is the only thing that separates you. He looks up at you then, violet and blue eyes staring into yours intently. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he tells you, nonchalantly, “If you’ve misplaced something how is that my problem?”

“It is your problem,” you say through your teeth. Aemond brings his hands in front of his chest, the veins on the back of them prominent. You watch as he slowly removes a ring on his left hand, taking time to twist the silver band from his middle finger. 

Your mouth goes dry as he repeats the movement, twisting the metal that rests on his ring finger. That ring he wears nearly every day, stamped with the Targaryen family crest. He resumes his movements, focusing on the ring that remains on his right hand. A small silver band around his thumb. When it's free, he holds his hand out across the bed. 

An offering. 

You’re not sure what compels you to reach forward, holding your palm open-faced under his. He uncurls his fingers, rings falling into your awaiting palm. He hasn’t touched you and yet your whole body feels flushed. 

You close your fingers around the cold rings, pulling your hand away. Aemond jerks his chin, motioning toward the nightstand beside you. You turn, placing the rings haphazardly in the small empty silver dish. They clang loudly against it and Aemond stares at you disapprovingly.

“Are you going to give it back, or not?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest once more. 

“Why are you here?” he asks, ignoring your question and walking to the edge of the bed.

“I get seasick,” you lie to him as you did to Jace.

Aemond merely chuckles, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. He reaches to the top of his head, removing his glasses, and placing them on his dresser. A lock of silver hair falls in front of his eyes as he turns back to you, mirroring your pose.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe what you want,” you snap, “What are you doing here?”

“I had work to finish,” he says with a shrug. Aemond’s hands drop to his belt, and he begins to undo it. “So I decided to stay behind.” 

The hairs on your arms stand up and heat rushes to your face, and the top of your chest. You suddenly become very aware of how trapped you are on this side of the room. You’d have to climb over the bed if you wanted to leave. 

You glance at the door as Aemond pulls his belt free of the loops of his slacks. A sharp whine echoes in the room as the leather rubs against the fabric. 

Your attention turns back on Aemond, you watch as he tosses the belt onto the bed. You swallow the lump beginning to form in your throat. 

Aemond takes a slow step, rounding the corner of the bed. You don’t say anything as he walks closer, nor when he brings a large hand to rest against your outer thigh. He’s barely applying any pressure, you can just feel the heat of his large palm against you. Your lips part slightly at the sensation. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks again, letting his fingers trail up your thigh, “Hmm?” His fingers curl under the strap of your bathing suit bottom, snapping it against your hip. You flinch slightly at the light sting. 

You inhale a deep breath, looking up at the chiseled features of his face. 

“I want my necklace back.”

The perfect pout of his lips curl at the edges, a satisfied smirk appearing. 

“Well then you’re going to have to work for it,” he tells you, his voice rough and commanding. 

To your despair, heat rushes to your core at the authoritative tone of his voice and the feeling of his hand still on your upper thigh. You hate admitting it, but you’d been thinking about that afternoon in the hotel ever since it had happened. Getting off to the memory of it, nearly every night. 

“We’re not doing this again,” you tell him as his opposite hand finds your waist. He swipes his thumbs against your hip bones, squeezing into the soft flesh. He’s so close, your crossed forearms graze against the fabric of his button-down. You shake your head, “I hate you.”

Aemond tilts his head back, not releasing his grip on you. Your arms uncross on their own accord, and you bring your hands to his tie. Your fingers work the knot, loosening it and removing it from his neck. You toss the green fabric onto the bed, moving to the buttons of his shirt. 

“Say it again,” he murmurs, fingers digging into you hard enough to leave bruises. He pulls you closer, his nose bumping against your cheek. 

“I hate you,” you breathe, working through all the buttons. Aemond chuckles darkly as you tear open his shirt, revealing the hard planes of his chest. 

You drag your fingers down between his pectorals, tracing in between the muscles of his abdomen. They flex under your soft touch. Aemond releases your hips to shrug off his shirt, abandoning the material on the floor. 

You watch it pool at his feet, before his hand finds the back of your neck, pulling you flush against him, capturing your lips in a punishing kiss. It’s brutal; all clashing teeth and tongues as he keeps one hand securely on the back of your neck, the other tearing at the thin material of your coverup until it falls to the floor. 

His free hand drags down your side before settling on your ass; it’s so large he encompasses the cheek nearly entirely, squeezing the soft flesh harshly and dragging a gasp from your throat. He backs you up toward the bed, kissing you all the while. You can’t think when he kisses you, all you can focus on is the feeling of him. It’s nothing but hot, burning need pulsating through your veins. 

Aemond pushes you, none too gently, onto the bed before climbing on top of you. His hands roam down your body, your back arching at his touch. 

He leans back on his haunches, reaching for the belt. You can see evidence of his arousal straining against his slacks, his eyes hungrily raking over your scantily clad form as you gaze up at him through your lashes. 

“Wrist up.” 

You breathe heavily, before doing what he asks, placing both your arms above your head. Aemond loops the belt around your wrists, binding them to the metal rod of his headboard. Your heart is beating wildly in your chest, and the ache between your thighs grows. Aemond’s eyes flicker to your face as he tugs the bindings. The smirk that appears on his face says one thing.

You’re not going anywhere.

“You need me to stop,” he says, as he moves away from you, “You need to be untied. You want this to be over; you say keligon.” 

“What’s that mean?” you ask, your voice sounding breathier and more desperate than you’d have liked it to.

“It’s High Valyrian,” he tells you, “You say that, I’ll untie you. I’ll stop.” Aemond returns to you, grasping your chin in his hand, “What do you say if you want me to stop?”

You stare into his eyes, surprised by his seriousness. “Keligon.”

“Good girl,” he says, lightly tapping your cheek with his fingers as he releases his hold. 

Aemond reaches for his discarded necktie. He smoothes the material in his hands before bringing it to your face. Your eyes widen as you realize his intentions, but you make no move to stop him. You allow it. 

You want it. 

The tie sits perfectly against your eyes, blocking any semblance of light. All your other senses feel heightened, your skin feels electric. You can’t see him, can only feel the bed shifting from his weight as he moves above you, making sure it’s tied snuggly around your head. Suddenly, you feel his slender fingers, dragging down the strap of your bikini top, taking his sweet time before he reaches the knot that sits in the valley between your breasts. 

“Cute suit,” he murmurs, fingers fiddling with the knot, “You bring this one just for me?”

You can feel the material give, your breasts releasing back to their natural state as the knot comes completely undone. Aemond drags his fingers over the material lazily exposing your tits to him. He hums appreciatively as the cool air makes your nipples pebble. 

“I have a boyfriend,” you tell him, earning a chuckle. 

“You do?” he murmurs, dragging his fingers down your sternum, over the sensitive skin of your stomach. You take your lower lip between your teeth, skin erupting in goosebumps. You already want to pull against the restraints, wriggle, and thrash away from his teasing hands. 

“My poor nephew,” he muses, tugging at the straps of your bottoms, “He fuck you like I do?”

You haven’t slept with Jace. It’s not really part of your arrangement. Not that Aemond needs to know.

“You fuck Floris like you fuck me?” you challenge. Aemond’s hands pause their movements.

Just like earlier, a wave of jealousy rolls through you. Envy churns in your stomach, and you clench your jaw. 

“Floris and I are colleagues,” Aemond says slowly. He sounds as though he’s choosing his words very carefully. 

“You don’t have to baby me,” you lie, “I’m a big girl, I understand this world.”

Aemond is silent for a moment, and you wonder if he’ll push the subject more. He’s still for so long you nearly tap out, keligon on the tip of your tongue when suddenly he finishes removing your bathing suit bottoms. Completely naked before him, tied up like a summer holiday present, your body trembles with anticipation. 

Stop being jealous, you tell yourself, feeling him move on top of you once more. It’s just sex. Fucking good sex. That’s all it has to be. 

Aemond trails wet, hot kisses down your neck, his greedy hands digging into your thighs keeping you spread open so he can rest between them. He’s still wearing pants, you can feel the fabric against your thighs, and pressing against your bare pussy, the sensation driving you insane. 

His mouth trails lower, settling on your right breast, his tongue circling your pebbled nipple. Your back arches off of the bed, hands pulling against your restraints. The leather tightens against your wrists, digging into them painfully. 

Your lips part and a breathy moan escapes your lips as he sucks on your breast. Your legs wrap around his slender waist, desperately trying to get some friction to relieve the ache between your thighs. Your clit drags against the front of his slacks, grinding against his bulge sending sparks of pleasure dancing through your body. You’re nearly pulsating with need as he releases your tit with a wet pop, humming in satisfaction. 

Aemond drags his lips through the valley of your breasts, before repeating his attentions. He moans-fucking moans---as he bites at your tender nipple, ripping a cry from deep in your chest. 

“Look at you grinding against me,” he comments, as your hips buck upwards attempting to meet him, “That wet little pussy is making such a mess on me right now.” 

Your face burns at his comment, but you can’t see what he means. You can only feel how desperately wet you are, the slickness coating your inner thighs. You thrash against your restraints and hear him click his tongue.

“Poor baby,” he says, with mock sympathy, sucking harshly against the side of your breast. He brings his free hand to play with your unattended nipple, tweaking it harshly. 

You’re not sure if it’s the extra attention he’s giving your tits or the blindfold, but you can feel the tension in your gut growing tighter, heat building in your core. You bite your lip, whining desperately, back arching. Aemond lets out a breathless laugh, never stopping his ministrations with your nipple, capturing the other with his lips once more. 

“Are you gonna cum?” he murmurs against your breast and you curse at the vibration it causes, “You better not….you hear me?” Aemond drags his lips over your breast, trailing them up your neck and just below your ear.

His hand leaves your opposite breast, finding its way under your head and tangling in your hair. He tugs the roots harshly, pinpricks of pain and pleasure trickling down your neck as you whimper. Aemond’s breath is hot against your ear as he speaks. 

“You better not fucking cum, you hear me?” he growls, “Not until I tell you to. You can do that, can’t you?” His hand tightens in your hair.

“Yes,” you gasp, “Yes-fuck!”

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, rewarding you with a kiss, “Fuck, you have no idea how beautiful you look right now.”

Your cheeks flush, heat rushing to your face at his words. You twist against your restraints as he kisses down your torso once more. 

“I should’ve been more specific,” he muses, kissing right below your belly button, “You’re not cumming unless I’m feeling generous enough to let you.” He kisses the top of your hip bone, squeezing the other side. 

“Is that clear?”

Nothing feels clear, your whole body is on fire. The embers of your previous denied orgasm burn brightly in your throbbing center. Aemond moves lower, pressing your thighs back against the bed. You can feel his breath fanning on your soaked center. 

A sharp slap stings against your dripping pussy and you cry out.

“You’re not nonverbal yet, are you?” he asks with mock concern, “I’ve barely scratched the surface.”

“No,” you tell him, “I mean, yes. Yes, I understand.”

“Good,” he says, pressing a kiss on top of your mound before dipping his tongue lower, spreading through your silky, wet folds. 

Aemond moans at the taste, dipping lower and letting his tongue tease at the opening of your clenching pussy. His tongue just breaches the tight muscle of your entrance, nose brushing against your aching clit. 

“Fuck,” you mewl as he presses his tongue further inside of you groaning as you clench around the warm, wet muscle. 

He murmurs something, even though his face is buried in your pussy and you can’t even attempt to understand him. All you can do is tug against the restraints and moan pitifully as he has his way with you. Your legs tremble, thighs aching as he presses them back further into the mattress. He decides to release them, bringing his hands under your ass and lifting you slightly off the bed to press even further against your core. 

Aemond removes his tongue to your displeasure, placing an open-mouthed, wet kiss on your pussy, dragging his lips and tongue to circle your clit with slow, calculated strokes. 

“Seven--fuck!” you cry, legs shaking around him as he gently caresses your sensitive button, another chuckle leaving him at your desperation. 

“Oh baby,” he says softly, pressing two long fingers inside of you, “You look so pathetic when you try not to cum.”

“Fu-uck,” you cry as he curls his fingers, beginning to fuck you with them. The wetness between your thighs, paired with the words he’s speaking to you make you flush with humiliation. 

You’ve never been this wet before, not for anyone. You can hear it, hear him fucking you with his fingers. The gentle squishing sounds of your soaked pussy fill the room. 

“You’re so fucking tight,” he comments, rubbing against your g-spot. Your spine arches, mouth dropping open, a wanton cry leaving your lips. “Oh, that’s such a good girl.” 

“I think you can take one more, what do you think?” he asks, “C’mon, beg me. Use that big brain of yours, find the words.”

“Yes, yes please,” you beg, “Please give me another, I need another--” you’re cut off as Aemond slips a third digit into your pussy, fucking you with his fingers relentlessly.

“Please let me cum,” you beg, feeling him sit up as he continues to finger you. 

“No,” he says sternly, placing a kiss on your stomach. 

“Please, plea-”

“I said no.”

A frustrated, guttural moan leaves you and Aemond keeps going. You’re terrified for a moment, legs shaking uncontrollably, knowing you won’t be able to stop the wave of pleasure cresting inside of you. Luckily, by some saving grace, Aemond slows his movements, before carefully removing his soaked fingers from your fluttering cunt. 

Disappointment courses through you at another ruined orgasm, followed by the relief of not going against Aemond’s wishes. You can feel tears leaking from the corners of your eyes, dampening the fabric of the makeshift blindfold. 

You feel his soaked fingers press at your lips, parting them as they dip inside your hot mouth. You moan at the taste of your arousal, sucking the lengthy digits much like you did that first night inside the coat closet. 

“Gods you’re so perfect like this,” Aemond croons, his opposite hand moving some sweat-coated hair from your damp forehead, “So eager to please.”

Defiance prickles under your skin and you fight the urge to bite down on his fingers; not hard, but enough. You feel Aemond stiffen as though he can read your thoughts, and feel his hand yank the blindfold from your eyes. You blink, adjusting to the light as he pulls his fingers from your mouth. 

He reaches up, fiddling with the belt, releasing your wrists. Arms sore, you bring them to your chest, hugging them against your breasts. You can’t help but pout, and Aemond watches you carefully, eyes narrowing. 

“Tell you what,” he muses, taking your wrists in his hands and massaging them gently, “I’m feeling rather generous today. Even though you broke into my room, and went snooping through my belongings.”

You watch him carefully, chest heaving. Aemond continues to massage your wrists, eyes glued to your breasts, watching them rise and fall with each breath you take. You swallow, eyes dropping to his erection that strains against his slacks. Your cheeks burn as you notice the wet patch on the front, no doubt caused by you grinding against him. 

“I’ll give you the necklace,” he says, letting go of your wrists and curling his hands around the meat of your upper thighs, “Or I’ll let you cum. Your choice.”

You clench at his words, clit throbbing desperately between your legs. You want to cum so badly that it's nearly painful. You whine pitifully as he squeezes your thighs. 

“I’ll let you think about it,” he assures you, that stupid smirk reappearing on his face, “On your hands and knees, get that pretty pussy in the air.”

Aemond releases you sliding off the bed and undoing his trousers. Shaking, you turn over, propping yourself on your hands and knees. You feel Aemond’s hands once more as he maneuvers you on the bed, fisting your hair and yanking your head up. 

Your eyes meet your reflection in the grand mirror, Aemond naked behind you, his well-endowed cock fully hard and weeping. He brings his lips to your ear. 

“I want you to watch,” he whispers, releasing his grip on your hair. 

He moves instead to spread your ass cheek, opening you wide for him. You feel his cock press against you, the fat head sliding through your soaked folds, dragging it teasingly from your center to your clit. 

“Aemond,” you whimper, “Please--”

Slowly he sinks into your wet heat; the girth of him stretching you out deliciously. Your whole body trembles, your head falling forward as he bottoms out; your walls pulsating around him. Aemond runs his hands over the swell of your ass, down your sides before taking both wrists in his large hands and pulling you backward. The force drags your head up, meeting his eyes in the mirror once more.

“I told….you….to….watch,” he says, punctuating each word with a hard slap of his hips against your ass; cock sliding easily in and out of your soaked pussy. 

Small mewls leave your lips as he continues to hold you, never losing the rhythm of the brutal pace he’s set. 

“Why’d you want that horrid thing back anyway?” Aemond asks, sounding displeased, “I gave you a necklace the last time we saw each other.”

Your eyes are wide, tears threatening to spill over from the pleasurable current roaring in your belly. Aemond smirks at your lack of response, releasing your arms. They fall limply to the bed, and you force your shaky forearms to keep yourself propped up. 

“Don’t you remember?” he asks, fingers digging into your thighs, “You ungrateful little slut.” 

You do remember, how could you possibly forget? You’d had to take another shower to remove his warm, sticky spend from your neck and chest. 

“Perhaps you’d like a new one,” Aemond muses, leaning on top of you, and wrapping his hands around your neck.

Not one, but both of them rest comfortably around your throat, flexing along the sides. His cock continues to slide effortlessly in and out of your tight, wet heat; cockhead rubbing incessantly against your sensitive walls and bullying your sweet spot. 

You try to say his name, try to find any words, but they come out a garbled, breathless moan.

“Do you like it?” Aemond asks, flexing his hands against your throat, “Don’t you look so pretty?”

His hands---gods his hands---look fucking perfect around your neck, as tears spill freely down your cheeks. His veins are prominent on the back of his hands, even more so when he flexes them, slightly cutting off your air supply. You’re too light-headed and cock drunk to answer him with anything other than a wanton, breathy moan. 

“Thank me,” he murmurs, rutting against you. The coil in your gut winds tighter and tighter.

“Wha--” you manage, mind clouded by lust.

“Thank me for your gift,” he says, flexing his fingers for emphasis. He tightens his grip momentarily, before releasing some pressure, allowing you the opportunity to answer him. 

Aemond lifts a brow expectantly, slowly rolling his hips against you. 

“Thank you,” you gasp, “Thank you, Aemond.”

Aemond hums appreciatively, fucking you with renewed enthusiasm. You close your eyes, squeezing them shut, trying to stop the roaring of blood rushing in your ears, your orgasm speeding toward you at full force.

“You’re close aren’t you?” he grunts, “What’ll it be, baby?”

“Please, please I wanna cum,” you whine, “Please let me cum, fu-uck!” 

Aemond pulls you up flush against his chest as soon as you say the words, fucking up into you. He keeps one hand on your throat, the other dipping between your legs to rub circles around your clit. 

“That’s it, fucking cum all over my cock,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “That’s a good little slut, there you go.”

Your body tense, legs shuddering as you’re thrown into your release, the coil in your gut snapping as you clench around his thick cock. You’re crying from the intensity, a desperate sob escaping you at the prolonged release. As your high subsides, Aemond releases you, turning you on your back.

Your whole body tingles as he climbs on top of you, sliding back into your fluttering pussy in one smooth motion. You gasp as his cock rubs against your g-spot, as he lazily begins thrusting into you once more.

“Aem-mond,” you moan, as he slings one leg over his shoulder, spreading you wider.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he scolds, smirking as he slings your other leg over his shoulder, making himself a necklace of his own, “You wanted to cum so bad, you can do it again, can’t you?”

Your mouth is open in a silent scream, watery eyes looking up at him, drinking in the satisfied smirk he wears. Your whole body tenses, the beginning of another orgasm building in your abdomen. 

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he taunts, “C’mon don’t stop now. You’ve been such a good little slut for me, you deserve it.”

“Please, please-”

“Yes you do,” he croons, “There you go. I feel this little pussy tightening around me. Squeezing me so good.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders, a strangled cry leaving your lips as his thumb brushes against your swollen clit, sending you over the edge once more. Aemond doesn’t slow his hips, he keeps fucking you into the mattress as you’re pretzled over him.

“That’s a good girl,” he sing-songs, balls slapping against your ass as he increases the pace of his thrusts, “Don’t stop now, it feels so good doesn’t it?”

A sharp cry leaves your lips and you force yourself to nod, unable to formulate words in your blissed-out state. Euphoria pulses through your veins and floods your body with warmth. It’s like you’re burning with pleasure, your entire being aflame. 

“I can’t,” you moan, though your body betrays you. You can feel the tightening sensation in your gut, the tingling feeling of another orgasm building. 

“Yes you can,” Aemond insists, “C’mon you wanted it so bad, you greedy little thing. Take it, c’mon fucking take it.”

Your thighs shake around his neck, and Aemond’s jaw slacks as you clench around him. 

“Yes, oh fu-uck, yes!,” you whimper, and Aemond’s cock twitches inside you as you’re thrown over the edge once more making your vision go white. 

Aemond thrusts a few more times before you feel his cock pulsate, and warmth blooms deep in your abdomen. He lets out a grunt as he finishes, followed by an elongated moan that sends a shiver down your spine right down to your core. His head falls against your shoulder, peppering the damp flesh with soft kisses. 

He stays like that for a moment, before moving off of you. 

“Don’t move,” he says, walking toward the bathroom. 

You couldn’t if you wanted to. You hear the water run and watch as Aemond returns with a damp washcloth. His cock sways as he walks toward you, glistening with your release. Gently, he cleans you up, taking care to avoid your abused clit. 

After several moments, you find your bearings. Reality hits you, and you grab your swimsuit, throwing it back on hastily. 

“This can’t happen again,” you insist, though your trembling legs betray you, “Not with everyone here-”

“You’re not really in a position to make demands,” Aemond says, matter-of-factly.

“Excuse me?”

“I like this arrangement,” he tells you, “Both you and I are in relationships that benefit the family. That’s fine, dutiful even.” Aemond brushes a lock of hair from your face, letting his hand rest on your cheek, “That doesn’t mean we need to deny ourselves.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You can barely think with his hands on you. You bring your hand up quickly, slapping him away. Aemond gives nothing away; no flash of hurt or rejection is evident on his chiseled face. 

“I’m not denying anything,” you tell him, the lie bitter-tasting.

Aemond only stares those blue and violet eyes of his boring into yours. His gaze reignites the fire in your belly, the primal want aching deep in your bones. 

Motherfucker. 

You hate him. 

You hate him.

Yet you want him all the same. 

“I don’t believe you,” he says softly.

“Believe what you want,” you tell him, “Jace is good for me. He’s a good person.”

“Ah yes, Jacaerys Velaryon. Your conversations must be thrilling,” he says, stepping closer to you, “I know you. Whether you like it or not, whether you admit it or not. I know what makes your brain tick inside that pretty little head of yours. You may fool the press, hells you may fool the rest of the family; but you can’t fool me.”

You don’t answer him. Ignoring the tight feeling in your chest you simply grab your cover-up and throw it around your shoulders leaving his room.

note: as always, likes, comments, reblogs are highly appreciated, but never expected! if you'd like to be notified when I post please follow and turn on notifications for @sapphire-writes-updates in lieu of a taglist!

[catiuskaa]

hi katsy poo... thought long and hard about this and came up w absolutely nothing. i had to dig far into my messy notes app to find ideas and these are from all the way back in summer for context ☠️☠️

have you ever been to the beach/pool and seen a cute lifeguard yk? i was thinking maybe skz as lifeguards - this is derived from a lifeguard chan idea my friend and i were talking about <3 (i just thought - jisung giving you a smooch after saving you but playing it off as mouth-to-mouth resuscitation cause he's too shy to admit he's crushing)

excited to see where your mind takes this! cannot wait <33

BABY THAT’S ACTUALLY GENIUS!?

I can actually see it like -excited sounds-

It got me thinking! So I’m turning this into a mix of small blurbs and I'm not apologizing

I'm trying, but they're hot! —lifeguard!skz

To have a baseline, I don't think Meowracha would fit. Like. i just couldn't picture Minho or Felix in this?? (sorry if you were expecting those two!)

But, because of that, they're the besties who —after a thorough session of negotiating, and a large, strained okaaaaaaaaayy from Minho—, agree to go with you to your usual fitness center, which recently opened a swimming pool facility! (and they've hired a certain group of lifeguards... oh wow...)

(got carried out: 2k words)

"This place smells like plastic. And I can't even swim."

You rolled your eyes as Felix snickered, the three of you checking into the new building.

"Minho, there are other things aside from the pool. That's why I even invited you in the first place, like I mentioned the last seven times you started whining about the exact same thing." You let out an exaggerated huff as you smirked, shaking your head sideways.

You separated from your small group as you entered the changing rooms, and quickly put on your dark-coloured swimsuit, your towel resting on your shoulders when you got in the brand new area.

And let me tell you, it was big.

Impressed by the depth of the building, you couldn't see a couple of small-looking kids running around the swimming pool playing tag in loud, childish giggles.

"Careful!" A voice warned, but it startled you, and you jumped in your place, slipping on the wet floor.

Not one of your fanciest of moments, no.

Or so you thought, until your back didn't quite meet the floor, but instead softly crashed against a lean, warm surface.

Knowing Felix would immediately ask you if you were alright and Minho would threaten to let go in less than a second, you looked up at your saviour, and you were welcomed by a handsome rounded face, eyes small because of his heartwarming smile.

Forcing your stumbling legs up, you froze in front of him and stuttered. "T-thank you. Or... I'm sorry. Wasn't paying attention," you managed to let out, followed by a pink dust colouring your cheeks.

fuck, shit, fuck. why did he have to be hot too?!

"Totally fine!" He brushed off nonchalantly, his smile shining enthusiastically, so contagious you couldn't help but grin back.

He called over the member of staff who had warned you, his voice loud to the point were you had to restrain yourself from jumping in your place again when he screamed his name, not wanting to trip another time, and as he smiled at you and walked off to look for the problematic kids or their parents, you could read Changbin on the back of his red and white shirt, the short sleeves letting you see an extensive trail of inked lines that got lost underneath his top and swimming shorts.

what a piece of cake.

Almost in an instant, a slightly younger lifeguard approached you, not quite panting, but really close to doing so. You got flustered, not knowing exactly how to react, and just stared at him while he rested his hands on his waist, looking like he had run several marathons in less than an hour.

"I'm so sorry...! I should've stopped the kids... or warned you sooner..." He sighed, looking quite tired despite it barely being his first week.

"Don't sweat, I'm okay." You shrugged sheepishly. "Rough day?" You smiled, hoping to get one back from him.

He scoffed, amused. You celebrated silently. "More like a rough job... Uh! I mean, no! I love my job...!" You grinned, raising your eyebrows, shocked yet still unable to hold back a sheepish snicker. "Ah, shi... I mean... goddamnit, please don't tell Chan..." he muttered, defeated.

"Oh, wait, Chan?" You blinked, recognizing the nickname. "Wasn't he a trainer in the gym?"

Catching his breath, now looking less stressed, he nodded, hands still on his noticeably really slim waist, unlike the other lifeguard, who was shredded.

"He and Hyunjin were swapped around because they had more experience than other candidates for the jobs. They're both great, don't get me wrong. But Hyunjin should really stop flirting with the group of girls from the synchronized swimming class..." he huffed, then blushed. "Oh." His eyes widened, and he stared at the floor almost mortified.

"Right, eh..." You smiled, amused at his slip-ups, biting your lip softly.

Jisung blushed even more at your giggles, trying and failing to hold it back because he couldn't help but ogle at your defined and fit body from all the exercise you did, being a member of the centre for quite some time. You were a stunning stranger whose giggles were cute. Too much for his caffeine-filled, sleep-deprived self.

"Jisung. Soon-to-be-fired, lifeguard Han Jisung." He presented himself with tired eyes, the last part more for himself than for you, then covered his mouth when he realized he had said it too loud. "I shouldn't have said that...!"

You couldn't help but cackle, unable to hold back your laugh as his blush got to an even deeper shade of pink.

"I'm just... going to... eh... Jeongin is... probably looking for me..."

"Jisung-ah, fighting!" You teased, and he couldn't help but blush even more, smiling as he rushed back to his assigned area of the swimming pool building.

You realized Minho and Felix had been eavesdropping when Minho passed an arm over your shoulders and ruffled your hair, making it messy.

"Yeah, welcome back, cheater," he tsked, smirking.

You struggled to get away from his deathly grip, and Felix rolled his eyes, just laughing at you two.

"Oi, isn't that Chan?" the freckled asked, signalling somewhere else.

"I care more about that hottie who ran away a second ago." Minho scoffed, focused on his own priorities, sounding offended by the fact that he hadn't been able to talk to Jisung.

Felix waved at Chan, and happily waddled his way to him, the two already close friends.

While Minho hurried off to the sauna, Felix and you tried out the main swimming pool, at first actually swimming, but ending up just chatting playfully, Chan joining in from time to time, and then he stayed close during his break.

You got out of the pool and sat on the edge when suddenly you felt someone tickle your sides and push you, making you fall into the water.

Swimming to the surface with ease, you moved your wet hair from your eyes, hiding half down of your face under the water, looking at Chan, who was chuckling.

“Really funny, Mr. Bang.” You mumbled, faking boredom.

“It was Felix’s idea, but I gotta admit that was funny.” He kept on laughing, and that alone was cute, but because he was on a break, to avoid being called over to work, he had taken his shirt off, not feeling cold in the acclimatized environment.

And the image just looked ten times better.

“Reeeally funny.” You were nodding, as if in deep thought. “Help me out?” You smiled innocently, raising one hand towards him.

He grabbed it, but before he could pull you up, you pulled down, his body falling over yours and staying tightly against you for a second, then you smiled under the water and started laughing as soon as you both got back to the surface.

He was blushing, but also smiling cheekily.

“Fair. I deserved that.”

After a while of swimming, laughing and splashing each other, you got out of the pool leaving Felix and Chan on their own, but felt a soft sting in the back of your thigh. Probably from when you were sitting and Chan pushed you to the water, the slight bumps on the stone might've scratched your skin.

You started looking for your towel, but frowned when it wasn’t where you had left it. From the corner of your eye you saw Minho, and he smiled slyly from afar, your towel resting on his shoulders.

what a bitch.

You ran after him but were quickly stopped by yet another lifeguard.

Really, really lucky you.

You were only able to read Seungmin on the back of his shirt before he turned around and frowned, and you struggled to slow down, ending up bumping onto him.

"I'm sorry, uh, I uh..." you stammered, struggling to find an excuse.

He sighed, and deadpanned at you, in his eyes a hint of mockery that didn't reach his face, and it made you even more flustered. He pointed to a sign on the wall, who said in a big, bold font, "do not run near the pool."

"You probably can swim, but can you read, dollface?"

d-dollface?

“Y-yeah, of course I can. I forgot.” You pouted.

He smirked slightly. “You forgot how to read?”

You frowned softly at the tease, and he brushed it off with one hand.

“Where were you going that was so important for you to be running?” He questioned, the sly smirk lingering on his lips, the mockery still there.

“I wanted to go to the infirmary but my friend took my towel.” You defended yourself, but a blush crept from underneath, making your cheeks pink.

The moment you said infirmary, Seungmin’s entire body language changed. The mockery wasn’t gone, but covered by a layer of innocent worry. Cute.

“To the infirmary? Why? Did something happened?” He asked softly, and it surprised you how fast his attitude had changed.

“I just scratched myself. It’s probably nothing…”

He shook his head and smiled, almost tender. “Nonsense. Can I have a look at it?”

You blushed slightly and turned so he could look at the small scratch in the back of your thigh. The area was red, and there was small even more red lines in it, but nothing too wild.

Seungmin cleared his throat. Stay focused.

“You should still put something on it. I’ll do it. Come with me.”

Crossing from where you were with Seungmin you passed by the kids’ swimming pool, and waved at Han, and who you thought was who he had mentioned, Jeongin, struggling to take care of the kids as they all ran around, fighting with the swimming noodles as they used those like swords, and you couldn’t help but smile at the mess.

Seungmin took a small radio device from his waistband, like a black walkie-talkie. “Send Changbin to area 3. Jeongin, office, 6pm.”

The youngest-looking of all the lifeguards in the building approached you two when Seungmin told you to wait while he looked for the first-aid kit.

“Hi, as you might’ve heard, my name is Jeongin. Did you get hurt?” He said, so softly you almost cooed at him because he was so cute.

“Um, I scratched the back on my thigh, yeah.” You smiled a bit, and he smiled back reassuringly.

“I hope it doesn’t sting a lot.” He added kindly, picking up his stuff from a locker. “I would stay and help you, but I assure you that if you’re in Seungmin’s care you have nothing to worry about.” He nodded, almost to himself. “He teases everyone a lot but he’s a nice guy. I… have to go now, my shift has ended. But it was nice to meet you!”

You bid him goodbye, and Seungmin came back in no time, carrying a small bag of medical supplies and a towel. He left it on the side, and opened the bag next to you, taking a small glass bottle of spray from it.

“Could you stand and turn around, please?” He asked formally.

You couldn’t help but blush when he sprayed the medicine, the slight sting making you gasp softly, but it was more because of the position you two were in, and because he held a cotton pad underneath the scratch, brushing your thigh with his hand.

Being outside of the water for so long now, you started feeling cold, shivering softly.

“Darling, can you pass me the towel?”

You blushed almost furiosly at the nickname and did as told, and he opened it and hung it on your shoulders, as you quickly took it and tightened it around you.

“Sorry, I didn’t give it to you before.” He smiled, throwing the cotton away and going back to put the first-aid kit in its place.

It was almost 7pm when the three of you got out of the changing rooms.

“That was really fun!” Felix smiled brightly.

“It was decent. Still couldn’t talk to that cutie back there. We should come back other time.” Minho stated, sounding like an order.

You blushed, thinking about what had happened in so little time.

“Yeah. We should come back soon.”

(teehee, i enjoyed this a lot! Hope you like it too! Thanks a lot, ren! <;333)

~Kats, who now would love to go to that swimming pool!

[bmodiwrites]

Give Me Your Hand (& I'll Hold it)

Hi friends! I'm back with another 5(+1) with hand holding at the helm. I'm really excited for this one because Birdy's People Help the People got to be played on repeat as I wrote. This one has some angst, some fluff, and the patented bmodi happy ending. You can read the first section below and the rest over on AO3! Like, reblog, and let me know what you think!!!

The dust of a school bus pulling out of the parking lot makes Eddie sneeze. He’s brushing the back of his hand across his nose when the reality of his situation hits him. Even at 7, Eddie understands the concept of being pawned off. Usually his parents drop him on Uncle Wayne’s doorstop, only returning to pick him up three months later. This summer, however, Eddie is stuck at sleep away camp, bound to be forgotten amongst the masses.

He put up quite the fight in order to stay home for the summer, Eddie is at least proud of that. Even if he’s just hanging out in Wayne’s trailer, Eddie is amongst the creature comforts he’s come to know. He can practice acoustic guitar and read the nickel comics Wayne has stashed away. Instead, Eddie’s fated to perish in the heat (or under the weight of someone’s fist) at some lame summer camp made for social kids interested in singing kumbaya and playing every sport known to man.

Dread settles a little further in his stomach when Eddie realizes that almost everyone else seems to know each other. There aren’t any other stragglers like himself hanging out at the back of the group. Hugs and exclamations of excitement ring in Eddie’s ears. For the first time, probably ever, he’s happy to be called to attention by someone in charge. Glorious silence radiates for a moment before a high pitched voice starts to talk all about Camp Silver Lake.

Dissatisfaction sits in the back of Eddie’s head throughout the hours that follow. First, he’s stuffed into a camp uniform that doesn’t have a single stitch of black on it. The bright sun he can see out of the corner of his eye every time he takes a step makes Eddie want to rip the stupid shirt to threads. Soon after that, Eddie finds himself in a cabin with 11 other boys who all know each other and look at him with disdain. Whatever hopes he has of making it out of the summer alive dwindle down to nothing by the time everyone is unpacked and projecting their hostile energy towards the obvious odd man out.

Things get even worse when his cabin is led down to the water. Eddie isn’t the strongest swimmer – he’s much more of an inside kid than one that spends days out by the pool. He adamantly avoided the chance to swim at Wayne’s house last summer because chlorine made him itchy. Despite the lake before him lacking in chemicals, Eddie knows he’s going to have to find a way to not make a fool out of himself. He has to swim or the summer is going to be a long one.

After a long lecture about water safety and instructions about what’s going to happen during the swim test, Eddie stands in line behind excited sheep who boast and brag about their accomplishments throughout the year. Eddie is too busy worrying about not drowning to pay attention to who won what medal or stole some stupid base. His anxiety crawls up higher around him with each person that completes the task. Eddie is getting closer to that point where there’s no turning back.

He wishes so desperately that he was brave enough to stand up for himself and run the hell away.

That’s not who Eddie is, however. Deep down, right in the bottom pit of his belly, there’s a part of Eddie that wants to fit in. No matter how hard he struggles against the norm, Eddie’s feelings hurt worse when it becomes apparent that he’s not even close to baseline and everyone around him knows it.

With only two people before him, Eddie is starting to realize that must be his lot in life – he’s bound to be the boy everyone laughs at for being a weirdo.

Seconds away from spiraling completely, Eddie startles at the feeling of a hand reaching out to grab at his own. He turns to tell whoever decided to encroach upon his personal space off but stops before words can leave his mouth.

Being so young, Eddie doesn’t understand the warm flash of heat that fills his chest upon first looking at this random little boy. He’s not sure why the kid is there but he already feels better knowing someone in this scary group of people has a heart. Instead of lashing out, Eddie squeezes the clammy hand holding his. It’s comfort enough to stop the mental breakdown Eddie seemed to be heading for.

“It’s okay, I was scared my first summer here, too. Once you get this over with, the rest of camp is a lot of fun. We’ll get to do whatever we want,” the boy says with a gap toothed grin. He looks like the type of person who fits in with the group, not abnormal like Eddie – yet, he’s kind enough to include Eddie in the mix, too. Whoever this person is, he’s a conundrum Eddie can’t help but be interested in.

Eddie is quick to learn that his savior is Steve Harrington, a boy who also lives in Hawkins. He chats amicably while they wait in line, all while holding Eddie’s hand. There’s never a moment where that sweaty grip loosens or comes close to leaving Eddie behind. It’s beautiful in the sense that Eddie forgets where he is and why he was nervous in the first place.

Getting to the front of the line a few minutes later, all of Eddie’s apprehension returns. He’s working on letting go of Steve so he can grow up and make something of himself when that happy voice sounds in his ears again. “I’ll go first. Watch me, Eddie – I’ll show you how.”

Without waiting an extra beat, Steve turns and runs the last couple of steps so he can catapult himself into the water cannonball style. As the water comes up around him, Eddie feels something inside him shift. The little boy afraid to be around other people is replaced by someone who’s cool enough to be that crazy kid’s friend. Knowing Steve’s got his back, Eddie feels like he can do anything.

Like, pass the swimming test with flying colors.

After he gets out of the water and dries off, Steve is right back by his side, grinning like a loon. “See? Easy-peasy.” Steve holds his hand out for a high five and keeps it there until Eddie gets with the program and finally slaps him a bit of skin.

That little handshake becomes regular for them as they spend the rest of camp revolving around each other. Eddie is attached to Steve’s hip, following him around like the lost puppy he is. When they’re approached about it, Steve happily goes on about how Eddie is his best friend.

It’s nice, having someone there for him, though not meant to last. Even Eddie at 7 knows that.

Read the rest over on AO3!

tag list (message if you’d like to be added): @infinite-orangepeel, @thefreakandthehair, @corrodedcoughin, @prettyboisteveharrington, 

[3416]

How Auston Matthews helped Zach Aston-Reese find his place with the Maple Leafs

By Jonas Siegel | Jan 31, 2023 | The Athletic

It was on the team plane, of all places, that Zach Aston-Reese began to feel at home with the Maple Leafs.

Aston-Reese’s game on the ice can be loud. But off it, he’s soft-spoken, reserved, quiet even. Which explains why those flights in and out of town playing Mario Party on his Nintendo Switch with seatmate Auston Matthews — and the other two members of their gaming four-pack, Michael Bunting and Justin Holl — mattered so much.

“That kinda eased the nerves, I guess,” Aston-Reese said recently. “It wasn’t really nerves, but it definitely eased the tension and made it easier to kind of assimilate (into the group).”

Matthews, in particular, has played an influential role in Aston-Reese finding his way with the Leafs, where he’s become an essential ingredient and staple (for the most part) at the bottom of the lineup.

Aston-Reese played his entire NHL career in Pittsburgh before he joined the Leafs on a PTO late last summer. And while his spot on the team was a foregone conclusion (he ended up signing a one-year deal for $840,000), it took a good month or two for the 28-year-old to really distinguish himself and look comfortable.

That’s where Matthews came in. He encouraged Aston-Reese to do what he did best — hit people. Coming from a player of Matthews’ stature, especially for a quieter personality like Aston-Reese who was struggling to fit in, that kind of encouragement mattered.

“We have a little joke,” Aston-Reese said, referring to himself and Matthews, “filling out the Bingo card — trying to get five, six hits a night as a goal, as a baseline. That helps with the mindset going in, knowing exactly what your job is.”

A top scorer at Northeastern, who earned his way into the NHL with a blue-collar game, Aston-Reese found himself wanting to play like the Leafs’ stars in his early days with the team.

“I know sometimes you watch those first two lines and it’s almost like the Globetrotters,” he said. “So, sometimes you get in the mindset of, ‘Oh, I need to do that in my game. ‘ Sometimes that creeps in. But I think Matty really helped me along, just getting back to basics. Getting contacts. I think that’s the biggest part of my game is getting involved physically and everything else falls into place.”

Matthews said he appreciates what makes Aston-Reese distinct that way.

“He’s really hard on pucks,” Matthews said. “And I think that’s something that maybe as a team we’ve been not as consistent as, having guys that consistently bring that every single night. And I think he’s just a guy that brings it every night in that regard.”

Matthews has developed a reputation among teammates, past and present, for making it known just how much he values those sometimes subtle contributions. It’s an under-the-radar form of leadership.

“Those are the little things,” Matthews said. “I mean, not everybody is going to play first power-play and be (on the) first line and have those certain roles. It’s a team sport and it takes all 23 guys to buy into their role and be, essentially, stars in their role and do that to a T. And I just really appreciate a guy like him who does it every night.”

To top it all off, Matthews describes Aston-Reese as “Just an awesome guy to hang out with.”

Aston-Reese says he and Matthews are a lot alike off the ice. “I don’t know if it’s that whole growing up in Arizona, but definitely has a chill vibe and (he’s) easy to talk to, easy to get along with.”

It’s on the plane, playing video games, where their bond was truly forged.

In addition to Mario Party, the gaming foursome also plays two-on-two baseball: Matthews and Bunting versus Aston-Reese and Holl. And some basketball, too.

Aston-Reese, Matthews, Bunting, and Holl play with randomized characters in Mario Party (Aston-Reese prefers Yoshi). Holl, maybe the best of the bunch, often ends up as the prime target — though others have their own reputations.

“Bunts has this strategy, and it’s a good strategy, because I’ve used it in my lifetime,” Aston-Reese says. “He whines and complains to take the heat off him, because you don’t want to make him upset. And then Hollsy’s just one of the better players so you kinda have to go after him.”

It’s a good example of team bonding in the current NHL.

A Staten Island boy who followed his older brother into hockey (and drew too many yellow and red cards for soccer, he says), Aston-Reese can be a real prowler on the forecheck, hard on pucks, like Matthews said, with his physicality, tenaciousness, and a pesky stick.

Then there’s that loud physical game, which Aston-Reese has displayed more and more often in recent weeks. He leads the Leafs with 106 hits.

Aston-Reese admits he would still like to contribute more offensively. He’s scored only five times in 48 games despite generating a whole whack of chances. He scored a nifty backhand goal against the Capitals on Sunday. Aston-Reese is probably due a few more rewards for his efforts in and around the blue paint. He ranks seventh among Leaf forwards in high-danger attempts at five-on-five.

“It just feels like I’m doing everything in my power not to get points right now. It’s crazy,” Aston-Reese, sitting on six points, said. “I know sometimes it feels like I’m never going to get a point. I always say to Bunts, ‘I’m never going to score.’ And of course that game I’ll score it seems like. I think it’s just a mindset of — I hate to say positive self-talk. But sometimes I get too negative on myself in regards to the offence, so I think just being not overly positive like crazy, but just better self-talk, better reminders and things like that.”

“But I mean, all that stuff doesn’t really matter come playoff time,” Aston-Reese adds. “It really is important to be heavy on pucks and smart defensively, block shots. You look at a team like Boston and why they’re so good — every one of their details is dialed in. I might not be getting points, but I’m trying to just have all the other details in my game dialed in.”

It’s what makes Aston-Reese a valuable piece, potentially, for the playoffs. He’s a details guy that way, and the kind of blue-collar player the Leafs have lacked at times in the playoffs. Not just someone who can change the momentum of a shift or game with a big hit or turnover on the forecheck, but someone who can be on the ice against just about anyone because of his defensive chops.

Aston-Reese established himself under long-time Penguins coach Mike Sullivan by doing just that, often alongside another similar worker bee in Teddy Blueger.

“That was just our game, that was our MO is be good defensively,” Aston-Reese said. “And Sullivan trusted us a lot with matchups against lines like Matthews when we would play Toronto.”

Aston-Reese has mostly been the veteran stabilizer on the Leafs’ fourth line this season, but head coach Sheldon Keefe has also moved up at times to play alongside David Kämpf on the team’s go-to defensive unit; in 69 minutes, the trio of Kämpf, Aston-Reese, and Pierre Engvall has been on the ice for exactly one goal.

Keefe has also occasionally subbed Aston-Reese into the top six late in games when the Leafs are protecting a lead. He’s trustworthy that way and has edged out Engvall as the Leafs’ fifth option at forward on the penalty kill. He’ll be good for 10-12 reliable minutes a night in a playoff series, especially now with his role firmly entrenched — thanks, in part, to Matthews.

“It feels like I’ve been here for a while now,” Aston-Reese says. “Love it.”

[joeys-piano]

Drafting Snapshot

I notice I haven't done a great job at writing scenery for a few years now, and so my current project is crammed with it as I retrain that muscle again. Keeping it real simple to start. Not too many scenes I need to work. Just going at it like a concept artist, I guess.

Test Scene / getting a baseline of where my scenery writing is right now, so lets write about rain!

It was raining soup and dumplings the morning Lu Guang rode him to school. Because ‘cats and dogs’, and ‘cats and ducks’, and cats and animals you’d substitute with a lot, would maul the gutters until they’re bursting. With piss and feathers, fur and blood—and the sort of awfuls even a butcher would’ve hosed off than rather not. And that was apparently an American thing: to say it’s raining, and rained a lot. But ‘soup and dumplings’ was more inviting—it was a heavy rain meant for summer. It was the sweet chill of biting a cherry while your sandal’s floating off. Like a raft, like a leaf, only to catch on around your toes. Or circling, ‘round and ‘round, like a soap sud down the drain.

Raining Scene /how is this any different from the above it? It's a rainy scene, but zoomed out.

Street flooding throughout the district was as typical as it gets—it starts with belches. Refusals. The unbuttoning, the undone. The wafer napkin coming wet—but not from eating, but the sweat. Because the cobbling narrows were the first—the backstreets, every shortcut, and the dead end little squares and apartments set for business. Every clothes line a transaction: trading paperclips for a knife, fried tofu skin for a sewing kit, what could fit well inside a pail. Once those were done for, then the shop lines. Once you were halfway within your store, trying to beat out all the strays with a broomstick and a sandal, then the roads swell. Then the streets—and then the main ones with a gutter. Think ten of them down a block, each refusing a bite of dinner. That was typical—in the summer, and early autumn, the edge of spring, and sometimes during the winters when it was warm enough to even rain.

Indoor Scene / I like indoor scenes where there a lot of windows because you have extra dimensions to play around with the mood.

After pulling it out of an old box full of Qiao Ling’s little knick knacks, Cheng Xiaoshi came down the stairs to the sun room for a towel. The folded ones were like a platter full of cheong fun without the sauce, but full of lavender and something dry if you smelled one. Detergent. So he grabbed one, the first one, the most crooked one off the pile, and pressed it close for him to smell as he gazed out through the window. And all around him—every window was a bright shade turning blue, wandering shadows make their move as the sunlight prepares to break, and there aren’t the usual signs that a storm’s riding horseback to crash a party. There are no clouds, for one thing. Or wispies—contrails. Sure, it’s windy. It’s nothing special. There’s nothing out there to say it’ll rain. And yet it might, Lu Guang told him, and yet it might. It might as well.

Rainy Scene Part 2 / This one is an adaptation of the test scene, but now written in a style that matches with the rest of the story I'm telling.

He remembered the morning he got to school on the back of Lu Guang’s rickety bike; it’d been raining soup and dumplings from the first stove turning hot. So at four—five. Maybe earlier. It started to flood. The entire district was a platter full of cheong fun and soy sauce—and Cheng Xiaoshi was a filling on the outskirts of his noodle, rocking back and forth like a child above the seaside near his home. Catching his sandals in the waves, opening and closing the door behind him, hearing his mother, and then his father, and tapping an umbrella against his shoulder. And that was the last time he heard himself ask his father what he was doing.

Rainy Scene Part 2 but different / Sometimes you also have to learn how to write a scene description, but keep it succinct. So here was that attempt as I was doing things. This little paragraph is a transition between two story beats, and I love that for it.

It was raining—soup and dumplings. His umbrella was a fucking useless, like a plastic fork of obligation when he was just fine with a pair of chopsticks.

So that's it. I'm still working on this, and I might be finished with it by next weekend. I don't know yet. But I'm trucking along with this story and am enjoying the little things that help it pop out in my imagination!

[bllxrr]

i know that my whole account has been about giving motivation to people but damn. i haven’t even made a shifting attempt in about 6 months. so much has been going on that the thought of shifting has completely slipped my mind, and when it does crop up, demotivation never fails to hit me like a ton of bricks.

my excitement at the thought of what i could achieve has never left, but during the past year i’ve led myself to believe that it simply isn’t possible for me. it is, i know it is, but i have a hard time grasping that fact. my maladaptive daydreaming is just as present as ever, and if anything that proves that my desperation to go elsewhere is still there, but when it actually comes to trying, i stop in my tracks. i think it’s because i’m scared of waking up back here- and yes, if i don’t try, then i’ll wake up here anyway- but it’s the thought of putting my all into something and having it go nowhere is what scares me. i’ve been carrying bitter disappointment around with me like luggage with each waking breath for as long as i can remember, and i’m terrified for that to only keep growing. if i’ve learned anything since last summer, it’s that my anger is a scary place to be, and i’m only just recovering from it. i’m only just falling back into a place where it’s not my default, baseline- i don’t want to try and fail. i don’t want carnal, burning rage to become my normal again. i don’t want to try, get my hopes up, just to fail again.

i’m slowly accepting defeat, and that’s the last thing i want to do. i don’t want to give up- that’s not who i am, and it’s a skill i’ve only just managed to pick up. i don’t want to revert back into that child who called it quits at that first hurdle.

this is my vow to to myself to keep on pushing. this is my promise, written in black and white, that i’ll try again, and again, and again until i make it.

thank you to you all for sticking around, even though i’ve been radio silent for months. your presence means more to me than you’ll ever know. ❤️

[heatherwitch]

Hey, Mouse! I've been into witchcraft for years now--but I admittedly have been neglecting my studying of it... it's hard with some kind of fatigue based, unnamed disability. And a learning disability... hoo.... but I'm not here to complain! I think my issue is... well, I have no direction! There are SO MANY fields of witchcraft, and I have NO idea which ones I resonate with! My love for nature and the world is so big and all-encompassing, it's near impossible to pick a favorite thing! I guess I'm not sure where to start--or if I ever even started in the first place! So... any advice for a lost witch?

Hello hello! First and foremost, there’s often an impression from blogs on tumblr that we’re all studying and practicing 24/7, just because we’re actively making and reblogging content on tumblr.

I personally have gotten to the point in my craft where it’s on the back burner, I spend most of my energy at my job. While I do feel it is important to continue to learn and read different opinions/experiences than yours, at a certain point the constant studying is no longer beneficial. In my life currently, I know enough that when I need a spell or magical boost, I can just create one in the moment. I read witchcraft-related books only when I want to or when I’m wondering about a certain topic and other witches views on it. My practice isn’t constant, it’s need-based.

As to figuring out where to go next, I think the most important thing is figuring out what works for your brain. Maybe the best thing is picking a topic that sounds interesting and sticking with it, or dabbling in anything and everything that sounds interesting.

For example (in my naturalist journey, not my witchcraft one) when I moved to a new region it was right on the cusp of winter and not the best time to deep dive into learning about everything that lives in the area. I spent time with the plants and identified what I could based on near-winter foliage, making notes on everything and really challenging myself. Then the snow started and I waited until spring to meet those plants again in a different season with different looks.

In deep winter, I shifted to learning about the mammals of the region; both the ones that were awake and active and simply reading about the ones who would return in the spring. I got multiple heavy books on the behavior of mammals in the area, and saw that in action with the winter species and had that knowledge in my mind when in the field this spring and summer.

I also got incredibly focused on birds again in mid-winter, which felt challenging at first because I could bird for 3+ hours and see a max of eight species. But I stuck with it and got to know those species and their winter behavior very well, and come spring I was able to notice as soon as another species returned because it was different than the baseline I’d grown familiar with.

With spring and summer came an overwhelming amount of options, and I’ve been allowing myself to follow my interests with no pressure of sticking to a certain topic. For a while I went on weekly walks to meet all the new flowering plants, and when that no longer felt nourishing I stopped doing it. I was birding daily for most of the early summer and then I had a hard time focusing on it so I stopped doing it until I felt called to again. As much as I love tracking, the terrain here is difficult and it’s more exhausting than it is rewarding, so it’s more of an accidental thing when I stumble across tracks and sign. I recently realized I know very little about insects, what got me excited about it was seeing multiple species of beetles I didn’t know on the same day but right now I’m documenting anything and everything I come across. Who knows how long that will last but right now I’m learning a lot!

And the thing is, when I’m out there focusing on one thing I still see and learn new things about everything else I’d been focused on in the past. I have to figure out what flower the tiny beetles are on to help identify them, or I stumble across an elk carcass during my flower walk and watch the jays scavenging. Its all connected and learning about one topic will help you with other topics.

That was quite the tangent! My main point is I’ve found a lot of benefit from just picking something you’re interested in, even if there are a lot of things. Focus on it for a while—a few hours to a few months, and even if that ends up not being for you it may lead you to something that is, and you’ll still have knowledge and skills that will help you in the future. Go with the flow of where your attention and interest go from there. Often the hardest thing to do is start, and once you find/regain your footing you won’t want to stop, even if you’re being pulled in many directions!

I hope this was helpful and not just me rambling about nature! I guess my main point is sometimes you really have to work towards learning something and return to it when the opportunity arises, and sometimes opportunities will naturally present themselves and it feels incredibly easy. And there’s benefits to both. I used to be the type of person who could study and focus on the same topic for YEARS no problem (like wildlife tracking), but with how my illnesses have changed my brain, I’ve had to adapt and figure out my new learning styles.

[five-rivers]

Danny slowly loses his memories from before the Accident.

“I don’t remember that,” said Danny.  “Are you sure I was there?”

Maddie raised her eyebrows.  “I talked to you about it just last week,” she said. “When I was asking you about what you’d like to do during summer vacation.”

“I remember that,” said Danny, uncurling slightly from his position on the couch.  “I just don’t remember the other thing.  I... maybe we talked about something like it.  When was it?”

“You were twelve,” said Maddie.  “It was just before your birthday.”

Slowly, he shook his head.  “Sorry,” he said.  “I remember, um...  What other vacations did we have?  Before the one where you thought I was crazy, it was, um...” He held his hands as if preparing to count on them.  “We went to New York that one time.  And then the Great Lakes before that...  Oh!  And that haunted house road trip.”

He frowned down at his hands, and Maddie felt something unpleasant curl in her gut.  

“Is that...  All you remember?” she asked.  

“Y-Yeah?  I guess the others were from when I was too young to remember?”

“The haunted house trip was when you were five,” said Maddie.  “Danny... have you been,” she didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to piece together other little oddities into a big picture, “have you been forgetting things?”

“No!” said Danny, defensively, sitting up straighter.  “I’m just...”  He chewed his lip.  “It isn’t as if I’ve forgotten anything recent.”

His abysmal grades and missed curfews begged to differ.

“One second,” said Maddie.  “Stay here.”

She went to her room and fetched one of her largest photo albums.  Danny was still on the couch when she came back, picking at the hem of his pant leg, and staring blankly at the floor.  Maddie sat next to him, making him jump.  She opened the album to a random page.  

“What were we doing here?” she asked.  

“Um,” said Danny, brows pinching together in confusion.  “Shopping?”

“For?” prompted Maddie.  

Danny shook his head.  “It’s just shopping.  It isn’t important.”

“Danny, this is from when we got you that model spaceship.  The one you have hanging up in your room.”

Danny blinked, and slowly shook his head.  

.

The doctor’s office looked clean.  It even smelled clean.  Danny was still doing his level best not to touch anything.  Maddie would have sighed at his behavior, but she was too tense.  She met Jack’s eye.  He looked terrible too.

“There are no signs of Alzheimer’s disease,” said the doctor.  All three of them sighed with relief.  “However...  You said the other symptoms, the difficulty in school, began after the electrical accident?”

“Yeah,” said Danny.  

The doctor nodded.  “Electricity can do strange things to the brain, sometimes.  We haven’t been able to find any structural damage, but the activity levels...”  He brought a colored image up on his computer screen.  “This is where long-term memory is stored,” he said. 

“Doesn’t red usually indicate high levels of activity?” asked Jack.

“It does,” said the doctor.  “This is actually higher than usual activity...  Honestly, I don’t know what’s going on here.  I would like to request that you make a record of things that you currently remember as happening in your life, and then come back a month from now.”

“That’s it?” demanded Maddie.  

“Right now, since we don’t know what’s causing this,” said the doctor, “the best we can do is monitor the situation.  We don’t even know if this is an ongoing deterioration, or something more gradual.  On the upside, other than long-term memory, there doesn’t appear to be any damage.  Your timeline after your accident is clear and detailed.  The cognitive tests we put you through actually put you significantly above average...  This is what we can do.”

Maddie didn’t like it.  Danny didn’t look surprised.  Or even particularly upset.  

She caught Jack’s eye again.  They would have to be ready to support him, when the extent of what he had lost fully hit him.  

.

Danny floated down the icy hallway next to Frostbite.  “This isn’t going to be one of those examinations where I have to get undressed, is it?” he asked.  

Frostbite chuckled, but there was an undercurrent to it that usually wasn’t present.  “Only halfway.”  He paused to tap Danny on the chest.  “Your mind is no longer entirely contained in your head, after all.”

Danny rubbed at where Frostbite had tapped him.  “You don’t think that has anything to do with it, do you?”

“I’m unsure,” said Frostbite as they reached the examination room.  “It isn’t unusual for ghosts to lose their memories of their lives, but that is both more immediate and more complete.  Sit down here, and take your shirt off, Great One, and we can begin.”

Danny made a face at the item that looked like an overly complicated dentist’s chair with a large metal disk embedded in the back, but obeyed.  

“Here we are,” said Frostbite, pulling a complicated ring-shaped thing from the chair.  “This part goes around your head,” he said adjusting it to fit.  

Despite his cold core, Danny shivered at the frigidity of the metal.  

“These are to monitor your core, along with the matching one built into the chair,” said Frostbite as he attached several flat disks to Danny’s chest.  

“Are they, like, ultrasound?” asked Danny, running his finger along the edge of one of them.  He didn’t like how they stuck to his skin.  

“They work on a similar principle,” said Frostbite.  He turned on several nearby monitors.  “With this, we will be able to see how your brain and core react in tandem.  Can you transform for me a few times?  I want to compare with the baseline readings we took from you when you first stayed with us.”

“Sure,” said Danny.  

.

“Alright,” said Frostbite.  “Now, I am going to try sending a few low-intensity ectoplasmic pulses and currents through you.  Is that alright?”

“Sure,” said Danny.  

The first few left Danny feeling lethargic and tingly.  Other gave him so much energy he had to leave the room for a few minutes to burn some of it off.  Another, interestingly, turned off his ghost half, not unlike the Plasmius Maximus.

There was a rest period in-between each test, to make sure that they weren’t mixing results.  During those times, Danny and Frostbite would laugh and tell jokes and...

...  Danny trailed off in the middle of a sentence.  “Frostbite?” he asked after a minute.  “What was I just saying?”

.

“I want to stress that this is currently just a theory, Great One,” said Frostbite.  

“It’s okay,” said Danny.  “Just...  What is it?”

“Your memories are recorded in both your brain and your core.  You know this, correct?”

“Yeah.  You told me that a while back.”

Frostbite nodded.  “Normally, if one is turned off, the other one is still recording memories, and the memories will be transcribed.”

Danny nodded.  

“Or, if they are disconnected, in the case of the Plasmius Maximus, or your parents’ ‘Ghost Catcher,’ they will swap memories.  However...”

“Yes?”

“It is my theory that certain kinds of discrepancies between memories can lead to your core deciding that the discrepancy is an error and attempting to remedy it.  Great One, your core did not exist prior to your accident.”

“So, it thinks my memories from before that are wrong, and it’s getting rid of them.”

“I’m afraid it may be so.”

“Can you stop it?  I mean, you were able to artificially induce it, earlier...”

Frostbite made a face.  “The only things I can think of that could stop this would be unhealthy in the long run.  I do not believe you want to try to split yourself in two again.”

“No,” agreed Danny.  “Any-Anything else?”

Frostbite sighed.  “This is not something I can confirm,” he said, “but I suspect that the reason for your odd pattern of your memory loss is that the memories you dwelled on most often vanished first.”

“Oh,” said Danny.  “Because that would bring them to my core’s attention...”

Frostbite nodded.  

“Well.  That’s... not ideal.”

“I’m sorry, Great One.  Would that I could do more.”

.

“It’s all gone,” he said, without preamble, as he stood at Jazz’s door first thing in the morning.  

She looked crushed.  “Are you sure?”

Danny nodded.  “I remember remembering, but I don’t actually remember.  It’s weird and...  actually kind of a relief,” he said, tilting his head to one side.  

Jazz blinked rapidly.  “Are you going to tell Mom and Dad?”

He shook his head.  As his memories had disappeared, so had most of his remaining trust in his parents.  Between the memories of them caring for him, and the memories of them attacking or threatening him, the latter were more vivid.  

He still loved them, and his ghostly desires, that he literally could not remember living without, still focused on them, but that and trust were two different things.  It had been months since he’d started to fake retaining memories that he only knew about from reading his journals.  

“Sam and Tucker?”

This time, Danny nodded, the gesture much more enthusiastic.  “We were going to meet up later today, anyway.  Do you want to come with us?”

“Sure,” said Jazz.  She rubbed at her eyes.  “Give me a second.”

Danny nodded.  He wasn’t in a hurry.  “I’ll be downstairs.”

He could understand the grief.  He had felt it.  But it was over, now.  The only thing left was to make new memories.  

[orchardisland]

━━       EVENT 01 : PART 2 ( encounter )

What should one expect when a time old ritual fails? And what will you do when forced to act?

You wonder if this is real or some cruel nightmare. That is, if you decided to return to see this day. But where are you? How will you respond? There are several paths you can go down but none will guarantee your salvation.

━━   encounter.

A fisherman stands at the edge of the harbor, glancing down at his aging pocket watch. A few minutes until 5PM. He glances up at the sky from behind a pair of thick glasses. The clouds are darker than usual for this time, even in the last breaths of summer, gray and foreboding.  The ground shakes. What you could feel on the first day is now rumbling beneath the feet of others. A great downpour rains down on the heads of unsuspecting residents but only those crowded at the beach, it barely reaching the pavement. One woman gazes up, flinching when a drop pummels into the center of her forehead. Her tongue darts to the corner of her mouth━━salty. It is not rain from the sky, but sea water.  Within the blink of an eye, a large tentacle slithers onto the beach. It is covered in a thin veil of slime crafted from bacteria sea foam, strings of seaweed dripping down like whiskers and its width rivaling that of a two men before tapering off, length indescribable. It curls around the ankle of a man too close to the water’s edge. Pain is visible on his face for only a moment before he is pulled under, a trail of blood following where he tried to dig his heels in. Another tentacle emerges on the opposite side, pausing in the air long enough to display the deadly hooks lining its underside. One quick swipe and another is dead, disembowled on the rocky beach. The sight is gruesome, and the sounds of screams are deafening. People scramble from the beach, panicking, some crawling over each other in their bid to get to safety; while others freeze in utter terror or are driven back by the stampede. The attack only stops when authorities arrive, pummeling the beast’s tentacle with bullets. It retreats back into the water, bringing its first two casualties with it. “That was... him. It had to be.”

━━   instructions.

As the event post says, you can choose to attend the second day or not while everyone is at the beach. You may submit to this blog what your character will do during this encounter. Should you decide to do so, the main will send you a prompt in response with what will happen next that you will be expected to reply to in character. 

Depending on what they do, they may or may not receive a response or might even get multiple ones as things play out. Think of the potential consequences of their actions! The initial submission from you will not have to be written out in depth. Simply state their action such as: “she will run away without looking back” or “he will throw rocks at it”.

Please note that if your muse decide to take action, there is a risk of them becoming injured. If you’re against something happening to your muse that would harm them, please specify when you submit your character’s response. You will have until 9/15 to submit your response.

You can do threads that take place on the second day if your actions might involve someone else, just make sure that you still submit what your characters will do.

After this, the beach will be completely shut down and off limits for a clean up. However, your characters are free to poke around and investigate the place as they so choose but be warned: the place is crawling with authorities and scientists.

If your character is employed at the research lab or a member of law enforcement, they will be tasked with investigating and monitoring the event and will be receiving a unique assignment from the mayor and their supervisors. It’s expected of them to keep hush about any findings but, of course, people talk.

* Given this is the first encounter of the roleplay, this will be the baseline for how future submits and random encounters will go, even when unrelated to events. 

** Do not hesitate to ask question! This is a lot of information and can be a confusing system. Think of it from the angle of DnD player proposing something to the DM or a choose your own adventure!

[shinygoldstar]

Midnight Snack

DannyMay Day 11: Midnight

(Also DannyMay Shadow, Scars, Power, Nature, Seasons, Teeth can you find them all?)

Word Count: 2271 (not beta’d. experimental writing)

Warning: mentions of ghost cannibalism, nothing explicit

@floralflowerpower ​ – for that ghost cannibalism post

(it’s 1 am so i’m gonna sleep now. might post on AO3 later)

Edit: AO3 Added!

.

It was mid-October. The leaves are starting to turn yellow heralding the approaching autumn. Danny was happy because that meant the unusually hot weather is almost over. It wasn’t that he’s melting from the heat- quite the opposite, he’s probably the only person in Amity that isn’t sweltering under the sun with his cold core. But due to this exact same reason, his cooler body temperature also drew in water vapor which condenses on his skin, pooling into beads of water dripping down his shirt, making him appear extra sweaty. He can’t wait for the temperature to be cool enough to not change clothes every few hours. Good thing his clothes are purchased by the dozen; no one really noticed him wearing new sets of clothes throughout the day.

.

It was the contaminated fridge foods that disappeared first. No one missed them. At least until they can’t find the mutated turkeys for their annual Thanksgiving hunting event.

.

Danny yawned as he and his friends entered Fenton Works. Autumn is comfy. Just the right temperature where he can wear loose clothing and not be stared at for being underdressed for the weather. No ‘sweating’ either. His mouth closed with a click, a bit too fast on his new fangs. Danny winced. The fangs seemed to have grown longer overnight again. At this rate Danny won’t be able to pass them off as normal pointy canine teeth for much longer. It didn’t hurt but the itch is annoying. Danny took a detour to the fridge, grabbing an ice cube from the freezer and popped it into his mouth, absentmindedly chewing on the cubes to take the edge off the itch as they walked down to the basement lab. His parents are at a paranormal convention at a nearby city and won’t be back until tomorrow. Danny and his friends gladly took the opportunity to do their ‘Danny’s quarterly fitness test’.

Danny flipped on the light switch and walked to the center of the lab, transforming into his ghost form. “Okay I’m ready. What’s first on the list?”

Tucker dropped his bag and took out a piece of notebook paper, “Okay, first we gotta do the baseline measurements. Height, weight, temperature, and the ecto reading.” Sam dug through her sports bag, pulling out the measurement tape. She held it against Danny, eyes scanning the tape measurement numbers. “Still the same height.”

Tucker nodded, noting down the measurement in Danny’s health notebook. “Next, weight.” Danny stood over the scale. “Yup, still the same weight too.”  

.

Then it was the ecto-samples that Jack misplaced in the kitchen fridge. Jack warned everyone a few days later (everyone knows to avoid glowing food on normal basis so the delayed warning is mostly just courtesy), but no one could find where it went and assumed it grew legs to join the other tiny ecto-samples lurking as their equivalent of household pests. (No matter how often Maddie tried to patch up the mouse hole it keeps reappearing in the same shape but in a different part of the house as if the original mouse hole got transplanted from its original location)

.

“Lunch Lady’s right. You need to eat more. You’re still as skinny as ever.” Sam remarked as Danny took the thermometer out of his mouth. “76 F. The ghosts keep attacking me all day and night. You’d think my parents would notice when a ghost sneaks pass them while they work in the lab but I triggered all their ghost alarms just by being in the house so they deactivated the system when I’m around. They must’ve kept it turned off during the day too.”

“Tough luck dude. Ecto scan next.” Tucker passed the scanner to Sam while Danny stood still for her to scan. The machine beeped, “Wow 6.8, that’s quite a jump from last quarter’s 5.1”

“Maybe it was from all the ghost fighting I did over the summer?”

.

As the leaves began to fall from the branches, ghost attacks lessened in frequency. Not looking the gift horse in the mouth Danny happily enjoyed the lack of ghost attacks to focus more on his studies. If he did well enough, he might even get Bs for his efforts. He also managed to avoid getting detention for the entire week much to the relief of everyone involved.

.

Two days before Thanksgiving, the Fentons finally remembered their turkeys. But by then it was gone. In a rush, they quickly purchased a pre-made turkey instead. While Danny enjoyed the fact that they’re having a normal family dinner for once, he can’t help but feel like there’s something off about the chicken. As if it’s missing a particular tangy or zingy flavor that would’ve made it richer in flavor. ‘Must’ve been because it’s overcooked.’

.

"Honey? Have you seen the new ecto-samples I placed in the basement lab fridge?" “Again Jack? This is the third time this month. Have you checked the upstairs fridge?” “I-ah was pretty sure I placed them in the correct fridge this time. Must be some no-good thievin’ ghost.” “I’ll set up the ecto-anti-theft, that’ll get ‘em good! No ghost can escape Jack Fenton for long!”

.

*Intruder Alert* *Intruder Alert*

Red lights peppered with robotic voice and alarm noises lurched Maddie into full alert mode. She quickly took stock of her surroundings and tried to wake Jack up. But Jack had his earplugs on and continued to snore blissfully. A loud knock on the door caught her attention. “What’s going on mom?” Jazz’s voice floated through the door. Maddie quickly rose to open the bedroom door, swiftly pulled Jazz in and locked the door. “Jazz dear, try to wake your dad up. I’ll go check on the intruder.” Maddie strode quietly to the door then paused, “Have you checked on Danny?” Jazz bit her lips and looked away for a moment “-ah yeah! Danny’s snoring so loud he can’t hear the alarm.” Maddie twisted the doorknob but paused, hesitating. “He’s fine mom.” Jazz reassures her. “If Danny wakes up, he’ll come here first. I’ll let him know what’s going on.”

The alarm rang loudly in her ears as she walked down the stairs to the basement lab, its loud ringing noise effectively covering up the sound of her footsteps. Reaching the basement floor, Maddie quickly crept over to hide behind the shelf on her left, eyes scanning the lab for the intruder.

The glass jars clinked as a shadow moved about the fridge. A very familiar shadow. That didn’t glow. Maddie turned on the lab lights. “Danny?” she started, carefully walking over to face him, her eyes still scanning him to check if he’s really her Danny. The faint, barely noticeable scar on his eyebrow from his attempt to fly off the tree when he was five is there confirming his identity.

“What are you doing down here-?” Maddie noticed the glowing jar in his hand, “and what exactly are you doing?” Danny hazily stared at her; eyes half-lidded. Maddie snapped her fingers to get his attention. Danny didn’t blink. “He's still not awake, Danny come on wake up!”, she shook his shoulders. “Huh? Wuzzat?” Danny groggily woke up. He blinked in confusion.

Finally aware of his surroundings, Danny looked down at his right hand that still held the glowing sample. “Aah!” Danny yelped dropping the sample, then realizing he dropped the sample, tries to catch the jar, fumbling clumsily. Maddie would’ve laughed if it was anywhere else but in this situation. “Danny, do you remember what you were doing?”

“I was doing my homework and was craving for a good cheeseburger?”

---

“And the half-opened jar of ectoplasm?”

“Pickles?”

---

“Dude are you for real? That was priceless!” Tucker crowed with laughter. Sam leaned away from Tucker to avoid the meat spittle, “Urgh! Gross Tucker! Swallow it before you speak!”

Danny grumbled into his glass of milkshake, “’s not funny Tuck. you didn't see her face. She was about ready to scan me for signs of ecto-possession. Good thing my lie about craving cheeseburger and opening the wrong fridge worked. Otherwise I’d be in big trouble if she scanned me now with my latest ecto-reading. Anyways I'm banned from the lab now.” Danny bit into his burger.

“So what really happened there dude? Did you seriously sleepwalk into the basement lab?”

“I think so? I don’t really remember anything before Mom found me in the lab. Only that I was feeling a bit hungry.”

.

The ghosts stopped coming. Everyone in Amity held their breath when there were no ghost attacks for two weeks straight, then a month. Then two months, three. No ghosts. They let out their collective breath. It might be too soon to hope but for now they will enjoy their ghost-free, perfectly ordinary life. It feels a bit strange to not have ghost related interruptions as part of their daily routine but they didn’t miss the ghost-related reconstruction expenses. The local insurance company employees received a nice bonus for the ghost-free month.

.

By the time March rolled in, Danny is restless. “Guys, there's definitely something big going on.”, he waved his hands for emphasis. “The Fenton portal is still open yet no ghost came through? Not even Boxy since the North District warehouse thing last month. There’s definitely something big going on. I've been taking the ghost-free break for granted for a while now and it helped save my grades but this is too big to ignore.”

“Dude, maybe it’s because you’re much more powerful now? Your latest reading last week is 8.2. None of the ghosts we’ve met so far is above 6 except for Vlad and the Ghost King.” Tucker suggested.

“You might have a point there, Tucker. We haven’t seen any of the ghosts bothering Vlad so far and he’s definitely higher than 6.” Sam added.

Danny frowned, “Maybe you’re right but I just have this nagging feeling that that’s not quite it.”

.

Danny entered the Zone with little fanfare. The area around the Fenton portal looked normal enough, the usual rocks and clouds of debris are still floating around in their usual areas. Danny aimlessly passed through the nooks and crannies, ducking under the endless spiral staircase, not entirely sure of what to look for. The Zone felt a bit quiet today but Danny haven’t been to the Zone that frequently to be certain about it.

.

The Ghost Zone, while still filled with random bits of odds and ends felt empty somehow. It wasn't until he sighted Skulker that he realized he hasn't seen any of the tiny blog ghosts nor the occasional passerby ghosts through his trip.

.

Luckily or unluckily, Danny quickly spotted someone he knew in the distance. As if called, Skulker turned his head towards Danny, then veered sharply to the left and flew fast in Danny's opposite direction, a first for the self-proclaimed hunter to not hunt his favorite prey. ‘Something's not right and Skulker definitely knows something.’ Danny thought.

Danny quickly chased after him; Skulker could never beat Danny at speed chase even at his best, and he won't be winning today's unplanned race either. “Hey Skulker! What’s going on?” Danny yelled over the gap between them but Skulker gave no reply, diving down deep into the reddish forest ravines of the island below. Not to be deterred, Danny did a quick aerial flip, adjusting his flight angle to follow down Skulker’s path. Danny soon caught up to Skulker and launched him into a nearby rock with sticky ectoplasm to hold him still long enough to talk. Skulker ejected from his metal suit but Danny was faster and caught the real ghost before he can escape.

.

(Why is Skulker fleeing?)

.

"Hey Skulker, not hunting me for once?" Danny asked teasingly.

Skulker paled (Danny never knew ghosts can turn pale) and squirmed even more. Danny's smile dropped.

"What’s going on Skulker?" he asked worriedly. “None of the ghosts have appeared in the human world and the Zone looks empty somehow”

Skulker squirmed a bit more but realizing he’s stuck finally said, “Ghost Child, haven’t you ever wondered why the Infinite Realms is never overcrowded?”

Danny frowned, puzzled as to where this leads to. “How is this related to this situation?” Skulker stared at Danny stunned.

“What?” Danny asked, suddenly self-conscious, “-was there something I was supposed to know about?”

Skulker sighed, unconsciously loosening a bit of his tension, “You’re so young. So very young. We Ghosts don’t fade as fast as Newcomers arrive from your world. In the Realms, there's a natural system that keeps the population under control. An ecosystem. There's predator and there's prey. And then there's the Apex Predator. There's a reason why Dark was feared. It wasn't just for his harsh rule. It was because he was the Apex Predator.”

Danny struck at the odd wording, "’Was’? Was that because he got sealed?” Danny paused, “But wait- if he's sealed, he would still be the Apex predator. So how-? Wait. Did I?"

Skulker nodded, "Good you're catching on fast. By defeating Pariah Dark, you have proven to the Realms that you're the best candidate for the Apex Predator. And with the new status comes sets of conducts, one your body instincts know well. You've been culling down the uncontrolled excess from Pariah Dark's sleep quite fast. Your hunger would settle down soon of course once balance has been re-established in the Realms."

“But- How- Wait- What-?” Danny looked down at his hand “Hey Skulker--!” but his hand is bare.

.

Danny’s lips tasted oddly tangy, energized.  

.

.

.

-----

(Skulker might've slipped out of Danny's slack hand while Danny is in shock. Danny might've bit his lips hard enough to bleed. It's not that hard with his new fangs. But this is just speculation...)

[imthecleric]

@zoomingupthathill​ said: ‘note’

[ x ]

Max -

First things first I never apologized for ruining that first Halloween you had with the party. And then subsequently making the rest of your life a living hell. And I don’t think a simple I’m sorry will do it, at least for the last part. Hopefully, it will be enough for the Halloween thing. And I am sorry. I had an episode, and you know what it really was by now, and then Mike was being... well Mike... to you so I’m sorry.

And those wont be the only apologies here, so you can shout about my apologies to my grave, or at my funeral. Please do. I only trust you to cause the havoc that should be there. If Mike gets mad, because you and I, and everyone else both know he will. Show him this as my explicit permission for you to get mad at me in the most public way possible for all my stupid apologies. It might even make my mom laugh a little. She hates the sorrys too.

Now, I know you never really liked D&D, but your a nerd just like the rest of us. Wonder Woman is a cool character, I think you would also like Kitty Pryde, from X-Men. I may be biased, because I really like X-Men, but give her a shot okay. For me.

Back to D&D, and I know you never really liked it mainly because Mike said no to your class idea. Which I think could totally work. Some of the classes need an overhaul anyways. And its not like both he and Lucas play subclasses of Fighters anyways. But I’ve been thinking, since like the summer of Starcourt. I actually think a baseline fighter, not Paladin like Mike, or Ranger like Lucas would totally work for your play style. With the right stats you could be super quick and sneaky, but also totally awesome. And you aren’t so limited in weapons, Lucas told me about how awesome you were with the nail-bat. Wish I could have seen it. I mean, if I was braver maybe I could have but... I’m not getting into that. Anyways, a baseline fighter can do so many cool things and we can create things based on fantasy and comics to work for what you want. Like a bait and switch, where you switch places with someone. And items, we could give you boots of striding to add to your movement. If you ever play, bring it up to the guys, Dustin would be your best bet.

Also pick to be a halfling, they can re-roll their natural ones. It’ll piss Mike off. I shouldn’t be saying that cause you know I lo... like Mike alot. I think you know how much. If anyone does its you and Jonathan. But I think it would make you laugh, and I’m all for that. I am not above laughing sometimes at Mike’s expense. I’m not there to do so, so count this as my blessing as his longest lifetime friend. Please carry on the tradition for me.

I’ve been kind of avoiding the elephant in the room. The fact that you’re reading this and I’m not there. No one was thrilled with the idea, which honestly baffled me as it seemed like the only option. Or maybe I was bit in shock that everyone cared so much. Either way, none of it was in vain. He’s gone. And if he comes back, then something tells me I will too. I am Zombie Boy after all. But he wont. You guys did it.

Be there for El. I know you. You will. But don’t forget about the guys too, they aren’t going to want to show how they really feel, they’re hurting. Don’t treat them any different though. I hated that. I hated when people thought I would break. They will too.

I’m not that great with words. You know that, art has always been my forte. But thank you. You have done so much for me. You have been there for me when the guys weren’t. You didn’t make me feel weird or left out that summer. You were one of the party I think from the moment the boys tried to get your identity out of Keith at Palace Arcade when you smashed Dustin’s Dig Dugg record.

I’m sorry I’m gone. And if you’re sad about it, I’m sorry for that. I like to think that any flash of red I see zooming by, is you. Even if its not, it’ll be a nice reminder of your brightness.

- Will

On the bottom of the letter is a fully colored halfling, in bright armor much like Max’s clothes she was known for wearing, with flaming red hair blowing in the breeze, she’s running about to take a jump to smash an orc with a weapon that looks suspiciously like a nail bat.

[crimson-dxwn]

AT ODDS 6 (Kal Skirata x F!OC)

Summary: Tea gets spilled at Kyrimorut. Ordo gets involved. Ori makes a choice and a new enemy.

Warnings: Mando profanity, pregnancy, SPOILERS for Republic Commando books (all but the last one), medical shit, surgery, fucking SADS

As always, so many thanks to @detroitbydark who lets me screech about my weird fic and Kal and Ori! Also this is barely edited be kind, I’m on my psych rotation and barely scraping by. 

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

Kal realizes he’s slipped the figurine into the pocket of his bodysuit semi-consciously in his hasty retreat from the apartment. Knotted Jonah wood whittled smooth forms two stylized figures, one large and one small, their hands joined between them. 

He barely registers the ride back home and comming Mij. They need a plan, and they need one fast if they are going to find her. He knows little about how the Empire treats their prisoners compared to the late Republic, but he isn’t about to have any illusions of honor or fair play. After all, he doesn’t play fair himself. But there’s a hydrospanner thrown into the mix. What he doesn’t know is how the Imps treat prisoners with … unique health conditions. Or if they even give half a bantha’s shebs. Odds are they send men and women alike to those osik’la camps he’s gotten word of. Yeah, the Empire was equal opportunity like that. 

If Mereel can’t slice into the system remotely, they were going to have to do an old-fashioned infiltration. He’d ask his ad’ike if they were up to task, there’s no way he could ask to put them in danger, not after the entirety of their lives being war. It hurts him to even think about asking. But he has to do this, even if it’s just his sorry shebs. 

He tries to put on a good Sabaac face when he’s back in the karyai, discreetly gathering up all the surplus weapons they have that he finds might be useful for an infiltration into a heavily armed and fortified position. 

Mereel of course, catches on within minutes. 

“You’re going to find her,” Mereel interrupts. Kal yanks his head up out of the gun locker to look at his son. “And you didn’t even think to ask for backup?”

His son’s tone is accusing, edging on hurt. That he did not expect.

“It’s my fuckup, son,” he replies, “I’m the one who needs to fix it. I can’t ask you to do this.”

“What’s so special about this doctor?” Mereel slams the door of the locker shut. It’s obvious his ad’ika is protective. They all are. 

“She delivered your ba’vodu’ad, Mereel. I’m pretty sure she saved Parja’s life.” Kal says, keeping his eyes on his work, cleaning the weapons, arranging the ammo he needs. Sharpening his father’s three-sided knife. 

“And that’s enough to go up against the Empire? ”

He’s going to have to spit it out. Mereel is looking at him expectantly, sure that he’s going to change his mind, see reason. 

“She’s pregnant, son.” Mereel, who has been away for the events of the last few months, just stares back at him in a puzzled fashion, brows slightly furrowed. Looking at him like he’s lost his damn mind. Maybe he has. 

“It’s yours, isn’t it?”

In comes a second voice, and the accusatory tone startles him enough that, when added to his baseline urgency and anxiety, causes his hand to slip and nick itself as he sharpens his knife. 

“Osik,” he hisses, holding pressure to the cut as blood wells, looking up to the figure in the doorway. Ordo. Mereel stares at his brother, unsure whether he is joking. Kal sighs. He should know better, trying to keep things from them. The last time he was successful at that was when they were four. 

“Does it matter?” 

“Maybe,” Ordo replies, just this edge of indignant, “is she carrying my vod?” 

A strange and protective piece of him flares at Ordo’s tone and Kal stands, still holding the cloth to his cut hand. 

“Most likely.”

“Then we need to get her back.” Ordo meets his eye finally and Kal nods, satisfied, and starts gathering ammo from the safes. This time Mereel moves to help, still in a rare state of stunned silence. 

By the time they’ve gathered what they need and loaded it into aayhan, Mereel has a willing team assembled and what they know of the building schematics up on a datapad in the karyai. Fortunately for them, the team won’t be breaking into any prison blocks, which are bound to be heavily guarded. 

“All we have to do is get into the information security room that houses the main terminal,” Mereel starts confidently. “We can stay far away from the security blocks and the bucketheads.” 

“Though it would be fun to bust some vode out of there,” Scorch adds. 

“Not our mission,” says Mereel, regret plain in his voice, “we’ll have to get them another time.” The realization that they were leaving prisoners at the mercy of the empire sobers the group even more. It was becoming more and more apparent that more planning was needed before they could root out the Empire on Mandalore. Meanwhile, Kal had set Uthan to the task of trying desperately to make their own homebrew vaccine. 

---

It’s been many many years since he’s fastroped. Lately, he has been finding that it’s been years since he’s done many things. Fastroping, underwater diving...fathering kriffing kids. He swallows, hard and regroups himself. Every single one of them needs to be focused if they’re gonna pull this job off. 

Yes, he’s fast roped before. But he’s never liked it. Where his sons get twitchy when confined to tight spaces, he finds himself sweating more than usual under his beskar the more stories they climb. Right now, they’re about ten stories up, far above the sensors of the garrison and way above his tolerance for heights. They have about a minute to pull this off before the Imps realize this transport is lingering too long in their airspace. 

Mereel, Sev, Scorch, and Kal are in Aayhan, hovering silently above the Keldabe imperial garrison in the inky black late summer night. The humidity sticks his tactical garments to his skin, making it itch and crawl in addition to his surging adrenaline. That was one thing that never changed, no matter how old he got, no matter how many missions he’s finished - that nauseating spike of pure fear and bliss. 

He gives the signal to move move move and soon he’s roping down, strong north Mandalorian wind whipping around him, soaking through his underlayer. The four of them land silently on the roof of the compound, and Scorch starts laying a strip charge along the floor to create a hole leading below, straight into the admin offices. Four sets of Mando armor gleam lowly in the moonlight. It’s a perfect night for an op like this, whipping wind obscuring any slight noise they did make and the faint whine of aayhan’s engines. The charges detonate with a controlled bang and flash of bright light that briefly blinds his HUD. Kal switches to night vision.

*His child*. It’s barely a concrete concept in his mind yet, but an instinctual piece of him knows the truth. The timing is too perfect for him to be wrong. The way Orla had looked at him in the med center…

The stakes are too high to fail, and distracting thoughts get men killed. Mereel leads the way through the door, rifle at the ready, and Kal banishes his musings to the back of his mind, pushed away by a fresh rush of adrenaline. It’s a stealth mission, and they navigate by night vision, as silently as their boots will allow. 

They stalk through dark quiet hallways lined with innocuous office doors until they reach the end, what is presumably the CO’s office, with its durasteel double doors and obviously larger size. 

Mereel starts in on slicing the door panel while Sev shoots out the camera in the hallway corner while the rest of them listen for any approaching patrols. It was only a matter of time before someone noticed they were there, whether it was the hole in the roof or the blacked out camera. The double doors open quietly and they head inside. Vau’s boys guard the door while he and Mereel crowd the desk in the middle of the room. 

“I need a few minutes to get into this,” Mereel says, eyes locked onto the screen before him. One of his slicing tools is between his teeth.

“You’ll get it, son. We’ll take care of anything that tries to get in our way.” 

So far it looks like no one has noticed them. The imps must really be confident in the plan to neutralize Mandalore with so few guards and patrols. Sweat drops trickle down the back of his neck and into his bodysuit.

Mereel studies the datapad stripping the system for a few more moments and turns it towards Kal. There’s a concerned look stretched across his handsome face. Together the watch the recorded scene on the screen before them. 

There’s Orla, still in her work clothes, talking with an Imp who’s behind this very desk, flanked by two stormtroopers. He knows those gestures - she’s spitting mad, barely containing the fury that was directed toward the man behind the desk. Without audio he can only guess as to the contents of their conversation. The Imp behind the desk gives a short reply and nods curtly to the right-hand trooper who, without hesitation, raises his blaster rifle and cracks her across the face with the butt end. She doesn’t even see it coming. Even in the shades of blue from the holoprojector the blood is obvious, trickling down the side of her face. 

Kal is livid, trembling so finely it’s barely visible, and he almost forgets where they are for a moment. Deep in enemy territory, with hostiles incoming any minute. 

Mereel makes a disgusted noise from deep in his chest as they watch her be pushed to the ground. They follow the video feed where she’s led to a cell. His breath catches. There’s a chance she’s still here. His hope is tempered, however, when an alarm starts to sound from within the garrison. A patrol must have finally found their breach point.

“Sarge?” warns a voice from outside the door. It’s Sev, by the gravelly tone. 

“Almost finished,” he shouts, over the screeching din. Mereel continues to work furiously, his bulk hunched over the console. He’s able to parse through incredible amounts of data with immense precision; Kal can practically feel the concentration rolling off him. 

“Wait,” Mereel says. Kal looks over at the screen. They’re centered on a video feed again, this time outside. The sheer amount of prisoners in line for the transport is shocking enough, but the fact that none of them are in armor is even more appalling. The Imps are slowly stripping their culture away, plate by plate. 

“She’s not on the manifest for this transport, even though the records say she leaves.” 

It doesn’t make sense. Unless… Kal knows Mereel must be thinking the same as him. Judging by the brutality of the footage they’ve watched, the stories from around the planet, he wouldn’t put it past the Empire to take care of a pesky problem in the easiest way they knew how. It wasn’t something that supposedly peaceful, orderly governments liked to keep records of. His dread and guilt intensifies, leadening his limbs already weighed down by heavy beskar. 

He chokes the words out. He has to know. “Is there any footage of…” Kal can’t bring himself to say them. It doesn’t need to be said, Mereel knows what he’s looking for. He’s been in a war zone long enough to know that armies aren’t sentimental. 

“No, no footage. Just them leading her away.” The alarm continues to blare. It could be minutes, seconds before they have to blast their way out. 

“Here.”

Kal steels himself to watch. It’s his fault, he reminds himself again. Two more fresh marks in his ledger. His arm reaches automatically to his son’s to steady himself. He feels Mereel’s slump ever so slightly, whether it’s in relief or defeat, he can’t tell. 

“I have what I need,” he says, “time to go. Debrief can wait for later.” Distant footsteps start to echo towards them, modulated shouts following close behind. They were about to be grossly outnumbered, by the sound of it. Kal shoves his helmet back on, heading through the doorway and signaling Sev and Scorch to follow. 

They wind through the garrison, avoiding both patrols and squads of stormtroopers sweeping the building. It’s laughably easy compared some of the other heists they’ve pulled - except he speaks too soon. As they make their way out of the back door of the garrison onto the Keldabe streets, one squad catches up to them. Ordo has aayhan back at Kyrimorut - earlier they had decided it was too risky for the four of them to fly home and possibly expose the homestead. So instead their plan was to run the winding streets and strategically borrow a transport. The problem is that Kal is pushing sixty and the other men are - physiologically at least - still in their early twenties. They’re a lot kriffing faster than him, even with his ankle fixed. 

The streets and alleys twist and turn, switching from ancient cobbles to smooth duracrete without warning. Easy enough to get lost if you’re a local, they are impossible to navigate as aruettiise. Soon the four are panting, ducked into an alcove off a cobbled alley. Finally, it seems they’ve dodged the patrol. Only time will tell if they were recognized. Kal finds he doesn’t much mind if they know his face. In fact, he hopes they do. He wants to meet that garrison officer. 

-------

Imperial Rehabilitation Center

Weeks later

19 BBY

Life isn’t all doom and gloom. They are kept...occupied. Like rats in a maze. Ori shares a bunk with another Mandalorian, the only other there. Taren is a kid really, small and slight except for her distended belly. It’s obvious she’s used to wearing armor by the way she walks, how upright she holds herself, arms swaying slightly away from her body. And how she closes in on herself when she realizes it’s not there, when it’s nighttime in their room and thinks Ori can’t hear her sob breathlessly into her pillow every night. 

It’s almost childish, the way they’re herded from room to room. Chaperoned and on a schedule, like one would handle a naughty child needing extra discipline. It was how she imagines Coruscanti boarding schools some of her medical school classmates attended - polished stone floors and crisp uniforms, all strict routines and synchronized repetition. It’s meant to numb the mind, making days run into weeks. She suspects they’re kept intentionally disoriented. After all, most of them are still political prisoners, and many she’s found have important connections on their respective homeworlds. 

They’re at lunch, scattered around their assigned tables. Generously, they are allowed to converse during meals, though their seats remain assigned. The ‘rehab center’ has proven to be much more expansive than she expected - some rooms are swallowingly large, like the one she is in now, and some are as small as a broom closet, connected by narrow winding hallways. The building itself could have been any number of things in a past life - a school, factory, or prison. She supposes it doesn’t matter much now. Today there’s a newcomer, sitting quiet and sullen at a back table with the Corellians. Time would tell if she was one of them or if she hailed from a different world. 

An arm jostles her, hitting her square in the ribs. It successfully knocks her out of her analysis of the newcomer. 

“-did you hear what I just said?” Taren says, mouth full of tasteless nutritional paste. It’s far from delicious, but you ate what they give out and she is hungry *all the time* nowadays. A fleck lands on Ori’s face and she wipes it away with a raised eyebrow.

“Sorry, al’verde.” Commander. Her eyes roll automatically. She knows she doesn’t deserve the title. Discreetly, Ori shushes the younger woman - they’re lucky the stormtroopers here don’t understand Mando’a. 

They put together kit for new stormtroopers, morning and night. It’s another endurable humiliation. She stabs at the cubes bitterly with her spoon, scattering crumbs across the table. They’re not allowed forks or knives, not after Taren’s first week. A tiny smile flits across her face as she thinks on the memory. 

 Ori feels like a geriatric compared to the spry warrior, though they’re less than ten years apart in age. She’s seen things in that time, lost people, buried dreams. Though Taren is looking older and older by the day, cooped up in this place. 

“Theera is gone,” Taren says, “she wasn’t at breakfast either.” 

Looking around and finding no sign of the woman, Ori hums an agreement. She’ll be gone for good soon, and her baby as well. Every time someone delivers it sends a sense of unshakeable dread down her spine and into the pit of her stomach. All of them are marching slowly towards that finish line. 

The artificial hierarchy into which they are forced has made the two Mandalorians de facto leaders, despite Ori being one of the newer inmates and to cement her as *alverde*; her medical expertise makes her invaluable. 

The room hushes as Dr. Loesch sweeps down to the cafeteria, all business in crisp grey scrubs, so confident in his admiration. He insists they call him ‘Doctor L’ like he’s a popular lecturer at a university. He’s the worst kind of hut’uun, just as bad as the rest of the Imps she’s met here. Loesch is in charge of their medical care, all 100-some of them, including herself. Loesch towers over most of them, even herself. 

As a physician, Ori is personally insulted at his complacency, the fact that he is perfectly content in his post and cemented in his belief that what he was doing is just, his complicity. She stabs at her cubes some more to try and make herself feel better. 

As a woman, she’s decidedly less surprised. Men like him are everywhere, tall and handsome, handed success on a silver platter, born into families of privilege and power. Taking and taking with no thought of the carnage they leave behind. 

He saunters his way over to their table and sits with a charming smile. 

“Beviin,” he starts, “I heard through the gossip chain that you were an obstetrician before you came here?”

It’s physically painful to keep her retort in hand. She’s been here long enough to see women sent to solitary. And to see them come back, changed indefinitely. 

“Mmm,” she mumbles affirmatively through a mouthful of cubes. She swallows. “Yes.” Keep it simple, that’s easy enough. 

He smiles sardonically. “How ironic,” he adds, obviously pleased with the revelation. Expectantly, he looks around the table to gauge his joke, and they catch on, laughing softly, nervously, afraid of what might happen if they don’t. Even Ori joins in, the butt of the low blow, though her simmering rage ratchets up another level.

They finish the rest of their lunch largely in silence and Loesch pulls her away when she files out with the others. 

“Ms. Beviin,” he says conspiratorially, “I know it must be difficult for you to be here.” 

The man over her, face too close for comfort, his voice deep and low. Alarm fills her as the other people in the room dwindle until it’s just the two of them and the scattered troopers on the upper level. All Ori can think about is where the nearest exit is located when she realizes he’s still speaking to her. 

“...what do you think?” He waits patiently, a benevolent expression in his face. He blinks too little, she thinks, and his eyes are devoid of expression, shining with an amused sort of malevolence. They’re a strange shade of brown...no, green? The little noise he makes in the back of his throat brings her back to their conversation.

“Ah...sure?” she replies weakly, stunned and frozen.

“That’ll be nice for the other inmates,” he says. Incredibly white, straight teeth flash as he smiles down at her. “I think it will give them comfort to have you there. I’ll have the guards collect you when it’s time.” 

——

Three nurses eye her from across the suite. They wear sweet matching hospital uniforms, in the same soft fabric as hers except in a delicate petal pink. With a pang, she misses her fellow nurses and doctors on Mandalore. Who knows how many had fallen ill? Been arrested? The way they clustered in a little group reminded her of her schoolmates, when they found out she didn’t like fighting, whispering rumors from across the room. That she thought she was better than them, that weird girl who was more concerned with grades than winning fights and impressing boys. Now they stand across the room from her like a little bunch of flowers in their coordinated outfits, identical and perfect. She’s an other in their world, someone to be feared and hated, pitied at best. 

Orla stands awkwardly, waiting for the show to start when her stomach flips. The scrub top she has on stretches across her middle awkwardly, pulling at the seams and the soft shoes that cover her feet are obscured by her bump. The strange sensation returns, a little differently this time, just the barest flutter, deeper down than that nervous feeling. Her baby. She lays a gentle palm over the swell, as discreetly as she can, still feeling the scrutinizing looks of the women across the room.

Another nurse wheels a bed into the room, complete with Theera shivering atop it, her hair and gown drenched in sweat. Orla rushes to the head of the bed as she’s prepped for the operation. Theera is dazed, too exhausted to make much sense of anything right now, glassy eyes focused on the ceiling. She smoothes back the sweaty hair from Theera’s forehead. 

“Hey cyar’ika. It’s Ori,” she says softly. The woman’s eyes focus a little, just enough to meet hers. She bumps their foreheads together. It was as much to comfort herself as much as the other woman. Non-mandos typically didn’t understand the meaning behind the gesture. She can’t squeeze her hand like she wants to - it’s being hooked up to IV tubing.

“I’m cold,” she mumbles. Some of it is adrenaline, some from fear, and the rest from the icy operating room temperature to keep the surgeons comfortable. Drenched as she is, it’s no wonder Theera is shivering. 

Ori asks the wary tech for a warm blanket, terrified of overstepping and getting her shebs kicked out of the operating room. She’s promptly ignored in favor of his work. Dr. Loesch enters the room and the nurses titter around him while he ensures everything is prepped to his liking. Ori settles for as much skin to skin contact as she can get with Theera, trying to warm her, mumbling comforting nonsense into her ear as Loesch starts to work. A warming bassinet waits ominously against the wall for its prize. 

A thin cry interrupts their mumbling and Theera’s eyes sharpen at the noise. Loesch holds the little thing over the curtain separating them indulgently, just for a moment. A boy, he says, and she and Theera find themselves mesmerized by the bloody little thing and his tiny squished face and flailing arms, already so angry at the world. He’s held up for a second, allowing Theera a cursory glance and then whisked away by the nurses to the bassinet. His mother is still paralyzed on the table and it makes it all the more unjust that she isn’t even allowed to touch her son, see him up close. The nurses at the bassinet laugh and coo, oblivious to Theera, who starts weeping pitifully. Fat tears slide down the side of her face, wetting the starched white sheet beneath her head.

Ori is in the middle of the absolute emotional chaos around her. Theera crying, Dr. Loesch talking with his assistant about weekend plans, and the nurses with the baby, who have turned back at the sound of crying to glare at them judgementally. She can practically hear them now. Serves her right, their looks say. She deserves it. The rage congeals around Ori, settling itself in her throat. This feeling is exactly what had put her in this place to begin with and she knows she has to control it, use it somehow. She watches them place a little bracelet around the infant’s ankle and scan it into a datapad. They don’t bother with Theera. It dawns on her then that if she’s lucky - incredibly lucky - she can use the Empire’s obsession with order against them. 

She makes her way over to the bassinet under the ruse of joining the indulgent cooing that is going on, trying not to throw elbows before she’s kicked out of the room. The little boy’s leg is caught for a heel stick an she gets her chance. The number on the leg band is just visible, only for a second. She sends a prayer up to the Manda that she gets it right. 

Taglist

@clonewarslover55 @simping-for-fives @808tsuika @jedi-mando @cherry-cokes-world @nelba @fractiouskat @passionofthesith 

[davidmann95]

now that it's over, thoughts on Bendis' Superman as a whole?

pretenderoftheeast said: So, thoughts on Bendis' Superman and Action Comics' tenure altogether and separately now that it's over?

Anonymous said: Best and Worst things about Bendis' Superman run

Anonymous said: Now that it is over, what are your thoughts on Bendis' runs on Superman and Action Comics as a whole?

Anonymous said: Retrospective thoughts on Bendis' Superman as a whole now that it's, I guess, done?

Anonymous said: Hey so since Bendis’ Superman stuff seems to be done, what did you think of the run as a whole?

I decided to hold off a bit on writing on this one, if only so that I could reread the Action Comics side of it since Superman stood out in my memory a lot more. But now I have, and as we’re heading into a bold new era of Superman (and it’s coming in fast - just since I made my Superman in 2021 predictions we’ve gotten Ed Pinsent finally reprinting his legendary bootleg Silver Age Superman, Steve Orlando announcing his Superman analogue book Project Patron, an official shonen Superman redesign for RWBY/Justice League, PKJ’s Super-debut turning out far better than I ever expected, Superman & Lois’s first proper trailer largely taking people pleasantly by surprise, and my learning that there’s a Sylvester Stallone Old Man Superman analogue movie titled Samaritan coming out this summer) we’re ready to take a look back with at least a touch of perspective. I’ll lead with complaints, so everybody who’s been waiting for me to say that Bendis on Superman was Bad, Actually, savor this because it’s as close as you’ll get.

The Bad

* I hate to say it, but rereading that side of the run there’s no two ways about it: the structure of Action Comics as a whole is a mess. It baffled me from day one that it was the more acclaimed of the two books for so long - I guess people are hardwired at this point to think of ‘street’ stuff as where Bendis is supposed to be - because it was immediately clear that Superman had a well-defined story he wanted to tell, while Action was the usual Bendis off-the-cuff improvisation. It’s barely even a story in the same way, and it’s certainly not the ‘Metropolis crime book’ people took it as: it’s 28 issues of Superman and his supporting cast stuffed a pinball machine with the Red Cloud pinging off of each other as we wait to see who falls in the hole at the bottom, and partway through Leviathan and the Legion of Doom and 90s Superboy are tossed into the mix to keep it going a little longer. On an issue-to-issue basis it’s frequently really good, but the core plot of the book is *maybe* six issues stretched out over two and a half years.

* I’ve gone into this some before, but structure-wise Unity Saga also has problems: Phantom Planet rules but either it needed to be cut or the back half needed to be a year all its own in order to accommodate the scale of what it’s attempting. It’s got an interstellar civil war leading into the formation of the United Planets, family drama, Rogol Zaar’s whole deal, and Jon’s coming of age, and I’d say only that last one is really properly served. Even Jon forming the United Planets, while contextually somewhat justified in terms of 1. The situation being so far gone he’s the only one who’d even think in those terms, 2. Things being bad enough that these assorted galactic powers would be willing to try it, and 3. Him having the S on his chest to sell it, isn’t at all built up to within the run itself.

* Rogol Zaar sucks. He’s made up of nothing but interesting ideas - he’s an ersatz warrior ‘superman’ of a bygone age of empires up against the new model, he’s the sins of Krypton as a conservative superpower come home to roost, he’s while not outright said to be definitely Superman’s tragic half-brother and the culmination of everything this run does with Jor-El - but none of them manifest on the page, he’s just a big punchy dude with a dumb design who screams about how you should take him seriously because he’s totally the one who blew up Krypton. Even a killer redesign by Ryan Sook for Legion of Superheroes can’t fix that. There are lots of bad villains with good ideas who are redeemed with time and further effort, but I can’t imagine Zaar getting that TLC to become a fraction of whatever Bendis envisioned him as.

* The second year of Action Comics, after establishing itself in its first as one of the most consistently gorgeous books on the stands, leads with Szymon Kudranski’s weak output and then concludes with John Romita Jr. turning in some career-worst work. The latter is particularly egregious because for that first year Bendis writes a really collected, gentle Superman so him getting pushed into being more aggressive should have an impact, but Romita draws such a craggy rough-looking Superman in the first place that it mutes any sort of shock value.

 * WE NEVER LEARN WHAT’S UP WITH LEONE’S CAR, WHAT THE HELL. You don’t just DROP THAT IN THERE and then NEVER FOLLOW UP.

The Good

* Superman got his real clothes back after 7 truly ridiculous years.

* Bendis fundamentally gets Clark’s voice in a way unlike almost any other writer - even all-around better writers of the character almost never approach how spot-on he is with having Superman speak and act exactly how Superman should.

* Supporting cast front and center! He writes a dynamite Lois, Perry, and Jimmy (even if many of Lois’s more out-there decisions in the run don’t end up retroactively justified the way you’d hope), Ma and Pa are more fun than they’ve been in decades in their brief appearances, he manages to turn having Jor-El in the mix into a positive, and the Daily Planet as a whole has an incredibly distinctive vibe to it like never before that I hope is taken as a baseline going forward.

* The non-Rogol Zaar baddies? All ruled. Invisible Mafia and Red Cloud are both brilliant ideas executed solidly if overextended. Zod as Kryptonian Vegeta, Mongul as a generational perpetual bastard engine primed to be incapable of self-reflection, and Ultraman as “what if Irredeemable but he’d never been a good guy and also he was a Jersey mobster” are the best versions of those characters by numberless light-eons. Lex is on-point in his sparse appearances. Xanadoth as a mystical cosmic monster older than time who still talks like a Bendis character is however unintentionally a hoot. The alt-universe Parasite is a more intimidating Doomsday than Doomsday ever was. And Synmar as an alien culture’s attempt at creating their own Superman and messing up the formula when they make him a soldier can and should be a legitimate major ongoing villain coming out of this run.

* Pretty much all the art other than what I mentioned already. Fabok does a good job bookending The Man of Steel and Ivan Reis does the work of his career anchoring Superman (special props to Reis as well for drawing the first ever non-Steve Rude interesting-looking take on Metropolis), and meanwhile you’ve got Jim Lee, Jose Luis Garcia Lopez, Doc Shaner, Steve Rude, Kevin Maguire, Adam Hughes, Patrick Gleason, Yanick Paquette, Ryan Sook, Brandon Peterson, and David Lafuente doing their own parts.

* Closely related to the art, all the little flourishes with the powers. Super-speed having a consistent visual with the background coloring changing, Clark internally putting numbers to the degrees of force behind his punches and what situations which numbers are appropriate for, ‘skidding to a halt’ mid-flight before crashing through a window, the shonen-ass major throwdowns as portrayed by Reis, how his super-hearing is handled as a prevalent element. Lots of clever bits that added flavor to what he does.

* While Unity Saga has problems, the whole of what Bendis does in Superman as a means of forward momentum for Clark and his world is excellent. The sort of three-act structure of: 

** Clark is led to question his place in things over the course of a few adventures

** Involvement in the larger cosmos and the impact it has had through and on his family makes him realize the answer to his questions is that he needs to step up in a bigger way because there’s no benevolent larger universe to welcome Earth with open arms, nor a cosmic precedent for everything turning out for the best without some help

** As a consequence of the lessons learned by this change in the status quo Clark is inspired to make his own personal change in revealing his identity (with Mythological basically being an epilogue showcasing a ‘standard’ standalone Superman adventure while simultaneously highlighting his new status quo and how it fits in as a summing-up of Bendis’s take)

…does a great job of shepherding through ideas that lend a lot of forward momentum to Superman of the kind he hasn’t seen in a long time. Not perfect, but far lesser stories with far lesser ambitions have made huge impacts, so I’d certainly hope at least some of this sticks around even if, say, regardless of any retcons to the main line there are always going to be stories with Clark as a disguise and Jon as a kid. Oh, speaking of whom,

* KISS MY ASS, EVERYTHING WITH JON KENT RULED

Ahem. Probably a less confrontational way of putting that.

Do I think there was more gas in the tank for Jon as a kid? Totally, making him likeable and viable was the one really good thing the Rebirth era accomplished for Superman and I expect we’ll continue seeing more of it in the future one way or another. But whether or not him being aged up was Bendis’s decision, or working with marching orders to set up the eventually-(kinda-)discarded 5G, the coming of age narrative here is fire. He keeps the essential Clark Kent kindness and bit of Lois Lane cheekiness that reminds you he’s still their kid, which is a combination Bendis is basically precision-crafted to write, but his trials by fire give him a background entirely unlike the by-the-numbers “and here’s how Superman’s great kid grew up to be a great superhero too” narrative you’d expect while still arriving at that endpoint. If superheroes live and die by metaphors then Jon in here is what it means to grow up written as large as possible: leaving home for the first time (and seeming to shoot up overnight!), getting into the muck of how the real world works, being beaten down by authority wearing faces you’ve been taught to trust, scrambling to get through with the whole world against you, and in the end getting through by learning to rely on your own strength while keeping your soul intact and your head held high, and even managing to speak some truth to power. It gives him a well-defined life story with room to go back to and explore the intricacies of each leg of for decades to come in a way Superman hasn’t had since the original Crisis - someone someday is going to write a The Life & Times Of The Son Of Superman miniseries and it’s going to be one of the greats - and negates any question that he’s earned his stature as the heir apparent.

* Coming out of this, Superman’s world is fascinating. He’s out but rather than giving up his day-to-day life he’s openly spending part of his life as CLARK KENT: SUPER-REPORTER and part of his job on the cape-and-tights side of things is now KAL-EL: SUPER-SPACE-DIPLOMAT, Lois Lane coruns a foundation helping people whose personal continuities have been fucked over by Crisis shenanigans, Jimmy Olsen owns the Daily Planet but is still doing Jimmy Olsen stuff because that’s how he gets his kicks, and Jon Kent is going to college in the future. I’m not anywhere near naïve enough to think that’s how things are going to be forever, or shortsighted enough to think there’s no value left in the traditional setups, but god I hope these developments stick around for a long, long time to come and potentially become the new ‘normal’ as far as the ongoing shared universe stuff goes, because it all feels like the right and promising next steps to take for the lives of these characters. However it got here, for all the pluses and minuses along the way even if I maintain the former very much outweighed the latter as a reading experience, Bendis has a lot to be proud of if that’s the legacy he leaves on these titles.

* The recap pages at the desks!